Law & Order: Special Victims Unit (1999–…): Season 20, Episode 10 - Alta Kockers - full transcript

The investigation into a promising new author's death leads to a decades-old secret kept between two reclusive brothers.

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.

His spotted hand jerked forward,

landing heavy on the top of my head.

Retreat or resistance was now futile.

I reminded myself to breathe...

in, out, in, out.

The fumes from a passing truck

crept through the open
window of his Toyota,

snuck into my nostrils

and slithered down my
esophagus like a worm,

taunting the rubber walls
into syncopated contractions.

Push, push,

pull, push.

Now, the calluses on William's fingers

scratched my thighs in 20 spots at once.

Now, the stale cigar
breath engulfed my tongue.

Now, his yellow incisors

nipped at my earlobes and neck.

The kraken has trapped the barracuda

and is toying with it before the feast.

The dust lifted and rose,

forming a halo above the
deserted parking lot.

And for one short, illusory moment...

I was Bobbi again...

12 years old

and alone.



♪ ♪

I already read it like three times...


- Thank you.
- I don't know how you did it,

but it just keeps getting better.

Well, um, y'all keep reading now.

And fourth time's the charm.

You had such a hard life, Bobbi.

Well, it's, um... the only one I know.

To read it is one thing.

To hear you read it is... can
I say it... experiential.

How ever did you find her, Walter?

Believe it or not, she found me.

Well, color me green.

Bobbi, do you think your work
will ever go mainstream?

I'm happy being a small fry.

Real literary advancement
always comes from

the small houses like Pitch Dark Press.

We're underground and proud of it.

Have you started your next book?

Bobbi's always working on something.

Don't ask. She won't
even tell me about it.

- I'm gonna get a refill.
- Mm-hmm.

- Extraordinary.
- Yes, definitely.



♪ ♪

It's a nasty one, Sonny.

- Aren't they all?
- What you got?

A book reading in the store,

followed by a signing and cocktails.

The author, Bobbi
O'Rourke, comes out here

with a glass of Chablis to grab a smoke.

Wham! A brick to the head.

Rinse, dry, repeat.


- Was she raped?
- Apparently not.

Well, due respect, Lieu, but
what are we doing here?

She's not a she... physically, anyway.

We may be looking at a hate crime.


♪ ♪


♪ ♪

We pulled prints from the brick,

but they're not in any database.

Now, Bobbi's got a learner's
permit from North Carolina.

He's 16 years old.

Did you try reaching out his family?

Yeah, we tried, but the
address wasn't real.

All right, so if his book is true,

he ran away at 13 years old

and he supported himself
turning tricks at truck stops

as he hitched rides to New York.

As if being transgender
wasn't tough enough.

But Bobbi's not transgender.

Robbie just figured out that

he made more money pretending
to be a teenage girl.

- And once he got to New York?
- That's how he paid his rent,

until the book, I guess.

Liv, I got something.

The bookstore videoed the after-party.

Seems Bobbi was a darling of
the elites on both coasts.

Here we go.

That's his third, if you're counting.

Now, keep your eye on this guy.

Bobbi's going out back.

And so is he.

This could be our guy.

Okay, check in with the bookstore

and see if anyone can get a name.

It's a tragedy.

Bobbi would've been one of the greats.

Hunter S. Thompson. William S.

The world as it is, not as it should be.

I'm sorry.

Let me ask you this. How
do these readings work?

Do people buy tickets?

There was a short guest list.

The rest were first come, first serve.

We're gonna need to see that list.

You have to go to Bobbi's
publisher for that.

Pitch Dark Press.

Pitch Dark Press. Okay.

Thank you.

It was the first time

that anyone had ever seen him before.

- Will that help sell books?
- Well, sure.

But his readers were
fascinated by his story.

They were chomping at the bit
to lay their eyes on him.

Fascinated by a child prostitute, huh?

By a being capable of living two lives.

He wouldn't even let me put his
picture on the book jacket.

Because he's shy?

Who knows with these guys?

Thomas Pynchon. J.D. Salinger.

You know, separate the
art from the artist.

This showed up unsolicited.

I read the first page,

and I didn't stop until
I reached page 287.

It was perfect.

The only thing the author
left out was his name,

address, phone number.

