SAVING GRACES

Chapter Eight



Elliott Stabler scanned the SVU Squad Room. It was never the neatest or cheeriest of rooms, but now, with the remains of Italian takeout on several tables and papers and files piled high on several desks, it verged on disgusting. Goren added to the sense of chaos by kicking over several wastebaskets. “Great,” Stable commented to Olivia. “The cleaning crew will hate us.”



Olivia smiled. “They’re not too found of us as it is.”



“I hope Goren knows what he’s doing,” Stabler said.



“He’s been on the money so far,” Olivia said, hoping she didn’t sound too defensive. “And this is also Huang’s idea.”



“Yea,” Stabler admitted. “The guy’s good…Not the weirdo I’ve heard about…”



Olivia flushed at the word “weirdo”. “I haven’t found him weird at all,” she said curtly. “He handled Mrs. Genoa with great care.” She allowed more anger than she wanted into her voice.



“Liv, we’re on the same side.” Stable examined her. “Are you…is something going on here?”



Olivia flushed again. “And since when…” She swallowed.



“Oh, Liv…” She hated the paternal tone in Elliott’s voice. She always hated when he seemed to think that he knew what was best for her. It didn’t help that in this case she knew that he might be right.



“Liv,” Elliott continued. “You don’t need this in your life right now. You don’t need it at all…”



“It.” Olivia snorted. “Bobby Goren isn’t an “it”.”



“That’s not what I meant and you know it…” Elliott raised his hands as a shield.



“If we weren’t talking about Bobby Goren, what would you say?” Olivia challenged him.



Elliott looked at her for a moment. “I…his work is great…He’s a terrific detective, but…”



“You’ve answered the question,” she said and turned away from him.



“Liv,” Elliott said desperately. “Look…I’m sorry…It’s just you’ve been through a lot lately…I’m your friend…I don’t want you to get hurt…”



He was so genuinely sorry that Olivia’s heart softened. “Ok,” she said and turned back to face him. “But he’s been through a lot lately too, a lot more than me.”



Elliott was visibly relieved. “I’ll keep an open mind…but I can’t promise that I won’t worry about you.”



“That’s all right,” Olivia said. “Sometimes it’s nice to have someone worry about me.”



“Where is Goren anyway?” Elliott asked.



“Getting ready for Bertelli,” Olivia answered.



“I don’t think,” Elliott said. “That I want to be in Bertelli’s shoes.”



“What if,” Alex asked Bobby as he hung up his suit jacket in a locker. “Bertelli isn’t the control freak you and Huang expect him to be?”



“Then the chances he has anything to do with these disappearances drops considerably,” Bobby replied. “But I’m not betting against Huang.”



“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Alex responded.



Bobby smiled. “Thanks, Eames…Well…for the support…and watching out for me.”



“It’s ok.” Alex returned his smile. “It’s what you do for a partner and friend.”



“You…you were right about Olivia…being interested in me…” He shuffled his feet and stared at them.



“And you’re calling her by her first name? How serious is this?”



“She…she’s wonderful…but she has some troubles of her own,” Bobby said hesitantly.



“Maybe that,” Alex said. “Is something you have in common…”



Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. “It could really hurt us.”



“That’s a chance you’ll have to take if you want to be together,” Alex said calmly.



“But…I…I don’t want to hurt her,” Bobby said.



“why are you so sure you’d hurt her? She might hurt you,” Alex said. “But I can’t imagine that either of you deliberately hurting anyone.”



Bobby stared at his feet.



“I also think…for what it’s worth,” Alex continued. “That you should let Olivia make her decision.” She shrugged. “That’s my two bits.”



“I appreciate it, Eames.” For a moment, Bobby considered telling her about his last encounter with Brady. “No,” he thought. “Not even her…not now…”



“If you’re going for a grungy look,” Alex interrupted his thoughts. “You’re succeeding.”



“Good,” he declared.



“Well, I’m off to play good cop,” Alex said genially. “I hope Stabler is up to this. You know…” She paused at the stairs. “I’m just as rebellious as you…”



“I know.” Bobby smiled. “But you’re much better at hiding it.”



She left, and Bobby felt very alone. “I hope I can still do this,” he thought. “This is my first interview since Brady, unless you count my last session with my Mom on her deathbed.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eames will be there…Eames will help me…She’ll keep me straight…”



“Hey…Berterlli’s here,” Olivia said. “You and Huang were right…He’s a control freak…All spit and polish.” A smile crossed her face. “He was appalled at the state of the Squad Room.” She studied Bobby. “I suspect he’ll be even more appalled by your state.”



