Chapter Eleven:

"You're sure this is legal?" Linda Cavanaugh leans forward in her chair. Her brow has a crease in the middle, and her eyes look tired. I don't blame her. She's sat through more interviews and signed more paperwork than anyone deserves after finding out their kid has been abused, and this one's going to be the worst so far. What's left of my good mood fades away. Somehow, it doesn't feel right to be happy around her.

The two of us are isolated in a small interrogation room. Unfortunately, One Hogan Place isn't what anyone would call spacious. Practically every room in the building is crammed full of something. Usually, I talk to criminals in here. Munch and Fin already have someone in the 'nice room', the place where we take the victims first off. It actually has a couch, and even bottled water if the maintenance guy remembers to fill the mini fridge.

Instead, we're in what looks almost like a cell. A cramped, dark place with a skinny overhead light that's almost painful to look at. It's like someone lifted the scenery from every bad cop movie in the universe and shoved it all into one enclosed space. The fluorescent glow casts Linda Cavanaugh's skin in a sickly shade of yellow, and I'm sure I don't look much better. I glance sadly at the wall. No windows, only a two-way mirror. Not helpful. I wish we could have met in Alex's office. At least the chairs have cushions on the seats. I shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the persistent ache in my lower back.

I realize Linda's still waiting for an answer. She's watching me with narrowed eyes, and there are tight lines around her lips. "It's legal," I tell her, "but I'm not sure it's the best option. That's why I wanted to talk to you. We need to figure out the easiest way to help Sam through this…"

"You mean the easiest way to put Roy Barnett in jail."

There's no use denying it. It's the nature of the job. We do our best for the victims, but we get our paychecks for putting criminals in jail. It's what the chain of command expects from us, and we have to deliver. "That's one of our goals, yes. We don't want Barnett to send us any more victims." It's only a half-truth. Actually, another victim is exactly what we need to nail Barnett, but hoping for one right now is a little too morbid, even for someone as pessimistic as me. We have Sam, and we need to work with what we've got.

Linda is quiet for a long moment. Her gaze darts down into her lap, and she exhales through her nose. I know that look. She's thinking. Probably remembering the first time Sam told her about the abuse, or one of their many trips here. A blur of statements, meetings, and unanswered questions like, 'Why didn't I know? Could I have stopped it?'

Finally, she settles on, "But why does it have to be my son? You don't realize how difficult it is for him to talk about it. He barely speaks to me when we're at home. Now, you want to give him the choice between going up in front of a jury, or wearing a wire and meeting with the man who raped him? That doesn't sound like it's going to 'help him' through anything."

I sigh. There isn't a good way to frame what we're asking Sam to do. If it was my choice, my kid, I'd probably move far away and send them to therapy instead of putting them through this. It isn't fair to Sam or his mother. But then I think of Alex. I remember the way her eyes lit up in her office the other day, the determination in her movements, the steel in her voice. She knows what her job is, and she won't let anything stop her from doing it.

"I promise, Ms. Cavanaugh, we want to do what's best for your son," I say, folding my hands on top of the table between us. "The last time we talked, Sam said he wasn't sure about testifying. We're just giving him another option..."

Linda's eyes flash. "Another option? Asking him to wear a wire and record Barnett's confession is really the best backup plan you could come up with?"

I can tell I'm losing her. She turns her head, refusing to look me in the eye. She's retreating into herself. I have to do something.

"Do you think it's your fault?"

She freezes. Her eyes soften with shock, and she stares at me with such numbness that I'm not sure if she heard me. "What did you say?"

"Do you think you could have figured it out sooner? Stopped the abuse?"

"I…" She hesitates. Her shoulders sink. "I ask myself that question every day, Detective."

"This time, you don't have to wonder. If Barnett walks away from this… walks away from what he did to Sam… someone else's son will be next. People like him never stop. Some of them spend decades preying on children they think are vulnerable. It's a cycle that keeps repeating until someone steps in and ends it."

She's listening to me now. I can see uncertainty creeping across her face. For a moment, I'm not sure whether I'm doing the right thing. Every word I've said is true, but somehow, they still feel like horrible lies.

"We want to do this for Sam, too. He thinks the abuse was his fault. He thinks Barnett was his friend." I pause. "Maybe seeing Barnett go to prison will help show him the truth."