- Was that a mistake?
- No, no, no.

It was intentional.

I got a call a few days later,

and this timid, tentative voice

changed my life forever.

The things that he lived through...

even though that book
got him off the street,

I still drove up 12th
Avenue on the way home

to make sure he wasn't
tricking on some corner.

That's the animal that killed him?

Could be. You know him?

Never saw him before.

All right, we're gonna need a
guest list for this reading.


And Bobbi's address.

That I can't help you with.

Where do you send his checks?

We didn't.

They're direct deposited
into his account at Metro.

The kid's a ghost.

Till last night, nobody ever
saw him but his publisher.

Yeah, the home address he gave the bank

was the 92nd Street Y.

And none of them recognize
Bobbi or the guy in the video.

Guys, so let's... let's
get back to basics here.

Why would somebody want Bobbi dead?

It could be money.

He has over half a mil
in his bank account.

That's a lot of books.

He sold his rights to Hollywood.

Jealousy, all right?

Another writer gets mad
about his success.

- Enough to kill?
- Well, Norman Mailer

would've killed Gore Vidal on principle.

All due respect to you, Professor,

but I'll go with sex. I mean,

the kid's fame and fortune
all came from it.

Hey, so, I may have something.

Somebody posted Bobbi's reading
at the bookstore online.

It kinda broke my heart.

- Look.

My tongue.

Now, his yellow incisors...

This is... this is our guy, right?

And look.

Look what's there on the
floor beside his chair.

He bought the book, "Absalom, Absalom!"

He bought it with a credit card.

His name is William Glover,
and he lives in Forest Hills.


William Glover.

Just a second.

Do we have to do this here?

I figured we go back to the
station, sort this all out.

Time to wash up for dinner.

Hi, Mom.

Got a whole leg of lamb

if your friends wanna stay.

Maybe you should just eat without me.

- Come on.
- I love you.

What happens now?

Well, you deny that you
killed Bobbi O'Rourke,

and I get angry, maybe a little loud.

I threaten you, but
then Lieutenant Benson

convinces you that a confession is just

in the best interest for everybody.

I killed him.

Why did you do it, William?

I prefer Will.

'Kay, why don't you
tell us what happened?

I took a brick and hit
him and hit him...

I know that.

What we're interested in is why.

You think I'm gay.

I don't really care.

I'm not, you know. I have a wife.

- I have two beautiful children.
- Okay.

I saw her picture on a leaflet,

- on the subway.
- Bobbi O'Rourke?

I don't know anyone
named Bobbi O'Rourke.

The girl from the leaflet.

She told me her name was Tammy.

When did she tell you that?

The first time I met
her three weeks ago.

I'd pick her up near the parking lot

a block from my office on 12th.

So, Will,

why don't you tell us
what happened, okay?

She had a little trouble
unzipping my pants.

Her hair was so soft,

silky, like a butterfly's wings,

her mouth, warm and wet.

She only wanted $50.

She said 25 went to her boss.

And you didn't know that
he had written a book?

Not until I saw the
leaflet on the C train.

She lied to me.

Is that why you killed him?

I am not gay, Lieutenant!


♪ ♪

Just pick one.

What's the point?

I don't know. You're hungry, maybe?

Glover get a lawyer?

He's with Stone as we speak.

I assume they'll work out a deal,

Man One, drop the Hate Crime.

Lieutenant, Bobbi made a lot
of money off that book.

Why the hell would he go
back out on the street?

Look, he's been doing it a long time.

It's all he knows. He
doesn't know how to stop.

Or somebody was forcing
him to keep hooking.

Hey, Lieutenant, that publisher...

he said that he drove up 12th Avenue

looking for Bobbi, wanted to make sure

he wasn't going back to his old ways.

Never saw him, but somehow
Glover finds him there,

several times in the past three weeks?

You're saying that the
publisher's lying?

Bobbi was a kid.

He could've been pimping him out.

Detective Carisi,

did you find the guy that killed Bobbi?

Yeah, you know what? We did.

Oh, that's great. Um,
you want me to testify?

Well, let's not get ahead
of ourselves here.

I just... I wanna clarify one thing.

Now, you told me

that you drove up and down
12th Avenue looking for Bobbi.

