Louis wasn't afraid of bodies, and it wasn't like him to be late to a murder scene. But here he was, hustling up the stairs of the building with a pair of coffees from an abysmal pit stop of a place down the street.
The early morning light felt particularly bright today, and he looked like what he was - a man who hadn't slept. Disappointed, too. He had begun to feel confident and better rested, sure he had left the worst of his insomnia behind him. Then, last night, he had stared drowsily at the ceiling, slept in fits and starts, started up after a nightmare, cold from the wind blowing in through a half-open window. By the time he had gotten back to sleep, it had been just deep enough to miss his alarm entirely, and wake up to the screeching of his phone letting him know he had somewhere very pressing to be.
Still, he looked put together. His shirt was clean, and his tie was straight. He had picked up the coffees as an anticipatory apology. Cris was a new partner, after all, and he didn't know how to tell him that being late and nearly missing a homicide wasn't usual for him. No sense in making excuses. Better to bring caffeine. Back home, tea would have gone over equally well in a similar situation, but one thing was sure - everyone needed to stay awake at this hour.
He had checked the details on the vic while waiting in line to pay for coffee, and recognized the face before the name. It couldn't have been a more public scene, really, and there was a police line a good hundred yards in each direction from the corpse, lying beside the rail. It would have been quiet here the night before, quiet enough that they would be likely to get a late night jogger for a witness, if anyone. And yes, he knew the man. He'd sat in his interview a week ago, while Carson Matthews sweated bullets and denied any inappropriate contact with his niece.
SVU hadn't been his line in London, but that was what had been available in New York, and he had jumped at the chance. Scenes like the homicide they were about to attend were more in his area, at least while he had been working for the Met.
He was heading up the stairwell by the time Cris was busily dialing him, and he appeared in the hall when his phone was ringing. He saw the the phone at Cris' ear and handed the coffee to him with an look of silent apology. "Do you know the best way?" he asked, already moving toward the elevator door to head back down. He was still, unfortunately, finding his way around this city. "They were a little cryptic about possible cause of death. Did they tell you anything?"