Original subtitles

NARRATOR: In the criminal justice system,

sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous.

In New York City, the dedicated detectives

who investigate these vicious felonies

are members of an elite squad

known as the Special Victims Unit.

These are their stories.

Tomatoes.

Two for 50 cents.

Special.

Just one.

Four for a dollar.

I only need one.

[sighs]

Pity.

Tragic.

[siren wailing nearby]

[police radio chatter]

Excuse me. Police.

OFFICER: Step aside. Make room here.

Benson, Special Victims Unit.

Jumper?

Jumpers open the windows first.

Cleared the sidewalk, nailed the car.

MAN: Oh, my car.

I parked here for 20 minutes.

Excuse me.

Oh, this is perfect.

A perfect end to a perfect day!

OFFICER: It gets better.

OFFICER #2: Is that your hood ornament?

Anybody notify SVU?

'Cause she's not wearing panties, you mean?

Just cover her up.

Check that out.

Hey. What are we looking at?

No sign of forced entry.

Two glasses of half-drunk wine.

Two clean sets of prints.

Lovers' quarrel.

Lovers' quarrel?

They usually kiss and make up.

Detective.

Pack of ultra ribs.

Looks like maybe they did more than kiss.

Yeah, he read her a little Walt Whitman,

they made hot, passionate love.

Then right before he rolled over and fell asleep,

he heaved her out the window.

Excuse me, throughthe window.

I'm not sure what this outburst is leading up to.

Rape.

[ chuckles]

Like I said, no forced entry.

I didn't say it was a stranger.

Plus, she wasn't exactly dressed in her refusal outfit.

I didn't hear you say that.

You know, I didn't catch your shield.

You with the Political Correctness Squad or what?

Elliot Stabler, Special Victims Unit.

My partner, Detective Benson and I

were called in on an apparent homicide

with obvious sexual overtones.

All right.

You want it? Fine.

You take it.

Scooch, get your coat; let's move it.

Okay, guys, wrap it up.

We're out of here.

♪

Eight stories up, eight down.

Looks like she was shot out of a cannon.

Guy on steroids?

No, the Yankees are on a road trip.

Yeah, they're in Baltimore

kicking a little Oriole ass.

How about plain old testosterone-driven rage?

Boyfriend?

Or girl. You could toss a hundred pounds

without breaking a sweat.

I'll toss you, you skinny-ass geek.

See? The rage?

CRAGEN: What about the neighbors?

Nobody knew her beyond the usual nod and wave.

She worked at home.

All they knew was she carried a laptop with her.

The whole thing's a pyramid scheme.

What whole thing?

Laptops. We've become a nation of laptoppers.

Writing up orders on our laptops, more laptops.

Whatever happened to pens?

Vic had an appointment with a Dr. Daniels

every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:15.

All right, check her address book.

What did she do, the vic?

She was a writer.

"Street Crazies: Budget Cuts and the Mentally Ill"

"The Short Life of Alice H."

about a suicide.

"Designer Vaginas: Is This Health Care?"

New York Ledger.

Michael, Stephen, Sam W.-- all men.

Daniels, Mark, clinical psychology.

911 east 72nd street.

"How to Build a Better Orgasm" in Cosmopolitan.

Somebody might kill for this.

You two-- check the neighborhood again.

Cassidy, you're in court on the subway stroker case.

Is that correct? Yes, sir.

Okay, you get hung up, you call me.

All right.

[machine beeps]

This is Gretchen.

Leave a message. Bye.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: You have no messages.

[machine beeps]

This is Gretchen.

Leave a message. Bye.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: You have no messages.

WOMAN: I heard some rough-housing,

like someone was throwing something.

BENSON: And then what?

That scream, then crunch, and the car alarm going off.

Did you see anybody leave her apartment?

What, like I was supposed to stick my head out and look?

Right. So he could see my face.

Excuse me, how long does that girl's apartment

stay a crime scene?

Why?

'Cause we're next on the list for a one-bedroom.

Oh, what's your name?

Jason Cargill.

Oh, Mr. Cargill, I'm with the real estate board.