I cared about the kid, you know?

I-I wanted to keep him safe.

I'm sure you did.

The thing is that the guy
who actually killed him

found Bobbi hooking several
times in the past few weeks.

Do you know where he found him?

12th Avenue.

Okay, so I lied.

I never actually met Bobbi.

Who was that at the reading, then?

Taffy, Teddy, Tammy...

whatever the hell he was
calling himself that week.

So this whole thing was a scam?

No, no, no, no. Bobbi O'Rourke is real.

The whole secrecy thing was his idea.

And it worked great until we
sold the rights to Hollywood.

And then these damn producers
insisted he show his face,

only I didn't have a face to show.

So you created one.

I found Tammy on the street, you know?

I-I bought a forged license.

All he had to do was just
read a couple of pages.

I paid him $500. It kept him in oxy.

I didn't think that
anybody would get hurt.

I guess you were wrong about that.

Am I under arrest?

I'll get back to you on that one.

If it weren't for this publisher's scam,

this kid would still be alive.

Okay, well, you try convincing Stone

that there was causation.

All right, fine. We charge
him with fraud, then.

Because he lured people
into a free book reading?

Look, Carisi, I don't like
it any more than you do,

but until we change the laws in Albany,

there's nothing that we can do.

You know, this book is filled with sex

between Bobbi and scores of adult men,

who all could be charged
with statutory rape.

Fin, I'm pretty sure Bobbi
didn't use any real names.

Well, what if we could find him?

Come on.

There's zero chance that this
kid's gonna show his face now.

Bobbi made a couple of
online banking transactions,

so I had TARU track the IP address.

This is not what I expected.

He's probably renting a room.


What did they do?

- Do you know who lives here?
- Not really.

I tried to get them to come
to a community meeting

about six months ago.

I rang the bell. Music inside stopped.

You ever seen them?

Lights go on at night,
off in the morning.

I see delivery guys every now and then

leave stuff at the door,

but never actually saw
anyone take anything in.

I know most everyone else on the block.

I figured it's New York. People
are allowed to be weird.

They certainly are.

Thank you.

This is Sergeant Tutuola, SVU.

We're gonna need a team and a warrant.



♪ ♪

Bobbi O'Rourke, police!

Do we arrest the kid?

No, Montero. He's the victim.

We think whoever lives here
might be holding him prisoner.

Fred and Rose Edelman.

Okay, you guys check in here.

Eddie, down here.

Bobbi O'Rourke! NYPD.


♪ ♪


Hey, Fin!

Carisi. You okay?

Yeah, we got your dried
blood in the corner here.


- Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
- Hey!

- Put your hands on your head!
- What the hell?

Put your hands above your head.

- Hands on your head.
- Whoever the hell you are,

this is my house. I
don't appreciate this.

Where is he?

- Who?
- Bobbi O'Rourke.

Bobbi O'Rourke?

You mean the bartender
from Molly Malone's?

He died maybe 50 years ago.

I went to the damn funeral.


- Hey, hey, you!

Stop right there.

Put your hand on your head.

What the hell did you do this time?

- Come here.
- He did it.

Arrest his sorry ass.

- We know he's here.
- Who?

Bobbi O'Rourke.

Bobbi died in '75.


Ignore my brother, Officer. He's a putz.

Both of you guys are coming
down to the station.

I'm not getting in a car with him,

not in this lifetime.

Hold on. This is your brother?

You ask. You ask him who he voted for!

Not interested.

He voted for Gerald Ford!

I'm not gonna ride with him.

You ride with him! I'm not going to.

- Ah, feh!
- Excuse me?

Why should I?

Because I'm a cop.

- Is that supposed to scare me?
- No, no.

Nobody wants to scare you, Mr. Edelman.

Yeah, well, because you can't.

I mean, you are bupkis
next to Nixon's Nazis.

Okay, how about you just
answer the question,

and then you can go home...
no harm, no foul.

So, what question?

We just wanna know what
happened to Bobbi O'Rourke.


- Not Bobbi the bartender...
- I know, I know.

- Bobbi the writer, hm?
- Yes.

I don't even know him.

Up until an hour ago,
I never heard of him.

Okay, 'cause we traced his
IP address to your building.

- IP?
- Yeah.

