Olivia discreetly lowered her head as she entered through the wooden doors of the church where the ceremony would take place.
It hadn't been easy to get inside with so many reporters outside. They were huddle together, trying to record and photograph the faces that were slowly filling St. Thomas.
It was understandable.
There were many people inside the church. The right side of the cathedral was reserved for family and acquaintances. Benson noticed Melanie Montez's grandparents sitting together with hers parents and uncles. Some children dressed in black were conversing in a melancholic corner.
The family was still in mourning, even after so many days.
On the left side, the top brass of the New York Police Department, some judges, and prosecutors were seated. The mayor and his wife were in the second row, talking to a bald man adorned with a dozen medals on his chest.
A spectacle behind closed doors. None of them cared the slightest bit about the girl, but it wouldn't be proper to miss the event. Not with the entire press outside, firing their flashes as if it were a Fashion Week edition.
There was a low buzz of incessant voices. The Gothic architecture with its light tones and colorful stained glass seemed designed to amplify even the slightest sound. As if the steps of an ant could be audible if someone wanted them to be.
Perhaps, if Benson focused, he could isolate each conversation happening in the venue without needing to get too close.
"Liv, what the hell are you doing here?"
Immediately, her brown eyes lifted to the person who had pulled her by the wrist, forcing her to turn her back to the others and give him her full attention.
John Munch was a tall, slender man with graying hair and an inherently disinterested expression. He looked elegant. In all those years of working alongside him, Liv couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so well-dressed.
"An appropriate question for a church, Munch..." Her tone was a mix of relief and irony. It was an unsuccessful attempt to downplay the fact that the former detective didn't have permission to be there. When she realized the failure of her intentions, Liv wiped the small smile off her face, conceding defeat. "I came to talk to Matthew Montez."
John pursed his lips upon hearing the admission. Despite wearing his best suit that morning — complying with the boss's request to blend in with the guests — he was on duty. He was the police officer in charge of internal security for the funeral, making sure no smart-ass journalist would ruin the solemn occasion.
Munch regretted the fact that it wasn't the press who had crashed the place. It would have been easier to kick one of them out. Liv was... a close friend. He couldn't and didn't want to be rude to the woman who had reach out to him so many times.
"Olivia, you know he doesn't want to see you." He began softly, cautiously. Like he was explaining social rules to a stubborn child. "This is madness. I... can't let you talk to him."
"You're the last person I expected to tell me that." Her tongue quickly passed over her lips, moistening them. "Munch, you know there's something wrong with this case."
He sighed and locked eyes with her large brown orbs, considering the statement made and his next sentence.
Throughout all those years working together in the SVU, they had gone through many things side by side. Murderers, molesters, liars... all the scum of society gathered, sharing jail cells at the precinct thanks to them. Of course, amidst all that, some cases had gained media attention, and like in any high-profile investigation, mistakes were made and exposed.
But nothing like this.
Nothing like what happened to her.
Munch had never been afraid of being involved in a case like this, even though he knew his name could be exposed and dragged through the mud.
But that was before Olivia's forced leave. Before they tried to make her disappear from the public eye because, after all, out of sight, out of mind...
"They're trying to silence you..." John concluded.
"I went to the Montez's house, but they didn't want to see me. Here, they can't escape." She could almost see his brain gears turning.
John Munch didn't make a secret of his anarchist and conspiratorial nature, which were contradictory characteristics for a lawman.
But this was truly an important date for the department. A chance for national redemption. It was like saying, "that was an isolated case. The New York Police is extremely efficient in its work."
"Liv..."
"I have to uncover the truth."
He understood.
His friend's life had been turned upside down overnight. He had tried to warn her that the feds were complete idiots, but she already knew that.
Still, she decided to go ahead because her values surpassed any fear of failure.
Munch knew Olivia was a good woman, and she was paying the price alone for a mistake that wasn't hers.
No matter what the newspapers had reported.
She was incredibly competent.
"You owe me one," he assured, raising his index finger. "Go to one of the sacristy rooms; I'll ask Montez to meet you there."
"Thank you."
"If I go to Gehenna and you go straight to Gan Eden, I'll be very annoyed."
Benson smiled slightly at her friend and discreetly walked towards the door he had indicated.
She climbed a few steps, entering a hallway parallel to the previous hall. The space was illuminated by stained glass windows depicting religious images.
