"I've been out for three and a half weeks and I'm officially going insane—I have to go in today," I say, amid Kassandra's protests for me to stay at home. "I know you're worried, but I can wallow in my own self-despair for weeks on end." I turn around then, seeing Kassandra standing in the doorway, worry etched into her face and radiating through her eyes. "Look, I know you're concerned, sweetie, but I have to go in, really I do." I straighten my blazer as I step forward, leaning in to kiss her, but she turns her cheek so that I only get that instead.

"I still say it's too soon," she replies.

"I know you're worried, but they're re-opening a cold case and they need me," I tell her patiently. "Carisi says I'm one of the few detectives who understands the nitty-gritty, and I'm willing to take the chance of running at full-speed towards it because that's what needs to be done."

"May as well marry Carisi—you're always in sync now that he's requested you to be his new partner," Kassandra replied bitterly, pulling away from me.

"Uh, one problem with that," I say, yanking her gently back to me so as our eyes are locked. "I'm madly in love with all of this," I say, reaching behind her and cupping her perfect ass, "and he's got none of it."

Kassandra tries and fails not to laugh. "And there's nothing between you?"

"Of course not!" I cry out in disgust. "He's my mother's ex-lover, who for all I know is scamming on her half the time. Too close to home..." I shake my head at her, gritting my teeth at the very notion of it. "Uh-uh. Not happening under any circumstances whatsoever."

Kassandra shrugs. "If you say so," she calls after me as I move towards the door and the staircase, which will take me outside and to my car.

. . .

I had not seen Kassandra in fifteen months, and when I did see her, it came as a complete shock to me. It was after I'd managed to defeat Ryder Knox and had been released from the hospital, just in time to figure out that Owen was seeing someone else during our marriage. I began separation proceedings delicately, not wanting it to go so far that he ended up snatching the kids and taking them to somewhere like North Korea or Russia or something.

It was when I was out shopping one afternoon while my mother had the kids for the weekend that I ran into Kassandra outside a boutique. She looked great and said that her program of study at the rehab clinic had ended, and now she was applying her experiences to her notes for her doctorate. I expressed my congratulations and told her we should get a drink sometime—of course, a smoothie would have to suffice—and, taking note of me not wearing my wedding right, seemed delighted at the prospect. She and I then walked around Brookfield Place and got lunch and just kept talking and talking and talking.

Suffice it to say that me going back to her place was in the cards and when we arrived, it just seemed like something that I'd been doing my entire life. It wasn't about man or a woman in bed next to you—no, it was all about feeling good about yourself and making the other person feel good. And that's exactly what happened, making each other feel good, and when I asked her to be my children's nanny, she jumped at the opportunity.

"When did you find out?" she asks me quietly, her fingers gently tangled in my hair, strewn across one of her pillows.

"Hmm?" I ask, turning over to look at her. "Find out what?"

"That you were...you know..."

I smile at her, biting down on my lower lip and feeling delightfully flushed. "You can say it."

"All right. Gay," she replies.

"When I realized Owen was cheating on me," I said softly. "I know so many women could just be beyond pissed and then just want to experiment, but that wasn't me. Not at all, really." I sit up then, pulling my knees towards my chest, resting my chin on them. "I guess the moment it happened was when it hit me that I wasn't as angry as I should've been. I mean, this guy that I've been with since high school, and had three children with, and I'm barely angry. It's barely off the radar screen, to tell you the truth. I mean, we defied my parents for god's sake—and for what? For it to go up in flames the moment we get bored?"

"You think he was bored?" Kassandra asks. "Can't imagine why..."

"Thank you," I reply, "but after three kids, well..." I shrug.

"Trust me, you look great," she assures me.

"You know, part of me even thinks I shouldn't have been so hot to trot just to be with him, you know?" I ask her. "I think part of it was that I was so indebted to him from saving me from that bastard Ulysses that I felt like, I don't know, I owed him something and then it was just...done. And it felt so different—I mean, I've only been with three people in my life, you included—and I like to think that everyone's tastes and techniques are just so different..."

"It's true," she tells me.

"Yeah, well," I say, leaning back up against the bed frame, "all I can say is, I was impressed enough to get knocked up at eighteen. And then we had Alexandrine and then the whole moving in together and marriage happened. Needless to say getting cut off completely by my parents was more than a little expected. My dad was furious and I, at the time, just assumed that it was because he didn't approve of Owen or us sneaking around and lying..."

"And what do you think now?" Kassandra asks me.

