_{Also, I claim no knowlegde of our legal system. I look up what I can, and the research is done, but I do not back up what I have written from a legal stand point. However, just because something is wrong does not mean I want it to stay that way. If you catch a boo-boo, please LET ME KNOW!! I will do what I can to [hopefully] fix it, or warn people of the mistake.}

_{*My thanks go to fellow author and loyal reviewer ;o) Munchkin for her background information on Detective Odafin Tutuola. It's so hard to find any background on SVU right now, and she unselfishly shares the information she finds with me in the sweetest of spirits.}

Author: VTerrice

Dirty Blonde
 

Prologue: Yvonne's Discovery

House of Yvonne Gerson
Chambers Street
Tuesday, May 1st

Yvonne Gerson unlocked her front door and walked in, taking her shoes off immediately and leaving them by the door. She shivered and examined the thermostat, turning the heat on. Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that it was already 7:30 am. She had less than eleven hours before her next shift as a nurse at St. Vincent's. She was planning to spend at least eight of those sleeping.

She placed her purse and keys on the end table in the spacious living room. 

Too damn bright after a 12 hour shift in the ER. But quiet, she thought with a sweet smile as she walked to her room to change into her pajamas. Ever since her youngest son moved out six months ago, it was like another place, a haven for the RN instead of a place of bustling activity to head to after work.

She lied down in bed, closed her eyes and instantly felt herself drifting off into the wonderful dreamland. Peace and quiet and the promise of rest.

That is until the neighborhood dogs started rooting in her trashcan, sending it crashing to the cement patio.

She pushed herself out of her warm and comfortable bed and rushed out of her bedroom, cursing under her breath. As she walked through her kitchen grabbing the broom, and opened her backdoor, she started yelling at the dogs. 

The little beasts were pawing at a large and unfamiliar bag that had spilled from her trashcan. She grew quiet. Not again, she thought, with more annoyance than anything else.

"You get outta here!! Now, damnit!!" She swiped at the dogs, and they turned and fled, knowing from past experience that the broom meant business.

She looked down at the bag hesitantly. She really, really hoped this wasn't what she thought it was. 

Oh, Lord, let it be them damned stupid Harrison kids again.

She felt the top of the bag and felt something hard. Her hand traveled down the left side and started sending her brain the input that it would have refused to receive if it could.

Forehead, eyes, nose...

She jerked her hand back more in anger than in fear. 

"Motherfucker," She hit it once with her broom, then walked into her kitchen to call the cops.

"Detectives Munch and Tutuola."

The five-foot two, black woman stood with her arms crossed in mock defiance, glowering up at the two detectives. The fact that she was still in her pajamas made her no less intimidating.

"I know who you are. And you ain't coming in here. Uh-uh. You were on the case last time and what happened? The motherfucker left another dead whore in my goddamn trashcan. Uh-uh. You get the hell out of here and send me some real police officers."

Munch smiled at the woman, and knew Fin behind him was doing the same. Despite, or maybe because of, her vinegar-and-salt-in-your-wounds attitude, she had endeared themselves to them.

"Nice to see you, too, Ms. Gerson." He walked in past her, noting the lack of resistance.

All bark, no bite.

"Same place?"

"Of course."

She followed the two detectives to the kitchen, and watched as Munch talked the photographer into holding off for a moment.

"Don't suppose we could have more of that exquisite tea you gave us last time?" Fin asked.

"That was when you was helpin me. Now you all just in my way. I have to get some sleep before my next shift."

"Not even a sip?"

"Maybe if you catch this asshole then I'll give you some tea."

Munch turned around, finished with the photographer. "Why do you think we left the case open? We hoped he'd do it again so we could have the pleasure of your company."

Yvonne smiled in spite of herself, but it was as brief as they come. "Get that dead girl out of my garbage, Detective."

"Yes, ma'am." Fin followed Munch out on to the patio, and towards the ME. She was bent over examining the body, now free from its plastic confines.

"So, what's on the murder menu this morning?" asked Munch.

"Have you two had breakfast?" asked the ME, standing up to greet the two men.

"Not yet."

"Then you're not gonna want to look farther than her face."

"How long?"

"Guessing? 36 to 48 hours."

"Age in her early twenties?" asked Fin.

She nodded.

"Condition?"

"She's definitely one for you guys. Been raped, but with what I'm not sure. We've got deep strangulation marks with Christmas lights, but I can't determine the cause of death now."

"Right. Anything else?"

"Well," she said bending down. "There's this."

Munch and Fin bent down, following the ME's lead. The girl was light, almost white blonde with a sweet face and startling light green eyes.

The ME lifted the girl's outdated bangs to reveal the word's "dirty blonde" carved into shallow caps in the middle of her forehead.

Fin stood, followed by his partner. "Just like the last time."

Munch nodded, then looked to the ME. "If you find any traces of lubricant or metal-"

"Gotcha."

Munch motioned the photographer the he could wrap up, then turned to his partner. "Didn't expect to be back here again."

Fin smiled. "Hoping this guy was a one hit wonder?"

"More than the Backstreet Boys."

"They've got the plastic bag already, but if it's like last time, we're not gonna get any prints off it."

Munch nodded and looked around at the surrounding houses. "Ready to case the joint?"

* * * * *

"Nobody saw anything. Again." Munch walked into the squadroom and was met immediately by an expectant Captain.

"This is the same guy from four months ago?"

"Without a doubt." Fin walked to his desk and picked up the phone.

Cregan turned to Munch. "What've we got?"

"Working girl with no ID. If this is like the other, she'll have been raped with various instruments of unknown origin. She was really light blonde like the last girl with the words 'Dirty Blonde' carved into her forehead."

Fin covered the mouthpiece. "She was in her early twenties, but other than that and the hair, she was completely different than Ross."

"The last pro this guy hit?"

Fin nodded. "Right. Cheryl Ross was around the same age, but looked older, liked she been working from childhood-"

The person on the other end of the phone interrupted him.

Munch took over for his partner. "She had visible track marks, and a coke addiction. Her hair was dyed, teeth were really nasty. The new girl looked innocent, like a country girl. Hair was out of style and looked like it's natural color, good complexion, very little make-up."

"Perp could have taken care of that."

Munch grabbed the file from his desk and handed it to his captain. "Last pro was left with the make up on. She still had eyeliner tracks from where she cried."

Cregan opened the file looking it over. "So we're sure this one's a prostitute?"

"Not entirely, but if her clothes were any indication, I'd say 'yeah'. It's becoming a pattern."

"It's already a pattern." Cregan gave the file back to Munch. "You said nobody saw anything?"

"Right. Yvonne Gerson was at work. Neighbors were either out or asleep when we knocked, and none of them had seen or heard anything. Yvonne said the trashcan was empty when she left for work, so it could have been anywhere in between 7:00 PM last night to around 7:30 AM when she got in this morning."

Fin hung up and smiled at his partner and captain. "We might have something. Gerson's neighbor, Philip Kip lives behind her and they share the backyard space. He said he saw a kid running through his backyard last night."

* * * * * 

Otto's Auto
Corner of Harrison and Greenwich St
Tuesday, May 1st

"Yeah, at breakneck speed. I'm telling you, I thought he was running from a gang or something."

Philip Kip had his long ragged gray-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and under his work hat. He tightened something under the hood, then came up to look at the two detectives. He wiped his hands on his uniform, his gaze lingering on Fin, then went back to work under the hood.

Munch gave his partner a questioning glance, and got a shrug from the man in return. "We just need to ask you a few questions," he said.

"Mmm-hmm. Here or private?"

"Here'll do fine."

Fin pulled out a piece of paper. "You said you saw the kid at around eleven last night."

"Right," came the muffled reply. "I was doing the dishes. My sink faces the backyard. The old lady next door and I never really use it, so-"

"The old lady? You mean Ms. Gerson?"

"Is that her name?"

Munch smiled, mystified. "You've lived there how long?"

The man came from under the hood, and thought for a minute. "About twelve years."

"You don't know your neighbors after twelve years?"

Kip's eyes briefly passed over Odafin Tutuola and subtly conveyed his hate for the darker skinned detective. Munch's smile immediately disappeared, his stomach tightening out of disgust. "I don't know her. Or her family."

Fin glared at the man. "Don't you mean her type?"

Kip met his eyes again, this time solidly.

Munch put his hand gently on his partner's shoulder, hoping to calm him down. Fin's phone rang. He stood for a moment then walked off, answering the phone.

Munch turned back to the man and forced himself to continue as if nothing happened. "You said you don't use the backyard?"

"Not ever, actually. We both have the patios, too, but never really do much on them but cook out. She has her family whenever, and I've got some friends that come and party. But we never really use the space. That's why I haven't put up a fence. So, I was doing the dishes and I hear this noise. Not really a crash-" Kip ducked back under the hood, "-but more like a trashcan lid being dropped. I look up, and don't see anything. That spook next door never turns on her porch light at night."

He's a witness, Munch thought, breathing deeply. He despised racists, part of the filth in the world as far as he was concerned. Right up there with Commies and sex offenders.

He was also very possessive of his partners.

Keep it calm. Get everything from him first.

"So, I'm looking out the window, and I'm not seeing anything. It's just some stupid dog knocking over trashcans, right?" He bent down, putting the wrench on the edge of the toolbox, then stood up facing Munch. He was wiping his hands furiously on a rag. "Then I see this shape coming really fast. I squint into the darkness and I see this nigger kid, maybe 16 or 17, running from that house. He runs past mine."

