A/N: Figures I would brag about being able to post more consistently, then get roped into helping someone move and end up posting late again. Sorry, guys. I really did try to get home all day to have this up sooner. And it's a shorter one. But I am considering posting the next chapter early, if there's interest. Let me know. :) This one's not as graphic, either, but I'll include a mild trigger warning for mentions of rape/sexual violence.
Chapter 15.
Funny Games
. . .
Sondra Vaughn gazed mildly across the table at the female officer and the G-man. A casual observer might have mistaken the interaction as an agreeable one, just a trio of friends shooting the bull, or whatever they did on the outside these days. Sondra's orange jumpsuit and the metal loop she was handcuffed to in the table probably would have given her away, though.
Despite the interruption to her viewing party with Parker, she was in a good mood. So far, Phase One had played out even better than she'd hoped. At first it had been somewhat difficult to watch, especially when the Benson woman was still present enough to react strongly to the harsher stimuli. She was tougher than Sondra would have expected, based on the candids of her with her kids. And truth be told, Sondra had never viewed any of the rapes she'd ordered before. She almost felt sorry for the pretty captain.
But that wore off the longer the rape went on, Olivia's decompensation to a whimpering, rung-out rag making it easier to forget she was real. Eventually it was like watching porn, just a lot of dicks going into various holes, a lot of over the top moaning that kept Parker frantically thumbing at the volume control on his phone. Sondra had surprised him—no more than she surprised herself—by getting turned on while Gus choked and raped Amanda's wife at the same time; she'd let him finger her till she came, her eyes barely leaving the screen.
It must have been the thrill of victory, of dominating by proxy, and knowing that the bitch detective was suffering terribly, that made her so horny. Even now she was wet just thinking about it. She smiled at the dark-haired girl who studied her with narrowed eyes and kept sighing impatiently. Officer Tamin of SVU, she had introduced herself, not bothering to get up when Sondra entered the room usually reserved for inmates and their lawyers. A colleague of Amanda Rollins, then. That had piqued Sondra's interest.
She was a bit disappointed that they had connected the abduction to her so quickly, but her old pal Rollins hadn't been stupid. Reckless and immature, yes, but not stupid. That was all right, though. Sondra was smarter. She could stall and throw these kids so far off the scent they would never even come close to finding Benson.
They were both young, early thirties at best. It was almost too easy. If Rollins herself had shown up, that might have been a challenge—Sondra wouldn't have been able to contain her gloating. She was watching Olivia take it from three guys at once (and two alternates) when the walkie on Parker's utility belt crackled to life, the warden requesting that someone in D block escort Vaughn to interview room one. Parker had practically shit himself running away, although he did promise to keep watching the livestream and bring her updates as soon as it was safe.
It might not be for a while, but she was satisfied with what she had seen. Even if the whole plan unraveled from here, she'd already won. She had her justice, and anything else that worked in her favor after this was just icing.
Her old friend Gus and his boys were probably still spreading their icing all over the Benson woman that very moment. Sondra smiled at the thought—and the pun—and waited for one of her visitors to break. She could see it in their faces, and in the antsy movements of the girl officer. Probably hoped she'd be the one to crack the case and rescue her unfortunate boss.
Good luck, little girl.
"You're in an awfully cheerful mood for somebody who's in prison," Tamin finally said. She began that incessant tapping with her pen again, the end thwacking her open notepad.
Small, repetitive noises usually irritated Sondra—she had once incited Anton to shoot a macaw that perched outside their villa bedroom every morning in Brazil—but this one she would tolerate. It sounded like the steady ticking of a clock, which reminded her of the time that must be passing so terribly slowly for Amanda and her poor, dear wife.
"I didn't realize that was against the rules." Sondra shrugged lightly, though not indifferently. She had a reputation for being cool and calculating, but today she was Little Miss Sunshine. Innocent as can be.
This time it was the boy agent who spoke. "It's not. It's just unusual coming from an inmate who got herself transferred to a high-security wing for stabbing another prisoner." He looked up from Sondra's criminal file, open beneath his folded hands on the table. He smiled. "And earned herself a longer sentence. That doesn't sound like someone who has much to be cheerful about."