Silence embraced her senses comfortably, and she took a few seconds to admire the intricately crafted ceiling before continuing on her way.
"Excuse me, ma'am. This area is restricted," the calm voice of the man stole her attention.
Liv smiled slightly at the priest, trying to appear nonchalant.
"Good morning, Father," she greeted, approaching him. "My name is Olivia. I'm a police officer, and I'm working on the Montez case," she lied.
"Oh, I see," the portly man nodded, nervously running his hands over his cassock. "It's truly a tragedy what happened to that angel. May God rest her soul."
"There are new developments in the investigation, and I would like to speak with the victim's father in private," she said, assuming a firm posture, shifting her weight. "Is there somewhere we can have privacy? The information is confidential."
"Of course!" He pointed to the end of the corridor, the same way she had come. "Follow the corridor and turn right. The sacristy is open; you can use the room," he assured, accommodating. "I will make sure to ask her parents to meet you here and extend my speech so that you have time to talk."
"Please ask only the father to come," she pleaded. The man in front of her maintained his smile, but Benson noticed his hesitation. He pondered as if he somehow distrusted her. "Alyssa Montez, that poor soul has already suffered more than necessary. No mother should be forced to bury her own daughter. I don't want her to suffer further by hearing my words..."
The man nodded in agreement.
It wasn't Olivia's plan to lie to a priest, and although she was somewhat skeptical when it came to religion, she hoped there was no one watching from above. Otherwise, she would be in big trouble.
"You're right. I will ask her father to meet you here."
"Thank you, Father."
"May God bless you."
Without uttering another word, the man went on his way to the door that would lead him to the hall. Olivia, on the other hand, retraced her steps, following the clergyman's directions until she stood in a spacious, well-lit room.
The sacristy smelled of wood and faith. Images of saints were distributed and represented in statues, and the windows were open, allowing a gentle breeze to circulate through the room. Olivia was relieved to see that the room was on the second floor, likely located somewhere behind the church's pulpit. This would give her more privacy with Matthew, without the fear of some audacious journalist lurking outside the window.
Anxiously awaiting Montez's arrival, Benson reached into the bag she had brought with her throughout the journey. From it, she pulled out a plain envelope containing what she believed could be useful in solving the case.
She sat down on one of the uncomfortable sofas against the wall, taking advantage of the brief moment of calmness while waiting for the father of her victim to enter through the door.
When he did, it was in a silent yet emphatic manner. Matthew had always been the type of man who commanded attention; his presence was marked by posture, tone, and manner.
It was no wonder he had become such an efficient prosecutor. He didn't need to use charm to captivate people. Others tended to like him just because. He was seductive. Sharp.
But above all, he was a good man, so good that it made Olivia lament what had happened to him and his family.
"I hope you have a good reason to be here," he projected his voice, chin raised, and an impassive gaze fixed upon her. All these characteristics made Olivia swallow hard as she faced him. She wasn't usually the type of woman to be intimidated by anyone's presence, but this circumstance felt particularly distressing.
"Prosecutor..." she murmured, rising from her seat. In her mind, she had planned this moment a hundred times over, but the words eluded her, and she found herself lost in the vast array of possibilities.
She felt foolish standing in front of him, as if she were a teenager discovering life.
God, they had worked together a few times before. She couldn't say they were anything close to friends, but they certainly weren't strangers. It wasn't as if they had only met after the fateful tragedy that had befallen the Montez family.
Olivia couldn't help but wonder why she insisted on treating him so formally. Why did she pretend that he was just another grieving parent when there was clearly more between them than they would admit?
Things could have been different if she had saved Melanie.
But that's not what happened. The girl had taken a prominent place in the hall of defeats that the detective insisted on maintaining in her mind, and to make matters worse, even after all these months, the press occasionally touched on the subject to remind everyone of the NYPD's failure in solving the case.
That's why the casualness didn't sit well.
Not in the situation they found themselves in.
Not with him visibly melancholic in the face of his loss.
"Now you lie to priests too, Benson?"
Her mouth opened to retort, but no sound came out. Deep down, Olivia knew he was right. Lying in that way didn't feel like the right thing to do, but lately, all the actions she took seemed justifiable.
As if wanting to uncover the truth, as if wanting to bring justice to that girl, was the only thing that truly mattered. As if anyone, even God, would agree with her actions because she was pursuing a greater good.