What's an IP?

These computers...

they tell you where they are?

Yeah, I don't get it
either, but it's cool.

And this Bobbi boy...

He dressed as a girl.

Ah, a fegulah.

Uh, yeah, but I don't think

it's okay to say that word anymore.

Why not?

Because it hurts people.

It's just a word.

Yeah, but words can
hurt more than a gun.

To who?

People they bother.

Well, then, everyone should say it

and nobody would get hurt.

Okay, speaking of hurt,
what about Bobbi?

Your girls already asked me.

I don't know anything
about this Mr. O'Rourke.

What about your brother Joe?

He's a son of a bitch.

Is it possible Joe could've

snuck Bobbi into the house?

He's a shmuck, not a fegulah.

Sure, Ben. Why not?

I wouldn't put anything past that bum.

You think Ben would hurt Bobbi?


What do you think he did to Cherise?

Who's Cherise?

- The shvartzah.
- Whoa, whoa, whoa.

That's... that's unacceptable, okay?

Shvartzahs are unacceptable?

Excuse me.

Now, your parents are listed
as the owners of this house.


Dad died in 1969,

Mama in '73.

I'm sorry to hear that.

They were good parents. Rest in peace.

Joe hasn't left the house since.

What about you?

I'm supposed to let him
keep it all to himself?

Yeah, she came every
Tuesdays and Fridays,

- Cherise.
- To clean?

She also made soup, you know.
Terrible soup.

I never had the heart,
but my shmuck brother...

he's always convinced she's stealing.

- Stealing what?
- My meshuggana brother...

he puts quarters all around the house.

All of a sudden, one is missing.

"Ah! She's a thief!"

And he fires her.

Yeah. It was 1975.

If anything happened to that boy,

it was Joe, had to be.



♪ ♪



Man down!



Bailey! Rodriguez!

You okay?

Come on. Get this thing the hell off me.

Help me! Hurry.


I can call an EMT. No, I'm fine.

Look, this was a booby trap, all right?

There's something back there. Come on.

Keep your eyes open, Detective.


That's the kid's book, isn't it?

This looks like the next one.

Okay, so we know that Bobbi was there.

When was the last time
the document was opened?

Two days ago. Blood tests come back yet?

No, not yet. So keep searching, right?

Bobbi may be hiding in there.
Yeah, if he's lucky.

Keep looking.

- All right.
- Okay. Copy.

Hey, thanks. You take the fourth floor.

I'll take the basement.

You know what I'd like?

A corned beef sandwich
from the Carnegie Deli.

That place closed two years ago.

And nobody told me about the shivah.

Get up. You're coming with me.

- You'll take me home now?
- Not quite.

Let's go.

Oh, tatellah.


Bobbi O'Rourke was in
your house two days ago.

And as far as we know,
no one's seen him since.

- Yeah, including me.
- Liar.

Huh? I'm a liar?

Yeah, well, tell them
about Izzie Berkowitz.

- Okay, who's Izzie Berkowitz?
- He cheated him at gin rummy.

A whole summer at Kutsher's.

30 bucks he takes from this kid.

In 1958, and he's still
talking about it.

Yeah, but this is about character,

and you don't have one.

I won't sit here and listen to him!

Yes, you will.

You're gonna sit here until
you and your brother

tell us what happened to Bobbi O'Rourke.

Do you understand that?




♪ ♪




Lab results are back.

DNA on the manuscript matches the laptop

and the blood on the floor.

Well, there we go.

We're gonna search your house

from top to bottom, and
we're gonna find him.

- Find what? [STAMMERS] Who?
- That's it.

You both are under arrest.

- Put them in the cage.
- Wait.

It was me.

You killed Bobbi?

There is no Bobbi.

Okay, give them a lawyer if
they want one... I'm done.


The book...

I wrote it.

What? You wrote a book?

I had to do something.

Who do you think pays for the groceries?

- The real estate taxes?
- Ahh, he's a meshuga.

- Not you.
- He's a meshuga.

It's Mama's money that pays for...

Mama's money is gonna
run out in six months.

You don't think about the future.

I think about it. I
think about everything.

Wait a minute.

If you haven't left the house

since 1973,

how was it that you got
a computer to write on?

What? You got a computer?