The little shit was trying to rile her up so she would make a mistake, but it wasn't going to work. Sondra didn't make mistakes when she was angry, she just got crueler. "I had a lot of issues with self-control back then. I've learned how to manage it, through vigilance, counseling, and prayer. I'm not the same person anymore."
Tamin snorted. "Seriously? You found Jesus in The Hole, so now you don't set women up to be raped anymore? That what you're going with?"
A silent but delightful exchange took place between Sondra's guests after that brief outburst; the boy, it seemed, did not want the girl to reveal the nature of their visit quite so soon, and he appeared to nudge her under the table. The girl didn't give a damn about establishing rapport with the prisoner, and she jerked away from his knee or foot, scowling. It was like sitting at the third-grade lunch table, and Sondra was enjoying every minute.
"I've regretted that every day since it happened," she said, playing up the repentant brown eyes and heavy heart. In reality, she no longer recalled the names of any of the women whose rapes she'd ordered, including the one that landed her in this dump. The only name that mattered now was Olivia Benson, but they would have to rip out Sondra's fingernails one by one with pliers before she would implicate herself.
"That poor woman. Not a day goes by when I don't wish I could apologize to her. I know it would never make up for what she went through, but if I could give her even the smallest bit of peace . . . " Sondra hung her head in shame, though she was really just hiding a smile. She deserved a fucking Oscar for her performance. She would probably be the first Black woman to win the award while behind bars. Maybe they would send a camera crew and roll out a red carpet in the exercise yard.
"Cut the crap, lady. We know you're not some reformed sinner, or whatever you're trying to sell us. You probably got half this prison in your back pocket." Tamin jabbed her pen into the notepad, impressing her point. "And we don't have time to sit here while you pretend to be Mother Theresa. My boss is out there suffering somewhere, thanks to you. Tell us where she is so we can go get her. And call off your goons while you're at it."
"Officer," Marquez said sharply, glaring at Tamin like he wanted to throttle her. Just like poor, sweet Captain Benson when Gus put it in her. The girl returned the glare, looking as though she had some choice words for her male counterpart, but she held her tongue for the time being.
This good agent, bad cop routine was almost as entertaining as the livestream on Parker's phone. Sondra wouldn't have had the patience for such amateur league bullshit on the outside, but the venerable halls of Sealview had lowered her standards somewhat. She gave it a few more moments, letting them stew in their young, impetuous juices, then widened her eyes in shock.
"Your boss?" she asked, perhaps going a little overboard with the breathless dismay. For some reason, she couldn't stop picturing Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind. She hadn't watched the movie since she was a kid, before its White-ass propaganda ever occurred to her, but she had always loved that spoiled, bitchy Scarlett O'Hara. "Something happened to her? That's terrible. I don't know anything about that, though. I don't even know who your boss is."
And frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
"Like hell you don't. She's the same commanding officer who was in charge of SVU when Detective Rollins took down your shady little gambling club and your lowlife boyfriend." Officer Tamin felt pretty confident that mentioning the club and Anton would get a big reaction, that much was obvious from the way her face fell when Sondra remained serene. "She's captain now, and a damn good one. So, unless you want every cop in Manhattan up your ass for the next however long, you better start talking."
Sondra had to hand it to the girl—that was a great line. Vivid imagery and just crude enough to be funny. It was something Sondra might have said herself during the days of running Anton's club and handling the deadbeat gambling addicts who thought they could cheat her out of what they owed. She wondered if the officer knew that Detective Rollins, whom she spoke of with such esteem, was one of those deadbeat cheaters. And a dirty snitch.
"I'm not sure what to tell you, Officer, I didn't meet your captain back then. I have no idea what she even looks like."
Not so pretty anymore, Sondra added silently, lips pressed into a prim, thin line. If she wasn't careful, she was going to get overconfident and make one of her clever remarks out loud, and then she'd really be screwed. Best to dial it down just a notch and let Tamin be the one who said too much.