You're now off the list.

[ horns honking]

Half of them admitted

they couldn't tell their neighbors from the perp.

Could you?

Could I what?

Tell your neighbors apart.

Why? 'cause I live here?

What? I'm never home.

I'm always with you.

Yeah, and people say the suburbs are anonymous.

Oh, now Queens is a suburb. Since when?

Since we got a little space,

some trees, grass to mow.

Yeah, I got a regular eight-by-ten of you

out there mowing the lawn.

I do. Sometimes.

Oh, admit it: Kathy does all the housework.

'cause you're never there.

Okay, I admit it. Kathy's the man of the house.

Exactly.

Till Dickie's old enough.

You're lucky. You got nothing to worry about.

You definitely got no lawn to mow.

Yeah, I'm a regular monk.

Monkette.

What?

Nothing.

[individual keys playing on piano]

Did you give Sears a call?

I called Sears.

And?

And the limited warranty expired.

Well, how the hell did that happen?

How the hell do I know?

You're the one that wanted to buy the garbage disposal

and install it yourself.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

I installed this properly.

If you guys would just stop throwing

so much crap down it.

Maureen, would you

get off the phone, please.

I got to go.

[disposal sputtering]

Mommy, Mommy,

have you seen my turtle?

I left him in the sink.

And when you asked the defendant

what was he thinking at the time of the assault, what did he say?

He said he thought she was smiling at him,

so he took a seat next to her.

The Number Three train at... what stop was it?

96th street.

I believe the defendant's

a professor at Manhattan University.

So he took a seat, and then what happened?

He commenced to strike up a conversation with her,

but then, upon receiving no response,

he surmised she was asleep.

Mm-hmm.

And then what did he do?

Hearsay, your honor.

Then what did Professor Ormond tell you he did next?

He put his hand inside of her blouse

and then took her hand and placed it on his b...

on his, um...

...genital region

and then...

he made her rub him until he c...

until he reached his intended goal.

No further questions, Your Honor.

Detective.

How did this become your case?

Were you on duty in the subway

at the time of the alleged assault?

No. A passenger alerted a member

of the transit police, who made the arrest.

The case was then referred to the Special Victims Unit.

Of which you're a member.

Yes, sir.

For how long?

Let's see, uh, eight months.

So you're an expert on sex crimes, is that correct?

Oh, we all have something to learn.

I'm sure.

Can you tell us the technical

or psychosexual term, if you will,

for fondling a stranger?

Fromage?

I believe it's... frottage.

[softly]: Right. Frottage.

Now... since the passenger in this case

turned out not to have been sleeping

but was, in fact, deceased,

what would you call that?

CASSIDY: You know, I don't know

what it's called, but I call it disgusting!

You disapprove on moral grounds,

but since the so-called victim, being dead, couldn't have known

that she was being fondled

or fromaged, by the defendant

where is the assault?!

You look about as happy as a postal worker at Christmas.

So make me feel better.

We brought back a bunch of papers

from her apartment.

No threatening letters from ex-boyfriends.

Not even a message on her answering machine.

I mean, this woman

makes J.D. Salinger look like a Shriner.

Tell me about it.

Not one person in her life knows she's dead yet.

You believe that?

Jeffries struck out with the next of kin?

On her lease application,

she left "notify in case of emergency" blank.

If he'd killed her inside and left her there,

she could have been there for weeks or months.

Oh, God, could you imagine living like that?

What?

Still a lot of Jane Does

on the books years later.

Not on ours.

Somebody knows her story.

Her shrink.

Okay, her shrink.

Oh, hello. Uh...

Listen, folks, I don't accept walk-ins.

Or couples.

In fact, I'm expecting a patient.

We're not a couple.

Well, in any event...

Your patient won't be coming in today, Doctor.

What do you mean?

She's dead.

We've been unable to locate

the next of kin, a boyfriend,

any close friends.

We're hoping that you could help us with that.

Well, you know I can't do that.

We know doctor-patient, blah, blah, blah...

We could get a court order

to help you out of your ethical quagmire.