She no longer recognized herself, and she knew that the Olivia of a few months ago would probably condemn most of her actions. But this was who she was now, and if lying to a priest was necessary to protect other children from the vulture that dared to harm little Montez, so be it.
She would be a damn sinner if that's what it took.
"We need to talk," the woman asserted, stepping closer. "I think I've found new leads in the case."
The man's eyebrows raised in surprise.
It had been a few days since the investigation was considered inconclusive. A few days since, his hopes had slipped away.
To be honest, he hated being at that funeral. Not only because his heart was screaming in disbelief, but also because the event was symbolic. God, he had always known that funerals said much more about the living than the dead...
But, again, it wasn't just about that.
The funeral was like a white flag.
Surrender.
He knew that the moment the casket descended seven feet and the last shovel of dirt was poured over the noble wood, everything would be over. All his pain would be summed up in that moment.
And so the clock would be ticking. How long is it acceptable for a father to mourn the death of his daughter? Because Montez knew deep down in his core that he would never be able to overcome that loss.
It didn't feel right.
It wasn't the natural order of things.
Sometimes his mind would resort to thoughts like "I should be the one dead" because that way, Matthew would still have her. Even from afar, he had the utmost certainty that the God he had fervently prayed to in his moments of anguish would watch over Melanie wherever she was.
If the girl died a thousand times, he would trade places with her a thousand and one, if he could.
But he couldn't. No one could.
And that's why he was surprised. It was only a matter of time until the case fell into the arms of public oblivion, and then, the only ones who would truly feel the pain would be those who had spent enough time with the little girl to love her.
Which certainly wasn't the case for Olivia.
Why did she insist on it when the case had clearly destroyed her too?
Why did she insist on staying in a situation that also brought her pain when the victim's own father would do anything to rip it out of his chest?
"You were suspended, weren't you?"
' Compulsorily removed,' she thought of correcting, but she knew deep down it was all the same. Her boss had just used nicer words because while administratively the two things were different, in practice, it was all the same.
"I was."
The air escaped the man's lungs with a hint of disbelief. One hand rested on his waist, and he turned around, facing away from the woman.
It would be so much more convenient for her to simply let go... forget.
Why couldn't she just be selfish and predictable?
"Then hand over that...," he stopped speaking immediately, remembering the sacred place they were in. "thing, to the police."
Yes, of course he would suggest that. She would do the same if she were in the same position, in a parallel world where her own life hadn't been turned upside down.
But in that universe, Olivia wouldn't have been betrayed by those who should have been her colleagues. In that universe, she would still be the responsible police officer who believed in justice, in law, and in truth. So oblivious to that machine that she couldn't imagine taking justice into her own hands.
Well, no one thinks they will need to resort to such things until they are forced to.
And she was being forced.
She couldn't hand over the evidence to the NYPD and risk them ignoring her parallel investigation, or worse, investigating and not giving her the proper credit. The truth was that although Olivia was extremely interested in providing a proper resolution to the Montez case, she also hoped that once the issue was resolved by her – and only her – an opportunity would arise to regain the favor of the department.
To go back to doing the thing she grew up knowing would be her career for the rest of her life.
"I'm not going to do that!" she asserted as she noticed the path the man was taking towards the exit.
The prosecutor halted his steps in front of the only passage in the room. His hands reached for the doorknob, but contrary to expectations, the solid wooden door still closed.
His mouth formed a thin, twisted line as he turned to face the woman again.
He remembered the cases they had worked on together. How he found the detective's determination inspiring.
She had fire in her eyes, a passion for what she did. Matthew remembered thinking, 'What impeccable ethics, finally someone who cares. Finally, I'm on the side of the good guys.'
And he truly had been. None of his conclusions had been mistaken.
But now...
Now Matthew found that determination annoying.
Like when a doctor, in order to suture a patient's wounds, pokes and prods exactly at the most painful spot.
A heavy sigh escaped the man's lips. There was no escape.
Liv furrowed her eyebrows and raised them slightly, as if trying to convey nonverbally: I understand your pain.
And then, she pulled a white envelope out of her bag and offered it to the man.
A mixture of emotions burned in Matthew's chest. It was as if a dozen voices were shouting in the back of his mind, each trying to outdo the other; the conflicting thoughts almost deafening in the quietness of the room.
'Finally, someone who truly cares!'
'Why the hell won't she leave you alone to feel your pain?'
'Of all the people in the world, it had to be her? She ruined everything!'
"You just need to look and tell me if you recognize anyone," she suggested, pushing the papers against the prosecutor's chest.
Matthew nodded, and almost in autopilot, he pulled out a dozen photos from inside the envelope.
They were portraits of various people, men and women aged between - what Matthew judged - twenty and thirty-five years old.
There was a blond guy with a handsome face.
Another rough-looking man who seemed capable of breaking someone in half.
A red-haired girl with a scar on her eye...
Montez pursed his lips and stared at Benson.
"Why am I seeing this? Do you know something?"
"I have new suspects."
"Why don't you tell me what you found?"
Liv pondered the information she had, taking a few seconds to gaze into his brown eyes before deciding what to reveal.
"We found traces of drugs in your daughter."
His response was a confused grimace, accompanied by, "The toxicology report came back clean."
"Not in the toxicology report," she murmured. "Well, how it was discovered doesn't really matter, but..."
"It matters to me," he interrupted.
Benson bit her cheek and took a breath before continuing.
"There was a hair sample. Isolated. It seems the killer tried to mislead the investigators by copying the modus operandi of another offender..."
Montez's mouth dropped open, but his brain seemed to have stopped responding. He had understood all the sounds of the words that came out of Olivia's mouth, but the world seemed to exist in a secondary window, and everything around him was just muffled noise.
"...that's why they believed it to be a trophy," the female voice seemed to finish an explanation to which he paid no attention. "But when they analyzed your daughter's scalp..."
"Why didn't anyone tell me this before?"
Benson clenched her jaw and swallowed hard. She knew this would happen, the right question at the wrong time.
"That information isn't in the case file."
"And how did you access it?"
Olivia shrugged. Although she had accepted lying as a tool to get what she wanted in her private investigations, it wasn't her nature to lie for personal gain. However, she understood that telling the truth would result in consequences she wasn't ready to deal with. Not yet.
"I hope it's not by confessing to a prosecutor, breaking the chain of custody," the man suggested, annoyed, "or theft, or interfering in an investigation..."
"I didn't confess anything. In fact, I didn't even open my mouth."
"Damn it, Benson, do you have any idea what you've done?"
"There was angel dust in your daughter's hair," she continued, ignoring the possible sermon that was about to come. "Phencyclidine."
"I know what angel dust is, and I know what it's used for."
"So, have you arrested anyone who may have contact with that kind of drug? Maybe you have an enemy..."
"I have a dozen enemies, Benson! But even if I could help you with that, it really doesn't matter now because if we manage to catch the bastard who did this to my daughter because of your investigation..." He ran his tongue quickly over his lips, trying to control his nervousness. "You've messed it all up. No judge will accept any evidence related to this if I say that you obtained it illegally."
"I never said it was illegal," she defended herself, also getting irritated.
"Damn it, I know I don't need to explain the ABCs to you. The investigation was still open, and you had access to evidence that only concerned the police. Don't pretend you don't know what that means. You interfered with the chain of custody!"
"I never said that either."
"I won't commit perjury for you, Olivia. You can't pretend that your actions have no consequences!"
"My actions? And what about yours? Because it seems like I'm the only one here who still wants to resolve what happened."
In a quick movement, Montez approached the detective, cornering her between a nearby wall and his body.
Their eyes met, and despite Montez being taller than her, Benson kept her head high without fear of facing him.
"Never say those words again, do you hear me?" Despite the anger in his eyes, his tone was low. "I don't want you to mention her name, I don't want you to ask about her. You don't have that right."
It would have been easy to take any action from the position she was in. Liv could easily push him, headbutt him, or hit the prosecutor in his groin. Maybe if it were someone else, she would do it.
Countless times she had found herself in the same situation during her work, cornered in a random room by an angry guy who thought he could intimidate her.
If he were an attacker, she wouldn't think twice before attacking him. But she couldn't help but think that in a way, Matthew was also a victim, even if he was acting like a jerk.
"Prosecutor," a third voice was heard in the room. Benson turned her head towards the door only to find her former boss leaning against the doorframe of the sacristy. His lips slightly twisted in palpable discontent. "Step away from the detective."
Montez's lungs escaped with incredulity.
"Ex-detective, you mean," he scolded while complying with the older man's request. He adjusted his suit properly against his torso and buttoned his jacket before getting close enough to Cragen to say, "Listen, either you start controlling her, or someone else will do it for you."
"I hope you're not threatening a police captain, or a civilian."
