No Black or White

*rummages through desk drawers. Comes up empty-handed*

Falco! Did you eat my Snickers? I may have to hurt you if you did.

Need... chocolate... to live...

Dalton and I interviewed the original detectives who caught the case. They seem like a decent pair, they were very helpful. They did give us news, though. Some good. Some bad.

The Barr divorce was a hugely messy affair. He accused her of past prostitution, and she accused him of cheating on her. Fortunately for her, she had proof. He was shamed in the media, and she was awarded half of his substantial income... which is a couple of million dollars. According to Becker and Lillard, he's a cold son of a bitch. He apparently has an alibi, a Carlie Boxer, but I'm sure he could have hired someone, had he been so inclined.

Also, the superintendant claimed to be fixing the elevator at eleven thirty at night. Does that sound fishy to anyone else? He did, however, say that one of the tenants was handicapped, and threatened to sue if he didn't fix it. We got her name, though, so we can check it out.

Now for the bad news...

Becker and Lillard said that the place was tossed, like someone had broken in, but nothing had been taken. Our friends from the UN were also there. CSU said that they took a box of papers. But even more disturbing, the transcripts of all of the interviews and statements Becker and Lillard took were seized by the UN guys. Is that even legal?

I think we're treading on thin political ice here. Alex, I don't envy you your position right now. I think the best course of action is to try to get the interviews and box back from the UN, if at all possible, and bring the husband in for questioning.

( Interview of Detectives Becker and Lillard )

I really, really don't want to go see Huang.

I didn't mean to explode at Alex the other day. Actually, I think it's one of the first times we've ever been on bad terms. *sigh* I just... I hate shrinks. I don't want to go. Not like I have any choice, though. Thankfully, it seems that Huang's been busy the last few days, so I've avoided that confrontation, at least. I'm not so sure my luck will hold much longer.

I've been hearing some disturbing whispers around the bullpen. Maybe I'm being dramatic, and maybe it was inevitable, but it seems to me that this case has reduced all of us to rubble.

Which makes me wonder what will become of us.

::The Bernstein Cabin::

Kaye had stormed in with the rest of them, but she had remained in the house when the others had run out. It wasn't from fear that she had hung back - she had known that getting Liv would be hard enough, emotional enough, without her there. As much as she wanted to go out there and blow that bastard's brains out herself, she knew that there was nothing that she could do that the captain and Olivia's partner wouldn't be doing. Any more personal connections there and something would go wrong.

She opted to stay inside, continued to clear the house and search for signs of life. But when the gunshot and the tell-tale whumph of a body hitting the ground met her ears through the rickety walls, she moved to the window. Behind the glass, her face was impassive and blank. She watched the blood flow from Bernstein's body, she watched Olivia beat the dead man, watched Olivia rant and rave and scream. She watched Stabler fight Alex to get to his partner, she watched Deakins clutch his wife to his chest and hold her tightly as if he could fix her just with his embrace. She watched Vlad rush over and try to tend to Olivia, and she watched the woman retch. She watched the ambulance take Olivia away in restraints, the lights flashing against the dark, trying in vain to keep the night at bay.

Those steely-blue eyes took in the entire event. And then, when her co-workers, her friends, came towards her, she left. She went outside and helped ESU load their gear up. The group leader patted her on the back, and asked her how she was doing. Her voice, a bit raspy from recent disuse, was nevertheless calm. She assured him that she was fine. He patted her back again, and told her that she had done a good job. They had gotten into their vans and driven away.

Kaye stood there and watched the shapes fade into the distance, into smudgy black smears. After a moment she got into a van going back to the city... not one of the ones going to Kingston Inn, where she was supposed to be. Not the one with Stabler and Goren and Eames, but another, with the uniformed officers - people who wouldn't try to poke at her, determine her state of mind. She rode in silence back to the city, ignoring the excited chatter of those around her, energized in that dreadful way that a fire-fight will energize you. She drove her car back to her apartment and walked in the door just as the sun was rising.

Throughout the night, she had remained strong, remained in control. It wasn't until she had slid off her shoes and fed her little dog that the nausea found her, sent her reeling into the bathroom, where she lost the little that she had eaten in the last twelve hours. Only in her home, her sanctuary, was she able to address the horrors of the Bernstein cabin... her friend's screams, the echoes of pain and misery that lingered in the house, the stench of blood and urine, the sharp, coppery tang of blood in her nostrils.

When the heaving had subsided into shuddering, sobbing breaths, she lay down, curled on the cold tile of the carpet. Moxie whined and prodded her owner with her wet little nose. Kaye just moaned and pulled the small creature into her arms. Moxie went limp in her grasp and nuzzled up against the woman's cheek. She gave her cheek a tiny lick. Kaye buried her face in the dog's side. She stayed on the floor for hours, crying until her eyes burned, and watching the sun rise above a city that, for the first time in her life, she hated.

((OOC: I know, I know. Finally.))

Last night was fun. Lots of dogs, lots of children, but in a good way. It always surprises me to see everyone outside of work getting along so well. Sometimes I expect people to explode on contact if not in the confines of the bullpen. It's nice to see everyone relaxing in a non-work setting (besides O'Malley's. Cop bars don't count).

( Private Entry )

So, oddly enough, that dove never got out. I started getting worried about it so I put out some birdseed and water, and it seems to be doing well enough. I think it must've been someone's pet, because (thankfully) it knows to go to the bathroom on newspaper. Have I unwittingly received a new pet? I guess we'll just see. Eventually it'll probably want out of my little apartment.

Moxie, on the other hand, is quite miffed with this new intrusion on her abode. She doesn't chase it, or anything, but she kind of just crouches on the ground and watches it. ::shakes head::

A dove flew in my window last night and got trapped in the living room. All night I could hear its wings fluttering as it tried to get out. I tried to open the balcony door for it, but it didn't understand, and it kept flying around in confusion. Can't help but think that I know how it felt.

If I opt to go for a swim instead of to the local greasy spoon for lunch, I don't think anyone'll miss me. Besides, I have yet to inspect the gym that, as a member of the NYPD, I have access to. Today'll be a good day to time my 1000 meters. Haven't done it in awhile, and I have been thinking about entering the Race for the River this year.

( Private )

So, I had Rose O'Malley came down to One Police Plaza yesterday to look at photo lineups which included the cops who were on duty on March 10th between the hours of noon and four p.m. between the dump site and the school.

She picked out Officer Benjamin Bernstein as the cop who was hanging around during lunch. He was also one of the officers who volunteered to do the opera beat on the night that Michaels and O'Malley attended.

OOC:

Just a note, don't expect to see me around much the next three days, if at all. Exams, exams... ::whimpers::

Anyway, come Thursday afternoon I should once again be free, and it'll be summer, and I'll be free to horse around to my little heart's content. Until then, I'm going to be in excruciating pain. Think good thoughts for me, will you? Thanks,

Belle.

The hangover has subsided, thankfully. I spent most of Saturday curled up in bed. Note to self: You only think you can hold your liquor. Don't be so cocky. One day you're going to get into a contest with Alex... and then you'll really be in trouble.

( Private )