(INTERROGATION ROOM – SVU HQ, MANHATTAN)
The room was dim, with just a low-hanging light casting sharp shadows across the steel table. Jerry Mike sat across from Scott, fidgeting, arms crossed tight against his chest like a man guarding a secret he couldn't afford to spill.
Scott leaned forward, hands clasped, voice calm but heavy. "Jerry, you wanna go back to prison?"
Jerry's eyes twitched. "What? I haven't done anything. Why the hell are you threatening me?"
Scott cracked a half-smile, unfazed. "Wasn't a threat, son. Just a question. No need to get all jumpy."
Jerry shot him a glare, voice rising. "What's this even about?"
Scott tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp. "I'm guessin' you already know. Or do you wanna play dumb too?"
"I don't know jack," Jerry shrugged, sitting back in his chair.
Scott's tone dropped, eyes narrowing. "On the 27th of May… you turned off the surveillance cameras at Kingston Park, didn't you?"
"I told y'all already—those cameras glitched! I didn't touch a thing!" Jerry barked, slamming a palm on the table.
Scott didn't flinch. "Woah, easy there. These chairs ain't built for outbursts."
He leaned in. "Funny, though—of all the damn days for the cameras to 'malfunction'… it just had to be the day a little girl went missin'. Suspicious, huh?"
Jerry crossed his arms again. "If you say so."
Scott chuckled darkly. "Your rap sheet's longer than my arm—three counts of theft, one assault, and four for illegal gambling. That's a helluva record."
Jerry tensed. "You ran a background check on me?"
"Please," Scott scoffed, waving him off. "I typed your name into the system, and it practically crashed tryin' to load your file."
Jerry rolled his eyes. "I did my time. That crap don't bother me."
Scott stood up slowly, walking to his side of the table. "Then you shouldn't mind me askin' again—do you really wanna go back?"
Jerry huffed. "Man, I thought we were done with this bull—"
"Alright," Scott cut in, tone suddenly serious. "You'll be walkin' out of here in a moment."
He leaned close.
"If I were the culprit, I'd kill you the second you left—for snitchin'."
"I didn't say anything!" Jerry barked, instantly.
Scott raised a brow. "Huh. So there is something to say."
A long pause filled the room. Jerry's confidence cracked. His hands shook slightly as he buried his face in his palms. Then he slammed his head on the desk in frustration.
"Careful now," Scott smirked. "That desk's government property."
Another long silence. Then Jerry slowly lifted his head, eyes red and shoulders slumped. "I'll talk."
Scott smiled thinly. "Good man. Let's hear it."
"He—he came to me that day. Threatened to report me to my manager," Jerry muttered, voice trembling. "It was hell gettin' that job… No one wants to hire an ex-con."
"Who threatened you?" Scott pressed.
"Thomas Andrew. He's an inspector."
Scott didn't flinch. "And what exactly did he tell you to do?"
"He made me turn off the surveillance cameras. Said if I didn't, he'd ruin me."
"You got anything to prove that?"
Jerry pulled out his phone with shaky hands. "I recorded it… I was scared, man. I just… I had to cover my ass."
He played the audio.
> "You don't wanna lose your job, do you?"
"What do you want from me?"
"Tomorrow, you'll turn off the surveillance camera."
"Are you crazy?! Why would I—"
"I guess you'll be lookin' for another job, then."
"…Alright, alright… I'll do it, okay?"
"That's the right answer. Now get out of the car."
The audio ended with the hum of an engine fading into silence.
Scott nodded. "That's good work, Jerry."
He stood up and handed Jerry a notepad. "Now write down everything. From start to finish. In your own hand."
Scott exited the room with Jerry's phone in hand. The team was waiting just outside the glass. All eyes turned to him.
"I'm guessing y'all heard that?"
"Yep," Frank nodded. "And I've been diggin' on Thomas Andrew."
He brought up a digital file on the big screen.
"Thomas Andrew. Inspector. Seven years in the department. Clean on the outside, but something doesn't smell right."
"We got an address?" Scott asked.
Frank nodded. "Got it right here. Guy lives in Queens. We can track him down easy."
"Gotcha!" Ray cracked his knuckles. "Finally, we're gettin' somewhere."
Stephanie frowned, arms crossed. "Something feels off. He's been with the force too long to be this sloppy."
Scott's jaw tightened. "The feeling's mutual."
He turned to the group. "Stephanie, you're with me. We're heading to his home."
"Ray, take Frank and head to his precinct. Ask questions. Be subtle."
"Yes, sir," Frank said, grabbing his coat. Ray followed behind, eyes sharp.
They split, storming out of the SVU headquarters like hounds off the leash—one step closer to uncovering the predator hiding in plain sight.
(INT. UNMARKED BLACK SEDAN – MOVING THROUGH QUEENS, LATE AFTERNOON)
The city rolled by in a blur—graffiti-tagged buildings, busted hydrants misting the air, tired folks dragging themselves home. Inside the vehicle, tension rode shotgun.
Scott gripped the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. Stephanie sat beside him, gaze pinned to the folder in her lap.
"You read it all?" Scott asked without glancing over.
Stephanie flipped a page. "Every word. Something's off about this guy."
Scott let out a short breath through his nose. "Thomas Andrew. Seven years in. Clean evaluations. No complaints on record. But he gets involved in an abduction and camera tampering?"
"Doesn't fit the profile," she said, brows tight.
Scott nodded slowly. "Unless the profile was fake from the start."
Stephanie turned to him, voice low. "You think he's done this before?"
Scott shrugged. "Maybe not the exact same way. But people don't just flip like a switch. There's always signs."
She leaned back, folding her arms. "I still don't get why he'd risk everything. He's got a badge. A pension."
Scott gave her a sideways look. "People like him… if they fall, they fall hard. Means he was hiding something bigger. Maybe this was just the first time he got sloppy."
Stephanie stared out the window. "You believe Jerry's story?"
Scott's jaw tensed. "I believe his fear. Fear's hard to fake."
A silence fell between them. The hum of tires, the distant wail of a siren somewhere behind them. Then Stephanie broke it.
"I keep thinking about the girl. The one who went missing."
Scott's hands tightened on the wheel.
"She's why we don't get to screw up," he said quietly. "Every second she's out there, that clock ticks louder."
Stephanie nodded slowly, voice firming up. "We'll find her. We have to."
Scott glanced at her then, his eyes sharp but not cold.
"You keep that fire. This job's gonna try and put it out."
She cracked a dry smile. "You're doing fine with yours."
Scott didn't answer. Just stared forward as the sedan took a sharp right, sun dipping low behind the skyline—casting long shadows on a case that was only getting darker.