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| Back at SVU central, the team gathered in a conference room. Once everybody was settled, Cragen turned to Frankie Silvera. "OK, Det. Silvera, what can you tell us about Joey Krolinsky?" Frankie took a deep breath then began. "About a month ago, we got this case. The victim was a young man, about 20, 21 years old. He'd been beaten almost to a pulp and left for dead in an alley. Street sweeper found him. We first saw him in the hospital. Kid was rail-thin, needle tracks all over him. He just had that look of a junkie, you know? "He wasn't saying anything at first, but eventually Mike got him to talk. Now that I think about it, there was something the minute Mike saw him, even before we got his last name. Like Mike recognized him somehow. "Anyway, somehow Mike got him calmed down enough to talk. Which thinking about it is amazing." She looked at Cragen. "You know how he can be, Captain �" Cragen nodded. Mike was known more for intimidating people into talking than coaxing them. Frankie resumed her narrative. "So he admits he's a prostitute, and that his pimp got him hooked on the drugs. It was pretty clear that it was probably the pimp who beat him up, but he wouldn't actually come out and say it. He was more terrified of having to kick the drugs than of his pimp beating him up again. We really couldn't do anything with an uncooperative victim and no formal complaint, so we had to drop the case. But I could see that it really bothered Mike. When we left the hospital, he hung back a minute. I guess that's when he gave Joey his phone number �" Joe Fontana frowned. "How long did he hang back?" Frankie thought for a minute. "Couple of minutes, at least." "So they had time for some real conversation � " "Yeah." Joe looked at Cragen. "Would Krolinsky's kid have known that Mike Logan was one of his dad's � victims?" Cragen shrugged. "It was all over the papers back in '95. He might have remembered the name." "So they had time to acknowledge each other. Maybe even for Logan to offer some unofficial help." Munch frowned. "Why? From what I hear Logan wasn't exactly Mr. Congeniality. Why help the son of the man who abused him?" Cragen picked up the story. "There were unproven accusations at the time of Krolinsky's trial that he also abused his own sons." "Bastard's lucky he's already behind bars �" Fin practically growled the words. Munch nodded; there was nothing that set his partner off more than child abuse. He was going to have his work cut out for him later � Ed Green just shook his head. "So Logan gives Joey his phone number, maybe plays on their common background to try to get through to the kid. Give him an out. And a few weeks later, Joey calls. Maybe he got beat again, or maybe something else going down?" "Or maybe he wants to get back at the cop who put his old man in jail. Even if he did abuse the kid, it wouldn't be the first case of misplaced loyalty," Fontana chimed in. Fin nodded. "Miller said Logan said he was expecting that call that came in. Like he knew something was gonna go down that night. Either the kid tipped him off, or set him up." Joe jumped back in. "There was a call to Logan's cell phone the night of the murder around midnight, from the pay phone in the park, near where Logan's body was found. Unfortunately no way to tie that to Joey." Cragen took control of the meeting. "OK, so we need to find Joey Krolinsky. Green, Fontana � you had a phone number from Mike's notebook?" At their nods, he continued. "If he did it, or even if he just saw what happened that night, he's probably in hiding. But check out the phone number. That may not have been the first contact between them, either. See what you can find. Det. Silvera, did you get an address for Joey?" "No, he didn't want to fill out any paperwork." Cragen sighed. "OK. Munch, Fin, track down his mother I think at the end of the trial she moved back to New Jersey. Dig out the records of the case against his father, that'll give you a start. I'll check with the old man himself; he should still be in prison." They nodded, sensing that the talking was over and it was time to start detecting. As the others filed out, Frankie Silvera turned to Cragen. "Captain, is there anything I can do?" Cragen sighed. It was natural for a partner to want to be involved, but � "You've already given us a lot, Detective. We'll handle it from here. Can I get one of the officers to take you home? Or back to Staten Island?" Frankie sighed. She knew that he couldn't let her in on this case. She was too emotionally involved. But it still hurt, that Mike was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. She knew he'd been hiding something those last weeks. Had it been his relationship with Miller? Or whatever was going down with Joey? Either way, she wished he'd been able to tell her. He might still be here if he had. But he hadn't, and now she had to trust these men to find out why. "Thank you, sir. That would be very kind." Cragen nodded and led her over to the desk Sergeant. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lennie wandered aimlessly around his apartment after the funeral. He felt restless, unsettled. He was still too afraid to read Mike's letter; he had left it in the inside pocket of his suit coat, hung back in the closet now. There was a pile of stuff on the kitchen table. Ed had stopped by again last night to drop off Mike's personal effects, the contents of his desk and locker. And to update him on the case � or lack of it � against Miller. Despite the bad news, it had been good to talk with Ed, hear what was going on at the 2-7. Lennie suddenly realized that somewhere in that mess there had to be keys to Mike's apartment. At some point he'd have to go over there and go through Mike's things, get rid of most of it. He wasn't looking forward to that. But right now, he just wanted to BE there, surrounded by Mike's things, all that was left of him. A few minutes digging and he found the keys. Holding them in his hand sent a shiver down his spine. This was real. With a sigh, he forced his feet into motion. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After an hour on the New Jersey Turnpike, Munch was seriously ready to get out and stretch his legs. During her husband's trial, Edith Krolinsky had taken her sons back to her hometown of Trenton, NJ, to 'keep them safe.' Now that the boys were grown, she had the apartment to herself. Navigating the streets of Trenton, Munch found the apartment building and parked the car. Conversation had been sparse; he knew Fin was still upset at the idea that Krolinsky had visited his sickness on his own children. He wished the mother of Fin's son could see him like this; he knew the real reason she kept him away was because she was afraid since he was gay, he would do something like this. Which knowing Fin, was ludicrous. But her fear kept her from seeing it. And probably fueled Fin's own response to these situations. They took the elevator up to the third floor and knocked on #305. A pale woman with dark hair gone mostly gray answered the door. "Yes?" Munch flashed his badge. "Mrs. Krolinsky? I'm Det. Munch with the NYPD, I called earlier? This is Det. Tutuola." She gazed fearfully at their badges and finally moved aside to let them in. "You said this had to do with Joey?" Munch nodded as he sat down on the sofa. "Yes, ma'am. Do you hear from your son regularly?" Edith Krolinsky sat opposite him in an overstuffed chair, looking apprehensive. "Not really � not often enough." Fin took the other side of the sofa. "When did he go back to New York?" She gave an exasperated sigh. "As soon as he turned 18. He couldn't wait to get away from this life �" Fin frowned. "Ma'am, there were allegations at the trial that your husband's victims included your son." Edith's face was pinched; she'd hidden from this long enough. "They were true, Detective. That's why I moved back to Jersey. To get my boys away from him. Away from the memories." Munch saw the flicker of pain flash across his partner's face. "So at the first opportunity he runs back to New York?" Edith shrugged. "Ever since his father's trial, Joey has been angry. He's so smart, I would have done anything to put him through college. But that was too � normal for him. He wanted to be an actor. I told him there are a million 'actors' in New York waiting on tables, I begged him not to go. He just laughed and said he wanted to be where he could be himself � be what his father made him." Munch and Fin shared a glance. Munch took it. "Mrs. Krolinsky, do you know your son is a gay prostitute?" Tears formed in her eyes as she nodded helplessly. "Every once in a while he calls asking for money. He flaunts it, detectives. Says he's what his father wanted to be. But he's better because he doesn't hurt children �" Munch could sense the tightly controlled fury in his partner. // Good thing Cragen's going to talk to the old man. // He gave Edith a moment to collect herself, then pushed on. "Mrs. Krolinsky, when was the last time you heard from Joey?" She blinked back the tears and tried to focus. "About a week ago. He sounded scared. Like he was expecting something bad to happen. He � he actually said he loved me before he hung up �" //About the same time he called Logan. // Munch knew Fin was thinking the same thing. "Detectives, what is this about? Is Joey in trouble? Has he been arrested?" "No, but we're looking for him. Do you remember a detective named Mike Logan from your husband's case?" Edith frowned. "Of course � he was one of the boys from Joe's old parish �" Her eyes squeezed shut at the painful memory. Fin finally spoke up. "He was killed Monday night, Mrs. Krolinsky." "Oh dear God!" "Logan crossed Joey's path about a month before, and there's evidence that he called Mike around the same time he called you." "You don't think he did this, do you?!" There was panic in her voice. Munch tried to calm her. "We don't know what happened, Mrs. Krolinsky. We're hoping Joey does. If he contacts you, will you let us know?" He reached in his pocket for a card. She took it with trembling hands and nodded. "One last question, ma'am. Your other son � does he still live here?" Edith shook her head. "Danny is away at college in Philadelphia." Munch nodded and stood up, his partner following suit. "Thank you, Mrs. Krolinsky. If we hear from Joey, we'll let you know." "Thank you," she managed to choke out as she showed them out the door. The car was still quiet as Munch navigated the streets of Trenton, making his way toward the Turnpike. Once they were on the expressway, he put on the cruise control and cast a quick glance at his partner. Fin was sitting slumped in the seat. "You ok, man?" Fin shook his head. "How a man could to that to his own son � other kids is bad enough, but his own � no wonder the kid's all messed up." Munch sighed, knowing that Fin was thinking of his own son, who was only a few years younger than Joey. Silently, he reached over and laid his hand over Fin's. After a few moments, he felt the hand beneath his turn slightly and squeeze back. Satisfied, Munch took his hand back and got back to concentrating on driving. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Donald Cragen stood in the interview area in Rikers' Island prison waiting for the prisoner to be delivered. Eventually the corrections officer escorted in an old man, dressed in the standard prison jumpsuit. Krolinsky stared at this cop, a Captain, they told him. // What does he want with me? // He still had five more years to go on his sentence. Was this a chance to shorten that time? Although he couldn't for the life of him think of anything he knew about anything that would concern this cop. As the C.O. locked the door behind him, Cragen waved Krolinsky to sit at the table, taking a seat himself on the other side. "Mr. Krolinsky, I'm Capt. Donald Cragen." Krolinsky nodded. "I don't believe we've met before?" Cragen shook his head. "No, and that's probably a good thing. I'm a friend of Mike Logan's." He enjoyed the look of guilt that crossed the defrocked Priest's face at the mention of one of his victims. "Ah. And how's Mikey doing these days?" Krolinsky finally managed to ask. Cragen worked very hard to keep his face neutral. "He's dead." Krolinsky's eyes closed, and his handcuffed hands raised in a ritual sign of the cross. "Dear Lord. Was he shot in the line of duty?" Cragen scowled. "We're not sure. At first it looked like a crime of passion, but something has come up � something involving a young male prostitute named Joey Krolinsky." That clearly shook the prisoner. "Joey �!?" "Logan may have been trying to protect him. Mr. Krolinsky, when was the last time you heard from your son?" Krolinsky's face twisted into a mask of pain. "He sent me letters, describing his 'johns' and what they did. Said he was a better man than me because he had the balls to take it from a real man, rather than getting his kicks from little kids. It was � sickening �" Cragen's face clouded. This man dared to pass judgment on the son he had most probably abused himself? It was getting hard to keep his feelings out of this, but somehow he had to. "When was the last letter you got from him?" Krolinsky shuddered. "Couple of weeks ago." "You still have it?" Krolinsky shook his head. "Tore it up like I always do. But I'm sure 'they' kept a copy somewhere �" He waved his hand to indicate his captors. Cragen would check with the prison officials on his way out. For now, another line of questioning. "Joey was in contact with Mike just before he was shot. We'd like to talk to him, see if he knows anything. Do you know where we can find him?" Krolinsky gave a sad shake of his head. "Talk to his Mother. I don't know anything." Cragen nodded and stood up, signaling for the guard. This sad, pathetic old man had alienated his own son on top of all the other pain he'd caused in his misbegotten life. As a father himself, Cragen knew that had to hurt worst of all. Living with that was the most fitting punishment for the man. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Green and Fontana stood outside a small, run-down apartment on the East Side. The number in Logan's notebook had been from a prepaid cell phone. The cellular provider had indicated that it had been paid in cash, the name and address given obvious fakes. So they'd gone back to the LUD's on Mike's cell and found several calls from another number that wasn't identifiable from his 'little black book.' That number had traced back to this place, and Joseph Krolinsky Jr. Fontana pounded on the door. "Joseph Krolinsky, this is the police. Open up!" Neither cop was surprised when there was no answer. Right now they just wanted to talk to the kid, there was no way they were going to get a search warrant. But if he had either done the deed, or just witnessed it, the kid was probably anywhere BUT his legal residence. Ed shook his head. "Told you he wouldn't be here." Joe nodded. "Yeah, but we had to check." As they were turning to leave, they spotted a woman peering fearfully around the corner at them. When she saw them notice her, she turned and tried to duck into a door down the hall, but Ed got there first. "Whoa, there! Hang on a minute, we just want to talk." He pointed to Krolinsky's apartment. "Do you know the guy who lives there?" The woman was obviously terrified, but she nodded. "You lookin' for Joey too?" That piqued Fontana's interest. "Too? Who else has been looking for him?" "I don't know who they were, and I didn't want to �" The partners shared a glance. Ed picked it up. "When was the last time you saw Joey?" "Monday afternoon. He looked scared." "You know why?" She shook her head. Ed sighed and fished out a card. "Listen, if you see Joey, you give me a call, ok? We just want to talk to him, we think he might have seen something." Her expression said she didn't believe that for a minute, and Ed knew they'd never hear from her, but he'd had to try. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lennie approached the door of Mike's apartment with more than a little trepidation. It felt strange to be coming here without Mike. With trembling hands, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Something immediately felt wrong. He could see a light on in the kitchen. Mike never left lights on. Lennie's hands instinctively reached for his gun, disappointed to find it gone. He knew he should get help, but something urged him onward. He turned the corner into the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table was a young man, rail thin with the slightly wild look of a junkie, about 20 years old. A bowl of soup sat forgotten and still steaming in front of him. The two men stared at each other like deer caught in the headlights, frozen in panic. 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