Repercussions

Ruth Marks, cuts on her arm and forehead freshly bandaged, sat wrapped in a blanket in a chair in the corner of her hotel room.

"Tell me exactly how it happened," Olivia said, opening her notebook.

Ruth pulled the blanket tighter around her and sipped at a small cup of water.

"They feed you on the plane but your body clock is still all screwed up from an international flight. I'd taken a nap. I woke up, had a shower. I'd called down for room service. I was just finishing changing my clothes when there was a knock on the door. I...I didn't even look, I just opened the door. Stupid."

Olivia glanced at her partner.

"Take your time, Ruth."

"By the time I realized he wasn't the room service waiter he was already in the door. Pushing me back, his hand around my throat."

Ruth swallowed hard.

"He threw me down on the bed. I knew what he was going to do. I didn't think. I just grabbed for the knife. I don't think he saw it coming."

"How many times did you stab him," Olivia asked, looking up from her notebook.

"Once, I think. I slashed him across the arm and then came back around."

Elliot raised his eyebrows and glanced at Olivia.

"That's a pretty complicated move."

"My girlfriend runs a self-defense school. I guess those free lessons finally paid off, huh," Ruth said, with a shiver.

"How did you get this on a plane," Stabler asked, holding up the plastic wrapped dagger.

Ruth shook her head.

"I didn't. It's a sgian dubh. A traditional Scottish knife," Ruth continued at Elliot's puzzled look. "It was shipped from the workshop in Braemar to the hotel to arrive this morning. I picked it up from the desk when I checked in. This one's a custom item. The clan shield on the scabbard," Ruth pointed to the second bag Stabler held. "it's 24 karat. I carved the mould and did the cast myself."

"Why not just ship it right to the buyer?"

"Usually we would, but I've got to deliver the dirk personally."

"You mean this," Elliot asked, opening a maple box on the dresser.

"Please, please be careful. That's authentic. 1730s, Scottish army."

"Where's it going?"

"New Calendonia Club bought it to donate to the library at NYU," Ruth said, adjusting the blanket again.

"What happened then," Olivia asked, scribbling in her notebook.

"He slashed back, got me on the forearm, shoved me into the bedside table, and left. He was bleeding pretty bad."

"Can you tell us what he looked like," Stabler asked.

"Taller than me, six feet maybe. Kind of paunchy. He was wearing a baseball cap I don't know what team, and a wig."

"Do you remember about what time this was?"

Ruth sipped from the cup she held and shook her head.

"Not really. I think I slept for about two hours. My flight got in around 1pm."

Olivia and Elliot locked eyes.

"Do you think you'd be able to pick him out of a line-up," Olivia asked.

"Not a problem. I don't think I'll ever forget his face."

The EMT team wheeled a stretcher into view of the door. Olivia closed her notebook. One of the EMTs helped Ruth onto the stretcher.

"What's going to happen now?"

"We're going to take both these items into evidence. I'll mark the larger one for special handling. The sergeant outside will give you a receipt. Is there anyone you want us to call," Olivia asked.

Ruth nodded.

"My boss, he'll take care of the rest."

The EMTs wheeled the stretcher down the hall. Olivia looked at her partner.

"Plenty of time for him to have made bail."

"Yep."

"House or hospitals?"

"House, definitely," Stabler replied, folding a stick of gum into his mouth.

******

Elliot braked the car to a halt in the middle of the street in front of Roger Markum's house just beyond a poorly parked Mercedes. Elliot and Olivia popped out of the car simultaneously.

"Lights are on," Olivia said as they trotted up the brownstone's steps. "And the door's ."
."

"That looks like fresh blood," Elliot said, pointing to smears on the door's jamb and handle.

They both pulled their sidearms. Elliot pushed the door open fully. They went through together, Stabler high and to the right, Olivia covering low and left. Elliot was several steps into the living room when Olivia called out.

"Elliot, I've got a blood trail."

They followed the trail upstairs, noting that the size of the spatters increased as they climbed the stairway. They passed an abandoned black wig and a Red Sox cap. Olivia pointed out a bloody hand print and trailing smear on the wall at the top of the stairs. The blood trail stopped at a partially closed door. Elliot nodded to Olivia as he crossed to the opposite side of the door jamb. On a nod from his partner, Elliot pushed the door open quickly.

The bedroom beyond the door was empty but a light shown under the door to what Olivia assumed must be a master bath. They took up flanking positions in front of the closed bathroom door. Olivia reached out and turned the door knob very slowly, easing the door off the latch. Elliot pushed the door open quickly. It banged into a hard object near the floor, bouncing back slightly. Olivia was first to notice the pool of blood on tile floor.

Roger Markum sat slumped, unconscious against the edge of the bath tub, sloppy bandage not quite stopping the flow of blood from the cut on his forearm. His shirt just above his left kidney was soaked with blood. Olivia holstered her gun. She crouched down and placed two fingers on his neck.

"He's alive, barely."

"I'll call for a bus," Stabler said, holstering his automatic.

Olivia stood, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Look at this blood. He'll be dead before it gets here."

"Probably, yeah."

Elliot and Olivia locked eyes for a brief moment. The look that passed between them spoke volumes about justice and devotion to duty. Elliot nodded as he broke eye contact. He turned away, dialing his phone.

He'll be dead before it gets here. The state won't get its pound of flesh, Olivia thought. And neither will the victims.

******

Olivia dropped the last of the files on the hotel rapist into a storage box. Markum had failed to play his role as repentant perpetrator so there was no death-bed confession. He'd died from massive blood loss in the ambulance on the way to the emergency room. Without a conviction or a confession all the cases would remain open, and the victims would have tenuous closure at best. The only bright light was that the DA's office had declined to press charges against Ruth Marks, admitting that her reaction was self-defense. Olivia sighed as she taped the top of the storage box on. Sometimes, traffic division doesn't look too bad.

Olivia was erasing the matrix of attacks and Markum's appointments from the chalk board when she heard quick footsteps push through the squad room's swinging doors and stop near her desk.

"Cragen told me about Markum," Alex said, setting her briefcase down.

Olivia finished the top half of the right hand side of the chalk board.

"You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. She finished the bottom corner of the board and put the eraser back on the ledge. She turned around to face Alex. She found Alex's expression carefully composed.

"What I want is to go have a beer, and maybe some dinner with a friend."

"Have anyone in mind?"

Olivia smiled.

"Yeah, actually, I do."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE END