RELEASE TO OBLIVION

“I’ll check in with the Captain,” Alex said as she pulled out her cell phone.

“I doubt he’s in,” Bobby replied. “It’s past midnight…”

Alex shrugged as she dialed the number. Bobby climbed into the passenger side of the SUV. It took nearly all of his dwindling energy to haul his large frame into the seat. Exhaustion pounded at his mind, and Bobby's mind drifted to thoughts of Alex in leather, brandishing handcuffs, ropes…

“Bobby,” Alex’s gentle but insistent voice brought him back to reality. He looked at her, and then quickly away. “If she ever knew,” he thought, “she’d asked for a transfer so fast…”

“You’re right—Deakins left for the day.” Alex was concerned about her partner’s more than usually erratic behavior, but decided to blame it on his lack of rest. “He left a message—told us to go home until tomorrow. We have to wait for the ME’s report, and we can’t really do anything until the morning.”

Bobby nodded. “Yea…we’ll need to interview Ericsson’s wife tomorrow, and try to check on these three guys…” His voice drifted away.

Alex started the SUV and eased it on the street. “I’ll drop you off at your apartment,” she said, “and take the SUV back in the morning.”

Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but Alex shot him a warning look. “If we go back to the office,” she stated, “you’ll try to keep working. You’re at least going home and getting a shower.”

Bobby rubbed his eyes with his hands. “I’m too tired to sleep,” he said wryly.

Alex glanced at him. The usual “Do Not Touch” and “Do Not Enter” signs that surrounded Bobby seemed to be down. She decided to approach with caution.

“In the club…you seemed uncomfortable…”

He took so long to answer Alex thought he might have fallen asleep. “Yea,” he finally admitted, “I was…”

“You’ve studied S&M…I mean, with all your knowledge of psychology…”

“Yea, well it’s one thing to study and read about it…another to actually encounter it…” He looked at her. “You, on the other hand, were completely professional…didn’t throw you at all…you stepped up when I was fumbling around…it was good work…”

Alex allowed herself a half smile at the compliment. “I’ve had a little more real life experience with it.”

Bobby gave her a shy look. “It doesn’t…doesn’t bother you?”

“It did at first.” Alex realized this conversation required complete seriousness. “But I discovered that both the people who did this work and the people who came to them weren’t bad or evil…most of them aren’t criminals. Marcella Torte believes she’s filling a need…and maybe she’s right.”

“You don’t think…” Alex could detect a slight strain in Bobby’s voice. “You don’t think these clients are…weak…or sick?”

“I’m surprised to hear you use those terms, Bobby, you’re the one who gets upset…” Alex gripped the steering wheel tightly. This was dangerous territory. “No,” she said decisively. “I don’t think that.”

Alex was both sorry and grateful when she pulled up in front of Bobby’s apartment—sorry that one of her few open and true conversations with Bobby ended, grateful that she could escape the possibly explosive nature of that conversation.

“Hey,” she said as he struggled to get out of the car. “You take care of yourself—try to get some sleep.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I’ll try…” He turned to go, but turned back and poked his head in the car. “Thanks, Eames…for…just thanks.”

She waved off his gratitude. “Show me your appreciation by being at work well rested…well, at
least as well rested as a few hours can make you.” She drove off towards her own apartment.

Bobby wearily entered his apartment. He dropped his coat over his chair, and checked to make sure the door had locked behind him. He was aware of a vague, distant sense of hunger, and he opened the refrigerator to find only milk. Bobby grabbed the milk carton and sniffed its contents. Satisfied that it hadn’t reached the toxic stage, he took a long drink. The phone’s message light blinked at him, and he punched the retrieval button.

“Mr. Goren? This is Clara Brinks from Carmel Ridge.” Bobby’s frame stiffened. “Your mother suffered a bad episode this afternoon. It required sedation. Please call at your first opportunity.” Bobby sighed and pulled out his cell phone. There were two messages, both from Carmel Ridge, both asking him to call. He dialed the number with an increasing sense of dread.

The night nurse who answered was relatively new, and apologized as she searched for the information on Bobby’s mother. “It’s all right…it’s the middle of the night…” Bobby told her.

“Here it is.” Bobby heard paper shuffling. “Mrs. Goren became very agitated just after lunch…Her doctor was called, and prescribed the sedation…”

Bobby gripped the phone tightly. “She didn’t hurt anyone…herself?”

“No…and she’s resting comfortably. It might be helpful if you could come by tomorrow…”

Bobby felt a knife of guilt stab him. “I can’t…my work…I can’t…” He hadn’t made it to Carmel Ridge the weekend before because of his work, and hated the small, horrible voice in his head that expressed relief that he didn’t have to go to the place.