I turn and look down at her in the semi-darkness, before leaning down without hesitation and kissing her. "I think they knew the whole time," I reply. "I think they knew, or had their suspicions, about me being gay and they were pissed that not only had I been sneaking around and lying, but I'd also gotten pregnant and me and my traditional mindset would think I was obligated to stay with him for all time or something..."

"Do you still think that?"

I shake my head, running my knuckles along her cheek. "No," I reply. "And my kids have to understand eventually. Have to understand all of it—Alexandrine first, of course, because she's older and can understand English. But someday the twins will understand too... And when that time comes, I'll be ready and waiting with an explanation..."

"Which is what?"

I smile down at her. "Which is that I met someone I can't live without," I reply, again without hesitation. "I can't live without you, Kassandra. I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner."

. . .

"Coffee and doughnut run? Leia, you're spoiling me," Carisi admonishes as I put down the doughnut box and his favorite coffee drink on his desk. "What do you think you're doing by providing provisions?"

"Nice alliteration there!" I compliment him. "And here I thought you were only a cop who had a taste for the law..."

"Ha-ha, very funny," Carisi says, selecting a Danish from the box and chewing on it slowly.

"Funny? I pegged you more for a jelly doughnut guy," I said, tutting to myself and taking the box back, before putting it on the communal table in the center of the squad room.

"Your mom'll want to see you," Carisi tells me, boss-mode fully activated. "You know you're back a few days before you're expected."

"Anticipated that," I reply, waving my mother's favorite drink—a caramel Frappuccino—past his nose. "One look at this, and she'll be practically begging me back full-time."

"Don't count on it," Carisi calls over his shoulder.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I call back as I knock on my mother's office door and am invited in quickly.

I shut it behind me and hesitate as she wraps up a phone call, waving me in and nodding in thanks as I place the drink down a few inches away from her paperwork. I stand a little back, gazing at the array of photographs my mother has accumulated on her desktop over the years, my favorite being one of Olivia holding me as a baby and waving in her triumphant way at the camera. That had been the one-year anniversary of Olivia's investigation of child protective services after there had been suspicions of her abusing Noah.

My mother hangs up the phone and turns to look at me, bringing the drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. "Does Kassandra know that you took the psych eval a few days earlier than expected?"

I roll back on the balls of my feet. "No."

She sighs. "I don't want you starting your engagement with a lie, Leia. You know how I feel about lying—and I'm not just being your mother right now. I'm also speaking as your commanding officer."

"Two lies," I reply.

"What?" she asks, confused.

I sigh, not knowing how to put this. "She still doesn't know about the second half of the hospital visit—the miscarriage," I tell her quietly. "Even though she is a doctor and know from a certain standpoint that Owen and I had not been intimate in some time, it's just not something I want to get into. That's uncharted territory and I'm not sure how to proceed."

"Well, I suppose I don't envy you that," she says quietly, bringing out some more important-looking paperwork. "In here, I have the results of your psych eval," she says, opening the folder. "And you passed," she tells me, handing it over. "With flying colors, I might add."

I take the documentation and scan it as best I can. "They say that my grief will be beneficial for dealing with victims. Great," I say, shutting it and handing it back to her. "Just put that into the file marked 'Sympathetic Detective'," I say, bitterness finding its way into my tone.

"Hey, that sympathy got you partnered with Carisi, so be grateful," my mother tells me firmly. "He's not one to beat about the bush, and he wants to be working with the best of the best."

"That or he thinks I can't handle it, and he wants to babysit me," I say, gripping the edge of her desk.

"Hush," my mother admonishes, opening her desk drawer and handing over my gun, which I take and strap to its proper place. "That serial cold case we got—he's waiting for you in interrogation one."

"Is that allowed? Keeping prisoners in there to fester?" I ask, turning towards the room for the first time and peering in. "I don't see a lawyer..."

"That's because he hasn't asked for one," my mother replies, getting to her feet and picking up her phone and pressing a button. "Carisi? We're all set in here. I'm prepping her now. Okay. Thanks."

"Why hasn't he asked for a lawyer?" I ask, proceeding to study his body language as my mother hangs up the phone. "Is he so far off the radar that his lawyer is somehow unreachable, or...?"

"No, I think it's because he doesn't believe we have a case," Carisi replies in his suave manner, stepping into my mother's office without knocking. "We haven't caught him yet officially, so it's not like he automatically thinks we have anything to link him to the crimes."