"How is Amanda these days?" she queried, hoping for a reference to how the blond bitch was doing today specifically. "She and I worked well together before she stabbed me in the back. Not that I hold it against her. She had to play the good girl to keep her job, I get it. I do hope she's gotten help for her . . . habits. For her children's sake."
Luckily Tamin was busy trying to process the information—she didn't know about Rollins' darker side after all—and didn't notice Sondra's slip about the kids. Agent Marquez, however, eyed her with suspicion.
"How do you know she has children?" he asked, and again scanned the file in front of him. He had sharp little hawk eyes and they darted over the lines like he was hunting field mice. "You've been in prison for eight years. Detective Rollins' children are . . ."
"Younger than that," said Tamin smugly, when Marquez looked to her for an answer. As if that proved anything.
And anyway, it was a lie, or at least not the full truth. Sondra knew the Rollins-Benson boy would be nine in a few months. But from what information Parker had gathered for her on the kids, she also knew the boy was the adopted son of Benson. So, technically not Amanda's kid at all. The little blond girl was Amanda's eldest, and she wasn't even seven yet.
Disappointed she couldn't answer the trick question, Sondra gave a small sigh, passing it off as weariness of being misunderstood. "It was just an assumption. Eight years is a long time, and Detective Rollins is probably in her forties by now? She's an attractive woman who was rather . . . free with herself when I met her. I'd be more surprised if she didn't have a few kids."
"Is that because you had a child out of wedlock?" Marquez asked, his inflection never changing one way or the other. He was reading Sondra's information off a sheet inside the file as if it were no more riveting than a takeout menu. As if Nessa were just an anecdote. That baby Sondra once had in prison. "A child who died two years ago, along with her uncle, your older brother?"
For a moment, the room was awash in red and Sondra pictured herself lunging across the table to strangle the solemn young agent with the chain from her cuffs. The little prick wanted to hit her where it hurt to try and trip her up again, and he had almost succeeded. With effort, she swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips—the Rollins bitch would soon know what it was like to lose her entire family too—and forced her fists open, flattening her palms on the table.
"I don't see how that's relevant," she said evenly. Hardly the tone of a grieving mother, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing that pain. She said a silent prayer to Nessa, in hopes her little girl—her little girl who should be eight years old now—understood that not a day went by where Mommy didn't love and miss her. None of this would be happening otherwise. "Nessa and Royce were killed by a drunk driver. That's who I blame for their deaths, not Ms. Rollins. I would never wish something like that on another mother."
That had come to her like divine inspiration, and though it was gall to the throat to speak it aloud, in her heart she thanked sweet Nessa for sending the perfect words at the perfect moment. At least one part was true: if she ever found out who the drunk asshole was that had taken her daughter and brother away, she would end him too. For now, though, the Rollins-Benson family would suffice.
"No one said anything about you blaming her for their deaths," Tamin noted, practically pouncing on the detail like a fox diving into the snow for prey. "What makes you think that's what this is about?"
"It was implied when he brought up my child in connection with Amanda." Sondra lifted a gesture at Marquez, annoyed when the cuffs cut it short. She had taken a few acting classes to fulfill her arts requirements, but not one of them had taught her how to express herself while chained to a table. She folded her hands in front of her to discourage their use. "I don't see how they pertain to each other. Or your missing captain. She is why you're here, isn't she?"
"You know damn well that's why we're here. And I think you know exactly where she is, too."
Not exactly, no. Sondra had met Gus Sandberg a few times through Anton, but it was always on their turf. She'd heard them discussing shipping yards and knew Sandberg liked to store his "goods" in spaces along the waterfront—it made for easier smuggling and attracted little attention, because shipping containers belonged in shipping yards—but in which spaces, Sondra was never made privy. She wasn't even sure Anton knew.
"Tell us, and you might be able to avoid federal charges," said the humorless agent, that rat bastard who had no qualms bringing up someone's dead child to get her talking. "That's a lot more time behind bars, Ms. Vaughn. Probably in a facility far more restrictive than this one."
