FIC: The Interrogation: Benson vs Kaldwer
Title: The Interrogation: Benson vs Kaldwer
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Character(s): Det. Olivia Benson, Victor Kaldwer (my OC)
Rating: PG-14
Summary: Benson interrogates a man named Victor Kaldwer.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I do not own the characters of SVU Victor Kaldwer, however, is of my own making
Author's Note: I actually wrote this for school, believe it or not. Which is why it had to be short and then translated into French, but no worries this is the English version This is just an interrogation scene, so it isn't graphic. Though it is an SVU fic, so the crime was bad. I would have liked to make the interrogation longer, in order to be more realistic, but I had a deadline to meet...so, I hope you enjoy it as it is ;) Let me know what you think.
I've also posted this on FF.net in case you for some reason prefer to read there ;)
“This funny to you? Huh?” he shoved the table into him a little, which just resulted in a chilling chuckle from the suspect.
He looked right past the detective, into the mirror. “This the best you’ve got? Good cop, then big bad black cop?” he scoffed.
“They’ve been at this for hours, and he hasn’t said a thing.” Olivia said from the other side of the one-way mirror, “I know how this guy thinks, Captain, let me give it a shot.”
“You sure?” he didn’t even wait for her to answer before knocking on the door for the other two detectives to come out.
“Damn, this guy, like a wall of bricks.” The ‘big bad black cop’ complained. “I can’t wait to put him in a cage.”
“We’re going to change things up, Detective Benson here thinks she can do a better job than the two of you,” he teased, “and I’m inclined to agree.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, as she opened the door. The moment she stepped inside, she put her cop face on. She leaned against the door, staring blankly at their suspect. They were all sure they’d apprehended the right man, but the proof was all but circumstantial - without a confession, he’d be free in time for breakfast.
He stared back at her, tilting his head to the side, examining her figure. He seemed amused, as if he liked what he saw, which he evidently did. “So, Turner and Hooch fail to get me to confess - to something I didn’t do, by the way - so they decide to send in…” he smirked, “a retired model?”
She could feel his eyes undressing her as he stared, but it didn’t bother her. She’d dealt with so many of these twisted creatures, that she’d become almost immune to their menacing stares. This particular creature was forty-five years old, with long blonde hair (which was surprisingly thick and healthy), dark brown eyes, and a grin that would make a college girl fall at her knees. Needless to say, he wasn’t your typical butt-ugly loser with a vendetta against the world. No, he was much worse; a good looking, womanizing, child-touching torturer. It was obvious he’d been readying himself for situations like this for a long time, and not just because of the number of victims he’d accumulated over the past few years. There was something…else. Some deeper reason to it all, and this detective was determined to figure him out.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a model who could throw a man in jail for twenty-five to life.” She said, lifting the corners of her mouth ever so slightly. She walked toward him, and circled around the room. “What is it; I mean really,” she started, “that makes a good looking man like yourself, torture little kids and force their parents to watch?”
“Parent.” He corrected her.
“Oh, that’s right. They were all single parents, weren’t they.” She stopped circling, and stood behind him, bending down to speak into his left ear, “this your way of confessing?”
“No,” he replied nonchalantly, “the papers said all the victims were children and their single parent, if you’re going to try and convict someone, you might want to get your facts straight first, officer.”
“Detective.” She corrected him.
He smiled profusely. “Turning my own advice against me? Nice touch, Detective.”
She stood straight up, and moved around the table to grab the file which lay upon it. She turned her back to him as she pretended to read the papers inside. Of course, she’d already memorized everything in its pages; after years of searching, it was to be expected.
“It says here, your father died when you were three years old. So, that means, you were raised by your mother. Am I right?” she turned to face him.
His face remained as it was, amused.
“Oh, but there’s more, isn’t there? She had a boyfriend. An abusive one, too.” When she noticed a slight change in his face, she continued. “There’s a report in here, a 10 year old boy called the police one night. His name… Bailey Kaldwer…hmm, sounds familiar, do you know it?”
“Quit playing games, Detective.”
“Me? Playing games? Now, why would I do that? This is a serious situation you’re in, Mr. Kaldwer.” She paused, “Oh! I see, Kaldwer! So, that was you, wasn’t it?”
He growled, clenching his fists. She smirked.