Linda swallows. Her lips press together, and when she lifts her head. "I can't give you an answer right now, Detective. I need to ask Sam what he wants to do. But… I'll think about what you said. If you really think this is better…"

Honestly, I don't know if it's better. Sam has a connection with Barnett, one he can't be blamed for. It might actually be easier for him to talk to his abuser instead of a jury of strangers. Strangers who, in his mind, might judge his actions or his sexuality more harshly than a familiar face who's shown him kindness in the past. But something about this still feels wrong. My stomach lurches, and I have to force a smile to keep from feeling sick. An old Academy trick. Usually, the guilt doesn't hit me this hard, but there's something about Sam and the exhausted lines on Linda's face…

"Our ADA suggested it. She thinks this will work. Ask Sam what he wants to do. He's already had a lot of choices taken away from him, but he's old enough to make this one now."

That seems to get through to Linda. She exhales and reaches for her purse, pushing back her chair. "Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your time." The words are hollow, meaningless, but I know she'll think about what I said. I murmur a quick goodbye and offer to escort her to the front door, but she protests. "I already know the way." It takes a moment for me to realize why that statement bothers me. No one should be that familiar with the layout of One Hogan Place unless they work here. This woman and her son have both been through hell.

Once she's gone, I step back out into the hall, stretching my arms above my head. I always feel like I need a chiropractor, or at least a good massage, after sitting in the interrogation room chairs. I glance at my phone and realize the meeting took longer than I thought. Unless an emergency comes in, Cragen has me dealing with paperwork today, so I haven't missed much.

I start making my way down the hall, but a familiar face comes around the corner before I get back to my desk. My face breaks into a grin, and I feel some of the weight on my shoulders melt away. Alex. I wasn't expecting her to show up here today, but I'm glad she did. "Hey," I say, resisting the temptation to open my arms for a hug. Over the past few months, it's been harder to work with her. Physical contact between us is so natural, so fluid when we're alone.

"Hey." She smiles. The sick feeling in my stomach vanishes. My face feels warm instead. "Did I just see Linda Cavanaugh walk by on my way in? How'd the meeting go?"

I shrug. "Not great, but not bad. I laid out her options for her. She's going to talk to Sam so he can decide what he wants to do."

The edges of Alex's smile start to fall away. She's in work mode, and I know I won't get any slack just because we're together. "I was hoping you'd push it a little harder. A taped confession is always better than testimony. I know I can get a judge to sign off on this, but we need the Cavanaughs on board first."

"I got her to think about it, and that wasn't easy," I tell her. "Do you realize how much you're asking of them?" And of me? I add silently in my head. "You want a sixteen year old kid to meet with his rapist and solicit a confession. The least you can do is give them a few days to think about it."

Alex lifts her fingertips to her forehead, covering her glasses as she massages away some of the tension. Even though I'm a little frustrated with her, I wish I could do something to make her feel better. "I'm sorry, Olivia. I know you did everything you could. This case has just been bothering me for some reason. I know our legal system sets the bar for proving guilt intentionally high, but it drives me crazy when scumbags like Barnett get away with it just because the victims are skittish."

"After reading Sam's statement, can you really blame them for being nervous?"

"No… you're right again. It's not Sam's fault. If I was sixteen, I'm not sure I'd be brave enough to do what I'm asking, either." But I know she's lying. Alex is stubborn. Headstrong. She would have stared that jury down until they believed every word coming out of her mouth, just like she does now. I also know it's hard for her to put herself into other people's shoes. She's so determined, so focused on her goals that she forgets about everything else.

I reach out and put a hand on her arm - the most contact I can make at work without arousing suspicion. We're alone in the hall, but I have to be cautious. "If it makes you feel better, this one's bothering me, too. It's already gotten under my skin."

She groans. "Not you too. One of us has to keep a clear head."

I know she's joking, but part of me is afraid. I've spent the past several weeks using Alex as my moral compass. If she thinks what I'm doing is all right, then it must be. But if she's counting on me to do the same thing… what if both of us are wrong? I don't want to think about it. I decide to change the subject. "So, what are you up to tonight?"

Her smile flickers back. "A hot date, actually. I was thinking dancing..."

I raise my eyebrows. A little spontaneous, but when has Alex ever been cautious about anything? "Dancing?"

"Unless something else comes up…" She gives me an expectant look.

"Maybe. I guess you'll just have to wait and see what your date has in mind."

She laughs and turns around, giving me a perfect view of her hair rippling between her shoulderblades and the firm swell of her backside. I stare after her until she turns the corner and disappears out of sight. If I'm going to top dancing, I'll have to come up with something extra special for when she gets home.