"We both know she's not a civilian..." he murmured, passing through the doorway. Before leaving, he turned to face Cragen one last time. "I just want my daughter's name out of her mouth."
Cragen swallowed the response that danced on the tip of his tongue and silently watched as the prosecutor turned his back and headed towards the funeral.
The older man waited until he was sure he was alone with his ex-detective before asking, "Liv, what the hell are you doing here?"
Swiftly, the brunette turned her back to Don Cragen, quickly stuffing the photos she had shown Montez into her bag.
"I came to talk to the Montez," she explained, without looking at him.
"Here? Today?"
"It was the only place I knew they would receive me."
When she finally turned to face her former boss, Liv took a moment to look into his eyes.
It was no surprise to notice that Don was particularly elegant that day. His short and stocky body dressed in the ceremonial police uniform, displaying the always noticeable air of authority that surrounded the captain.
If she were still in the force, she would also be wearing her best clothes, displaying the medals she had earned for doing what she believed was right.
"I know you miss being a detective," he began, his empathetic gaze falling on the brunette, "but you can't keep going like this, Olivia. Demanding favors, asking for favors... in the end, it destroys you. I've seen good police officers crumbled because of this kind of thing."
Liv bit her tongue upon hearing the words.
The man in front of her had always been an example to follow. He was one of the few people who had somehow earned the respect and admiration of the ex-detective.
Their relationship sometimes went beyond the professional realm, and an almost paternal affection hung over both of them.
Perhaps that was why it had hurt so much when the man declared the order of dismissal.
"I hope you're not implying that I'll compromise my values," Liv said uncertainly about the direction the conversation was taking.
"I would never suggest that. You know that."
Did she?
"I don't know what you expect me to do."
"I want you to wait. Give it time..."
"I'm tired of waiting, Cap," she confessed, feeling the spark of anger burning in her chest as the words seemed to slip out of her mouth faster than soap on a wet floor. "For months, I've been trying to make sense of everything that happened, and I'm not just talking about my situation! Suddenly, it seems like everyone has forgotten that we have a victim, that a child was killed, and that the sicko who got his hands on her is free..."
"Olivia, there's no evidence! We've exhausted all the leads. You need to let it go!"
Benson bit her cheeks hard, trying to avoid saying more than she should. If Cragen knew everything she had done in the past few months, the situation would certainly worsen.
"I'm trying..."
The captain allowed his forehead to slightly furrow. His small eyes focused on what was once the best detective he had in his precinct.
The woman was exhausted.
Cragen wasn't naive. Years in the force had given him a sixth sense that could only be acquired through vast experience.
He knew Olivia was conducting a parallel investigation; he knew she had been asking for favors from friends; and judging by the frequent lunches with those who had been by her side in the Melanie case, he could conclude that she had discovered something.
Something potentially illegal or inadmissible. Something they couldn't use, and the mere mention of it could implicate Cragen and Olivia in more ways than he could imagine.
That's why he didn't ask any questions about it, even though he already knew what was going on.
God, if that ever came to light and he had to go to trial, he wouldn't commit perjury. He would assume that all those certainties were mere assumptions.
Seeing Olivia running towards the abyss in hopes of saving herself was bad enough.
Knowing that he would jump with her if necessary was worse.
"Listen, Liv..." Cragen began, taking a step forward to get closer and touch her shoulder. "I'll pull some strings, ask for some favors..."
"I thought you said that could ruin a good cop."
"And it can, but sometimes, just sometimes, Liv, the ends justify the means."
"What do you mean?"
"That you need to take some time. Stay away from trouble, away from the media, and for God's sake, stop these parallel investigations. Stop acting like a detective out there..." The request came with a tighter squeeze on her shoulder. "I'll do my best to get you reinstated, Olivia. But I need time."
Her mouth opened, but she hesitated.
"How much time, Cap?"
"As long as it takes."
Benson sighed under her breath when she noticed the parked car across the street.
There were still a few meters to reach the door of her residence, and the man inside the vehicle had certainly not noticed her presence. She could easily go around and try to enter from the back, but then he'd notice that there was another entrance and would certainly keep an eye out when setting up the next stakeout.
That had been happening quite often since her dismissal. In the first few days, there were dozens of reporters camped outside her house, wanting to know more about the case, the victim, and her suspension.
Things had calmed down over time, but there were still a few journalists, mostly ambitious rookies with delusions of grandeur, who thought they could extract statements that not even the most experienced reporter could.