“Of course.” The nurse’s voice carried a note of understanding, but Bobby detected a tinge of
accusation in it. “We’ll call you if there’s any change.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said. “I’ll…I’ll call tomorrow.” He wanted to yell, “I’m a good son, really, I am…it’s so hard…just so hard…”

Bobby shut his cell phone off and leaned heavily on his counter. He shuffled off to his bedroom, and set his alarm before falling into the bed. Sheer exhaustion kept the dreams at bay for a while, but vivid patterns began swirling through Bobby’s mind. Images of Lisa’s battered body, Marcella Torte’s calm professionalism as she looped ropes around his wrist,
Alex whispering, “You’ve been a bad boy, Bobby,” as she drew the long, slender lines of a whip across his back. Pain, Bobby’s brain seemed to shout, I want pain. I deserve pain.

Bobby jolted awake. He was drenched in sweat and shaking. He stared at his clock. “4:30,” he muttered. “Three hours of sleep.” Bobby thought about trying to go back to sleep, but the prospect of more dreams was not appealing. “Great,” he thought as he headed to the shower, “a whole new set of nightmares.”

Alex Eames balanced two large coffee cups along with her purse as she exited the elevator. Striding across the office, she saw Bobby Goren seated at his desk and intently examining his computer screen. “I hope he got some sleep,” she thought. “At least he shaved—that’s a good sign.”

Bobby glanced up as Alex plunked one of the coffee cups on his desk. “Thanks,” he murmured. “I owe you.”

“You owe me a margarita, too,” Alex said as she sat down. “You get any sleep?”

“Yea, some.”

“Some,” Alex thought, “does not sound like a lot.”

“Deakins in?” Alex asked.

“Not yet.” Bobby shook his head. “But I have found some things…”

Alex stood up and crossed behind Bobby. “What?” she asked.

“We can probably eliminate the mayor and governor’s friend, and the mayor’s friend…neither of them was in the city last night…and the killings were too brutal, too personal to be a contract…” Bobby shifted through the papers on his desk. “But the third guy…”

“The governor’s friend,” Alex said.

“Yea, well, he’s not the governor’s friend any more, if he ever was.” Bobby handed several documents to Alex. “George Fritz. Recently resigned as a junior aid to the governor. According to a couple of news stories, he was forced to resign after several allegations of sexual harassment. And…” Bobby handed another paper to Alex. “He’s collected three parking tickets in the last two weeks.”

Alex looked at the addresses on the form. “All within a block or two of the Surrender Club.” She looked at Bobby. “Only circumstantial, but certainly curious.”

Bobby nodded. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d like my curiosity solved as soon as possible.”

“Goren, Eames,” Deakins stood before them. “My office.”

Alex and Bobby gave each other a wary look and approached Deakins’ office with the air of grade
school children headed to the principal’s office. Deakins had just taken off his coat. "You have a report for me?"

Alex took the lead. “We don’t think Ericsson or the young woman was the killer. Ericsson doesn’t seem to be the intended victim, either. Looks like it might have been her.”

Bobby and Alex provided Deakins with the details of their investigation. “So,” Deakins said, “the big fish was just in the wrong place, and you think this smaller fish is connected?” The detectives nodded. “Ok, that should be enough to keep the FBI and the state police happy—I’ll make sure they stay out of your way. Try to take it easy when you interview Mrs. Ericsson. And keep me informed. Information is the best weapon I’ve got with the Brass.”

Bobby stood and fingered the file in his hands. “Deakins,” he thought, “puts up with a lot from me…and he shields me, protects me from a lot. I don’t appreciate what he does…I give him so much trouble…”

Alex nudged Bobby. “C’mon, let’s go satisfy our curiosity.”

“Goren, just a moment,” Deakins said as they started out of the office. “Don’t worry, Alex,” he said in response to her concerned look. “ “For once, Goren’s not in trouble.”

Bobby stood uncertainly. “Bobby,” Deakins said, “are you ok? You look beat.”

“Just need a little down time,” Bobby replied. “I’ll get it when we get done with this one.”

Deakins gave him a close look; Bobby Goren must be exhausted if he admitted to needing any rest. “All right, but don’t push yourself too hard. And get your dress uniform cleaned.”

Bobby was puzzled. “Captain?”

Deakins spoke with some pride. “You’re getting your second Medal of Honor for your actions on the Morstan case.”

Bobby was stunned. “But, Captain, that was…that was luck on my part…Bishop, the other officers…all of them…we, me…we were really lucky.” Bobby tried to fathom how his actions on that case could have earned him anything other than a reprimand.

“They’re receiving commendations as well.” Deakins remembered that Robert Goren hated receiving praise almost as much as he hated interference with his work. “Bobby, you deserve it. And don’t ignore the good will it gives you, ok?”

“Yes, sir.” Bobby paused at the door. “Captain, uh, …thank you… I know I’m not the easiest officer to deal with here, and …just thank you.”