"That's it?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Can you describe the kid?"

Kip sneered at Munch. "You mean they have distinguishing characteristics? They all look the same to me man."

Munch glared at him. "They all do to racist eyes."

Kip's suddenly burned with a sick passion. "You telling me that you like having that eggplant for a partner?"

"As a matter of fact: yes, I do. And I liked the eggplant before him. And the mick before her."

Kip smiled smugly. "Bullshit."

Munch smiled coolly, as he always did when rage was trying to get the best of him. Many years of his many ex-wives had taught him more than a few tricks to calm himself down. "Would that make it easier for you? Does it? To think that everyone in the world is as ignorant and asinine as yourself?"

Philip got into Munch's face just as Fin walked up and stepped between them. He pulled his partner with him, walking away from Kip. "Thanks so much for your time." Fin called over his shoulder.

They walked outside. "Nice to get a breath of fresh air."

Fin laughed. "Fresh? New York air?"

"Compared to that contaminated atmosphere?"

Fin gave his partner a thoughtful look. "Thanks, John."

Munch, unsure of himself in situations involving even the slightest hint of strong emotion, particularly sentiment, nodded. "It's nothing. The guy's a jackass."

They turned and headed for the car. "Cregan called," Fin started. "Said that Missing Person's found a couple hits with photos. He sent Benson."

"That was quick."

"He also said the ME found something."

* * * * *

"This." She held up a screwdriver bit. 

"It's the kind that goes on one of those interchangeable sockets, right?"

"Right. I found it in between the posterior and anterior ligaments of her uterus."

Munch glanced at his nauseated partner, then back to the medical examiner. "Means we've got one of the instruments he raped her with."

She nodded. "There were no traces of semen, but I did find the traces of metal, just like you asked. No lubricant, however."

"He's gettin crueler." Fin's voice wavered. Munch turned to see his partner looking away from the body. "You alright?"

Fin nodded slowly. "Just not partial to intestines."

Munch smiled a bit at one of his partner's more endearing qualities. How long did he spend undercover for Narcotics? Plus a little over a year with this unit and he's still squeamish.

Munch turned back to the ME. "What else?"

"57 lacerations on the chest, abdomen and back. All from a small knife, maybe pocket. Contusions all over from her thighs to her face. The pelvis is smashed and the sexual organs and pubic region are torn to shreds."

"I can tell rough sex is an understatement for this guy."

"She also has glove prints all over her lower back, buttocks and upper thighs."

Fin frowned, looking at the ME. "Glove prints?"

"You can see the brand name in places."

"Anything special?"

She shook her head. "Your basic variety garden gloves found in any gardening or grocery store. I didn't notice this at the crime scene, but-" she picked up one of the girl's arms. Munch moved towards the body, as did a reluctant Fin.

"She was wearing bangles this morning, but when we took them off there were these."

The showed the two detectives places on the dead woman's wrist that had been worn raw.

"Her wrists were bound, then."

"They're on her ankles as well. I know some rape victims struggle, but the wrists wouldn't be this raw if it was just while she was being raped."

Munch nodded and Fin picked up where she was headed. "Why would he tie her ankles together while he was raping her?"

"He wouldn't."

"Right."

The ME glanced back down to the dead woman on the table. "I don't think this is your basic kidnap-rape-and-wait-to-dump deal. I'd guess from this-" she pointed again at the abraised wrist, "-and the multitudes of the wounds and raw spots that she was kidnapped for a few days, then killed and kept around for a day or two after."

Fin looked up, his face creasing in disgust and queasiness. "Are any of the-"

"Yes. Many of the injuries and some of the internal damage are post-mortem. Some, but not most."

Munch looked at the young girl's face. His partner was not the only one who would go without lunch today.

Munch's phone rang. He took it out, but before he could even open it, his partner took it. "I got it." He left the room.

"How'd she die?"

"Asphyxia. He strangled with her Christmas lights." She pointed to the neck to show him the indents and bruises left by the wires and bulbs.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but is there anything else?"

"Well, the girl's had no dentistry work. Didn't need it actually. Perfect teeth and the hands have no calluses. She's remarkably clean for a pro. No track marks, bruises, or evidence of drug usage. The hair's natural color, but she's had a nose job and breast implants more than three to five years ago."

"A hooker with plastic surgery?"

The ME turned and grabbed a bag from the counter, handing it to Munch. "Personal belongings. Very nice, personal belongings, by the way."

He looked at the bag as his partner came back into the room. The jewelry looked expensive but old, like she'd been wearing them for years.

Fin interrupted Munch's thoughts. "Benson got an ID on her."

Munch looked at the girl. "Her name?"

"Miranda Faulkner."

Apartment of Miranda Faulkner and Jennifer Popik
W. 36th St.
Tuesday, May 1st

"I can't believe she's dead." Jennifer Popik, a sweet, curly haired brunette, declined the handkerchief in Munch's hand, and instead opted for the tissues on the table.

The small but tidy studio apartment housed two blankets and pillows on the floor, a beanbag, a small crate with a couple books and trinkets, two chairs, a dinning room table and a toilet. The two detectives were sitting at the table, while Jennifer was pacing around the apartment, tears streaming.

"What happened?"

Munch and Fin caught each other's eyes, then Fin went ahead, as gently as he knew how. "She picked up the wrong trick, Miss Popik."

Jennifer stopped pacing, her back to the detectives, then carefully turned around. "T-trick?"

Munch nodded. "We know that Miranda was a prostitute. We need to know if there has been anyone harassing her lately. Most likely, within the last few days she was working."

"She's... she's dead then."

"I'm sorry, but yes."

She walked over, grabbed the beanbag and put it on the floor in front of the them. She shook her head, shivering in her old and tattered sweat pants. "I've been sick for the past week and a half. I didn't go with her like I usually do." Her face crumpled up. "Did."

Fin and Munch waited patiently for the tears to slow, then proceeded. "So you're-"

"A whore," she finished for Fin. "Is that want you want to hear, detective? I'm a whore! You gonna arrest me now? 

When Fin said nothing, she continued. "Mir was right. You people, the government should have no right to tell us what to do with our bodies. If we can dance in front of men, tease men for money, then why the hell can't we have sex with them for money? Sex is one of the most natural things in the world, and a lot more fun than giving birth or dying."

"Is being a prostitute fun?" Munch asked softly.

There was a moment of silence wherein Jennifer refused to meet either detective's eyes. "It's consensual, and everyone understands the dangers getting into it. Stupid fucking government has no right to tell me what I can and cannot do with my body. I wear a seatbelt when I want to, and I'll sleep with whoever I want to, whenever I want, for whatever reason I want."

Munch leaned in and looked in her eyes. "We're not here to arrest you, Jennifer. We're just here to try and find out anything that we can about your roommate that might help us catch her killer."

She swallowed, and after a moment, nodded. "Mir was so sweet, you know? Everyone on ninth loved her."

Fin looked meaningfully at Munch and mouthed ninth. Munch nodded, understanding his partner's train of thought. The victim from four months ago, 25 year old Cheryl Ross, had also worked Ninth Ave.

"She made all of us feel like we were in a real profession, even though I know she hated it. We all do. But she didn't think it was a bad thing. Slutty, but it didn't make a person a bad person." She paused. "We were gonna start a boutique, you know. In Virginia."

"You have family there or something?" asked Fin.

She shook her head. "My family live on the Lower East Side, near Little Italy. My mom..." Jennifer trailed off, smiling sadly. "My mom thinks I'm a waitress at Becco. My parents hate anything Italian, so they don't go there to see me. Miranda's family's in Tennessee. They're real rich, but she doesn't want to have anything to do with them anymore. They told her that they didn't want her to be a beautician. So she left."

"Do you have their address and phone number? We're gonna need to get in touch with them."

* * * * *

"Parents are coming on the next flight up. Now, would you mind informing me on what the two of you have?"

Fin turned to his captain, rubbing the back of his neck. John was in the bathroom, so he'd have to take this himself.

"Roommate, Jennifer Popik, ID'd Faulkner, who'd been missing five days until this morning. Popik said she wasn't with her the night she was picked up by the murderer."

"This roommate also a pro?"

"Yeah. Popik was attending a beauty school that Faulkner had already graduated from. She got her into it actually. Even started a job at a boutique somewhere in Chelsea, but Popik doesn't know which one. We're looking it up." 

Elle walked passed Cregan, glancing briefly at Fin who waved. She gave him a small smile and waved back. 

The poor kid's second day. She's got to be just nerve-racked.

His partner entered and glanced over at Elle. He could sense the man tense from the other side of the room, and he sighed. It was going to take a long time for his partner to start trusting the psychological advisor. It had taken him long enough to trust Fin, and there had been no reason for him not to.

"She started a new job, but was still working the streets?"

Fin nodded. "Just to pay this month's rent. Her roommate had been sick for more than a week."

"Okay," Cregan said frowning. "You two are gonna have to pay the lovely ladies a little visit tonight."

Miranda's Working Street
Ninth Ave
Tuesday, May 1st

Fin pulled up to the curb on Ninth Ave, leaning back and scanning for a familiar face in the crowd of offering ladies. While he was looking, an ebony beauty sized him up and went in for the kill, her green dress cut short, legs and thighs showing.

"Looking for some chocolate to go with your mocha tonight, baby?" She leaned in the window and trailed her manicured nail over his face.