“Tell me, Mr. Kaldwer, what was it that made you change your name? Was Bailey not tough enough for a child molester? Or… could it be… that you saw the immense irony in its meaning? I mean, Bailey, it’s a noble name…according to my research; it means ‘law enforcer’ or ‘bailiff’ guess that didn’t really suit a torturer, huh?”
He seemed to finally be getting annoyed by her remarks, and he answered her, if only to shut her up.
“I just liked Victor more. You got a problem with that?”
“Should I?” she teased. He simply glared. “Now, where were we? Right. The phone call. You remember what happened that night, don’t you?”
“Nothing happened. The idiot cops dismissed it.”
“Now, what was it you said before about ‘the facts’? And here you are twisting the story. It wasn’t the cops who dismissed it. Was it?”
No response.
“In fact, it was your own mother. She said it was all a misunderstanding, and oh, look here, Bailey confirmed her story. Now, why on earth would you do that?”
“Shut up.”
“Why, did I say something wrong?” she made a fake pout, “oh, I’m so sorry, Bailey”
“I told you to shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?” she pretended to be confused.
“No, you don’t.”
“Then, tell me what happened.”
“It’s none of your damn business.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you what happened… He beat your mother, and you… and oh… says here you have a sister… She was… fifteen at the time. Where is she now?”
The mention of his sister enraged him; he pushed the table away as he stood from his chair. “Shut your mouth, you little bitch.”
“Your mother wasn’t enough for him, was she? So he decided to go after your sister, and -”
He lunged towards her in a rage, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. “You want to know what happened, Detective?” He growled, “The bastard raped me, and he raped my sister. And my so-called-mother defended him. She watched him defile my sister. She even held her down for him once.” He began to tighten his grip on her neck, she grabbed at his wrists.
The other detectives opened the door, yelling something she didn’t care to make-out; instead, she remained focused on him. The other detectives pulled him away from her, and he struggled, trying to free himself from their grip. “I called the cops, I tried to stop it, but you wouldn’t help me. You did nothing. She died choking on his - Becky is dead because of you!” Olivia could see his eyes begin to water as he fell to his knees.
Olivia rubbed her neck a little to erase the pain, but her pain didn’t matter. At least not right now. She stepped towards him and kneeled down in front of him. “So, you blame me. The cops. For not saving you back then.” Her voice was soft, and oddly understanding. There was something about this man; she felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them.
“You turned me into a monster.” He sobbed.
She looked up to the two detectives, and without having to tell them, they left the room.
“What happened to you was terrible, Victor. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you back then. But I’m here now. And it’s time to make this right.” She helped him up, and seated him in the chair. She then picked up the file from the ground, and placed pictures on the desk, one by one. The first few were of all the adults. Bound and gagged to a chair. They all survived, but were beaten and traumatized. “You did this, didn’t you?”
He stared at the photos, but he said nothing.
She picked up the chair from the other end of the table and set it down next to him. “You did this to torture your mother. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Because it wasn’t her you were torturing.”
He looked away. She sat next to him.
“By torturing her, you were only torturing yourself.”
“No.” he responded, wiping the tears from his eyes. “No.”
“Yes, Victor. You did.” And then she carefully placed photos of the children. Twenty-five known children; both boys and girls, all between ten and fifteen years old, their clothes bloodied, and tears in their eyes.
“No.” he looked away.
“Listen, Victor.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “hey, I understand. My mother was a single parent too. And most of the time, she wasn’t a good one.”
“Did she let her boyfriend violate you?” he scorned, suddenly turning back into his earlier attitude.
“No. But she beat me a few times.”
“Boohoo. She was probably just drunk.”
She nodded a little, and let out a long sigh. She stood up and began picking up the photos.
He stared at her, confused.
“Well, I guess we’re done here.” She said as she made her way to the door.
Just as she turned the doorknob, he spoke. “Wait!”
She turned slowly, waiting for him to continue.
“If I tell you what happened, what I did… I don’t want to die.”
“I could recommend leniency, due to what you’ve been through. But only if you tell me everything. I want the whole truth. You owe it to the families you destroyed to admit what you’ve done.”
He nodded silently.
“So, tell me about,” she took out two photos, a mother and her daughter, and placed them in front of him, “Cassandra and Emily Walker.”
They spent the next few hours going over each set of victims. He described every little detail. It may be too late for the victims, but after today, justice would be served. But Olivia wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight; she knew full well, that by tomorrow morning, she’d be right back here, in this room, only with a different suspect to another heinous crime.