No, I drew hieroglyphics
on the crapper wall.



I gave Carlos,

the kid who delivers from the Deli,

100 bucks to buy it and set
the whole fercockt thing up.


so tell me about the blood on the floor.

I cut myself when I tried to carry.

Mama's sewing machine into the basement.

Like you would help.

I stepped on a piece of broken glass.

You could test my blood if you want.

Why do you think Bobbi
never showed his face?

The bartender from Molly Malone's...

that, you remember.

That's where I got my hero's name.

The truth is,

we didn't kill Bobbi O'Rourke.

You people did.




The M.E.'s office finally
got Rose Edelman thawed.

She had malignant tumors in both lungs.

That's a painful way to die.

Only cancer isn't what killed her.

It was asphyxiation.

They strangled their mother?

There was no bruising on the neck.

The M.E. thinks that they
must have used a pillow,

put it over her nose and her mouth.

I mean, she could barely breathe.

It wouldn't have taken much effort.

You've read this, right?

Enough to get the general flavor, yeah.

"At once,"

"I felt pitiful and small,"

"struck with wonder and
sickened that this man,"

"20 years my senior,"

"could find enough pleasure
in my 12-year-old body"

"to turn over $50 of
his hard-earned pay."

"What was he feeling?
What was he thinking?"

"Did he love me or hate me?"

"Did I love or hate him?"

Amanda, I can't tell you how
many times in my career

I've heard the exact same thing

from survivors of
childhood sexual abuse.

Only that's coming from a
73-year-old hoarder...

Who's completely rejected
and alienated society.

Do you think he was abused?

If he was,

I think he deserves closure.

I'm coming with you.

- Amanda?
- Yeah?

Come on, there were two
kids in that house.

That damn desk is driving me crazy, Liv.

Once, out at Atlantic Beach,

Joe and I...

I was probably 10. He
would've been 12...

We were riding the waves

it seemed like for hours.

Mama was on the beach, reading her book.

She loved books.

Well, maybe that's where
you got your talent.


We'd swim out to where the waves broke

and then ride them in

to see who could come closest to shore,

over and over again until

there were no waves anymore.

We tried to swim in, but the undertow...

No matter how hard we tried,

we just ended up getting further

and further from the shore.

We thought we were gonna die, Joe and I.

He put his arms around me.

And then suddenly, the lifeguard saw us,

blew his whistle, stood
up out of his chair,

and swam out toward us.

And the next thing I knew, I
was face down on the beach,

regurgitating salt water
with every cough.

Well, you certainly owe that lifeguard.

No, no. I owe Mama.

She beat the lifeguard out to us

and kept us afloat until he got there.

She sounds like an amazing woman.

The eggs always think they're
smarter than the chicken.

I'm not about to confess
to something I didn't do,


What about something
that your brother did?

Well, I really don't know.
You have to ask him.

You, uh, got a husband?

In a manner of speaking.

What kind of answer is that?
It's either yes or no.

No, but, um,

but there is someone... special.

Yeah, well, until he marries you,

- I don't want to hear from it.
- Okay...[CHUCKLES]

Joe, I'll... I'll keep you up to date...
how about that?


How about you, Joe?

You never wanted a wife?

No... me? No.

I'm too busy.

Yeah? "Too busy," okay.

'Cause you're pretty handsome.

You would've been quite a
catch for some lucky girl.

So, what, are you shacking up
like those, uh, flower people?

Yeah, I'm shack...

Flower pe... I think
it's "flower children,"

and [SOFTLY] they've been...
they've been gone a long time.


Has he confessed yet?

- Your brother?
- Mm.

Who else?

He's weak, that kid.

He needs you to protect him?

You're damn straight.

And sometimes...

What, Joe?

Sometimes it's really hard
being the bigger brother.

Well, actually, Ben, I...

I didn't come here to
talk about your mother.

What do you wanna talk about?

I wanna talk about your book.

It was, uh,

it was powerful.

- You read it?
- I did.

And it was, um,

so real.

And actually, I...

I don't understand how
you could've written it


Oh, I, uh,

I don't wanna talk about that.

I know how hard it must have been.

You know bubkes.

No, Ben.

I know that anyone

who could've written a
book like "Blue Barracuda"

certainly must have lived
through something.