He smiled. "No, thanks," he said pulling out his badge. "I'm not really one for ABC dates."

Her sultry smile vanished, her lips drawing into a thin line. She subtly put her hand behind her back, no doubt warning the rest of the women of police presence. "Why whatever could you what, officer?"

Munch moved into her line of view from the passenger's seat as the hookers started to disband. "Officers. We're from SVU and we just want to ask about Miranda Faulkner."

She turned around. "Nevermind, girls. Sex crimes. They want to know about, Mir."

Two of the women, a redhead and a woman wearing a raven-colored wig, came up to the window. The redhead scooted in close to her friend, still in the window eyeing Fin. "Is she okay?"

Fin shook his head. "I'm afraid not. She was found dead in Tribeca earlier this morning."

The woman wearing the wig, backed off, her hands flying to her mouth and bumped into one of her friends. She fell to the ground, and the redhead turned around to help her.

The ebony wonder turned back to Fin and Munch. "Samoa over there took a real liking to Miranda." She paused and took a deep breath. "Actually we all did." Her eyes watered a bit.

"You wouldn't happen to remember what her last client looked like would you?" 

She looked at Fin and shook her head. "No. We watch out for each other and all, but if they don't look like a celebrity, or like a serial killer, we usually forget 'em. Even if it was us that slept with 'em, you know?" She put her hand lightly on Fin's face. "I wouldn't forget you though, honey."

He took her hand and pushed it back to her. "How touching. Pity I ain't offering."

She smiled at him, eyes melancholy. "Yes, it is."

"Didn't any of you remember the guy?" Munch asked, hinting towards her group of friends.

"It was a while ago."

"How about when she didn't come back the next night. Didn't you think that was a little suspicious?"

She shook her head, not a carefully placed hair budging. "We all knew about Mir's plans to start a real job and help get Jen off the streets. Actually gonna pay for the kid's tuition to that beauty college, or whatever. When she didn't come back, we figured retirement came early."

"Could you just ask 'em?" inquired Fin.

"Don't move." She walked off.

Fin leaned his head back, sighing and closed his eyes. "I have got to get a goddamn woman in my life."

"Looking tempting?"

He turned to his partner. "She's gorgeous, but I don't play that game. Who knows where the hell she's been?"

"Just lonely then?"

Raising an eyebrow, Fin spoke. "And you're Mr. Prosperous in the love segment of your life? Mr. Blithe?"

"Try Mr. Jaded."

"More like Mr. Petulant, to me."

The woman came back and leaned in the window, a little further away from Fin than the last time. "White guy. That's about it. Nobody remembers him, but we are missing three girls. Sammy and Charlotte said they remember a guy with blond hair but the couldn't remember it if was short or shoulder length. And Julia said that he had a beard, although I don't think I've seen a guy with a beard in a while. Maybe a goatee."

Fin handed him a card. "That's our number in case one of those other three girls remember something you didn't."

"And in case I get lonely?" She asked, backing up from the car.

"I doubt that'll be happening." Fin muttered and stepped on the gas. 

* * * * * 

Wednesday, May 2nd

Munch shivered from the cold biting through his coat. At least it's warming up, he thought sarcastically. A whole two degrees up from yesterday.

He walked up the station house steps and into the building where he saw Ellandra Seymour ahead of him in her washed out burgundy leather jacket, her curly fire-red hair sprouting untamed from her head, like Medusa's snakes.

He couldn't help but getting tense, despite his partner's reassurances that she was nice enough, and that the files never lie. Tutuola, as good a cop as he was, seemed downright naïve when it came to the pretty shrink. Her files proved she was loyal to her departments and unerringly intelligent, but then again IAB and the Commission would have the power to remove anything that would make her look less than the perfect saint when it came to inter-department relations. 

There were certain discussions that would never leave the rooms of the "higher ups", and a shrink's confessions about her colleagues was just such a discussion.

Not that he really had much to worry about. He was a good cop... now, anyway. He'd been through that rough cop deal. He was far from being the straight arrow, but his nicks and bends didn't show too much.

He was more afraid of losing one of his friends because a psychologist thought the job was "getting to them".

Munch walked into the squadroom to find a young, curly haired woman sitting at his desk with her feet propped comfortably up on his desk. She was sucking on a lollypop nervously and dressed according to the 1980's movie standards for hooker fashions: fishnet stockings, daisy-dukes, cut-off sleeveless shirt and high heeled boots.

"Comfortable?" he asked the woman. She looked up at him with a distressed look on her face and nodded, then went back to her lollypop.

Olivia approached him and pulled him aside. "She's been here since six-thirty. For more than an hour she's been sitting there. I don't know how many suckers she has in her purse, but she hasn't been without on since he got here. She won't talk to anyone but you and Fin. She thinks she'll be arrested otherwise." Benson handed him Fin's card. "She said she got this from a Belle?" 

Munch nodded. "Fin gave one of the women his card last night."

"Liv," called Stabler from his desk. He was looking at a file. "Come and look at this."

"She said her name's Winnie." Benson said, and walked towards her partner.

Munch walked up to his desk. "Hi. I'm John Munch."

Winnie looked up at him, and quickly got out of his seat. "Sorry about that. It's just- I've been here for a while, you know?"

He gestured that she could sit back down. "I understand. Can I ask what you wanted to talk about?"

She looked around nervously. "Where's your partner?" She pointed to the card. "Detective Tutuola, right?"

"Right. He's coming."

"Well, it's about Miri's trick the other night. When's your partner coming, though? 'Cause Belle said I should talk to him and you, and no one else."

"You want to wait for him?"

She nodded vehemently.

"I'll get him, then."

Her feet started to go back up on his desk, but he shook his head, pulling them back to the floor.

"Oh, right." She smiled. "Sorry about that."

John opened his cell phone watching the young girl at his desk, no more than 23 or 24, and dialed his partner's number. 

"Fin." 

"Are you driving?" Munch asked.

"Yeah, so make this quick. I don't wanna get a ticket for being on my phone."

"Believe me if you get a ticket, it'll be for your driving."

"Good morning to you, too."

"Remember our visit to Eden's Ghetto last night."

"'Course."

"Well, someone remembers the snake." 

* * * * * 

"I first saw him about a year ago. Not just once or anything." She said sipping her coffee. "But a bunch of times. He was a regular where I used to work."

"Where was that?" asked Fin, pen and paper ready.

"West Houston Street. In Soho."

Her face was a pale white from going to bed at night and going to sleep during the day. In the light from the window of the witness room, her makeup seemed exaggerated, almost like a clown's make up. In the dark, however, it would almost seem non-existent, subtle. Munch guessed that she had gotten to Ninth late last night, heard about what happened, took Fin's card, and proceeded to work, coming to the SVU only after a night on the streets.

"See, I knew this girl, Tina Hopper." she continue, not meeting either of the eyes watching her carefully. "She was a real sweet kid. Younger than me by a year. We always used to go shopping, every week. She was an actress and needed to, you know, keep up on her wardrobe. 

"Anyway, we was working that street, and we always used to see him around. Then one day she gets a callback, and the casting director tells her he wants her to die her hair blonde. Real blond, like almost white, you know?"

Munch and Fin shared a look.

"So she does. She comes to work, and it's like staring at the sun, you know?" She laughed lightly, then frowned. "The guy, the reg, he comes up and asks how much. Now, Tina always hated the way he looked. The scraggly-ass hair and greasy. And always wearing this uniform thing. From his work, you know? Yuck. But he offered her a lot of dough. So she took it."

She stopped and took a sip of her coffee, then paused before continuing.

"We had shopping plans the next day and... she never showed. Never called. That's when I knew something bad happened. About four days later, I was watching the news at this trick's house after sex, right? I was gettin ready to split when I saw them dragging a body out of South Cove. Didn't think twice about it. I get to West Houston the next day, and it's all the girls can talk about. That's when one of them tells me it was Tina." 

She paused again, opening her purse and digging out another lollypop. "Better than smoking right?"

After a moment she continued. "He never came back. But see he was a regular before, so I knew he did it. All us girls did. Either that or he knew something. So we swore we'd watch out for him.

"Almost a full two years later I'm standing on Ninth, with Belle, Mir and Samoa when this guy comes up. I'm looking at him and trying to see if I know him from somewhere, you know? But he's different looking because he's all clean, and in blue jeans and a white tee. His hair's longer, and not under some hat... I just didn't recognize him soon enough, that's all." Tears started to flow down her painted face, and she wiped them away.

Munch noted that the make up didn't smear even the slightest. He guessed that prostitution was a career path in which it was wise to invest in make-up that did not run. Tears were probably too plentiful and too common of an occurrence to work with cheap make-up.

"I loved Miri so damn much. She was one of the nicest people I'd ever met, always such a sweetheart. And her devotion to Jen, her roommate, was so touching. I've always wanted a best friend like that."

She finally met the eyes of the two detectives. "She always made all of us feel good, like we weren't some evil, dirty things on the side of the street, you know? We were just women doing what we knew how to do, to earn money and make a living for ourselves. She made me wanna move to Nevada, where hookers are more appreciated. You know?"

Munch leaned forward. "Do you think if we got you a sketch artist, you could describe what he looks like now?"

She nodded furiously, her eyes brimming with tears and hatred. "I'll never forget that sick bastard's face. Tina was sad enough, but Miranda was a good natured, sweet human. She never even cussed, and..." She took a deep breath. "I can do it. I can describe him." 