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Character(s): Det. Olivia Benson, Victor Kaldwer (my OC)
Rating: PG-14
Summary: Benson interrogates a man named Victor Kaldwer.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I do not own the characters of SVU Victor Kaldwer, however, is of my own making
Author's Note: I actually wrote this for school, believe it or not. Which is why it had to be short and then translated into French, but no worries this is the English version This is just an interrogation scene, so it isn't graphic. Though it is an SVU fic, so the crime was bad. I would have liked to make the interrogation longer, in order to be more realistic, but I had a deadline to meet...so, I hope you enjoy it as it is ;) Let me know what you think.
I've also posted this on FF.net in case you for some reason prefer to read there ;)
“This funny to you? Huh?” he shoved the table into him a little, which just resulted in a chilling chuckle from the suspect.
He looked right past the detective, into the mirror. “This the best you’ve got? Good cop, then big bad black cop?” he scoffed.
“They’ve been at this for hours, and he hasn’t said a thing.” Olivia said from the other side of the one-way mirror, “I know how this guy thinks, Captain, let me give it a shot.”
“You sure?” he didn’t even wait for her to answer before knocking on the door for the other two detectives to come out.
“Damn, this guy, like a wall of bricks.” The ‘big bad black cop’ complained. “I can’t wait to put him in a cage.”
“We’re going to change things up, Detective Benson here thinks she can do a better job than the two of you,” he teased, “and I’m inclined to agree.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, as she opened the door. The moment she stepped inside, she put her cop face on. She leaned against the door, staring blankly at their suspect. They were all sure they’d apprehended the right man, but the proof was all but circumstantial - without a confession, he’d be free in time for breakfast.
He stared back at her, tilting his head to the side, examining her figure. He seemed amused, as if he liked what he saw, which he evidently did. “So, Turner and Hooch fail to get me to confess - to something I didn’t do, by the way - so they decide to send in…” he smirked, “a retired model?”
She could feel his eyes undressing her as he stared, but it didn’t bother her. She’d dealt with so many of these twisted creatures, that she’d become almost immune to their menacing stares. This particular creature was forty-five years old, with long blonde hair (which was surprisingly thick and healthy), dark brown eyes, and a grin that would make a college girl fall at her knees. Needless to say, he wasn’t your typical butt-ugly loser with a vendetta against the world. No, he was much worse; a good looking, womanizing, child-touching torturer. It was obvious he’d been readying himself for situations like this for a long time, and not just because of the number of victims he’d accumulated over the past few years. There was something…else. Some deeper reason to it all, and this detective was determined to figure him out.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a model who could throw a man in jail for twenty-five to life.” She said, lifting the corners of her mouth ever so slightly. She walked toward him, and circled around the room. “What is it; I mean really,” she started, “that makes a good looking man like yourself, torture little kids and force their parents to watch?”
“Parent.” He corrected her.
“Oh, that’s right. They were all single parents, weren’t they.” She stopped circling, and stood behind him, bending down to speak into his left ear, “this your way of confessing?”
“No,” he replied nonchalantly, “the papers said all the victims were children and their single parent, if you’re going to try and convict someone, you might want to get your facts straight first, officer.”
“Detective.” She corrected him.
He smiled profusely. “Turning my own advice against me? Nice touch, Detective.”
She stood straight up, and moved around the table to grab the file which lay upon it. She turned her back to him as she pretended to read the papers inside. Of course, she’d already memorized everything in its pages; after years of searching, it was to be expected.
“It says here, your father died when you were three years old. So, that means, you were raised by your mother. Am I right?” she turned to face him.
His face remained as it was, amused.
“Oh, but there’s more, isn’t there? She had a boyfriend. An abusive one, too.” When she noticed a slight change in his face, she continued. “There’s a report in here, a 10 year old boy called the police one night. His name… Bailey Kaldwer…hmm, sounds familiar, do you know it?”
“Quit playing games, Detective.”
“Me? Playing games? Now, why would I do that? This is a serious situation you’re in, Mr. Kaldwer.” She paused, “Oh! I see, Kaldwer! So, that was you, wasn’t it?”
He growled, clenching his fists. She smirked.
“Tell me, Mr. Kaldwer, what was it that made you change your name? Was Bailey not tough enough for a child molester? Or… could it be… that you saw the immense irony in its meaning? I mean, Bailey, it’s a noble name…according to my research; it means ‘law enforcer’ or ‘bailiff’ guess that didn’t really suit a torturer, huh?”