[sighs]

Well, Gretchen's parents are dead.

She has a sister named Ellen Travis out in the Denver area.

Fiancé, boyfriend?

Not that she mentioned.

She was a very private person.

Except with you.

Well, that's what I get paid for.

BENSON: The shrink didn't even ask how she died.

You notice that?

He was doing his best not to answer our questions.

Probably figured he shouldn't ask any either.

Lacerations from the glass.

Broken neck, ribs, lumbar.

Before or from the fall?

From.

Any sign of a struggle?

Mm-mm.

Well, the neighbor said

that she heard a lot of commotion before the fall.

Must have been consensual commotion then.

No contusions, no internal abrasions.

A gun to the head wouldn't leave an abrasion.

I'm on your side, Detective.

I left messages for everyone the shrink gave up,

including the sister in Colorado.

Voicemail, voicemail, voicemail.

Doesn't anybody pick up the phone anymore?

She was hiding from somebody.

A violent ex?

Exes.

I thought the shrink said no boyfriend.

Ah, he seemed uncertain.

He seemed uncooperative.

You're going to have to make good on your threat.

Get a court order and compel him to stop his pussyfooting.

[ phone rings]Jackson.

What?

Elliot.

Stabler. Yeah.

Good.

Get out of here.

Any priors?

Thanks a lot.

I got to tell you, I love computers.

The print on the wine glass?

Matched one they got on record in Albany.

State prison?

New York State Department of Psychiatry,

a Dr. Mark Daniels.

Her own shrink?

Well, I guess the pussyfooting's over.

I'm sorry, my brother wants to be helpful,

but legally, his hands are tied.

His hands were in her apartment.

We lifted some very well-educated prints

from a glass of wine.

BENSON: Dr. Daniels, can you explain

when and why you were visiting your patient?

W-W-W... W...

he was in Ms. Quinn's apartment briefly

at lunchtime, at her request

to attend to a crisis.

Or an erection?

That's insulting.STABLER: Really?

I thought it was the absence of one that was insulting.

Whoa, what's your point?!

The point is, what was your brother doing

in her apartment?

A brief, professional consultation.

He returned

to the office at 2:30 to attend to patients

for the rest of the day.

Doctor... where were you

that evening, say around 8:00?

You know, I don't think I...

I was at a fellow therapist's, and a-a ladyfellow therapist's

having dinner, at her apartment.

I got there around 6:30 and I left around 9:00.

You got a name and number

on your lady, fellow- therapist friend?

Dr. Mark Daniels was at my apartment last evening

from about 6:30 to a little after 9:00.

Do you have a doorman or was anyone else home?

No. Can you tell me what this is about?

Maybe you should ask the doctor about that.

Dr. Daniels is extremely busy...

Yeah, I'll bet.

You know any other women he's getting busy with?

We have a professional relationship.

I have absolutely no interest in his personal life.

Excuse me.

You think she's lying for him?

Ah... who can tell?

[phone rings]

It's me.

Stabler.

Hey,buddy,

thanks for getting back to me so quickly.

No, no, no, this is about a woman.

She wrote for your...

Perfect.

See you then.

MAN: How you been, Elliot?

STABLER: Good. Everything's good.

This is my partner, Olivia Benson.

Hey, how you doing?

You're better-looking than Alfonse.

Oh, thanks.What happened to the big fatso, coronary?

No, retired and moved to Florida.

Ah, same dif.

You know this woman?

I don't think so, no.

What about her?

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, the girl was, uh, defenestrated on 82nd street.

Saw the photo in the competition.

See, we don't go much

for death scenes.

Her name was Gretchen Quinn.

No.

You sure?

Found your name and number in her Rolodex.

Thought you could help us out.

Man...you know

I talked to her on the phone once or twice

when she'd call to say she liked a certain column, but...

I never met her.

Well, you ran some of her articles.

Well, I'm a columnist, honey,

not an editor.

She was just another byline to me.

Wow... she was kind of a...

A what?

Stone-cold fox? A babe?

No.

You'rea babe...

anda stone-cold fox.

No, this girl, this is some... deep, deep well you'd fall into.