You wrote that book

so you could tell the world

how devastating, how horrifying it was.

I wrote that book because
we needed the money.

And you were ashamed.

That's why you didn't use
your real name on the book.

I could only imagine what
you must have felt...

hate, rage, disgust.

But shame...

shame isn't on you, Ben.

This wasn't your fault.

Who did this to you? Who hurt you?

After school, we used to
go to this play center.

There was a counselor there, Vincent.

He was about 20.

Taught me how to pick up grounders.

Did he do something to Ben?

No, I wouldn't let him.

What kind of a brother would I be?

Did he hurt you?

I was only 12 years old, damn it.

What kind of a person...

There was a guy called Vincent.

The guy was always around.

And, um,

the first time

was in the locker room when
nobody else was there.

He said, uh,

"This is what big boys do."

Don't tell him. Don't tell my brother.

Did you ever tell anyone, Ben?

Oh, who would I tell?

- Your brother.
- Oh!

He would've laughed at me.

I mean, I was the older brother.

I was supposed to protect him.
How could I tell him about...

Your father?

Ah, he'd get mad at me if I
didn't get an A on a test.

He would always say, "It's your fault."


Your mother?

Of course not.


She would've thought I was dirty.

She wouldn't have loved me anymore.

They were both abused as kids, Peter.

And conveniently, they
didn't say anything

until they were charged with
murdering their mother.

I believe them.

And I'll do my best to get
it excluded at trial.

Look, you won't have to.
Neither of them will admit it.

They won't even admit it to each other.

- So that's that, then.
- Look, the M.E.'s report

said that Rose's cancer
cost her intolerable pain.

You and I both know that
that doesn't matter.

Cut them a deal.

I worked one out with their attorney.

One year jail time. Ten years probation.

Well, that's generous.

They turned it down.

Look, they are sympathetic defendants.

Until the jury hears that
they kept Mom's body on ice

in the basement.

When push comes to shove,
this is a trial about love,

the love of two boys for their mother.

You know, it always struck me as odd.

The law says that

a mother has to take care of
her kids when they're young.

You would think there
would be a law that says

they have to take care of
her when she gets old...

or sick.

Rose Edelman got sick, very sick.

Her doctor said that she
had six months to live.

And then she died.

Now, Mr. Stone will
stand here and tell you

that her two sons murdered her...

her two loving sons,

the boys who cooked for her, bathed her,

made sure that she took her medicine.

The boys who loved her so
much that when she passed,

they couldn't bear to see her buried

in 6 feet of dirt out in Queens,

an entrée for hungry worms...

or worse yet,

shoved into a flaming hot oven,

with what's left of her
kept in a jar on a mantel

in a living room.

Joe and Ben loved their
mother Rose so much,

they kept her as she was

and where she wanted to be: in her home.

If you ask me, that's love.

Call your first witness, Mr. Stone.


No, that's enough.

- Mr. Edelman...
- No, Judge.

Mr. Edelman, sit down.

No. No, Judge.

I did it.

I killed my mother.

I did it.

Ben had nothing to do with this.

I did it,

and I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry, Mama.

So ve...
[GASPS] Ohh...

I need an ambulance.
Part 29, Supreme Court.


Hey, hold him... hold him up.


You stupid son of a bitch!

Always the martyr. Look what you did.

You shmuck!

Massive coronary.

So stupid.

So stupid.

You're so stupid, always
hogging the stage.



Okay, Ben, your brother's
still protecting you, huh?

But what do I have left to protect?

- Nothing.



- Doctor.
- Out.

Okay, come on.

Give them some room to do their job.

No, what's happening? What's happening?

Let me know. I wanna
know what's happening.

Let them do their job.

- Let's give them some room.
- What's going on?

Let's give them some room, okay?


I'm sorry.

- Can I...
- Sure.

I'll go officially drop
the charges against Ben.


Thank you.

Well, his name was Vincent

from the Center.

I know I should have told you...

But I just didn't have the strength.

But I... I remember it
as if it was today,

the way his spotted hand

sorta jerked forward

and landed so heavily on top of my head.

Retreat or...

resistance was futile.

I just reminded myself

to breathe.

In, out,

in, out.


♪ ♪