Chapter Text
Owen Manning is a piece of shit.
Carisi stares at his ugly mugshot and feels grim satisfaction that the camera got it right--he's seen the man in person, barely five minutes ago, and he's a relatively handsome man in his late forties. Blond, thinning at the top. Hard blue eyes. He's tall, but not as tall as Carisi, though he certainly tried to be when two uniformed officers had dragged him through the bullpen and into an interview room.
"We can thank homicide for this one," Fin grumbles from behind him, shuffling through case notes that other detectives had dropped off.
Manning has a weighty file.
Drunk and disorderly, assault, public intoxication, two DUI's in the past three years, to name a few. Carisi gives a low whistle as he studies the rap sheet pinned to the whiteboard. He scans a report issued to homicide from OCFM--they'd received no less than four calls from the children's teachers in the last year. There had been bruises and odd behavior, but nothing had been substantiated as abuse.
Carisi glances at their school photos, pinned beneath their father's mugshot.
Maxwell, age eight, and Lindsay, age thirteen. They're cute kids, but that's nothing unusual--Rollins always says that he thinks all kids are cute. He always reminds her that she's never seen his cousin Angelina as a baby.
"Lindsay is the one making the allegation?" Benson asks, pushing her glasses onto her nose. Carisi likes the way the boxy black frames look on her but knows better than to tell her that.
"Yeah," Fin mumbles, distracted as he reads a police report filed late last night. "Says he's been touching her at night."
"Just touching?" Benson asks.
"That's what she told Officer Park."
Benson nods and joins Carisi in examining the board.
"Rollins is on her way?"
"Said she was picking them up about half an hour ago, should be here any time now," Fin answers.
"Homicide's case fall apart? I remember reading about this guy in the news," Carisi asks.
"Mistrial," Benson sighs. "We don't have the details yet. The ADA on the case is still determined to push through another trial, but Manning made bail. And now he's our problem, too."
"Dude drinks himself into a stupor and runs a red light. How'd they manage to get a mistrial?" Fin asks, incredulous.
"Yeah, killed the driver on impact," Carisi pitches in, his tone hard with anger. "I read her daughter was in the car. She's alive but..."
He doesn't need to continue, they all saw the news report. Single mom Teri Salinger had been taking her nine year old daughter to pick out a new uniform for school, which was about to start up again after a long, warm summer. Her little prius had crumpled under the force of Manning's truck.
"Like I said, we don't have all the details," Benson answers, examining Lindsay's photograph. The girl has her father's blond hair and wore it in a long bob at the time of the picture, which was probably taken a few months ago for the year book. She has a pointed nose and long eyelashes and looks distinctly unhappy.
Her brother is smiling wide in his picture. There are no hints of distress in his round face.
"Seems straightforward enough," Carisi says, joining Fin at the conference table.
"Lets hope."
- - -
Lindsay Manning cries and shakes her way through her initial interview. Her mother, Abigail Manning, touches her shoulder from time to time but otherwise seems too distracted to comfort her. She glances frequently at the mirror of the interview room and Carisi wonders if she thinks that her husband is watching.
Rollins and Benson go through the usual routine with Lindsay. She's a little too old for the "show me where on the doll" script, and her voice almost doesn't quiver when she tells Benson that her father touches her on her vagina. Over the clothes. Under the blanket. After Mom goes to sleep.
Carisi believes her and he throws frequent glances at Barba, who stands beside him and watches the scene through the glass.
He's sure that Barba notices his staring and he hopes he doesn't mind, but he's dying to know--what did Barba think? Did they have enough?
Carisi wants to nail Owen Manning to the wall.
Barba's face is expressive today, because Carisi can see disgust, anger, and sympathy march across his features in waves, but that doesn't mean that Barba will take the case yet.
Benson wraps the interview up and Mrs. Manning hugs her daughter as they stand up.
"What do you think, Counselor?" Benson asks as she joins them, closing the door behind her. Barba watches Rollins lead mother and daughter back out to the bullpen, where Fin is talking to an animated Max. The boy has never been inside a police precinct before and is clearly excited.
"I think we want to make this as airtight as possible," Barba says evenly, adjusting his jacket. "After that mistrial, a jury might just believe that NYPD has it out for Mr. Manning. It's happened before."
Benson and Carisi nod in agreement, but Benson looks ready for a fight anyway.
"She's credible."
Barba gives her a measured look.
"She sounds a little coached," he tells her.
"I believe her," Benson grounds out.
"I do, too," Barba says, clearly trying to pacify her. "She's clearly distraught and I don't doubt that a jury would believe her."
"So what's the problem?"