What a waste.

Well, maybe Munch isright.

People should get off their computers...

Relish.

Relish-- get out, rub elbows a little more.

What do you think?

Uh-huh. Right.

Little more relish.

Thank you.

Her credit card shows a regular series

of expensive dinners for the last year--

the last one at Il Posto Vecchio for $372.

Not cheap.

Nope.

Ah, grazie.

MAN: So many beautiful faces

to remember.

STABLER: Oh, dumb me.

Will this help jog your memory?

She was with one of the anchors--

not local, either, national--

but, then they all look the same.

I remember her.

She was with Dallas Warner.

Got a serious tip.

Oh, you did, huh?

Well, those anchors make a lot of money.

No, not from him. From her.

Guess she was his boss.

I lovethat.

MAN: We're going to lead

with repercussions of the senate run.

She was an incredibly riveting interview.

I'm sure she was

but we're here about Gretchen Quinn.

Is she related to Sally?

My wife and I are having dinner with her

in Georgetown next week--

Ben, too, if he gets back from Europe.

Not Sally, Gretchen.

She was alsoa writer.

I believe that you knew her.

Thank you, sweetheart.

Is there anything that you can do with this?

Mr. Warner...

Excuse us.

Yes or no?

"Knew her"...

does anybody ever really know anybody?

Don't get philosophical with us.

You're just a teleprompter jockey.

We're just cops.

I haven't seen her in over a month.

Were you on the air last night?

No, I'm off Saturday through Monday.

I was having dinner with my wife last night.

There's a maitre d' and a room full of waiters

who know that I was there.

I assume you can confirm this

without contacting her.

If you'd like a picture of her,

I'd be happy to provide one for you.

On in five, Mr. Warner.

Good evening.

I'm Dallas Warner.

White House sources today denied...

He's either a sociopath,

or he really believes his line of BS.

Sociopath.

What does he think?

He's the second coming of Walter Cronkite?

Yeah, well, he was kind enough

to grant us an interview.

Yeah, like he was doing Gretchen a favor

by having her on the side.

Hubris.

Tell me about it.

He's already figured that her death

is less important than his life, his career...

Oh, man...

What?

You just know a guy like that,

his alibi's going to check.

Deklerk was to donate $20 million...

Bastard.

...to the library building fund.

MAN: Mm-hmm, couple of days ago.

How could I forget?

She had drinks with that gorgeous anchorman.

What's his name, Warner, Warren?-- whatever.

BENSON: Dallas Warner.

Him. She didn't look happy, though.

Yeah, why's that?

Women... who knows?

I should have such problems.

Professional unhappiness or personal?

She was stroking his arm, crying.

He was sitting up straight, looking around.

I see this scene a hundred times a week, baby,

and the body language... it was personal,

as in the man was already gone.

Is that all?

Please.

Yes, I was with her Monday night.

When you told me she was dead, I was shocked.

Funny, you didn't look shocked.

You seemed rather... cool, in fact.

I was being discreet, Detective.

Ah...

Being discreet and lying to the police

are two different animals.

I was good for her.

Before me, she'd been with a bunch of lying psychos.

Know any of the other liars' names?

No.

I was safe, exactly what she needed.

I called her often

and I returned her calls promptly.

What happened the last time you saw her?

She called me up, crying.

I asked her if she wanted to meet for a drink.

I had some time before dinner.

As soon as I sat down at the table, she told me

that she had been sleeping with her psychiatrist.

It had been going on intensely for a couple of weeks.

Why would she confide in you?

Because I'm a good listener.

When you want into somebody's pants.

If you want to get snotty, Detective, I'll call my lawyer

right now, and you can forget about mutual cooperation.

Then I'll call your lawyer

and ask him if you killed Gretchen.

And why would I have done that?

To keep her from blabbing to your wife.

That's enough.

Excuse us one second, will you?

Detective Benson, why don't you go down,

talk to Carmichael at the D.A.'s office

and let's see if we can get that OBB started, okay?

[ sighs]

You want me to bust him in the grill?

I mean, we're not getting anywhere in there.