Deakins examined Bobby. “You’re welcome. Now, get this case out of our hair and you can get some rest.”

Alex gave Bobby one of her most winning smiles as he sat at his desk. “So, what kind of trouble are you in now? What muckety muck did you disturb?”

Bobby looked through the papers on his desk. “Uh, nothing, no one. Just…” Bobby was embarrassed. Alex knew a little about the Morstan case. It marked the moment Lynn Bishop’s attitude towards him moved from disapproving astonishment to unquestioning worship (and he found both equally troubling.) Bobby, however, regarded the case as a failure. “If I’d done what I was supposed to do,” he thought, “there wouldn’t have been a need for heroics.” Bobby struggled to find a way out of the conversation.

“Why don’t we stop at the ME’s on the way to interview Mrs. Ericsson. And then we can see if we can catch this Fritz in? If we’re lucky, you might be having that margarita tonight.” Bobby employed his casual tone.

Alex sensed Bobby was trying to avoid discussing his conversation with Deakins. “All right,” she said gathering her coat and purse. “But you know I will find out, sooner or later. And if this keeps up you’re going to owe me your pension in margaritas.”

The ME confirmed their suspicions. Ericsson was killed first, and probably had no idea what hit him. The wounds on Lisa’s arms and hands indicated she made a desperate and futile effort to protect her client and herself. The savage slashes at her face were efforts to maim and distort her features. Alex felt a rising rage inside her at this killer, and Bobby’s barely
twitching jaw bore witness to his anger.

“Can’t believe this guy thinks we’re so stupid—doesn’t he watch television at least and know how difficult it is to make knife wounds look like suicide?” Alex held the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.

“He’s not thinking clearly…” Bobby was in another trance like state. “And/or he thinks he’s so clever…”

Ericsson lived in an exclusive and expensive apartment building near Central Park. “Good,” Alex said as she parked the SVU, “no press.”

“Or at least no visible press,” Bobby added. “But it’s early yet.”

The doorman announced their arrival to the Ericsson apartment, and buzzed them in. The door to the apartment was opened by a man of about fifty with a neatly trimmed, graying beard. He was polite, reserved, and struggling to maintain his composure. “My name is Philip Carlson. I am…was…Joel Ericsson’s attorney…I am…was his best friend.”

Carlson led them to the apartment’s living room. “So,” Alex whispered to Bobby, “this is how the other half lives.” A beautiful, elegantly dressed blonde woman in her early forties sat in a chair of an intricate tapestry design. Like Carlson, she was polite and reserved. Unlike Carlson, she appeared to be on the losing side of the struggle to maintain her composure.

Mrs. Ericsson and Carlson answered the detectives’ questions without hesitation and with courtesy. They had little to add to the information Goren and Eames already possessed.

Alex took a slight breath before stepping on the thin ice. “Mrs. Ericsson, do you know why your husband was where he was?”

Edith Ericsson clutched Philip Carlson’s arm, but she looked Alex in the eye. “Yes, detective. I know he was at the Surrender Club.”

“Mr. Carlson, you knew about this, too?” Bobby’s voice was quiet.

Carlson glanced at Edith Ericsson. “We have nothing to hide, Phil,” she said in a resigned voice. “Honesty is not only the best policy—it may be our only one.”

“Joel…”Carlson began and then stopped. “Joel was a brilliant man…a compassionate man, but he always…I’ve known him since college…and nothing he did ever satisfied him…he was always guilty about the honors he received…and…what he found at this club…it gave him some calm…”

Edith Ericsson broke in. “I know…knew… he was always faithful to me…this was something he needed…he hated it…but what happened there…it saved him in some way…” She raised her red rimmed eyes to Goren and Eames. “He was a good man—he did a lot of good…and now the way…the place where he died…will take all of that away.”

“Your husband,” Bobby said, “was not a murderer. And we will find his killer.”

The detective rose to leave. “The young woman…” Edith Ericsson asked.

“It appears she ran to try to protect him,” Bobby replied.

Alex and Bobby were silent in the elevator. “What do you think about either of them as suspects?” Alex asked.

“Their grief seemed genuine enough. And they both appeared to be brutally honest...A refreshing experience for us." Bobby smiled wanly. "Fritz is in the front row for me.” He stared up at the building. “Joel Ericsson seems to be proof that everyone has empty spaces to fill…”

“Shall we check out George Fritz?” Alex said.

“Yea,” Bobby said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

George Fritz lived at a brownstone a few blocks from the Ericsson home. Alex thought she might have been more impressed by the Fritz residence if she hadn’t just been in an even more upper crust dwelling. As she and Bobby approached the front door, Alex’s cop radar tingled. She looked at Bobby. “Bobby…”

“Yea, I feel it too…something’s wrong.”

End Chapter Four