And no qualms using scare tactics, the little shit.
"I have no idea where she is," Sondra said, once again relying on the truth to balance out her lies. The kids could have fun sorting out which was which when this was over. "How would I, when I'm locked up in here? And why would I go after some woman I've never met and know nothing about, instead of the one who put me in here?"
"Come now, Ms. Vaughn, you and I both know that prison doesn't hinder the savvier criminals. It just makes them more creative. And with connections like yours and Nadari's, I'm sure you've had no problem carrying out all sorts of misdeeds from inside these walls." Marquez waited expectantly, as if he thought she might start listing all the laws she'd broken since getting tossed into Sealview.
Good to see he hadn't lost his youthful idealism. Tamin, on the other hand, was getting more impatient by the minute, and she scoffed at Marquez's open-ended accusation and his belief that Sondra would spontaneously confess if he stared her down long enough. "You trying to tell me you don't know Liv— my captain and Rollins are married?" the officer demanded, sitting forward at the table. "Bullshit. It's your MO, lady. Set the wife up to be raped as payback for—"
"Officer." Marquez's tone was so clipped, he sounded like a drill sergeant giving orders at muster. "May I have a word with you?"
Tamin gazed at him in disbelief. "Uh, can it wait, I'm a little—"
"No, I'm afraid it can't. A word."
It was impossible not to smile as they wandered over to the farthest corner, Tamin slouching along reluctantly, preparing to get chewed out for being too impulsive or divulging too much information, or whatever was getting to Marquez. Sondra had lucked out, getting questioned by two people who obviously didn't know how to work together. Made her job—lying her ass off—that much easier. The agent's mention of her outside contacts had been a little too spot-on for Sondra's taste. And she didn't like that the girl cop had figured out why Benson was the target, rather than the Rollins bitch.
But they were still just grasping at straws, ultimately. They had no way of connecting her to Olivia Benson's abduction. She had taken down her shrine of Rollins-Benson photographs from the wall of her cell, storing them inside a pre-existing hole (she may have widened it a bit) she'd found along the side seam of her mattress, and only taking them out for a look when her cellmate was asleep or working in the wood shop. As for Gus Sandberg and his goons, Sondra had not made contact directly and Sandberg kept his transactions top secret, especially from his underlings. They might get caught and spill what little they knew, but Gus would not—no one could catch The Sandman.
That just left Parks. Sondra was confident that he would not be a problem. For one thing, he was crazy about her, but even more reassuring was his involvement in the crime. He had been her go-between with that fauxhawked friend of his and Sandberg from the beginning, and he couldn't give up Sondra without implicating himself. All the same, she didn't fully trust him not to get caught and try to take her down with him. If that happened, she had every intention of pinning the whole thing on him. Matthew Parker was the one with a long-standing vendetta against Benson, the one who had stalked her and her family, and the one who set up the abduction with his trafficker pals.
Sondra Vaughn was just an innocent woman Parker wanted to pin the crime on because of her history with the victim's wife.
It was almost too perfect.
She schooled her features and kept her hands placidly folded while the investigators returned from gesticulating in the corner. The Tamin girl was pissed and glowering, the boy agent red-faced and stiffer than before. He kept straightening the papers in Sondra's file by tapping them against the folder. "I apologize for the interruption," he said to no one in particular, though his and the cop's refusal to look at each other must mean it was for Sondra.
"It's fine. I don't have anywhere to be." Sondra shrugged. She did want to get back to her cell eventually, in case Parker returned with some more video footage, but with any luck, he was recording what she missed. It would be kind of like watching the Super Bowl after it aired, but she would take what she could get.
In the meantime, talking to Tamin and Marquez was her very own halftime show. "And it's just so senseless and terrible, what's happening to Detective Rollins' wife. I didn't know they were married. And she's been raped?"
Sondra shook her head at the tragedy of it all. "If there's anything I can do to help the poor woman, please let me know."
. . .