It's not "we," it's me.

What's that mean?

That pompous jerk will never condescend

to deal with a woman-- you go in there.

We good?

We're good.

Everything all right, Detective?

Oh, yeah.

She's, uh...

you know.

Up here, you get a whole different perspective on people.

Like ants.

Yeah, a bit.

So, we were with Gretchen's shrink.

Yeah, she said that at first it had been exhilarating...

Yeah?

Him knowing all of her darkest shadows

and falling for her anyway, all of that.

I said I thought she should sue him.

Little late for that.

You know, if you repeat what you've told me

about the therapist for, say, a grand jury...

No, no, no, no, this was off the record.

No, it's not a 60 Minutes interview here.

This is a homicide investigation.

Still, it's your word against mine,

and mine is trusted around the world.

Oh.

How about in your own home?

How good's your word there, Dallas?

Warner seems to have a solid alibi.

I don't think he'd offer up dinner with his wife

in a public place if he were lying.

CRAGEN: We got the shrink's fingerprints at the scene.

I'll get the DNA order on that if I have to.

Listen, I got a call about the body.

They need to make room in the morgue.

There's still no one to release her to?

Hey, you tell me.

Well, we got a sister in Denver, but, as of now

she remains as much a mystery as Gretchen.

No memorabilia in her belongings?

Well, we haven't had a chance

to sift through her stuff.

Uh, well, you know when a good time

to do that might be?

From the Greek, Cassidy:

"necro": death; "philia": love of.

You try it.

Necrophilia.

Again.

Necrophilia.

Or "Egyptian love"

according to Henry Miller.

Necrophilia.

Necrophilia.

Good man.

She must have had fun

naming her computer files--

uh, this is "penis.quotes."

You want to read it or should I?

Oh, knock yourself out.

No, that's yours.

Anything?

No.

Okay, "Biology of the Amazons"

by Gretchen Quinn.

"There's a tiny catfish feared more than the piranha.

It's called a..."

Candiru.

Say what?

CRAGEN: This is beautiful. Tell him.

"It will swim right into a man's penis

and lodge itself there by erecting sharp spines." Ow.

Erecting sharp spines-- that's a fish with a sense of irony.

How'd you know that?

In the jungle they always taught us

"don't hold your nose; hold your stones."

Bingo.

Yearbook?

Book of poetry by Sylvia Plath.

Of course.

Overdue 20 years from Patterson High School.

STABLER: We're on our way back.

The victim's real name was Susan Sidarsky.

About 20 minutes. Right.

Blood tests aren't in.

Shrink and his mouthpiece are.

Let me pull the hair out for the match.

May I?

Gretchen presented classic signs

of childhood sexual abuse.

She was overly promiscuous.

She was very seductive.

She was constantly asking me

whether or not I found her attractive.

BENSON: Did you?

And then she told me...

that her father started abusing her

shortly after her 13th birthday.

Abusing her how?

Oh, must I be clinical? Come on.

Yes. You must.

Emotional abuse? Fondling? What?

Intercourse.

In less clinical words, you mean rape.

And the minute she graduated from high school,

she ran.

She moved almost every year.

So she

stopped running when she got to New York. Mm-hmm.

How often did you see her?

Uh-uh... just...

As a patient?

Yes, as a patient.Twice a week.

That must get expensive, no?

She had a trust fund,

although she told me she refused to touch it

but it didn't matter.

I billed her insurance.

About her sexual experiences...

Well, it was anonymous...

and joyless with her.

She would take any man on the block

as long as she picked him before he decided on her.

She had a history of deranged lovers.

Any one of whom could have killed her.

Well, thank you.

Thank you for being so open with us--

although, of course, you left out the part where you were

her last deranged lover.

That's unfair.

So's sleeping with a vulnerable patient

who trusted you.

Listen, I never...

I, uh...

What?

I never meant to betray her.

Yeah, but you did.

I think the psychiatry board

is going to take a very dim view of your betrayal.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you got signs

all over school about stranger danger.

How do you warn them

about people they're supposed to trust?

The priests... scout leaders...

future therapists.