* * * * * 

Cregan stood talking to Munch and Fin while they sat back in their chairs eating a quick breakfast.

"So we've got an ID on this guy?"

"Yeah." Fin said behind a mouthful of bagel. "Winnie Delman is working with the sketch artist now."

"Well, the lab results from the trash bag came in. Clean of any evidence. Let's hope this Winnie gives us clear picture of this guy."

Fin took the hint. "I'll go check."

He left his partner and his boss discussing the case, and walked towards the witness room. He glanced inside to see the sketch artist finishing his drawing. 

Perfect timing, he though and knocked once before entering.

"I don't know," Winnie was saying. "His nose is longer, and his hair's, well it's got color. And, I mean, his eyes are more squinted-"

As she continued to critique the picture, Fin approached the artist. "Let's see."

The man handed him the sketch, and as Fin's eyes met the paper in recognition of the portrait, he almost dropped the pad.

"Son of a bitch!" He hurried out of the room and to his desk, where Munch sat eating his breakfast and writing up paperwork. 

"Where'd Cregan go?"

Munch frowned at Fin. "In his office. Why?"

"Because, we just found this sick bastard. Look like anybody we know?" he asked dropping the sketch onto his partner's lap.

Otto's Auto
Corner of Harrison and Greenwich St.
Tuesday, May 2nd

"Philip Kip." 

"Right." Olivia, said unfastening the clip on her holster. She and Elliot had just arrived at the garage, coming from an interview on a separate case. 

"Where do you want us?" Elliot asked. 

Munch stared out the window in the auto shop's office, awaiting for the nine o'clock arrival of the suspect. 

"Right here's fine. We placed spare units out back, in case you two didn't get here in time." 

Fin breathed in and out, anxious and tense as he always got before a bust. This, however, was no where near as high-strung as being UC for Narcotics had been. Working undercover 24-7 had forced him to learn the ways of an entirely different world, requiring a bit more than heavy breathing to relieve tension. 

When he could escape the world of cops and dope dealers, good guys and bad, he was at peace, a harmony he had only found within himself in times of stress emancipation. He was able at these times to see what really mattered in his life and in others, everything so clear. 

Yet, even in his solitary times of peace when he was fully aware of life, the tension, the danger was still there, in the distance waiting for him. Beckoning him. And until he had stopped working UC, that danger had become a normal part of his every second life. 

And 'every second life' was how many drug dealers saw their own. Not every day lives, because if you thought of yourself as having a tomorrow for sure, then you'd let your guard down and forget to protect the life you were certain had been prolonged. 

The office door opened, ripping Fin's attention from his thoughts to it. 

"Here he comes," said Otto Fudali. "Right on time." 

Munch pulled out his gun and looked at her watch. "I don't know. My watch says 9:02." 

The other detectives readied themselves for Munch to give the go. He waited until Kip was safely inside the garage to open the door and start towards the man. 

"Hands up, Mr. Kip." 

Philip looked up at the cops headed in his direction, then to the garage exit as the back-up squad came in. He put his hands up looking around in pure bewilderment. 

"Philip Kip. You're under arrest for the rapes and murders of Cheryl Ross and Miranda Faulkner." 

* * * * * 

"I didn't do it! I swear! I swear on my mother's grave, man. I don't even know the chicks you mentioned."

Munch sat down opposite Kip at the interrogation table. "You don't normally ask a girl's name before you pay her for certain... talents?" 

Kip looked warily at Munch. "What are we talking about here?" 

Fin smirked from his perch by the window behind Kip. "We're talking about your past with pros, Philip." 

He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, not able to look at Munch directly. "I don't know what- You've got it all wrong, man." 

"Does he?" Fin pushed himself from up against the wall and stepped directly behind the suspect, leaning in. "Because my partner prides himself on rarely, if ever, being wrong. And I'd hate to see his record broken. Wouldn't you?" 

"I don't have a past with hookers. I mean I've had a couple of girlfriends that were real whores, but-" 

Fin sneered. "Charming." 

Munch looked at the man sitting in the seat opposite him, wringing his hands together in panic. "We've got a hooker that places you as a regular on the streets of Soho." 

Kip looked up, eyes betraying the truth. 

Munch frowned to himself. This guy's smart. He's giving himself to the soliciting a prostitute charge, so he won't look guilty from the murder charges. That has to be it.

"She can also place you on Ninth Avenue on the night of Miranda Faulkner's disappearance." 

"No, I- That's just impossible, it's-" 

John pulled out a copy of the sketch artist's composition and dropped it in front of Kip. The color immediately drained from his face. Munch frowned again at the man's reaction. It seemed... genuine.

"Sure looks like you. Detective Tutuola?" 

"Oh, yeah. Looks a hell of a lot like you, Phil." 

Kip put his head in his hands. After a moment he dropped them and looked down at the sketch. "Yeah, okay. I buy women. I pay the sluts to sleep with me." He met Munch's stare with his own. "But I never, ever killed one of them whores. Never. I swear, man. I swear." 

There was a tapping on the glass, and the two detectives headed towards the door. 

"Don't get too comfortable." Fin said. 

As Munch and Fin entered the viewing room, the ADA and Cregan were having a heated discussion. Elle was standing next to the captain but looking at Kip and taking notes on a pad.

Great, thought Munch grimacing. Psychological interpretation of the subject and keen observation of the detectives at work.

Elle, as if sensing Munch's internal resistance to her presence, turned and left the room closing the door quietly behind her.

"I'm sorry, but that's just the way it seems." said Alex Cabot. "Look, the man hasn't asked for a lawyer once, and he gave up right away on the prostitution bit. Those just don't seem like the actions of a guilty party."

"What are you waiting for?" Cregan asked her exasperated. "Him to incriminate himself on murder charges?"

"May we join the party?" asked Munch.

The two looked at him expectantly.

"I think he's given us the truth when it comes to soliciting prostitutes because he's smart, Counselor. He knows that it's a smaller offense than murder. He admits to that, he acts guilty and he hopes to throw us off."

Fin nodded. "He thinks him telling us about the prostitution, then looking surprised at murder will confuse us."

Cabot looked on disbelieving at the two detectives. "If that's it I'd say he had an Acadamy Award coming. And why exactly would he admit to soliciting prostitutes? It only strenghtens your case."

"The only chance we've got to prove he's the murderer" Munch started, ignoring Alex's question. "- is to get in his house. I'd practically garuntee that this Oscar contender's left at least some mite snipet of proof around. "

Cregan nodded, then turned back to Alex. "Do we have enough for a court order?" 

She sighed and looked into the room. "Did Winnie Delman ID him in a line-up?" 

"Yes, right away. She knew him from the moment he came in." 

"You have a guy picking up a hooker." 

Fin started in. "Yeah, the same hooker that was later found in his next door neighbor's trash." 

She turned her ice-blue stare on Fin. "Yes, Detective. But days later. It's circumstantial at best."

Cregan looked over to her. "Alex, we have him ID'd, matching the sketch, and living not only in the same neighborhood, but behind the scene of both crimes. 

"Both crimes," echoed Munch.

Cregan continued. "Plus the fact that he's just admitted being a regular client and as much as admitted he was there Friday night."

She was silent, prompting Cregan. "Do we have enough?" 

"The fact that that a prostitute ID'd this man will never hold up to a jury." 

Munch looked at the man sitting obediently in his chair. "We're not worried about the jury right now, Counselor. And if we find anything in that house, we won't need to bring Winnie to stand." 

"I know a judge that'll give it to you with few inhibitions. Just please find something me solid to work with here."

"That's the plan."

House of Philip Kip
Warren Street
Tuesday, May 2nd

"Thank you, Judge Mosley."

Fin smiled at his partner as they walked into Philip Kip's house. Forensics followed them in and began immediately to spread out.

"I hate these damn things." he said pulling on the latex gloves. "Too damn tight."

"I'll take the bedroom." called Stabler.

Munch nodded and turned to Olivia. "You got the bathroom?"

"Sure."

Fin walked into the bright but dingy kitchen and through the door leading to the garage.

"John."

Munch followed his partner into the small, dark area. A large, dented truck sat off to their left.

Fin flipped the light switch and pointed to the truck. "Check it out."

"What Belle would call a 'real piece'."

"Belle?"

"The nice harlet that took a liking to you on the street last night."

Posters covered every inch of the walls with old and new Cadillacs. Shelves full of boxes, tools and hand constructed models of Caddies lined what areas that were clean of posters.

Fin picked up a meticulously cared for model of a 1957 Cadillac, flat black with a sterling silver fender and grill. Every thing about the car had been hand-painted including the seats, dial and engine. 

He looked at the other thirty-odd models, all just as painstakingly put together. He felt his looking partner over his shoulder. "So he had a hobby."

"You mean other than the torture, rape and murder of hookers?" Munch asked.

"I'd call that one more of a fetish."

The two detectives spilt up, and almost instantly a toolbox in the corner caught Munch's eye. He opened the toolbox and called to Gordy, an Asian forensic specialist that always seemed to cathc their cases.

"Find something already?" asked Fin.

"Might have." 

Gordy walked up to the door. "Yeah?" 

"We've got a toolbox over there. The sadist likes to use screwdrivers and what-nots on the girls."

"Gotcha."

