Tarnished

Prologue

O'Shea's Pub

Midtown Manhattan

8:30 PM Wednesday

Judge Josephine Sadler walked into the quiet, warm pub and greeted her friends. She was fresh from a slam dunk on a child molestation case. Even though the defense put up a hell of a fight, she knew that the jury would convict the up and coming and influential Broadway star of molesting ten children across three states, including New York.

Josephine was so excited about the verdict, and couldn't wait to sentence the bastard two mornings from now.

At this point in time, she just wanted to relax with her friends, and send a word of gratitude to the detectives of the Manhattan SVU, via Casey Novak.

"Judge, lovely to see you here," ADA Casey Novak greeted her.

"It's only appropriate that I need a drink after going through what that sick son of a bitch did to those kids," Josephine sighed. "I need a shot of something strong that gives a good hangover."

Casey laughed as they sat at the table with Trevor Langan, of all people.

"Ah, Trevor, crossing over to the dark side I see," Josephine teased and he shrugged.

"I'm here for moral support," he said.

"In other words, he's here for free," Casey said, rolling her eyes at him. "I'm buying."

"Freeloader," Josephine said to Trevor.

They ordered beers and they discussed ongoing cases. The bar was beginning to get crowded, and Josephine was getting sleepy from both the alcohol and a rough day in general. She was sure that her husband was waiting up for her.

Josephine Marie Sadler was thirty five years of age, five foot eight, and she looked imposing, but she really wasn't. She was shy by nature, and she let her curly brown hair flow freely down her back. She was the youngest criminal court judge in the district, and her family was so proud of her. She loved the law, and believed in it and enforced it to the letter.

She and her husband had two children, boys, seven and six months old. Being a mother was a challenge, but she loved it every step of the way.

"Well, thanks for the drinks Casey," Josephine said. "I'm going to head home. I need to see my babies."

"Good night Josie," Casey said, hugging her. "Be careful going home, okay?"

"I will," Josephine said.

Josephine walked outside and hailed a cab. She was sorry that she wasn't drunk enough.

Sadler Home

Upper Manhattan

9:30 PM

Josephine took her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door her beautiful brownstone. She walked in quietly because she didn't want to wake her children. She closed the door as gently as she could. Before she could put her things down, she felt herself being pressed against the front door. Her face was against the glazed glass window, and all she could feel at the moment, beside sheer fright, was the cold of the glass and it made her shiver.

She felt helpless and paralyzed, so she didn't fight the weight of the man behind her.

"You bitch," the man said gruffly into her ear.

She cried, but she was silent, save for the whimpers when he ripped her skirt off, bit her neck, and ripped her panties away. She felt her stomach turn at the burning pain as the man raped her and left bruises in places that would be visible to no one else but herself.

All she could think about were her two boys.

Before she knew it, it was over, and she sank to the floor, torn, sore, and afraid. The man stood over her and zipped up before he pulled her up by her hair.

"Christian," she cried. "Please…"

"Shut up," Christian Sadler hissed. "Get upstairs and clean yourself up," he commanded, pulling on his jacket. "I'm going out."

Josephine sniffled and nodded.

She felt a sharp sting across her cheek and she fell back to the hard, cold marble floor, half naked and ashamed beyond anything.

"Yes sir," she managed.

With that, Christian went out the back door, leaving Josephine to sit and lick her own emotional and physical wounds. She had been raped by her own husband, and all she could do was pull herself up, and try to move past it. At home, she wasn't Judge Josephine Sadler. She was "bitch," "whore," and "stupid." How could she possibly uphold the law, encourage strength and justice when she couldn't even get up the strength to face her own demons?

She got up slowly and she gathered up her ripped skirt, her panties, and headed weakly upstairs. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and she collapsed at the top of the stairs, feeling drained and embarrassed that she had allowed this kind of abuse to go on for seven years. She'd convicted rapists, child molesters; she couldn't even get up the courage to make a case against her own abusive and sick husband. How would that look? A criminal court judge being abused by her husband.

There was one thing she couldn't let him take away from her: her love and passion for the law and being a judge. He could take away her self-esteem, her dignity, and her choice to say no, but not her life as a judge.

Josephine sniffled and gathered up what little pride she had left in herself and went into her bedroom. She was in pain, and she knew that she had to get changed before she checked up on her children. Her stomach lurched and she ran into her bathroom and vomited. She never envisioned that her life would turn out this way. One thing was for sure: she had to be in court tomorrow. She didn't know how to explain away the bruises on her cheek.

She stripped off the rest of her clothes and stared at herself in the mirror. Her curly chestnut hair was tussled from her struggle with Christian, her skin was pale from shock and nausea.

"I can't live like this anymore," she whispered to herself.

Only she said that every time she was brutalized and demeaned by her husband. She swore that she would leave, she certainly had the income, but emotionally, she still felt like that awkward teenager that was starved for attention. Some days were good, some were worse than others could be.

He wasn't like this when they first met. After they got married, he became controlling, moving them away from her family in New Hampshire to New York where she completed her law studies. Christian didn't start the physical abuse until after she had their first son Benjamin. The emotional abuse started at the beginning of their marriage.

She didn't have many friends, her relatives had, at this point, disowned her and never spoke her name because they thought that she was ashamed of them. Where would she go?

Josephine put on a new pair of panties, a night gown and went to go check on her sons. Once she was confident that they were alright, she climbed into bed, trying so hard to forget and possibly forgive the horrible act committed against her. Perhaps if she just did what he told her, they would have a chance to talk and maybe if he heard and saw how much pain she was in, he would get some help. Maybe he would get help for the sake of his children.

That will never happen, she thought to herself. I need to start thinking more realistically.

Christian was a well known and respected sales representative for a securities agency, and a respected member of the community. Yeah, he could certainly skirt around the issue of being a rapist and a batterer.

It was best not to expose what goes on inside the home. All Josephine could do was pray that Christian would turn around and realize what they're missing in their marriage.

Under the Manhattan Overpass

1:19 AM Thursday

Olivia drove up in one of the squad cars and she killed the engine. She pushed her long hair behind her ears and stepped out of the vehicle. She saw Elliot approaching her and she sighed.

"You get any sleep?" He asked.

"About two and half hours' worth," she sighed. "You?"

"I was up with the twins helping them with a project," Elliot explained. "So, no sleep for me."

They fell into step alongside each other as they approached their resident medical examiner, Melinda Warner.

"What have we got?" Elliot asked.

"The victim's name is Marissa Barlow," Warner began as she led them over to the 2005 black Buick. "There's no wallet or purse, but the killer did leave behind her insurance and registration. From the looks of things, she was strangled. There are ligature marks around her neck."

Elliot and Olivia looked at the woman. The woman's blouse was torn open, her bra had been torn in half, and there were buttons all over the car, her skirt was ripped at the zipper, her panty hose had holes in them and they were pulled down to her knees. There were bruises on her thighs, breasts, and wrists.

"She was only twenty five years old," Warner commented.

"The killer must have been driving, so it's someone that she knew," Olivia mentioned as she snapped on a pair of gloves. "Ah, this must be her cell."

Elliot looked over her shoulder as she examined the phone.

"Battery's low," Olivia said. "But look at this…she was dialing a number. She has six missed calls from the number Marissa was trying to dial."

"Let's bag it and run the number," Elliot said. "Did CSU get any prints?"

"None, the killer wiped down pretty good, and it doesn't take much," Warner said. "A tissue can ruin any chance of fingerprints. The seats are leather."

Olivia sighed and took off her gloves.

The partners walked back to where they were parked.

She looked as if something was bothering her, and Elliot wanted so badly to pull her to him and hug her, try to make whatever was on her mind go away.

"I called you last night," he said quietly, confident that they were out of earshot.

"I know," she said, giving him a smirk. "I was in the bathtub and dirty thoughts were running through my mind, so I didn't pick up."

Elliot let a devilish grin creep across his face. "Don't ever feel like you have to spare me."

Olivia smiled.

"Let's get something to eat before we go home," Elliot suggested. "You look like something's been bothering you."

Café Italia

5th Avenue & Times Square

2:30 AM

Elliot and Olivia shared biscotti and they each ordered some coffee. They chose Café Italia because it wasn't a frequent cop spot, and they could sit close and talk freely without having to worry about eavesdroppers or other cops spotting them being romantic. If that happened, their careers were out the window and their partnership would be over, and for them, that was a fate worse than death. On the job, they were so connected and in tune to each other that to have a partnership with anyone else was simply unimaginable.

Olivia sighed and sipped at her coffee. She could feel Elliot's eyes on her, and she knew that he would want her to talk to him about what was going on. They were working on their communication; they could talk about cases left and right until they were blue in the face, but when it came to their personal lives, they were still trying to get used to each other outside of work and actually talking about their personal lives in depth and admitting what they were feeling.

She simply reached into her coat pocket and took out a letter. He furrowed his eyebrows as she slid the letter over to him.

"What's this?" He asked, picking it up and unfolding it.

"It's a letter," she stated plaintively. "From my father."

Elliot looked up at her with both concern and shock in his eyes.

"Did you read it?" Elliot asked her, looking over the two paged letter.

"No," she said, looking out the window. "I can't bring myself to read it. I don't want to read the damn thing. When I got it, I called Cragen. He knows and now you know. My first instinct was to tear it up and burn it."

Elliot took her hand and kissed her palm before threading his fingers with hers.

"You want to read it together?" He asked.

She shrugged and took the letter, shoving it into her pocket with aggravation.

"I don't want to think about it," Olivia sighed. "Ready?"

Elliot nodded and they cleaned up their table before heading out to their cars. He could tell that Olivia was deeply bothered by the letter, and when he saw a tear fall down her cheek, he pulled her into a tight hug and she sniffled.

"It's okay Liv," Elliot assured her, wiping her cheeks of her tears.

Elliot sighed and smoothed down her windblown hair. He felt so strong in this moment, that he was able to carry her in her time of need. Her father had always been a sore spot for Olivia, and she had accepted that it was better that she didn't know her father's identity years ago, now, with his appearance in her life, he knew that she was struggling with wanting to know her father.

Once she calmed down, she leaned up and kissed him softly, wrapping her arms around his waist, needing his warmth and the beat of his heart against hers. It reassured her that he was going to stand by her through anything.

"Let's go get some rest," she said once she pulled away.