You tell me how you tell children about this

without having them be completely paranoid?

We've had this conversation before, El.

I know. I know. It's just...

Maureen got a "B" in Algebra,

which is a minor miracle

and Kathleen's orthodontist said

we might not have to have a whole retainer,

so that should help. Good.

That's good.

You know her therapist wasn't the only one doing her.

Her father.

Her father?

Yeah.

Elizabeth made you a Play-Doh ashtray.

I don't smoke.

Course not.

Oh.

That's nice.

Where is it?

Well, Dickie flushed it down the toilet.

Ah, little prince. [laughs]

How could anyone...?

A father?

Olivia.

Oh, good morning, Munch.

The big sister from Denver's here.

Here in the unit?

New York-- two-bedroom suite Midtown.

She's not exactly warm and bubbly.

Well, grief does strange things to people.

I don't think it's grief.

You got two sisters growing up

in the same abusive household.

What are the chances it only happened to one of them?

Probably very slim.

Damn it.

The vic went to impressive lengths

to escape her family.

To escape her father.

Changing your name from Susan to Gretchen?

Gretchen is someone

who never met Daddy Sidarsky.

She ran to a different city.

She ran from man to man, trying to find comfort.

Did you know that necrophilia's not only with dead people?

Do you see what you started?

No, I got it off the 'net.

Supposedly some famous actor out in Hollywood--

he hires hookers to lie in an ice bath

waits till they turn blue with the cold before diving in.

Let's move on.

Compulsive onanism.

[chuckling]: Onanism.

Hey, the Quinn girl's sister?

She's here.

Got the release forms?

Mm-hmm.

Mrs. Travis?

Olivia Benson, my partner Elliot Stabler.

We're the detectives on your sister's case.

Oh.

Why don't you have a seat.

These are the keys to your sister's apartment...

if you'd like to drop by

maybe take some family items.

Not that there will be any.

BENSON: Why do you say that?

I haven't talked to my sister in over 20 years.

About two months ago, she started calling me

out of the blue saying that she wanted a relationship.

And...?

Well, it was

superficial...

to say the least.

And then it stopped.

Still, you've been the only relative

we've been able to locate.

Your sister was somewhat of a... mystery.

She was a drama queen, Detective.

No one could ever figure her out.

I thought she was nine years old

when you left for Colorado.

Well, nine-year-old girls are complicated.

Tell me about it.

If you'd like to use the phone to call

your relatives about the funeral...

My father's dead... and what funeral?

I'm in New York to sign the papers, go to Saks and...

take the next plane home.

Well, then we won't keep you any longer.

Thank you for your time.

[ sighs]

Well, she was molested.

You know that.

That cold facade of hers?

Maybe it's just living in Colorado.

She dresses a little more Fifth Avenue

than Rocky Mountain.

I'm having a fashion police blackout.

That outfit?

Gretchen's shrink said

that she never touched her trust fund.

I mean... But this one...

[ sighs]

Who's paying?

[ keys rattling]

Who's paying?

Don't you people have

computer files of your own?

Yeah. 20,000 known sex offenders

all cross-referenced by proclivity

and physical characteristics.

Is that true?

We can give you every pederast

in Manhattan with a four-inch unit, but 401ks?

That's a little out of our area of expertise.

Trent Peterson, Benson, Stabler.

Benson, Stabler-- Smith and Fenwick.

How can I help you?

Well, I was just telling them

about the business section's new system

and how you can get financial data

on anybody or any corporation in the free world.

Am I right?

Yes, but... did the M.E. clear this?

[ chuckling]

Peterson, I'm on a deadline-- the Sidarsky trust.

So the sister is dipping into the vic's trust fund.

Is that what we got here?

No. She had her own separate account.

Gretchen's just sat there and grew.

Grew how?

$3 and a half million and still climbing.

Oh, really.

Well, that's a lot of money and a lot of motive.

What's this? The inheritance?

Not an inheritance.

It's a trust--

a living trust managed by her father.

Whoa-whoa, whoa. Wait a minute.

I thought you said the father was dead.