Fin watched as his partner followed the specialist over to the toolbox. He glanced up at the top shelf and saw something poking over the edge.

"Look what I found." Fin said pulling the gardening gloves from above and holding them for his partner to see. There were dark brown splotches gracing the inner palms and it looked as if the owner had tried to remove stains with varying degrees of success. "Your common variety."

Munch looked at the gloves from over his glasses. "Found in any garden store, grocery store, and or rapsist's house. Wonder if he got it on special."

"How much you wanna bet the blood on these babies matches Miranda Faulkner's." Fin stuck the gloves in a bag, leaving the label to forensics. He squeezed himself around the side of the truck, reaching the bed and looking in just as his partner called to him.

Munch stood up and looked at his partner from the other side of the truck.

"Look at this," he said handing a screwdriver head to Fin. "Question: what is that?"

Fin looked at it. "Standard. Slotted. I don't know, flat edge."

"Technical enough for me. Describe it."

"Worn. Old." He looked up. "Like you."

Munch ignored the comment. "What did the ME find in Faulkner?"

"A Philips."

"Right. Do you remember what it looked like?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, I wasn't too interested in getting a close look."

"Well, it was-" he looked at Fin. "Like me."

Fin smirked. "Okay. You're saying that it's from the same set. Isn't that stretching it?"

"Maybe. But look."

Munch handed him a Philips head like the one found in Faulkner, only this one was brand new. "You found this with the other one?"

"Yep."

"It's still shiny."

Munch nodded and took the head back.

"So you've got-"

"Fin! Munch!" Stabler yelled from the other end of the small house. "Got a Christmas present for you!"

Munch handed the screwdriver heads to Gordy and then left the garage Fin trailing behind. They headed into the bedroom, bombarded with bad taste posters and pictures of naked blond women all over. Walking up to Stabler, they glanced over his shoulders onto the bed and saw a three by three foot box holding nothing but porn magazines. He handed Fin one and Munch another.

"Thanks," said Munch. "But somebody already gave me the birds and bees talk."

"Look inside."

They both opened their magazines and immediately saw what Elliot had called them in about. Every blonde had been left alone, but all the other women had been altered. Brunettes, redheads and various in-betweens had fake blonde hair that had been drawn with a marker or cut from other magazines then pasted directly on the models.

"There are two more boxes in the closet. Full, and I'm betting just as sick."

"That's not all that's in here." Amy, another forensic specialist, pulled out a string of Christmas lights.

"It must be that time of year." Munch said to his partner and Stabler, just as Olivia walked into the bedroom. "We found hair in the shower drain," she stated, pulling off her gloves. "To short and too blonde to be Kip's."

Fin and Munch walked in to the interrogation room, eyeing Kip like starving wolves spotting dinner.

"Listen," started Kip, antsy and a little annoyed. "I've been here all day, okay? Do you guys have proof or anything? Because I really want to get to work then go home."

Fin sat down, relaxing in the chair. "Now, why would you want to do that? It's all dirty and dark and skanky. I personally wouldn't be able to live there."

Kip froze, and in that single instant his whole demeanor changed. He became still, quiet, and observant. Not at all the whiney, and apprehensive person he seemed before.

He looked into Fin's eyes, sending hate washing over the detective. "You were in my house?"

Munch answered for his partner, walking towards the table with his hands behind his back. "Yeah. I'd liven it up with a little white and cerulean and the occasional saffron trim. That shit brown and mold green motif... It isn't you."

Kip's eyes never left Odafin's. "You got a court order, then."

Munch tossed two of Kip's altered porn magazines on the table. "What do you think?"

Kip leaned back in his chair, still maintaining a rock steady stare with Fin.

"Get the nigger out of here, Detective Munch. And I want my phone call."

Fin stood up quickly sending his chair back into the wall hard enough to send trembles through the two-way mirror. He glared at the grinning Kip for a moment, then composed himself and smiled to the rapist. "The nigger-" the word came out in a deep hiss that sent shivers down John's spine. "-is leaving." He bowed, then turned and opened the door, quickly followed by Munch.

Again, Cabot, Cregan and Elle were in the room. Fin opened the viewing room door, and walked out, slamming it hard enough for Kip to hear. The man started to laugh.

Elle opened the door and followed Fin out.

Munch turned to the assistant DA.

"Are those the actions of a guilty party?"

She just looked back at him, saying nothing.

Cregan opened the door. Sensing the tension between the two, he caught Munch's attention. "Let's give him his phone call."

* * * * *

Fin walked to his desk and stood there, fuming. He didn't want to sit down. Not at all. He wanted to go back in there and pound the man's face in. 

For a rapist, a murdering rapist, to be racist, to hate someone because of their skin... For a man with so little moral values to judge him because he was black. Kip had no doubt whatsoever that he was a better person than Fin, and all thanks to pigmentation.

He sat down heavily in his seat, shaking with rage.

After a moment he heard the chair across him squeak, and looked up expecting his partner's understanding gaze. Instead, Elle sat across from him with a look of worry across her face.

"Hmm... You're looking pretty good, John."

She gave him a slight smile and ran her fingers through her wild ruby hair, plainly nervous. "I don't know if I'm the right person here... I mean I know you'd rather talk to Detective Munch, but..." She trailed off.

Odafin nodded understanding. "Thanks."

She nodded at him, meeting his eyes and flashing a short-lived smile. He noticed once again how nervous and out of place this young woman seemed. She looked to be only half of what she was: a college kid. She didn't seem at all the officer of four years that she was. 

Then again, according to her files most of that time had been spent studying victims and perpetrators and giving her "by-the-books" opinion to very open-minded colleagues. She had done very little heavy work, even as a detective in Homicide. Not yet being an expert in her field of criminal psychology, she wasn't hardened the way she undoubtedly would be in just a few short years. And the SVU would add an indefinite toll to that compaction and desensitization.

The sound of a door closing could be heard over the daily racket of the busy unit. That sound got Elle out of the seat faster than if it had been on fire.

A moment later, Munch rounded the corner and seeing Seymour, stopped dead in his tracks. Elle turned from the untrusting gaze to head towards her own desk, hesitantly patting Fin's back on the way. She was trying to make it known that she felt a bond between the two of them, and Fin got the point with a small smile. He had been the only one to really treat her with a sense of welcome her first day, and she had apparently appreciated it.

Message received, he thought. He just wasn't sure how his possessive-in-a-good-way partner would react to the already forming friendship.

Fin looked up at his partner and smiled at the older man's expression. "Get that look of betrayal off your face."

He didn't respond, but instead readjusted the chair's position to his desk.

Fin watched with interest. "You know how anal retentive that is?"

Munch looked down at him. "Kip's called a lawyer, a cousin of his from Soho. His office is up near Murray Hill on Madison Ave, though, so it'll take awhile." He raised his eyebrows, looking over his glasses at his partner, in typical Munch manner. "Wanna go for a little walk?"

He nodded, and stood up. A walk sounded good. "Yeah. Lemme get my jacket."

Fin walked across to his locker as Munch waited by the doors. He grabbed his wallet and jacket, thought better of brining his gun, and closed the locker. When he turned around he found his partner frowning at his seat, no doubt deliberating the problem that was Elle. 

Fin walked up to his partner and grabbed the man's shoulder, steering him into the hall. He wanted to rant right now, not worry about how to get his partner to trust the newest member of the unit.

"Fin."

He had just walked in carrying his jacket and his partner's to find Olivia and Elliot grabbing their own from the lockers.

"Cregan wants to see you."

"Thanks," he called as the they left. He put his coat in his locker, Munch's on his desk then walked towards the office. Just returning from a pointless quarter of an hour of haranguing the wrong person, his already knowledgeable partner, on the subject of racism, he wasn't as tense as earlier. Short of physically taking on Kip, speaking with Munch was the best thing for him, and had calmed him down immensely. John knew all about his partner's lifetime of living with black radical parents, parents that had always taught him to fight racism. So he could sense Tutuola's agitated spirit and knew when he needed to fume. Fin just wished he could somehow return the favor to his emotionally repressed partner.

"No, I don't think so." Elle shook her head at Cregan as Fin walked into the office. "I think this goes deeper."

As he closed the door all three heads turned to look at him. Cabot and Elle were sitting across from Cregan's desk, behind which he slowly paced.

Odafin looked at Cregan. "You wanted to see me?"

The man nodded, motioning for his detective to sit. "I thought you might be a tad more... receptive than Munch to Miss Seymour's condensed examination."

Fin looked to Elle. "Examination?"

She nodded confidently, but her eyes betrayed that self-assured attitude with a little unease. "Yes. I've read what little there is on Kip, and watched him. I've also pulled his mother's files."

"His mother's files?"

Cregan took his seat behind the work-cluttered desk. "Yes. It turns out that Kip's mother isn't dead." Fin was not sure where they were going with this, but took the heavy folder Elle had grabbed off Cregan's desk.

"Captain Cregan had me reading up on him while you were at the auto shop. Then I listened to him the first time around in the interrogation room. I thought I remembered his mother still being alive after he swore on her grave. And look."

Fin opened the stuffed file labeled Lana Kip, a.k.a. 'Penny Pence'. He was startled to find the woman had white-blonde hair with green eyes and a slim build.

"Looks identical to the other two victims."

Again, the psychology major nodded. "And she's a pro. Has been since..." Elle shrugged. "Forever. The first time on record was at 19."