"DNA?" I ask as he moves to stand next to me.

"In the system—petty crimes as a young kid, sentenced as a juvenile, was back out on the streets upping the ante by the time he was twenty-one," Carisi continues. "I know as well as you do that it's something, but DNA doesn't lie..."

I turn to Carisi then, my mouth flying open. "You're not telling me we have a witness to what the son of a bitch did?" I cry out.

"We do," my mother tells us, stepping in between us and giving each of us a rather satisfied smile. "A girl who was seven and a half when the crimes happened—she was in the closet when the bastard was raping and murdering her mother. Didn't even think to check."

"And, get this, she wrote it down in her diary, every single year on the anniversary it happened, changing the language every year so as it would make more sense when we finally caught the guy," Carisi says eagerly. "Now she's a student at Hudson, and she's a forensic major. She wants to come and work for us as soon as she graduates and is on the beat for a few years."

"How do you want to play it?" I ask Carisi.

"What were you thinking?" he asks.

I grin at him, the seed having already been planted. "Why don't I get on his side—I arrested him a few years ago. Then you can come in strong while I ally myself with him. What do you think?"

He nods, seemingly impressed. "Sounds good—you have more history with him than I do," he replies.

"Let's nail him," I say, walking towards the door with confidence and opening it, all the rest of the information of the crime falling back to me. "Hello, Duke, do you remember me?" I ask him, fixing him with a sideways smile as I step forward. "Of course you do—you never forget a pretty face."

"You arrested me for robbing that joint a few years back," he says fondly, looking me up and down. "You looked good in blue, but you look even better in a suit. I mean—hotter, actually."

I smile at Duke. "Why thank you."

He grins, playing right into the trap we're setting for him. "We should get a coffee or something, to catch up and to celebrate. I mean, I'm glad you moved up—the force needs more babes like you."

"Hey, you watch it!" Carisi says as we move to sit across from Duke. "You don't address my partner as a 'babe'! It's insulting—she's not one of your victims here, buddy."

"Hey, come on, Sonny," I say, flashing him a smile and turning back to Duke. "All I'm here to do is remember old times with you, Duke. He's the one with the problem here."

"Problem? What problem?" asks Duke in confusion.

"You see," I say, leaning forward, "my partner here thinks that we can finger you for these rapes and murders, all because you happen to live nearby. I say that's total bull, because obviously you're a stand-up guy who just so happens to find himself in desperate circumstances now and again."

"Yeah, yeah, that's right," he says defensively, his Brooklyn accent thick. "I ain't never done anything to hurt nobody. I only stole some stuff—sure, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do but, a guy's gotta eat..."

I nod. "Of course you've gotta eat," I say, nodding at him in sympathy. "I'm a little hungry myself... Do you like doughnuts and coffee?"

Duke grins. "Hell yeah I do."

"Carisi, why don't you go and bring us some?" I ask him. "And get the better bag of coffee—I don't want Duke to have to suffer by drinking the cheap crap," I tell him, winking at Duke. "And bring the whole box of doughnuts—Duke should have a choice in what he eats."

"Fine," Carisi replies, annoyed, getting to his feet and kicking his chair aside before leaving the room to do my bidding.

"Short leash," I tell Duke, winking at him again. "So, now that you know what I've been up to, let's talk about you. You were a plumber, weren't you?"

Duke nods at me with enthusiasm. "That's right—still am. Family business," he tells me proudly. "Ross's Plumbing. Our last name, you know."

I nod. "And what a fine last name. It's Scottish, isn't it?"

"Yeah, my whole family came over from Scotland over a hundred and fifty years ago," Duke continues. "We have some clan relatives over there."

"Clans are loyal—good to have on your side," I say as Carisi returns to the room with Duke's doughnuts and coffee. "Thanks, Carisi," I say, barely looking at him as he presents Duke with the food. "I'll bet they'd do darn near anything to keep their own safe..."

"Yeah, safe," Duke says, promptly slurping up his coffee and selecting a powdered doughnut, which he chews loudly, with his mouth open. "Those ladies weren't safe when I was doing what I was doing with them..."

"What ladies?" Carisi asks, and I could kick him.

"The ladies I hurt," Duke continues, utterly absorbed in his doughnuts.

"Were they ladies you were dating?" I ask him. "Did you break up with them when it became too much?"

"No—don't date. I don't like willing women," he replies, looking up at me and licking the powdered sugar from his fingers. "Although, you... You're different. I mean, you I like."