Right, but we were misinformed.

Robert Sidarsky lives and works in New Jersey.

You want to know his shoe size?

I'll tell you what i want to know.

I want to know the truth about these people.

SIDARSKY: All the creative people--

our R&D, marketing, in-house ad staff--

that's all done here in Jersey.

But the sneaks are made where? China? Malaysia?

Yeah, for the most part, yeah.

Don't worry, Mr. Sidarsky.

We're not here on child labor violations.

We don't have any secrets here.

BENSON: Oh, we all have secrets.

Um...

Could you please enlighten me?

Your daughter's dead, Mr. Sidarsky.

What?

No... no...

um... d-does my wife know?

I... I have to call my wife.

Somebody threw her out of a window on East 82nd Street.

What?

Uh... that's impossible.

My family is at-at the shore. They're vacationing.

I was supposed to meet them on-on Friday.

We have a positive identification, sir.

Your second child,

born May 10, 1967.

[ sighs]

S-Susan.

Susie was lost to me a long time ago.

Such a sad child.

Such a sad ending.

Well...

STABLER: What do you think?

What do I think?

I thought I'd like to slap the crap out of him.

You know, even if you get Gretchen's sister to come forward,

the statute of limitations is long gone.

Maybe not.Meaning?

Megan's Law. If we can pump the sister's memory,

it'd start the clock all over again on the emotional abuse.

I don't know, Olivia. Recovered memory-- that is such a rat-hole.

So? It's worth a shot.It's not even going to help our case.

Elliot, so maybe he's not her killer.

We slap a molestation case on him.

I'm worried about that little girl--

that little girl that's down by the seashore

waiting for Daddy to come home.

Who's got a mother... who's still alive,

and we can only hope is paying attention. Hope?

Hope isn't good enough, Elliot.

♪

I thought you didn't drink.

I don't. Doesn't mean you can't.

Oh. Fine.

No. Elliot's home with Kathy and the kids

and Munch is out somewhere...

Jeffries and Cassidy...

We leave here, we just...

disappear into the night.

Back in Homicide,

we used to go out together every night and get smashed,

and we'd tell war stories, maybe fool around a little bit,

and, uh, feel like crap the next morning.

This is better.

Oh, much.

So, why are you alone tonight?

My wife was on an Orlando turnaround--

she's a flight attendant--

and I was home, scrubbing algae off the tiles

around the swimming pool we never used--

the one that got me into hot water with Internal Affairs

because what's a cop doing with an in-ground pool, right?--

and then the phone rang--

the call she always expected... always dreaded.

[ sighing]: So...

Marge is...

scattered in bits over some swamp...

and I'm home in Bensonhurst...

trying to make sense of the test pattern on our giant TV...

wanting so bad to drink again...

hoping for surrender... oblivion.

Kind of like our girl, the vic.

She slept with every guy on the block

just to get to that same place-- oblivion.

You get inside her head, Olivia,

and you will get to the perp.

What's-his-face, Warner-- the Peter Jennings look-alike--

he's got a solid alibi.

Half the people on the Upper East Side

know he's stepping out on his wife.

You tell me-- what's the motive?

Then it's the shrink, yes? No. No.

No.

Again, what's the motive?

I mean, he did some damage, I'll admit...

Ah-ah. Psychic damage.

What are you, Mr. Insight now?

Where'd you get that, the Psychic Hot Line?

Hey, it was. He raped her emotionally.

But killed her?

No way.

Okay. Then who?

I say you got to take a look at the father.

The father... who hasn't seen her in 20 years. Why?

Because she was in hiding from Daddy Dearest?

I mean, the shrink said

that the old man was cunning

and still patient.

MUNCH: So he finds out

she's living in Manhattan.

Says to the new wife and kid

"Go get some fried clams. I got an errand to run in the city."

He goes, dingdong. "Hi. It's Daddy."

And throws her out the window?

Dr. Mark Daniels,

the psychotherapist, was at the crime scene.

We've got his fingerprints on a wine glass

and a pack of ribbed ultra-thins, as I recall.