“I look that bad? Good.” Bobby smiled.



“The fact you haven’t shaved in a couple of days and haven’t gotten much sleep really adds to it.” Olivia’s smile faded. “You feel up to this?”



For a brief moment, Bobby considered confessing that his interviews with Brady left him with raw wounds that still bled. “I’m good,” he declared.



Olivia thought she saw some of her own defenses rise in Bobby; she decided against pushing against them. “Ok,” she said. “I’ve heard you’re good in the interrogation room.”



“Just,” Bobby said. “Maybe more outrageous.”



“Goren,” Cragen called down the stairs. “Bertelli is getting impatient.”



“Don’t want that,” Bobby said and started up the stairs.



John Bertelli sat stiffly in the interrogation room, his back barely touching the chair. Everything about him was tightly clenched, from his toes to his graying buzz cut. Bobby thought he could bounce a quarter off the man’s jaw. His belt reflected the room’s lights, and the crease in his trousers was sharp enough to qualify as a weapon. His arms lay stiffly on the table as if he feared actual contact might contaminate him. Huang stood at the one way window watching Bertelli, Eames and Stabler. The psychiatrist turned as Bobby approached, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in the detective’s appearance. Bobby wore a pair of faded and ragged jeans, a worn T-shirt, and an old shirt held together by slender thread. Combined with his uncombed curls, haggard face, and stubble, Bobby looked less like one of New York’s Finest and more like one of New York’s Worst.



“Bertelli didn’t like the state of the squad room,” Huang commented. “And he’s definitely not going to like yours.”



Bobby watched Bertelli. “Does he fit…”



“Yes…Appallingly well.” Huang also studied Bertelli. “So much so that this is one time where I’m almost convinced profiling is a science instead of an art.”



“Most of the time, I’m not sure it’s either,” Bobby said. “All right.” He opened his binder and yanked several pieces of paper to dangle from it. “Time for the show.”



As the daughter, granddaughter, niece, cousin, sister, and widow of cops, Alex had met and known a large number and variety of the species. Most were the type who made you proud of being part of the human race, people who would willingly face down a man with a gun, who would rush into a burning or collapsing building to save a life, who would ran towards trouble instead of away from it. Among those were some who were weak or had a bad moment, but were essentially good souls. But there were some who should never have been given a gun. Some liked the gun and its power too much. Some were too lazy or careless or corruptible. But the worst in Alex’s minds were the John Bertellis. They were all the more dangerous because they appeared to be model officers. Bertelli certainly looked the part of a great cop. His grey hair was closely cropped; his uniform spotless. He was happy to cooperate with the NYPD in any investigation, happy to come in, in spite of the lateness of the hour. He treated Stabler with some apparent respect, although both Alex and Stabler sensed a small town cop’s disdain for big city officers. He made little effort to conceal his condescending attitude towards Alex, a tone that didn’t change when she casually revealed she came from a family of cops, a revelation that had gained her some leverage in the past.



They threw softballs at him, casual questions about his work and the police baseball leagues. To their surprise, Bertelli dropped Veneer’s name in the course of dropping several others he clearly expected would impress the two detectives.



“But why these question?” Bertelli finally asked. “Why all this interest in baseball? Your captain told me this was urgent.”



“Actually,” Alex said. “Captain Cragen, as good as he is, isn’t my commanding officer. I’m on loan…”



“Oh.” Bertelli’s voice dripped with dismissal. “You from the secretarial pool?”



Stabler spoke as Alex successfully fought the urge to snap Bertelli’s head off. “Detective Eames is a senior member of the Major Case Squad…One of the elite squads of the NYPD…She’s one of the lead detectives on this case.”



Alex performed her well crafted trick of appearing several feet taller than her actual size. It worked—as it usually did—and Bertelli shrunk in his seat. She gave Stabler a quick, grateful look. She knew admitting any division was in any way superior to the SVU, even for the purpose of confusing a suspect, was difficult for Stabler. It was time, she thought, for Bobby to make his entrance.



“We’re waiting for another detective,” Alex said. “He’s a little late.”



“A little.” Bertelli recovered. “I’ve been here half an hour…If this is how you do things…”



The interrogation room’s door banged open, and Bobby lurched through. He juggled his bind and a cup of coffee, and part of a breadstick poked from his mouth.



“Sorry,” he mumbled, bread crumbs spluttering from his mouth.



Stable and Alex pointedly avoided each other’s gaze. Bertelli stiffened.