I smile at him from across the table. "I like you, too, Duke. But... Tell me. Who were these ladies?"

"Ladies I saw on the job; ladies I met around the neighborhood." Duke burps before helping himself to another doughnut. "First one had to have been almost thirty years ago..."

I can barely contain my disgust. "The first one was when you were how old?" I ask him, trying to keep it together.

"Fifteen, give or take," he replies. "She was a woman who lived in my apartment building when I was growing up." He leans back, unlooping his belt slightly before replacing it on a looser setting. "She wanted it," he says, chewing his doughnut, a fair amount of powdered sugar leaving a dusting on his cheeks.

"What makes you think so?" Carisi asked.

"She always changed with the door open," he replies. "When she was separated from her husband, she stayed with us for a few weeks. She was friends with my mother—my mother was like a big sister to her," he continues, letting out another loud, unattractive belch. "Chrissy Harper—prettiest woman I'd ever seen. She was twenty-four and just perfect."

"Tell us what happened, Duke," I say quietly.

"Chrissy liked to take baths in the afternoon," he continues. "Dad would be at work and Mom would do the shopping then. I was supposed to be at school, but I would sneak back on the fire escape during lunch and just watch her. She knew none of the men were home, so she would leave all the doors open..."

"What happened?" Carisi asked softly.

Duke sighs, finishing his second doughnut and starting on a third. "I came to watch her in the bath one day and I was surprised to see my mom sitting there with her. I mean, they were so close that I didn't think anything of it, but when they started kissing..." He covered his eyes like a child might do, before slamming down his fist so hard down upon the table that it rattled against the floor.

"You were angry," I reply. It wasn't a question.

"Yes!" Duke practically screams, agony in his voice.

"You wanted to make them pay," Carisi said, feeding off his anger. "You had set your sights on Chrissy! She'd left her husband, and here you were—strapping young man—so naturally you thought she would choose you."

"I wanted to make them pay," Duke replies. "I could never hurt my mother—I was convinced it was all Chrissy's doing! She was trying to destroy my parent's marriage..."

"And by leaving the doors open, she was inviting you and anyone else to witness the sin she was committing," I said.

"Yes...sin," Duke said softly, angrily.

"You couldn't stand it—a Christian man like you," Carisi said.

"It was a sin because my mother was married to my father," Duke says calmly. "If she had left my father and taken up with Chrissy, I would've been upset, but I would have understood. It was their shared willfulness that destroyed me—and because I did want her for myself..."

"Duke, what did you do?" I asked him.

"After I watched them make love, I left, feeling disgusted... I did nothing, that day," he replies. "Part of my probation—I wasn't caught robbing again for another six months—was attending school as often as possible, unless I was found to be very sick..."

"You played sick," Carisi guesses. "We've all done it."

"I've done it," I say, attempting to align myself with Duke.

"I played sick," Duke affirms. "I waited for Mom to begin to go out shopping when I suddenly made a miraculous recovery. I told her I would call the school to tell them I was coming..."

"You didn't go," Carisi says quietly.

"I didn't go," Duke says, in the same quiet tone. "I waited until she left and then I went to Chrissy's room. She had decided to take her bath early, so I waited in there for her, and prepared the room. I pulled the curtains closed, I shut the windows, and I hid inside the wardrobe. When she came in, I attacked her... I didn't know what I was doing..."

"You were a virgin?" I guess, softly.

He nods. "Yeah... I just did what I thought was the way... And then I left her there, shaking, before I slashed her throat..."

"With what?" Carisi asks.

"One of my great-grandfather's razors—my father kept them in a case in the bathroom," he tells us. "My parents had their own bathroom and then there was the one Chrissy and I used... It was dull—the razor—and it took a long time, but I managed to do it."

"How did you dispose of your clothing?" I ask.

"Land fill—wasn't too far away," he replies. "It was trash day, so..."

"So you went to the landfill, then what?" Carisi asked.

"I showered in a building my dad had the key for," he replies. "I'd worked on the site with him the week before... The apartment had been a group home, and a new couple had bought it to refurbish it, but some clothes from the group home had been left behind. I found some in my size that looked enough like my clothes so that nobody would suspect anything..."

"And then you went to school?" I ask him.

Duke nods. "Yeah, and all before the first bell," he replies. "I was questioned and was believed that an intruder had broken in, because I stole some of my mother's jewelry and chucked it in a sewer drain," he says. "Expensive stuff, too—I didn't even know the value, I just guessed..."