So would somebody please tell me

why he is not in interrogation even as we speak

being sweated by two of my best detectives.

It wasn't him.

It was the father.

What if... she did cash

one of her trust fund checks?

That's how he found her.

So he goes over to her apartment,

he walks in, she's banging the shrink

or the anchorman.

He's possessive; he's jealous... all the usual crap.

I don't know.

The new daughter-- the young one--

that's where his focus would be.

Maybe Gretchen was writing a novel

about how pathetic her childhood was.

Why not? Everybody else is.

You've got to get that sister to talk.

Be my guest.

Mrs. Travis?

What time does your flight leave?

[ laughing]: Soon.

Not soon enough, but soon.

You want to get back to your children, I know

and I'm sure they're anxious to see their mommy again.

They are, so if you wouldn't mind...

It's just that I wanted to say I'm sorry

that we were so rough on you the other day.

You were probably wondering

why I didn't stay and protect my little sister.

Is that it?

I'm sorry.

Wait. Please don't go.

I... please.

Did you know that you have a little half sister?

She's ten.

You knowwhat's going to happen to her.

No.

The same thing that happened to you, Mrs. Travis.

It was her drama, not mine.

Please, Mrs. Travis,

just listen to me.

It's your drama, too.

Now, please. We can help.

I have to go.

Just one more day...

in a lifetime.

Can you imagine being a little girl in his house?

Don't even think of touching me.

Well... I-I only...Only what?

Only want to make it feel better?

Can we use this?

Let's just see where it goes.

You bastard.

You cowardly, disgusting, sick

bastard.

Ellie, honey, sweetie pie...

Shut up.

Is that what you call your new one--

your little "sweetie pie"?

"Give daddy a taste of that sweet pie."

Is that what you think you'll do?

I don't know what you're talking about.

No?

You killed Susie. How's that?

You killed her.

Listen...

I, uh, talked to the police, and, uh,

I wasn't anywhere near the city on that night.

TRAVIS: Oh, not that night.

Not the other night.

Ellie, I, uh...

I think you're making a rather costly mistake.

[ laughing]: Oh. Oh.

The trust fund.

[ laughs]

Is that what you're

threatening me with?

Oh, Daddy...

Stick it up your ass.

You know what Susie called it?

"Blood money."

From the first time she bled

when you held her down.Okay.

Just like you held me down.

All right, that's enough.

I mean, it's ancient history.

Just let it rest.

I've got news for you, Daddy.

It's not ancient history.

That woman detective you met? I met her, too.

She convinced me to stay, and guess what.

She says... that if I remember things now

a judge in New Jersey will tell my story

to a grand jury.

Okay, listen, listen, honey, please...

Look, I-I've got a new family... I know.

That's why it's all come back up.

Just as if it happened yesterday...

which is how it feels to me...

every day... of my life.

What is that?

Oh, my sister wrote this.

Uh... she mailed it to Denver,

and my husband-- whom you'll never meet--

faxed it to me here.

Would you like me

to read it to you?

No. What good would it do?

It'll do mesome good!

And Susie.

"Gretchen Quinn...

"born Susan Sidarsky...

"a frequent contributor to the New York Ledger

committed suicide Monday night.

"She hopes her death

"will point an accusing finger at the men responsible.

"In the end, nothing appealed to Ms. Quinn--

"no food, book or person.

"She couldn't stand the sound of her thoughts

or the touch of her own skin."What is this?

Susie's obituary.

She wrote it herself.

"She is survived...

[ laughs]

by her ex-boyfriend, Dallas Warner..."

who was perfect-- except for the wife and four kids--

"by Dr. Mark Daniels, the therapist..."

who knew her inside and out--

literally and Biblically--

"and last but not least

"Robert... Sidarsky...

...her father."

Oh... come on...

Her... father!

That's enough. Please.

Who took away her childhood, her virginity,

her sense of safety and fairness in the world...

Ellie...

Cause of death was from a fall--

self-inflicted.

She was 32!

[ quietly]: She was...

[ sobbing]: thirty... two.

She was 32, Daddy.

[sobbing]

[ wolf howling]