"She'd probably been doing it as a kid." He thought out loud, the habitual method of most detectives when breaking down a situation. "Could have easily started at 15, 16 years old."

"Right. Long before Kip was born and long after."

"When was he born?"

"Year after her first recorded solicitation. The point here is how long he had to live with his mother having sex for money. Ever since he was a child, I'd say he's been hearing the sound of sex in the next room."

"You think he still hears sounds now?" asked Cregan, while Fin perused the files. "A psychosis of some sorts? Psychoneurosis?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'd have to interview him, and honestly I'm not experienced enough."

Alex broke in, leaning forward in her chair. "Let's hope he doesn't hear voices or sounds of his mother's sexual escapades. You want him to be mentally competent to stand trail, and after that display of supposed innocence, I'll maintain that the man has some serious talent in the acting locale. If he thinks he can get away with an insanity plea, he'll convince jury and judge."

Cregan looked at the ADA. "How do we know he doesn't deserve an insanity plea, Alex?"

"He's not insane. Not enough to be perceived as incompetent, anyhow. He's calculated. You saw the immediate switch from innocent to guilty. He sure as hell knows what's going on. The only question I've got is: how can we prove it?"

Elle shook her head and turned to Cabot. "Like I said, it's more complicated and goes deeper than that, Counselor. Yes, he knows what's he's done. Yes, he knows what's happening and what's liable to come out of it. But he's smart. If you want him put away for as long as possible you're going to have to get a confession out of him and a good one. Otherwise the Public Defender or whoever gets this case is going to have a field day."

"Well, Miss Seymour," started Cregan. "How do suggest getting that confession."

"Okay. Start with his psychological make-up and his MO. He seems to be taking his hatred and sexual desire for his mother out on hookers that look like her."

Cregan looked thoughtfully at the file in Fin's hands. "He has a sexual desire for his mother? Incest?"

"Not necessarily. If he could hear his mother having sex, if it was common place, and he knew she what she did for a living, that's bad enough. Once he grew into a teenager, his hormones would push even normal sexual desires sky high. Hearing sounds from the next room, being aroused... It could do horrors to a young man. And it could cause stigmas, patterns. His disgust for his own sexual drive would grow and grow until he thought nothing was a worse sin than sex. Even murder and or death." 

"So," Alex interrupted. "The question isn't why does he kill them, but why does he hunt for women like this? Like his mother?"

"Out of revenge." said Cregan.

"Possibly now, but not at first." Elle shifted in her seat, ready to present her thoughts to the willing threesome. "At first he'd see himself attracted to women in his mother's image: his mother equaled sex in his mind since as long as he could remember, so he might find himself unable to be turned on by other types of women. A man attracted to women because of this is in no position to have a stable relationship, and on some subconscious level, he knows it. So he makes the altered magazines to calm his sexual needs. But soon that's not enough. He has one night stands, soon he finds hookers, completing this semi-circle."

"How would the violence start?" Fin asked, impressed with what Elle, still a student, had come up with so quickly. "S&M? Or one of the hookers saying the wrong thing?"

She nodded. "Either one, maybe both. I couldn't tell from what I've seen of him, but taking a look through a few of those magazines could tell me if it was S&M. Did they find any?"

Cregan shifted in his chair. "We haven't gone through them yet."

"Well, with your permission, I'd like to."

"Fine. But what if it is S&M? Would he just crack?"

"Probably. He'd start out beating the women, what would seem like a little S&M, but in his mind it's more. There'd be a inner rage there, something spurring him on more than really arousing him. After a while he'd grow more and more violent, until he finally snapped, maybe at what Detective Tutuola said: a hooker saying or doing the wrong thing. He most likely killed his first victim either by accident or in an almost blind rage."

Fin followed where she was going. "After that he became more calm, controlled, bloodthirsty. Until his last two victims."

"Right. And I'd bet anything that the 'Dirty Blonde' on the forehead refers to his mother." 

***** 

"His mother?" Munch asked his partner, looking at the pictures of Sadie Kip. "Why does it always stem from parental screw-ups."

Fin shrugged. "Explains you."

"Doesn't it though?" He put the files down at his desk and rubbed his eyes, a major headache storming all fronts.

Fin took his seat across from Munch. "Cregan thinks it'd be best if I kept to the viewing room this time around. He thinks my presence during the interrogation would just get Kip rowdy and make things worse."

Munch looked at his partner's expressionless face. On their walk, less than half a hour ago, Fin had been raving about racism and the nerve of Philip Kip. He had desperately needed to vent his anger, and more than did so on the streets of New York. Once arriving back at the station, he mentioned to John how much he had appreciated the company, once again leaving Munch satisfied that he had helped his partner, but still a bit uncomfortable with the emotions of the situation.

Now Odafin was as blank as a brand new notebook, and no one would have ever guessed the frustration Munch knew he felt was beneath that placid exterior. Frustration that his own captain had insisted that the chocolate half of the cookie stay out of the milk.

Munch finally nodded, closing "Penny Pence's" file. "When does Stabler get back?"

"He's on his way now," said Cregan from his office. Munch turned, surprised at his presence. "John, can I speak with you a moment?"

He nodded and got up, patting his partner on the shoulder as he passed, then frowning as he remembered Ellandra doing the same. He knew Fin was going to need more ranting time at the end of the day, and he hoped he'd be the one the man would turn to. Not some pretty redheaded shrink wanna-be. 

He pushed his own fears of emotional inadequacy and personal misgivings aside as he walked into his captain's office. The last thing he needed was another reason not to trust Seymour. Unfortunately, he knew this one would stick as much if not worse his fears of her cooperating with IAB. He had become very protective and possessive of his partner lately, after finally getting used to the man as a replacement for Monique. 

He was smart enough to see the subliminal pattern starting to form in his mind, but he didn't care. Monique was gone because of the Commissioner's want for a psychological profile on each detective. A shrink had thought her not mentally worthy to keep working the SVU. Or more simply: a shrink had taken her away. Now Fin and Elle seemed to be hitting it off. He didn't want to lose what he and his partner had formed.

Bringing his mind back to the current situation, he stood in front of Cregan who was looking through the papers on his desk. "Fin briefed you on the possible psychological make-up?"

"From A to Z."

Cregan looked up. "And he informed you of his role during the interrogation?"

Munch crossed his arms and nodded.

Cregan sighed and rubbed his forehead with his right hand, placing his left on his hip. Munch noted Donald's movement, a reflex of habit, his keen mind working on details even with familiar company. "He's a damn good cop, John. But this is too touchy a situation to thrown more flame onto the fire."

"I understand."

"Does he?"

"Like you said: he's a damn good cop. Pissed off, but perceptive."

Donald nodded, going back to the files on his desk. "I talked to Andrew Brooks, Kip's lawyer and cousin. Kip used his call to phone his aunt who then got in touch with her son. When Brooks came down here, he wasn't sure about anything except that his cousin was in need of legal service for some criminal charges. When he found out that Kip was here for two rape and murder charges he was... Well, less than enthusiastic about representing the man."

"But he went in anyway? Instead of letting a PD take over?"

Cregan shrugged. "I don't know why, but I think he's gonna be more of an ally to you than Kip. He was disgusted by the MO and the evidence."

Munch nodded. "Anyone half decent would have been. What did he think about the history?"

He looked up at his detective. "I left that up to Kip. If he wants to tell his cousin the details with his mother, then let him go for it. But I doubt that he will, and I don't want to give Brooks any motivation for sympathy right now. Besides, we don't want Kip to know how informed we are of his family issues."

Munch raised his eyebrows, saying nothing, but his boss could guess his train of thought. "Unethical? Maybe a bit. But if an insanity plea is what he's going for, we need a sane confession. Therefore we're gonna have to keep Brooks from acting like an actual lawyer in there."

He frowned again as his bossed went back to tending the clutter on his desk. There was no guarantee that the lawyer was going to let them badger Kip, and there was always the possibility that the man was going to take the fifth until he got better counsel. "How do you know Brooks won't be ready to defend Kip once I get in there?"

"Well, for starters Kip is smart enough to know that he can no longer play innocent, so he won't try and convince his cousin."

"Even if he did, it would do nothing but harm him once the truth came into light. With all the proof we've got he really would have to be insane to play harmless."

Cregan found what he was looking for, and glanced up at Munch. "Right. Also, I got the impression as soon as Brooks stepped in my office that he doesn't care much for his cousin. And if you saw the look on his face once Alex and I presented the evidence against him, you'd understand, there's no way he'll be completely on Philip Kip's side."

Munch shook his head, partly disagreeing. "Unless Kip tells him why he killed the women. What his mother did to him."

"What are the odds?" 

There was a knock on the door, and Stabler entered. "We ready?"

Cregan looked to Munch who nodded. "Let's go." He motioned the two detectives out of the office. 

Fin was already gone. In the viewing room, Munch guessed. Watching Philip Kip, no doubt.

Stabler turned to Munch as he stopped to pick up the file on Lana Kip. "What exactly are we doing here?"

Munch opened the file and handed the picture to Stabler.

"Kip's mother."

"Right. We're going to use her."

"She's your wildcard, so see what you can get without her." Alex turned to Munch from the two-way mirror that showed Philip Kip in his seat and his cousin pacing. "Brooks said that Kip wouldn't even talk to him. Just wanted to hear his rights, then spent the rest of his time smiling at the mirror."

"Practicing his crazy rap," snarled Fin.