Carisi sits forward. "What happened then?"

"My parents got divorced about a year later," he replies nonchalantly, almost as if it didn't affect him one way or the other. "My mother got a girlfriend pretty fast afterwards, and Dad took to the bottle. I started doing all my petty crimes then, with some murdering and raping in between to keep off the edge. Dad was so far down deep in the bottle he didn't care..."

"And your mom?" I asked.

"I was sixteen, so I got to pick who I lived with. Dad was sober enough then, and I was so betrayed by my mother that I chose him. My mom married her girlfriend and they adopted a few kids... Pretty soon, she didn't even call me to ask me how I was... No, 'How are you, Duke? Are you eating right, Duke? Do you need new shoes, Duke? Or a new sweater? Merry Christmas, Duke! Happy Birthday, Duke! I love you, Duke!' None of that..."

"Must've been pretty hard," Carisi puts in.

Duke shrugs. "I never went hungry or anything—I didn't eat much. And pretty soon I was locked up anyway. Once I got out, I took charge of the plumbing business and made enough to get my dad into rehab, but he drank himself to death by the time I was twenty-five. Just four years after my release..."

"And then what?" I asked.

"By that point?" He laughs softly. "Tessa Montgomery—June 17, 2026. Strangled, raped, murdered at her home in Queens; second victim. Third victim was Shawna St. James; September 21, 2026; stabbed, raped, murdered. Fourth victim, Theresa Abdullah, sliced and diced before finally being raped and murdered on December 31, 2026..." He sips his coffee, recalling all his victims. "Fifth—Marie Redmond; March 19, 2027. Strangled. Raped. Murdered. Sixth—May 28, 2027; Cynthia Fredericks; shot, raped, murdered. Seventh—Pauline Dixon, August 15, 2027, and she was strangled and raped and murdered..."

"Jessica Milano?" Carisi asked.

"Twelfth—strangled, raped, murdered; November 28, 2028."

"Maureen Stanley?" I ask.

"Fourteenth—shot, raped, murdered; June 27, 2029."

"Lucinda Daniels?" Carisi asks.

"Tenth—stabbed, raped, murdered; May 14, 2028."

"Rowena McPherson?" I ask.

"Thirteenth—sliced and diced, raped, murdered; March 29, 2029."

"You admit to killing these fourteen women?" Carisi asks.

Duke nods. "Yeah, I did them," he replies, not really paying attention, for his mind is preoccupied elsewhere.

"How many were there?" I ask, the nineteen years between his fourteenth victim and now unsettling to me.

"Less than a hundred, more than fifty," he replies.

"Seventy-five?" Carisi asks.

"Could be. Not sure," Duke says. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet," Carisi says, pushing a piece of paper and a pen towards him. "We need you to sign this statement authorizing what you said here today."

"Sure," Duke says, signing his name with little effort, and managing to get some powdered sugar on the pen.

"Good," Carisi says, taking the pen and paper away.

"Now what?" Duke asks.

"Now," I say, getting to my feet and getting out a pair of handcuffs, "get on your feet, Duke," I say, and when he doesn't listen, Carisi pulls him to his feet so as I can secure the cuffs on his unwilling wrists. "You're under arrest for the murders of Chrissy Harper, Tessa Montgomery, Shawna St. James, Theresa Abdullah; Marie Redmond; Cynthia Fredericks; Pauline Dixon; Jessica Milano; Maureen Stanley; Lucinda Daniels; and Rowena McPherson. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," I continue as Carisi opens the other door of the interrogation room. "You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney," I go on as Carisi unlocks a cell door, "one will be provided for you." I unlock the handcuffs and move to leave, but Duke knocks me in between the shoulder blades so as I go crashing into the bars of the cell.

"Hey!" Carisi shouts, attacking Duke immediately and slamming him against the cell bars himself as I slowly pick myself up. "You just added assault of a police officer to your list of charges my friend. Keep it up," he says, turning him lose and standing back so as Duke crumples do the floor, "and you'll be mopping up your own blood... You okay?" Carisi asks, pulling me out of the cell and locking it up behind him.

"Yeah... Happy first day back to me, right?" I joke.

"Come on, Leia..." Carisi says.

"What?" I ask, moving back into the squad room.

"You know as well as I do that Duke's a jerk," he says as I roll my shoulders in an effort to get them not to lock up completely. "He could've..."

"Killed me?" I ask, cutting him off and turning to look at him. "I don't think so. If you hadn't stepped in, I think I would've been just fine."