Barba sighs.
"We'll need to practice before the trial, if it comes to that. I'd prefer that Mr. Manning take a plea and spare them that, though."
Benson nods in approval and makes her way toward her office, gesturing for them to follow.
Barba nearly collapses onto her couch and Carisi leans against a chair, grinning at him.
"Long night?"
"Long week," Barba answers, reclining his head.
"How's the Rosa trial going?" Carisi asks, curious. He's read about the case but hasn't gotten the chance to pick Barba's brain on it yet.
"We're working toward a plea, but you know Calhoun."
"Yeah, unfortunately," Carisi chuckles. Benson shoots him an annoyed glance and he straightens a bit.
"Carisi, why don't you get in touch with our friends over at homicide. I want to know what went wrong with their trial."
"On it," Carisi grins. He nods at Barba as he leaves and is pleased when the ADA absently returns the gesture.
"So, tell me what you need from us," he hears Benson ask as he closes her door behind him.
- - -
Owen Manning is left to sweat in his own interview room for two and a half hours before Carisi and Rollins enter. He stands immediately.
"This is bullshit," he shouts. "It's been three fucking hours!"
"We needed to get a few facts straight, Mr. Manning," Rollins tells him pleasantly as she sits down. Manning slowly sinks back into his own chair, glancing between them.
"And it's barely been two and a half," Carisi quips, sitting down on the edge of the table. He wants to loom over Manning.
"Still too fucking long," the man grumbles, rubbing his wrist in anger, or maybe anxiety.
Carisi can almost feel Barba's eyes on his back and he starts his line of questioning strong, wanting to impress him. He and Rollins interrogate Manning for a little less than an hour before he crosses his arms over his chest and asks for his lawyer.
- - -
Manning's lawyer is a harassed looking man with a two hundred dollar haircut and cheap shoes. Carisi barely restrains himself from commenting on Mr. Wesley's oversized tie clip.
Wesley's brow is already slick with sweat and he demands that the ADA join them right at the beginning. Rollins shrugs and trades places with Barba, who enters the room with an exasperated expression.
Manning bristles at the sight of him. He eyes his colorful tie and pocket square--both bright pink today--and his lip curls in obvious contempt.
"Mr. Manning, I am ADA Barba," he says quickly, like Manning is of no consequence, and sets his briefcase on the table. He nods at Wesley in acknowledgement.
"Are you fucking serious?" Carisi hears Manning ask Wesley in a mock whisper. Carisi sucks in a quick breath, but Barba stops him with a bemused look. Barbas sit at the table and Wesley steeples his fingers.
"I'm sure you're aware of the dropped charges against my client, Mr. Barba."
"Dropped?" Barba snorts. "I'm not aware of that, no."
"I doubt ADA Miller will be pursuing his vendetta against Mr. Manning after this little endeavor."
"Excuse me?" Barba asks slowly, sounding bored.
"This is clearly police harassment."
Well, that didn't take long, Carisi thinks.
"An allegation has been made against Mr. Manning and we are obligated to investigate," Barba tells him flatly.
Manning is trying to glare a hole in the side of Barba's head.
"My bitch of a wife got her to say that," he says, chest heaving as he clearly fights to get his anger under control. He’s on edge after the long wait and aggressive interview and it shows.
Barba tips his head to the side, looking thoughtful.
"We'll investigate that, Mr. Manning."
Manning is anything but appeased by that and doesn't let up his 'if looks could kill' routine. Barba ignores him in favor of Wesley, who is watching him back warily.
"Is there any particular reason that you requested my presence, Mr. Wesley? Doesn't sound like your client is ready to plea."
"The fuck I am," Manning roars, slapping a meaty hand on the table. Carisi tenses, prepared to grab him, but it's not necessary.
"Mr. Manning, please," his lawyer soothes. He doesn’t look surprised by his client's outburst and barely spares him a glance. It’s obvious that they’ve worked closely together before and Carisi wonders what kind of path in life leads a person to accept someone like Owen Manning as a recurring client.
"Mr. Barba, we're requesting that you drop all charges against Mr. Manning. He's a loving father and loyal husband, and your goons here at the NYPD are going to be facing a massive lawsuit in the near future for their treatment of my client."
Carisi isn't sure which thing to take offense to first.
The conversation doesn't really improve much from there.
- - -
Carisi watches Manning leave the bullpen with his lawyer a little while later. He sees Manning throw one last look at Barba, who never managed to get on his good side and couldn't care less about it. Barba, texting on his phone, either doesn’t see the glare or finds pleasure in ignoring it--Manning is dog shit on his shoe and they all know it. Carisi’s mouth twitches with approval, which Barba somehow manages to catch. Manning is out the door and Barba permits himself a wry grin back at the detective.