"Remember," Alex continued. "We've already got the proof. The labs are going to turn up DNA as evidence of his crimes, so we don't just need a confession. You have to get him to admit he did it with all his cards in the deck and possible premeditation."

"I don't think he needs to admit to premeditation, Counselor." Stabler interrupted. "The kidnapping might have been spur of the moment, but he kept these last two women for days. And there's nothing he can do that will hide from a jury the patient torture he inflicted on them."

Cabot's mood shifted almost imperceptibly, but John felt it. An air of challenger and the challenged. There had been this rift between her and Elliot since a case involving piquerism, almost half a year ago, and there were no signs of it healing over anytime soon.

"It would help, Detective." She turned back to Munch. "If it's not a sane admission you get in there, he's gonna get off on an insanity plea."

"He knows that we've got the proof. He's not gonna break. Not even with that picture." Fin motioned with his head towards the file.

Alex turned to him, crossing her arms. "He doesn't know we have it. We have to hope that he'll be surprised enough to forgo his stratagem."

John nodded in agreement, then looked to his captain, getting the go-ahead to leave the crowded viewing room. Though the relatively small area held the ADA, the SVU captain, Stabler, his own partner and the shrink-on-loan, he would have rather stayed with the herd than to have ventured into the pasture. He felt a little fatuous and detached without his partner by his side. He knew the feelings were absurd. Stabler was a whiz at grilling a suspect, easily the best in the department, so technically there was no one better suited to back up John. But he still needed some sense of familiarity. And lately, fresh breaths of the accustomed were coming in few and far between.

He handed the file to Stabler, taking the recorder and opened the door. As he entered the room he was met by the smug face of Philip Kip, staring expectantly up at him. Brooks stood against the wall with his arms crossed, and watched the interaction between suspect and police officer warily. Munch was going to learn very quickly just whose side this man was on.

As Stabler followed into the room, Kip's eyebrows lifted in surprise but he said nothing. He looked to the mirror, and his smug grin grew, knowing Fin was watching from within. Munch knew his partner was ready to break something in two.

That same conceited look found its way to Munch. New partner? it asked. 

Munch kept his face vacant of any expression and sat across from the racist murderer. He placed the tape deck on the table, pushed the record button and sat back in the chair. As he stared into those glazed, black eyes, remembering when they had sparked angrily like a live wire, he suddenly realized something imperative to breaking Kip. 

His mother wasn't just John's wildcard, she was his only card. She and what she did psychologically to her son were his only chips to gamble with. Kip was too cunning to give him anything, to afraid of the cell that awaited any single mistake. The man knew he had two choices and had decided to play the part that would eventually get him cognitive treatment instead of a cold hard bed in a cold hard environment.

Clearly, Kip knew the game and had ever since he risked his first intentional kill. Munch, suddenly more dubious of his part, wasn't sure if he was the right player to be challenging the master. But he was here and this was his job, his purpose. This was what he was good at: bringing the bad guys down. And he'd be damned to hell and beyond if he let this malignancy of society beat him.

With a renewed sense of self that he knew to be temporary, he decided to skip the counselor's advice and start right in on the psychological third degree. Nothing else would penetrate that thick wall of padding that Kip had pulled around himself. 

In his mind he could see everyone's reaction to his controversial method: Cabot's lips would purse and she'd shake her head in exasperation; Cregan would be completely unfazed, his restless eyes watching with keen interest; his partner would be pleased with the harsh and direct treatment, grim smile so tight his lips would pale... He faltered for a minute, catching himself wondering how Seymour would react. Did it matter?

Get on with it.

He frowned at the man opposite him and cocked his head in mock curiosity. "Do you know who Penny Pence is, Phil?" Kip merely continued grinning. Munch guessed by the man's lack of reaction that the name hadn't struck a memory cord. At least he hoped that it hadn't.

Nodding, he continued. "No. I didn't think she'd tell you her working name. I mean, there was no real reason for you to know, was there?"

A slight change in the expression: life behind the eyes, less of a smile, more interest.

I hope to God Seymour's right. There was no time for doubt, no margin for error.

"You know what I think, Phil?" he began, standing up and moving to the window. He stared innocently, merely taking in the view. "I think you'd have to be pretty unbalanced to want to fuck your own mother."

As if they worked on a series circuit, Stabler threw the file towards Kip before the man could even blink. It landed on the table and slid, stopping two inches from Kip's hands.

"But that's just me." He turned, time seeming to slow to one-fourth its actual speed, and he saw Philip Kip staring at the file, nothing registering on the man's undisturbed face. He was not smiling but there was... nothing. 

For a moment his heart skipped in disappointment, thinking that something had gone wrong, maybe the profile was wrong. How could it be? he asked himself desperately. She looks just like the others. Then he saw Kip's trembling hand slowly moving from his lap up to the file, and noticed the bottom inch of Lana Kip's photo was protruding from the manila folder. Munch watched with bated breath as Kip opened the folder to see his mother in the police photo. His face distorted, a sudden mask of putrid fury and pure misery, and he just stared. 

This is it, his mind clamored. You've caught him completely by surprise. But this shock will eventually wear off, probably sooner than later. Now that everything's out, you've got to let him make the first move, then move yourself, and quickly.

He didn't have to wait long for Kip's move. Closing his eyes tightly as if he feared the picture would burn them, blinding him, he spoke. "You have no idea what I went through, you filthy Jew-fuck."

Munch took a deep breath, trying to make it seem as standard as his other breaths, but this one had meditative qualities. "Don't I?" He paused. "Mama's Boy." He didn't take well to racism.

About his comment, there had been no real reaction whatsoever from Brooks, seeming too confused about the current situation to remember his job. Kip, however, looked up at him. The hatred in the man's eyes was palpable, but missing was the glazed over, deadness. These were the crystal clear eyes of a mentally competent, if not all together sane, man who had lived through too much and thought himself above all others.

Munch let a silent prayer lift off in hopes that the jury would see Kip exactly as he was now. Stabler caught Munch's eye, and Munch nodded, knowing what Elliot had in mind. False motive and false psychological background, always worse than the truth, mixed with fact often motivated the suspects to admit their crimes in indignation. 

Stabler was great at that aspect of interrogations. He moved two steps from his rock solid position against the wall, catching Kip's attention for the second time that day. "I know what happened, John. Philip here was a bad boy, weren't you? Or is naughty more accurate?"

Kip's eyes lowered on the detective, but he said nothing. Munch had feared the shock would wear off quickly, but not this soon. The man was simply desensitized to a ridiculous degree. The only way to work this is to get him over-emotional, he thought in hopes that Brooks would stay out of it.

Stabler could tell they were losing him and stepped closer to the table. "You thought your mother was hot, didn't you?" He nodded confidentially, his voice almost sympathetic. "You wanted her, wanted to have sex with her, right?"

Munch, following his lead, strolled up to the table and leaned in close enough to feel the breath coming from Kip's open mouth. "But you knew she'd never have you," he said softly.

Stabler continued. "So you found women that looked like her. You had sex with them, and you knew it was wrong. So, you killed them." 

Kip was still staring at Munch. "You killed them because of your own lust."

"NO!!" Kip shouted loudly and grabbed the table, knuckles instantly turning white. Munch stood back from the table, indiscreetly glancing at the recorder to make sure it was on. "You're completely wrong you, stupid shits!"

And now: the Feature Presentation, he thought.

And sure enough Kip continued. He stood up and leaned on the table, voice lowering and eyes going back and forth between the two detectives. "I killed them because they were the same as my mother. They were doing the same things as her! I NEVER wanted to fuck her! I hated her for what she did to me, being so loud in the next room, not caring for me!" His voice began to break, becoming more emotional. "Giving more affection to the niggers and cunts she'd have in there, but never offering a hug or a smile to me! Then, when I could only get it up for bitches that looked like her-" His eyes burned with rage and disgust. "It was like some kind of fucking curse. He took his seat again, becoming somewhat calmer. "All whores are the same. I was only ridding the world of sluts, lewd bed meat. The world ain't gonna miss them, and you can quote me on that."

Munch smiled, closing the distance again, and pointed to the tape recorder. "I think I will, Phil."

Kip's heated eyes took a moment to adjust on Munch's arm, then it slowly traversed the sleeve, then the hand, at last landing on the recorder. Alex's words came back to John as he watched the man staring, almost uncomprehending, at the machine. "We have to hope that he'll be surprised enough to forgo his stratagem."

Surprised and angry enough, he thought.

A moment later Kip breathed in and out harshly as if just realizing that he had given a confession of his crimes. The detectives had gotten the better of him, and what he had said would most certainly make it more difficult for anyone to work an insanity plea.

Munch grinned at him. "That's right. Try convincing people now, you sick bastard." Kip's head swiveled to meet the detective's gaze. Munch saw the undiluted fury within, a primal hatred that ran the span of the man's life and body. 

"You clipped-dick heeb." he snarled menacingly. A mere millisecond later John felt the pain exploding from the right side of his head, including his eye. Having not seen the fist coming at him, he stumbled backward for a moment, stunned, wondering where the pain had come from. Then he opened his eyes and saw nothing but Kip rushing forward. Kip's a lefty, he thought, a little dazed.

As he blundered into the wall grabbing the right side of his head and feeling one hand slide on blood, he heard Kip yelling and saw Stabler had jumped forward and, with the aid of a bewildered Brooks, was holding the furious man back, but just barely. He heard the door to the interrogation room slam open. 