Carisi sighs. "I'm sure you would've been."

"That's right," I say, picking up my coat, draped on the back of the chair. "Now, who is the girl we have to talk to at Hudson?"

"Leia, you just got attacked by—"

"Am I bleeding?" I demand.

Carisi looks me over. "No."

"And I'm no doctor, but I know I don't have a concussion," I say, becoming more than a little exasperated. "What's her name?"

"Julia Tomlinson," Carisi replies.

"Good," I reply. "Let's go see her."

. . .

I remember the first vacation I went on with Kassandra; we went up the coast and to a beachside cottage. We had our own swatch of beach and the kids were with my mother again. There were trees growing up to create the feel of a forest around the property, so it literally felt like she and I were in our own little world. We went to the little shop in the nearby town, getting provisions for the weekend, planning on spending the entire time at the cottage.

Grilling was a no-brainer, and we grilled steaks and chicken and burgers and it was an altogether wonderful experience. The sand was soft beneath our feet and we would run into the water and shriek like children at the prospect of being so far from home. Splash fights were inevitable, and the notion that nobody knew us for miles around was a load off our shoulders as well. Every night, we would go to the back patio and share a glass of sparkling apple cider—pretending it was the finest and most expensive champagne—and watch the sunset unfold around us.

Such a thing of beauty it was, the contrast of colors that could never be painted as accurately or as gorgeously as the pallet we saw those nights above the ocean. And the look of Kassandra in that light was enough to make anyone swoon. It was in those three days that I fell in love with her, and never wanted to be without her ever again.

There was the small matter of my divorce which would have to be attended to as soon as possible, yet I knew Kassandra would understand. Now that she had me, and my assurances that I wasn't about to wander off somewhere, she was all too happy to get to know me at a slow pace. The children adored her—although the twins truly seemed to adore anyone who crossed their paths—and Alexandrine thought that Kassandra had the best stories.

The notion that this beautiful creature was mine was hardly an idea that I could simply grow used to overnight. From the beginning, my mouth had gone dry at her very existence, and yet, even then, I'd no idea what it was I was feeling. As a recovering alcoholic, all I thought was that it was a side-effect of the treatment process; never did I imagine anything of this caliber.

And as the sun set on the second night, I felt as if reality had set in and I made a formal decision. I would explain to Alexandrine, upon our return, just what had been going on. She deserved to know—she wasn't a helpless child, not in that way, anyway. She deserved to know—she did, and I was prepared to tell her everything of who I truly was.

. . .

"He's confessed?" Julia asks in shock.

"Yes, he confessed to your mother's murder," Carisi replies.

Julia grips her plum-colored bedspread in a wave of emotion. "I took my father's last name after she was murdered—he got custody, and him and my stepmother gave me such a grate life... My stepmother, Helena, adopted me and raised me like I was hers. I called her 'Mom' and everything but I was also encouraged to never forget Rowena..."

"We understand that you have some diary entries of what happened that night," I tell her gently.

"Yes," Julia replies, getting to her feet and crossing over to her shelf. She takes a leather-bound book from it and hands it over. "I kept all the previous entries before that, just for authenticity purposes. But every year on the anniversary of her death, I would go in there and update what happened... It's just so unreal," she says as tears enter her eyes. "I never thought he'd be arrested..."

"There's also the trial to think about," Carisi says.

I nod. "Exactly. The DA is bringing up the charges as we speak, and we should know..."

Carisi's phone beeps and be looks at it. "That's the DA now," he says, pressing a button and leaving the room.

"Detective Beckett, what happens if it doesn't go to trial?" Julia asks, her forehead puckered in worry. "I mean, what if, somehow, Duke Ross gets out and tries to come after me...?"

"Well, there are times when the judge can dismiss the charges without prejudice, meaning that we can re-arrest him pretty much immediately as soon as we get some new evidence—this will certainly help," I say, gripping her diary. "But if it's dismissed with prejudice, then that means this case is over forever, unless we can discover a different victim."

"Then that means that you wouldn't need me?" she asks.

"We could always try to get you as a witness but the other side could object—even if it goes to trial now," I reply. "And then there's a chance that the other side could say that these diary entries defame his client's character, but we can always fight it, and the judge could go either way..."

Carisi steps back into the room. "That was the DA," he says.

Julia lets out a small gasp, clutching her hands in prayer.

"What happened?" I ask.

TO BE CONTINUED