Benson approaches them, looking displeased and clearly ready to tell them about it. Carisi braces for a lecture that always seems to find him--as badly as he wants Benson’s approval, it’s been a rare thing over the years and he knows better than to expect it now.
"Well, that was interesting," Barba says, preempting Benson’s possible--probable--lashing for Carisi.
"He lawyered up pretty fast," Benson comments, glancing at Carisi. He knows he hasn’t escaped the full brunt of her thoughts on his interviewing technique, but it appears he has a temporary reprieve. He shoots out a quick mental thank-you into the universe. Being embarrassed by his boss is one thing, but he’s glad it won’t be in front of the ADA.
“We probably could’ve gotten more out of him,” Benson continues, her mouth stretched a bit at the corners. Carisi knows this to be an obvious sign of annoyance.
"Yeah, well, he's been here before," Carisi says defensively. He always tries to walk a fine line in which he’s respectful but he stands his ground with his Lieutenant, yet he comes off as petulant most of the time. This time he was aiming for casual but the line of his shoulders and the quick grimace of his mouth say it all. Barba notices and throws him a look, like he's not sure if he feels amusement or pity.
"He certainly is familiar with the system. I'm honestly surprised he talked with you at all without Wesley," Barba offers. Benson looks at him in surprise but can’t seem to muster an argument against that.
Carisi recognizes the complement and fixes them both with a slightly too bright smile. His body immediately relaxes into a more comfortable slouch and he leans slightly toward Barba as if in appreciation for the support. Benson visibly restrains herself from an eyeroll.
"Even with that, we didn't get much. He's sticking to his story that his wife is setting him up," she says.
“I’m sure you’ll get what you need. You’re all pretty good at your jobs by now.”
It sounds a little pointed, and although Carisi can’t pinpoint why it seems that way, Benson’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.
Fin wanders up to them before she can reply, shrugging his jacket on.
"I've gotta head over to the courthouse," he tells them, looking less than thrilled. “Got a few warrants for that southside brothel that need signing.”
"I'll go with you," Barba says, tucking his phone into his breast pocket and suddenly sounding more tired than he had a moment ago. Carisi realizes that he’s stayed at the precinct longer than usual and wonders if he’s reluctant to return to his office.
"We've got enough for a warrant for Manning's home, I'll get started on that,” Barba tells them over his shoulder, following Fin toward the elevators.
- - -
They don't turn up anything at the Manning residence. They hadn’t been expecting much in the way of physical evidence but Carisi manages to feel disappointed anyway. He watches as techs pack up the home computer and Lindsay's laptop for analysis, and then they gather their gear.
Carisi shrugs and glances at Rollins, who looks bored. They’d both been a little impressed that Manning has a nice little house out in the suburbs but that had quickly worn off during the search. They’re ready to head out but Manning suddenly blocks their way to the door, his face blotchy and red.
"Are you going to clean this shit up?" He demands, gesturing wildly around the room.
Carisi looks at the path of mild destruction. Tables had been overturned, couch pillows removed, drawers pulled out--all in search of incriminating photographs or videos.
"Sorry," Carisi lies.
"That's not really our department," Rollins tells him sarcastically.
Two crime scene techs arrive behind them, and Manning seems to weigh his options before reluctantly standing aside. Carisi almost wishes that Manning would swing at them, because then at least they could drag him in and charge him with something.
He finds that he almost gets his wish a moment later, when Manning grabs his arm as he attempts to walk past. Rollins’ hand immediately lands on her holstered gun and Manning releases him as if burned. He keeps his eyes on Rollins’ hand for a moment, who doesn’t relax a hair, before turning back to Carisi.
"Detective," Manning starts, sounding earnest and looking lost. "I'm not a perfect man, but I would never hurt my daughter."
Rollins snorts. The ‘yeah, we’ve heard that before’ comment goes unsaid but Manning's face changes into something steely all the same.
"I'm capable of a lot of things, but not that. You should tell your boss that."
Carisi almost corrects him--Barba's not really his boss--but Rollins interrupts.
"Come on, Carisi. Don't waste your time."
He hesitates, watching fury and desperation play across Manning's face, and then he follows her out into the rain.
- - -
It's three days later and they haven't made much progress. Barba has called Lindsay in twice for subsequent interviews--he still maintains that she sounds a little rehearsed, but he thinks she'll do okay if it comes to a trial. TARU hadn’t turned up anything unusual on the home computer--unless you counted a cleared porn browsing history out of place--and while they had some concerns about Lindsay’s laptop, there was nothing to link some inappropriate comments on her Facebook and school forum to her allegations.