She should have known that on a day like that, someone would show up.
She quickly started walking towards the door of her residence, trying to adopt a position that would make it difficult for the car to take any photographs.
The sound of her boots against the concrete was constant and muffled. She pressed her overcoat against her body when she felt the light breeze passing through her hair, simply because she didn't know what to do with her hands.
Only a few meters remained, and if Olivia continued at that pace, she would be home in a few seconds.
"Hey! Hi, please!" someone shouted from afar.
Liv noticed a man approaching from the right, out of the corner of her eye. All she could ascertain from the distance and speed was that he was a tall, white guy.
'Shit,' she cursed internally when he touched her arm gently. "Sorry, no comment," she insisted, without stopping or looking at him.
"I'm not a journalist," Elliot explained.
Olivia quickly looked around, allowing herself to understand what was happening.
The car was still in front of her house. The man inside had a camera pointed at the detective, but as soon as he realized he had been discovered, he dropped the object onto the passenger seat and drove away.
That somehow relieved Benson's worries, giving her a chance to properly face Stabler.
"My name is Elliot Stabler," he said.
"How can I help you?"
"I heard you're working as a private detective," he explained. "I want you to help me with something."
Liv raised her eyebrows, slightly surprised. She had only taken on two private cases since her forced leave, but the lack of clients made her give up on the career she used to condemn.
Perhaps because she was only a good detective with a badge in her hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm not taking on new clients," she regretted, walking back towards the entrance of the property.
"I pay well!" he assured. "It was Candice who referred me."
"Ah yes, Candice..." She almost laughed at the mention of the name.
Candice Buduon was a scammer, and Liv knew that the moment she asked for her help.
If Benson stopped to think carefully, in order to understand when her old version had ceased to exist, she might conclude that it was the moment she agreed to follow Charles Buduon to gather evidence of infidelity.
Benson wasn't a bad person, and she wouldn't do it if the man's greatest sin in life was infidelity. The thing is, she had known him for a long time, and a few years ago, he had been caught with child pornography. But money and connections sometimes are all you need to get rid of that kind of accusation.
He didn't end up on the sex offender list, putting other children in danger. The years in the SVU taught Benson that predators escalate. One day it's just about watching little kids play in a park, and before you know it, it's about touching, raping, and killing.
Olivia didn't do it for Candice, she didn't do it so that Buduon could pull off her scam, or because she thought Candice was a potential victim. After all, Charles was into kids.
She did it for Elroy. The little boy who lived with his mother inside the house of a predator.
It didn't seem right to leave him to his own devices.
Benson didn't do the right thing, but given her circumstances, she did what she thought was less wrong.
"I'm sorry, sir..."
"Stabler. Or you can call me Elliot if you prefer..."
"Mr. Stabler," she opted. "I really can't help you."
Liv gave him a slight understanding and condescending smile before turning her back and walking towards the entrance of the house.
"Why does it suddenly feel like everyone tells me that?" the man's deep voice echoed resentfully.
Elliot felt a tightness in his chest that almost suffocated him. In fact, he had been feeling it ever since he saw Elizabeth lying on the metal gurney. The lifeless, gray body screaming about his incompetence to protect his loved ones.
To protect his family.
"Sorry?" Olivia said, confused, freezing in place and turning her attention back to the man.
"Have you ever lost someone you loved?"
"I..." She pondered about the response she would give.
One part of her— a big part—simply wanted to send him away. After all, that information had nothing to do with him, and she had no obligation to be there.
But a second part noticed the pain in the man's eyes. She noticed the choked voice, the trembling breath, and the blatant grief in his tone.
For the first time in months, someone truly noticed Elliot Stabler.
"Okay, forget it," Stabler requested, noticing the prolonged silence as he waited for the woman's response. "I'm sorry for bothering you."
"Well... I would like to help you, but I can't. Not right now."
"Alright," he nodded.
"But I know someone... someone who might be able to help you. Maybe."
His blue eyes seemed to darken slightly at the statement. Suddenly, Elliot was filled with the same determination that had compelled him to approach the woman a few minutes ago.
"Who?"
"His name is Chester. Chester Lake," she murmured, rummaging through her bag for paper and pen to scribble down the man's number. "He's a private detective. Maybe he can assist you with... whatever you need."
Gehinom: To put it simply, it would be the "hell" of the Jews.
Gan Eden: Like "heaven" for the Jews.