He seemed to finally be getting annoyed by her remarks, and he answered her, if only to shut her up.
“I just liked Victor more. You got a problem with that?”
“Should I?” she teased. He simply glared. “Now, where were we? Right. The phone call. You remember what happened that night, don’t you?”
“Nothing happened. The idiot cops dismissed it.”
“Now, what was it you said before about ‘the facts’? And here you are twisting the story. It wasn’t the cops who dismissed it. Was it?”
No response.
“In fact, it was your own mother. She said it was all a misunderstanding, and oh, look here, Bailey confirmed her story. Now, why on earth would you do that?”
“Shut up.”
“Why, did I say something wrong?” she made a fake pout, “oh, I’m so sorry, Bailey”
“I told you to shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?” she pretended to be confused.
“No, you don’t.”
“Then, tell me what happened.”
“It’s none of your damn business.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you what happened… He beat your mother, and you… and oh… says here you have a sister… She was… fifteen at the time. Where is she now?”
The mention of his sister enraged him; he pushed the table away as he stood from his chair. “Shut your mouth, you little bitch.”
“Your mother wasn’t enough for him, was she? So he decided to go after your sister, and -”
He lunged towards her in a rage, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. “You want to know what happened, Detective?” He growled, “The bastard raped me, and he raped my sister. And my so-called-mother defended him. She watched him defile my sister. She even held her down for him once.” He began to tighten his grip on her neck, she grabbed at his wrists.
The other detectives opened the door, yelling something she didn’t care to make-out; instead, she remained focused on him. The other detectives pulled him away from her, and he struggled, trying to free himself from their grip. “I called the cops, I tried to stop it, but you wouldn’t help me. You did nothing. She died choking on his - Becky is dead because of you!” Olivia could see his eyes begin to water as he fell to his knees.
Olivia rubbed her neck a little to erase the pain, but her pain didn’t matter. At least not right now. She stepped towards him and kneeled down in front of him. “So, you blame me. The cops. For not saving you back then.” Her voice was soft, and oddly understanding. There was something about this man; she felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them.
“You turned me into a monster.” He sobbed.
She looked up to the two detectives, and without having to tell them, they left the room.
“What happened to you was terrible, Victor. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you back then. But I’m here now. And it’s time to make this right.” She helped him up, and seated him in the chair. She then picked up the file from the ground, and placed pictures on the desk, one by one. The first few were of all the adults. Bound and gagged to a chair. They all survived, but were beaten and traumatized. “You did this, didn’t you?”
He stared at the photos, but he said nothing.
She picked up the chair from the other end of the table and set it down next to him. “You did this to torture your mother. But it wasn’t enough, was it? Because it wasn’t her you were torturing.”
He looked away. She sat next to him.
“By torturing her, you were only torturing yourself.”
“No.” he responded, wiping the tears from his eyes. “No.”
“Yes, Victor. You did.” And then she carefully placed photos of the children. Twenty-five known children; both boys and girls, all between ten and fifteen years old, their clothes bloodied, and tears in their eyes.
“No.” he looked away.
“Listen, Victor.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “hey, I understand. My mother was a single parent too. And most of the time, she wasn’t a good one.”
“Did she let her boyfriend violate you?” he scorned, suddenly turning back into his earlier attitude.
“No. But she beat me a few times.”
“Boohoo. She was probably just drunk.”
She nodded a little, and let out a long sigh. She stood up and began picking up the photos.
He stared at her, confused.
“Well, I guess we’re done here.” She said as she made her way to the door.
Just as she turned the doorknob, he spoke. “Wait!”
She turned slowly, waiting for him to continue.
“If I tell you what happened, what I did… I don’t want to die.”
“I could recommend leniency, due to what you’ve been through. But only if you tell me everything. I want the whole truth. You owe it to the families you destroyed to admit what you’ve done.”
He nodded silently.
“So, tell me about,” she took out two photos, a mother and her daughter, and placed them in front of him, “Cassandra and Emily Walker.”
They spent the next few hours going over each set of victims. He described every little detail. It may be too late for the victims, but after today, justice would be served. But Olivia wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight; she knew full well, that by tomorrow morning, she’d be right back here, in this room, only with a different suspect to another heinous crime.