“Hey…Detective Bobby Goren.” Bobby thrust his right hand at Bertelli, who stared at it as if it were a rotting fish. “Oh, sorry…” Bobby wiped the offending hand across his jeans. “You know how it is…” Bobby shoved the hand back at Bertelli, who had little choice but to shake it. He winced slightly at Bobby’s grip. “You work a case and lose track of time,” Bobby continued. “And you grab a bit any time you can.” He perched on the edge of the table.



“I manage to get my job done during regular hours,” Bertelli said stiffly.



“Regular hours?” Bobby laughed and looked at Stabler and Alex. “We wouldn’t know about “regular hours”, would we guys?”



“Nope,” Stabler agreed.



“But then,” Bobby said lightly. “You’re an administrator, really…not a cop…”



Alex enjoyed watching the veins in Bertelli’s neck throb above his tight collar.



“I came here,” he said in a voice that barely concealed his anger. “Because a NYPD captain requested my help. I was told I could be of help in an investigation. So far, I’ve been asked pointless questions about my volunteer work. I’ve seen no signs of any investigation. And you, Detective…” Bertelli pronounced the last word as it was a disgusting insect he’d found smeared on the bottom of his shoe. “You wouldn’t be allowed in my office…even in my building…looking like that. And your attitude…My men are professional…”



Bobby threw back his head and laughed. “Do you believe this guy?” he asked Alex and Stabler. “His “men”…You think we don’t have your records? Your “men” are flunkies who do paper work…They probably have plenty of time to shine their shoes and polish their belts while they process traffic tickets…Not that they’re like to ever do anything to dirty them.”



Bertelli turned an unattractive shade of pink.



“But,” Bobby said genially. “There is something you can help us with.” With a quick fluid motion, Bobby swept the photo of Tony Genoa and his uncle from his binder and slammed it in front of Bertelli. The move was familiar to Alex, but Stabler admired it and its results. A ghastly white replaced the pink in Bertelli’s face, and he stared at the photo. The three detectives saw glimmers of fear in his eyes.



“Your nephew’s disappearance.” Bobby began to pace in the small room. “You weren’t much help to your family then…”



“Tony…He ran away…His Mom and Dad had a lot of trouble…He was a kid in a lot…”



“Did he tell you he was upset?” Bobby moved behind Bertelli, forcing him to twist in his chair. “You were supposed to be very close to him. Did he confide in his Uncle John?”



“He…We were close, but he changed…He didn’t want to go to Church any more…He didn’t want to be around me…”



“A teenaged boy would rather be with his friends than his middle-aged uncle.” Bobby tilted his head. “I mean, what kind of excitement could you give him? A night of bingo at the K of C?”



“He…was…confused…He ran away…” Bertelli spluttered.



“Tony ran away, uh? What about this boy?” Bobby slammed the photo of another of the missing boys on the table. “And this one…and this one…all of these?” Bobby flung at least a dozen photos on the table. The sparks of fear in Bertelli’s eyes became flames. “All of them runaways? All of these good, troubled boys ran away?” Bobby leaned in so close that Bertelli could feel his breath. “And all of them in your baseball leagues…” Bobby’s voice was all the more terrifying for its softness. “Maybe you’re the reason they ran away…or disappeared?”



Bertelli leaped from his chair, sending it to slam into Bobby’s right knee.



“You have no right!” Bertelli shouted. “How dare you! This is over!”



Stabler and Alex rose quickly and blocked Bertelli’s exit. Bobby nodded at them, and they stepped aside to let Bertelli rush from the room. Bobby rubbed his right knee. “Make sure we’ve got a tail on him,” he said.



“Got it,” Stabler said. As he opened the door, Alex and Bobby heard Bertelli shouting threats of filing complaints and accusation of unprofessional conduct.



“Ok?” Alex moved closer to bobby.



“Fine,” Bobby insisted. He picked up his binder and collected the photos. “Let’s face the music.”



A grim faced Cragen met them outside the interrogation room. “I hope that was the result you wanted,” he said. Alex didn’t know Cragen well, but she sensed he was as angry as he ever got. “Bertelli is threatening to sue or file complaints against everyone in SVU and Major Case.”



“Cap.” Stabler rallied to the defense. “Bertelli’s our guy…I know it…”



“Elliott, are you sure?” Huang asked. “Goren pushed every one of his buttons…”



“Yea…pushed them hard,” Stabler said admiringly. “You weren’t in that room with him. When Goren showed him those photos…Bertelli is our guy.”