"John!" He turned to see his enraged friend and partner hurrying towards the rapist and he moved to block the quaking man, still holding his ever more painful head. Hoping to keep him from thrashing Kip and ending a good career, he pushed his partner back, and guided him through the door. He turned to make sure that Stabler was doing fine. Not that a scrawny man like himself could make much of a difference, but he'd rather take his chances with trying to help pin down the venomous rapist, than trust his partner to the same job.

Elliot nodded at him. "Be right there."

John walked in beside his partner, closing the door behind him. He noticed that Seymour and Cabot were missing.

"Did she see-" he started.

Cregan nodded. "Yeah. She went to call the DA." He paused, looking at his detective. "How's the head, John?"

"Never been better." he lied. "The eye hurts like hell though."

"Well, you did a damn good job. You and Stabler got-"

He stopped as he and Munch saw Fin quickly heading back towards the door.

"What're you-"

Fin interrupted Munch. "He's trying to destroy the tape." Sure enough, Kip was becoming rowdy again, kicking at the recorder. It was taking both men to hold him back, and they could do nothing about the tape deck.

Fin went in and Munch followed, more out of hoping his presence could keep his partner from doing anything rash than thinking he could help. 

Kip's eyes met Fin instantly. "Fuck you, spade," he yelled. "You better not even TOUCH me." 

But he wasn't after Kip. He grabbed the recorder and slid it down the table to Munch, who caught it. Fin turned back to the struggling man and, standing about four feet away, calmly drew his gun. Munch's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his partner bring the weapon to eye Philip Kip's eye level. "Calm down," Odafin said quietly but firmly.

"Kiss my ass." Kip hissed, but stopped moving long enough for Elliot to cuff him and push him into his seat. Fin put his gun in its holster, and walked out, followed by Munch, Stabler, then Brooks who closed the door behind him.

"That's the last time I leave my gun behind during an interrogation." Stabler was wiping away perspiration from his forehead.

The door opened and Seymour came in with a couple paper towels. "Here." She handed them to Munch. He could feel heavy coldness inside and she looked at him sheepishly. "I couldn't find the ice-packs."

"I'll get one." Fin stomped out of the room.

Munch nodded to the kid and mumbled a thanks. Losing the adrenaline rush, and other things to keep his mind occupied, his head now began to pound fiercely.

Alex walked into the room looking behind her at the retreating figure of Fin. "Did I miss something?"
Epilogue: Another Day, Another Death,

Tuesday, May 5th

Fin closed his eyes, stretched his hands above his head and relaxed. He could smell the beach, the waves, hear kids laughing. He could feel the sun baking him, and he grinned at the peace. 

This is life, he thought, enjoying the sensation of the light breeze tickling his bare chest.

"Oh, no, really," said a sarcastic voice. "Take off. That's fine. I worked on my lunch break, but leave all the work to the guy with one eye and a huge headache."

John's voice brought him crashing from his daydream and into the reality of the headquarters. He sighed to himself, figuring next time he wanted to Zen, he'd do it in the bunk room. Or, if he was really desperate, the bathrooms. There was no way his partner would bother him in there.

He opened his eyes and looked at Munch, inwardly grimacing at the upper right side of the man's face. Black and blue with one eye swelled to such an extent that the he'd temporarilly loss use of it. To add insult to injury, his glasses wouldn't fit, leaving him fully exposed to the world, and a little insecure without his usual barrier. Fin was surprised to watch his usual brazen partner become more introverted. He figured the glasses were a psychological filter to the world, and that without them, John felt incomplete.

Then again he could just be a vain prick, he thought smiling to himself.

Three days after the incident and he still shrunk away from the face, but most of it had nothing to do with looks. He hated the fact that Philip Kip had gotten to John. As the bigger of the two partners he'd always felt the more physical one, the shield, if you will. That John had been in there with Stabler instead of him... 

He kept blaming Elliot, even though the logical side of him said it wasn't the senior detective's fault. It was John's for getting so close to the psychotic fuck, but he kept thinking that if he had been in there with his partner, it wouldn't have happened. 

Then again, had if it had happened with him in the room, Kip would be less at least two of his limbs, and Fin would be less a job. Or at least off active duty pending an interview with the Subordination Committee.

"It was a joke," John said looking up as Fin drew his chair closer to his desk. "You don't really have to. Take your break. Go and dream or whatever."

Fin shook his head and mumbled grumpily under his breath.

Munch nodded, not hearing the words, but understanding why his partner was surly. "The beach again."

"Yeah."

"How many times have I interrupted that one?"

"Too many."

"It doesn't seem to be working."

"I wonder why."

"Why don't you get a new one?"

"Why didn't Kip hit you in your mouth?" His partner snickered a little. Fin knew that it would get a laugh out of his partner, the only reason he said it. Personally, he didn't find it funny, but seeing a bruised smiling Munch was better than just a bruised one.

He stared at the files in front of him as his partner got up to discard his empty paper bag. He was contemplating retreating to the bunk room, the bathroom was just too desperate for his mood right now, when a familiar voice spoke to John.

"Now what happened to that handsome face of yours?"

Fin looked up to find Belle, dressed extraordinarily conservative, in blue jeans and a tee-shirt. He hated it, but she was even better looking now and darker in the late afternoon light than she had been in the wee hours of the morning. He was also surprised to learn that her long hair the other night had been a wig, her real hair cut short in almost a pixie cut. It subtly flaunted a well proportioned face, pretty in it's plainness, yet somehow not losing any of the exotic hints it held before. 

He shook his head, disgusted in himself. She was a prostitute, a hooker.

She looked to Odafin, her eyes wide and, he noticed, red. She gave him a small smile. "Don't you watch over him, honey?"

He felt stomach heat from guilt, and saw his partner frown at Belle. John knew Fin took the wounds as a personal failure and had tried to convince him otherwise. 

"It was my own fault. Too cocky."

Her smile grew a bit. "Hmm. I just though cops were supposed to take care of their own kind."

"What? Like you take care of yours?" Fin asked coldly, getting up out of his seat, and discarding his own lunch. The bunk room it was.

Belle's eyes filled with tears, and her head dropped, stopping Fin in his tracks. He almost never made women cry, and if he did, it was part of the job. But he still hated it, and cursed himself for bringing Miranda Faulkner's murder into this.

Belle looked straight at him, easily meeting his height in flats, her eyes proud but wounded.. "I know you think Miranda's death is my fault. Well, partially. And I agree. I should have... Oh, I nevermind. She just shouldn't have been the one, you know? It could have been anyone of us, and some of us... Some of us want to die, Detective. Not like her, not like that. I didn't mean-"

She started shaking and put her face in one hand. Her reaction took him by surprise and he was unsure of what to say or do. He was usually a freely comforting person, but here, with her he didn't know what to do. Just because she's a pro, doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, he thought, scolding himself for his inability to comfort the woman. She's still a person, you know. And yet he couldn't bring himself to even reach out a hand. After a moment her tears subsided, and she looked up to him, her eyes burning with something, but he didn't know what.

She cleared her throat, her voice becoming business like, despite her still leaking eyes. "I came here to give this to you, Detective Tutuola. To you and Detective Munch." She handed Munch a blank envelope. "It's from Jen Popik, Mir's roommate."

"We remember," Munch said softly.

Belle nodded, and the tears began to flow more freely. Without another word, she turned and left. Fin was surprised to find that he had been expecting something from her, but as he thought about it, the expectation seemed to slip away. Fin looked to his partner. "What is it?"

Munch opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out a single page torn from a notebook. He read a bit then looked up at Fin. "It's a page from her suicide letter. It thanks us for finding Miranda Faulkner's killer." He handed the page to Fin and sat at his desk, his face tired and somber, but not disbelieving. "She called the other day. To ask about how the investigation was going. She sounded pleased that we had caught him, but..." John just trailed off.

Remorse, Fin thought, suddenly realizing just what he had seen in Belle's eyes. Remorse and a frustration at the helplessness she must have felt.

He looked at the note in his hands, but decided that he couldn't read it. It was enough to know that she had been glad they had caught the creep that had killed her best friend. He didn't want to read the letter, or even just that bit. He couldn't. Here was a woman who had been so dependent on another to give her hope and dreams, that when this benefactor died, she was too empty to go on living. Fin always became so very depressed when it came to people like that, thinking that some human beings weren't strong enough to find the good in life for themselves. 

Maybe Miranda was her good in life. And then she was gone.

He could feel for her loss, but still thought her death was useless and stupid. 

He dropped the letter on Munch's desk and walked up the stairs, checking his watch. He still had a good forty minutes of his break, and he was going to spend it in the bunk room, to hell with anyone that disturbed his Zen.

Another day, another death, he thought. Life goes on, everyone scorns their presence and praises their absence. Discarded after use, completely unwanted, and ill-fated. He couldn't understand how anyone would choose that kind of future and stay with it.

Maybe it wasn't entirely a choice.

Bullshit. There was always a choice. A choice to strive for the best, or the choice to give up. The choice to live or die.

But Miranda Faulkner hadn't made that choice.

She was a pro wasn't she.

She was a pro striving for the best. She was quiting. She had her choice taken away from her.

He rubbed his head, not wanting to think of Jen Popik, or Miranda Faulkner, or Belle, or Phillip Kip, or Munch's face... He just needed to get away from it all. 

It was time for the beach.
 
 
 

THE END