Carisi buys lunch and brings it to Barba's office. He doesn’t think about it much, it just makes sense to him in the moment, but he feels a little unsure as he passes Carmen with a quick hello. He swings through Barba’s doorway and shakes the bags a bit in greeting.
If the ADA is surprised that Carisi shows up unannounced with Chinese food, he doesn't show it. Instead, he quirks a one-sided smile at the detective and stands, flipping a file closed and gesturing toward the table at the other side of the room.
They settle in and discuss the case as they eat.
They plan a counterattack against Manning's claim of police harassment and Barba nods approvingly as he lets Carisi take the lead in the conversation. Carisi sometimes takes a little while to get where he needs to be, but he always finds his way there with a little guidance. Barba agrees when he suggests that Manning’s criminal history will mostly do their job for them.
Their conversation shifts to the family dynamics and Carisi listens closely as Barba sorts through his thoughts on Mrs. Manning, Lindsay, and Max. He doesn’t want to ask Max to testify against his father, but he’ll ask the judge to subpoena the boy if necessary.
They settle into an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, each trying to picture the eight year old trembling on the stand.
"Well, we'll leave the rest for now," Barba says, packing up the containers in the plastic bag they came in. "I've got to get to court."
- - -
Benson and Carisi wait for Barba outside of the courtroom three hours later. He’s looking down at his phone when he makes his way toward them and Carisi spots him first--spots the fiercely crimson tie fastened securely at Barba’s throat and the way the soft charcoal fabric of his suit is subtly lined with a deeper black--and jumps up from the bench.
Barba looks surprised to see them but Carisi thinks he looks happy too, so things must have gone well on the Rosa case. He’s preparing a smart comment about how Barba must have gotten the drop on Calhoun at the arraignment but Benson starts in first.
“What else do you need for us to bring the Manning case to trial?” She demands, seemingly towering over the ADA despite the fact that they’re nearly matched in height. He doesn’t seem too bothered by her tone but he doesn’t quite resist the bait, either.
“A bit more if we want to win.”
Carisi hangs back a bit as they bicker, smiling to himself. Sometimes it’s like being around an old married couple and he can’t help but admire the friendly way they collide and clash, and he finds himself hoping that he can earn that kind of comradery with the both of them, too.
They pause at the top of the courthouse steps and agree that they'll need to bring Lindsay and Max's teachers in to establish a pattern of behavior.
Barba begins to make his exit, but pauses to grin at Carisi, who doesn’t miss the way the cold December air brings out the pink in his cheeks.
"Thanks again for lunch," Barba says teasingly, but he's really half watching Benson's face transform with confusion and just a hint of betrayal.
Carisi sputters a bit at the intense expression that she suddenly aims his way and watches Barba slip down the stairs and into the crowd.
"Lunch?" Benson asks, her voice a bit like sandpaper. She knows Barba well enough to recognize when he's teasing, but she knows he wasn't lying either. Carisi can almost see the moment her face settles on disapproval.
Carisi struggles between feeling embarrassed--he doesn't even know why, they’ve all eaten and discussed cases with Barba before--and feeling pleased because Barba had thanked him, even if it was only for the purpose of tripping him up in front of his boss.
Benson rolls her eyes at his hesitation and starts down the stairs, apparently deciding it isn’t worth waiting for an answer.
Wondering if it would be inappropriate to plan retaliation, Carisi's eyes automatically find Barba down on the sidewalk below, where he's typing on his Blackberry and likely waiting for an Uber.
He's helpless to stop the shout that escapes him when he sees Barba get stabbed between the ribs.
- - -
He thinks he's been punched, at first. It feels like a hard fist lands against his side and he feels his breath rush out of him with an audible hiss.
Staggering, Barba turns in disbelief but only catches a glimpse--a blur really--of black. He starts to crane his neck to follow the motion but his hand is slick and warm and he looks down, stunned to see blood coating his palm where he'd rested it against his ribs.
His mind stretches out into a narrow buzz of shock.
He looks up again, but only a handful of bystanders stare back at him with realization. One woman covers her mouth with her hand.
He takes a step backward and nearly stumbles off the curb.
He's distantly aware of shouting and then Benson is there--or is it Benson? He's not sure.
The pain takes over.
His hands spasm as he tries to grab at the woman, who is grabbing at him, and she's saying something but his ears feel like they've been filled with cotton and he feels static on his tongue.
Carisi is there, too. He's sure about that one because he can hear his name being shouted in the detective's ridiculous, familiar accent.