“The tail is on him?” Bobby asked anxiously.



“Yes,” Cragen said.



“I’m sorry, sir…but it was the best and quickest way,” Bobby said. He’d come to respect and like the SVU captain.



“What I don’t understand,” Stabler said, looking in wonder at Bobby. “You had him ready to explode…Why let him out of the room?”



Bobby fumbled with his binder. “If Michael Flynn is still alive…and I think there’s a good chance he is…We have to find him. Bertelli leading us to him is the easiest way…If he confessed now, he might not be able or willing to tell us where Michael is…or the bodies of the others…And…” Bobby sighed. “The confession might not hold up…and we still don’t know how much Veneer is involved.”



“He does this sort of thing all of the time?” an impressed Munch asked Alex.



“Yea,” she answered proudly. “That’s my partner.”



“You really think Bertelli will lead us to Michael?” Cragen asked. “Right after the interview…He’s a cop…”



“He’s not a cop,” Bobby said with a touch of anger. “He’s a bully and a coward in a uniform…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry…It’s been a long day…”



“It’s gonna be longer,” Fin said. “The tail…Bertelli isn’t headed home to Westchester…He’s moving fast towards some warehouses…”



“I’ll bet,” Bobby said. “Wherever he’s going, it’s owned by Veneer’s family.”



“I’ll not bet against you,” Cragen said. “All right, people…let’s follow Mr. Bertelli…”



Olivia sat quietly in the passenger seat.



“You ok over there?” Elliott asked.



“Yea.” Things were finally better between Olivia and Elliott, but there were still uneasy moments. Olivia knew her feelings for Bobby could only increase the tension.



“I hope we find the kid alive,” Elliott said as he guided the SUV through the dark streets.



“Bobby…Goren’s optimistic.” Olivia cursed herself for the slip.



“I hope he’s right,” Elliott said. “He’s good…” He shook his head. “And in the interrogation…He was amazing. Knew what and how to push Bertelli’s buttons.”



“Yea, he did,” Olivia agreed. She stared out the car window. She’d watched the Bertelli interview with fascination and amazement, and a growing sense of confusion. She watched as the quiet, gentle Bobby Goren morphed into a frightening, aggressive hulk of a man. As the detectives headed to their cars, Olivia and Bobby’s eyes briefly met, and the gentle, troubled man she knew had returned. But she couldn’t hold his gaze, and, his head bowed, he turned away from her.



Her cell phone rang. “’Liv,” Fin said. “We’ve got a report…Goren’s right again…Bertelli’s stopped at a warehouse owned by the Veneer family.”



“Thanks, Fin.”



A few moments later, Bobby shut his cell after receiving the same information from Fin.



“You think he’s keeping Michael Flynn there?” Alex asked.



“I…I don’t know…but I am certain there’s evidence of something there…”



“Why’d he run?” Alex asked. “And straight to a place that may link him…” She kept their car close to Elliot and Olivia’s.



“No one’s suspected him before,” Bobby spoke his thoughts. “He’s a man of terrible conflicts who’s survived by keeping everything in neat little compartments. His only thought may be to try to destroy evidence…Or run for help to his partner…” His voice faded away.



Bobby’s thoughts drifted to Olivia. When they met in the hallway, she couldn’t look him in the eye. “She’s seen it,” he thought. “That part of me…The one that manipulates people…Brady could do that…He did it to me…Maybe he saw that in me…” He pinched the bridge of his nose.



“We’re here,” Alex said softly. “You ready?”



“As I’ll ever be,” Bobby answered.



The unit assigned to follow Bertelli knew he’d entered the building, but not where he’d left his car. Fin and Munch joined them to search for the vehicle; Alex, Olivia, Bobby and Elliott sought entry to the building. It proved remarkably easy, so easy that all four detectives shared uneasy looks as a side door creaked open. Their flashlights discovered a huge open space rising several stories.



“I didn’t expect an open door,” Elliott whispered.



Bobby nodded. “I don’t like this.”



“Think he knows we’re here?” Olivia asked.



“I’m sure he’s expecting us,” Bobby replied. In spite of their efforts to speak quietly, their voices seemed to boom in the large space.



“Great,” Alex whispered. “We’re in a big, dark room holding the only sources of light.”



Bobby cocked his head. “I…I smell something,” he said.



Olivia’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Before she could speak, Fin’s frantic voice yelled, “Fire! Olivia! Get out! Fire!”



The wall behind them exploded in flames.



End Chapter Eight