Chapter Text
“Detective Benson, with all due respect, I don’t believe this is a white collar crime. I’m not entirely sure what I can do for you,” Peter Burke said, reaching for his mug of coffee.
Olivia Benson, one of the most respected detectives at the NYPD, was in her usual brash form and picked the manila folder off his desk. She opened it and grabbed the photos inside. After slamming them down on the desk, she took her finger and pointed at one particular object.
“Sorry, Agent Burke, I didn’t major in art history in college, but I believe that is Picasso’s ‘Harlequin Head’ in the background.”
Peter put down his mug and picked up the photo, holding it to the light. Two men were standing outside a warehouse, next to a semi-truck. A man behind them had a large frame in his hand, presumably moving it inside.
“Well, Detective, you’re right and wrong. This particular painting was stolen from the Kunsthal Museum in Rotterdam back in 2012. It’s presumed to have been burned. It’s most likely a forgery.”
“Isn’t that what this division does? Look into forgeries?”
Peter sighed. He had three open cases at the moment, one of which he was actually close to cracking. And to be honest with himself, he didn’t have the time or energy to open a fourth. Maybe if Neal was still around . . . but he was in Paris, looking at real Picassos now.
“It’s not exactly high on my list of priorities at the moment. And I thought you were Special Victims Unit, Detective. I’m curious, why you are taking time out of your day to bring me this case?”
She gave him a stern look and reached again for the photos. “I actually don’t give a damn about the painting, Agent Burke, but I thought given this office’s reputation on art thieves and forgers, you might help me infiltrate, because I actually give a damn about these missing people here.”
Peter look down at his desk, this time there were five photos. Three women and two men. All looked in the twenties and thirties.
“These guys are not just into stealing and selling pretty paintings, they’re into stealing and selling pretty people,” she said.
“Christ. Sex trafficking?”
“That’s right. I believe these people are being held against their will and forced to do unimaginable things. And I think they’re alive.”
A pit formed in Peter’s stomach. He never had the stomach for these types of crimes, or criminals for that matter, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. “I’ll help you with whatever you need, Detective.”
Olivia gathered the photos off the desk. “Good. Those two men, standing outside the truck, their names are Boris Yelk and Riggo Lintova. Came from Russia a few years ago. One of the victims from the photos has been missing almost 10 months—”
“10 months?”
“Yes.
“And you really think they are still alive?”
“I would like to hope so. Boris and Riggo don’t like to throw away anything unless it’s completely useless. They won’t discard their commodity unless they have to.”
“How do you know that?” Peter asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.
Olivia cleared her throat. “We found a victim. Dead. Her body was completely mangled, from the inside out. I won’t go into further detail, but there were obvious signs of long term abuse.”
“And how did you connect her to these Boris and Riggo characters?”
“Because, Agent Burke, we found another victim, alive. She was able to identify and confirm the deceased as a fellow captive.”
“So you think these paintings are a side business?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes. These guys will do anything for a buck, obviously.”
“I’ll put my best people on it, Detective.”
“Thank you, and please, call me Olivia.”