"I've been stabbed," he explains to them.
Or maybe not.
He's not sure if he gets the words out.
A large, warm hand clasps the back of his neck and Benson is telling him something--what?--as Carisi tries to guide him down to the sidewalk.
He resists but isn't sure why, because he’s suddenly not sure if he can stay standing.
The next thing he knows he's lying on concrete and bleeding out.
Carisi's hands move to the injury--his stab wound, he thinks, nearly hysterical with the shock of it--and he must be pressing down but Barba can't feel it. He only feels a deep, raw pain from somewhere further inside.
And then, nothing.
- - -
"Liv--" Carisi says, or maybe shouts, he's not sure over the roaring in his head. "He--"
"He's just unconscious, Carisi," and he can't believe how calm she can sound. "Just keep putting pressure on it."
She looks around helplessly as a small crowd gathers around them now. She sees a couple of phones out and knows it's more likely that they're taking pictures than calling for help. She wishes she could scream at them, but she keeps her composure. She has to. She pulls her own cell phone out and calls for an ambulance as two uniformed officers from the courthouse race over to them. They’re demanding answers, wanting direction, but Benson can’t offer them anything--she doesn’t know who they should be looking for. Instead, she tells them to secure the scene and push the morbidly curious crowd back. They do so and she feels like she can breathe a little better with the space it gives them.
She looks back to Barba but catches Carisi's wild eyes instead. He looks like he's about to pass out, but his hands are steady and stay faithfully pressed to Barba's side.
His eyes are begging.
She doesn't know for what.
She thinks about Dodds and the hospital and the blood--
"Did you see him?" Carisi demands.
Benson stares at him, at a loss. All the color has drained from his face and she’s distracted by the intense blue of his wide, wide eyes, her thoughts still with Dodds.
“Who?” She hears herself ask.
"Manning!"
"Hold on, Carisi," Benson barks. "Did you see him? Are you sure?"
"I--"
"Are you sure?"
"No! No, but--!" Carisi is starting to shout now, but he snaps his mouth shut when her hand grabs his arm.
"One thing at a time," she breathes, looking stern and keenly aware of their audience.
They wait and let the blood sink into the fabric of their clothes.
She hears the sirens before she sees the lights, and she holds her breath until the ambulance screeches to a stop in the street, blocking traffic. The sun’s still out but the brilliant red and blue wash over them all the same.
The EMTs efficiently take over and then they take Barba away. Benson pulls on Carisi's arm, not trusting him to drive. He lets her fold him into the passenger seat of his own car.
Benson murmurs reassurances but Carisi stares at his red hands for the entirety of the ride.
- - -
Carisi offers to donate blood to Barba at least four times. Benson watches a nurse gently reject the most recent offer, reassuring him that it's not necessary--he’s more than welcome to donate to the blood bank but they don’t need it for Barba’s surgery.
"I'm a universal donor," he reminds her desperately. Benson tries not to think too hard about the quiver in his voice as she places a call to Fin.
"We'll let you know if we need you," the nurse tries to be soothing but she's in a hurry, and she leaves them with a sympathetic look. Carisi watches her go, his eyes haunted.
He's always been an expressive man but Benson isn't sure that his face has ever been easier to read.
"Fin," a voice says into her ear.
"Hey, are you there yet?" She turns away from Carisi and focuses on the far wall, where a bland black and white photograph of an oak tree rests.
"Just pulling up. We'll keep you updated, Liv. We'll find the son of a bitch."
"Good. Thank you. Be careful," she warns. "If this was Manning he's likely armed, maybe even waiting for you."
"We've got this, Lieu."
Carisi has his hands buried in his hair and his head bowed when she turns back to him. He looks up when she sits down next to him in one of the little lime green chairs of the waiting area.
"That Fin?" Carisi asks hoarsely.
"Yeah. They just got to Manning's place."
Carisi shakes his head and stands up suddenly, beginning to pace.
"I should be there," he tells her, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his forehead. His hands are clean now but Barba's blood is still on his clothes. And on hers, too, she knows. She can feel it making her clothing stiff.
"What about donating blood?" Benson asks gently, wanting him no where near Manning. She trusts Carisi, knows he's a good detective, but he's clearly emotional and she can't have him screwing up the investigation on day one. She’s going to find Barba’s attacker and she’s going to see him put behind bars.
"They don't need it," he protests weakly.
"They might."
He collapses back into his chair, resting his head in his hands again, and says nothing. She knows she’s won the fight but can’t bring herself to feel very relieved.
She closes her eyes and she leans her head against the wall, settling in for a long wait.