Chapter 4

Briscoe drove through the east side of Manhattan as they headed to Andrew Sampler's home. Curtis, arms folded across his chest, stared out the open window at the passing scenery. Neither man had uttered hardly a word since they had left the precinct, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

The younger detective let out a deep breath and glanced at his partner.

"So what d'ya think, Lennie? Still think Herlihy or his mother is the shooter?"

Lennie kept his eyes glued to the road ahead and chose not to respond. To him, it was easier to accept Herlihy or his mother as the shooter because to think otherwise was unfathomable.

"Lennie? You heard what I said?"

Briscoe still kept his eyes straight ahead. "Yeah, I heard you, Rey," he said quietly. "Right now I don't know what to think. What was it L.T. said? McCoy has enemies within the department because he's convicted cops."

Rey looked at his partner. "So what are you saying? That he deserved what happened to him because he prosecuted cops?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all. Don't go putting words in my mouth." Briscoe felt his temper rising.

"I'm not," Curtis kept calm. "Look, all I'm saying is he's not only a good friend, but a damn fine attorney who prosecutes those who deserve to be prosecuted. And just because some of those people might be cops makes no difference to him. Don't forget, his old man was a cop."

Briscoe sighed as he steered the car around a corner. "I know that. And from what we know of McCoy, he's never prosecuted anybody, cop or not, who didn't deserve to be prosecuted."

"Exactly. And because he's prosecuted cops doesn't mean he deserved what was done to him, and you know that."

"Nobody deserves what was done to McCoy just for doing their job." Briscoe glanced at his partner expression softening. "I'm sorry for sounding like a bastard, Rey. I guess I'm just having problems wrapping my head around believing a cop did this and if he did, why he did it."

"If it was a cop who shot McCoy, why do you think he did it?" asked Curtis.

"You said it yourself," said Briscoe. "He's prosecuted a lot of cops, and as L.T. told us, the counselor has enemies within the department because of it."


Abby Carmichael walked inside the hospital and approached the nurses' station. She spotted a perky blonde, her name-tag reading Haylee, behind the nurses' desk. The nurse caught Abby's attention.

"Can I help you, Miss Carmichael?" she asked having dealt with the female ADA since McCoy had been admitted. She smiled politely.

"I just want to know if there's been any change in Mr. McCoy's condition from earlier today. I heard from Mr. Schiff that he's developed pneumonia."

"You were told correct," she said. "Mr. McCoy's very ill. And with the seriousness of his injury, his chance of survival is less than fifty percent right now." She saw Abby's face fall and felt for the woman. "I'm sorry I don't have better news to give you."

"That's all right," Abby answered, obviously shaken. "Is it okay if I visit him?"

Haylee smiled. "Sure, go ahead. You'll probably find Mr. Schiff there as well." She lowered her voice so that Abby had to stand closer to hear her. "Poor man. He hasn't left Mr. McCoy's side since he was brought in."

"Thank you." Abby walked away and in the direction of the ICU. When she reached McCoy's room, she stood outside for a few moments to get control of her rampaging emotions. After about three minutes, she let out a deep breath and pushed open the door. She paused in the doorway and took in the scene before her.

Adam Schiff was seated in the plastic chair beside McCoy's bed, clutching the man's hand, eyes fixated on the man's face. She quietly approached Schiff from behind until she stood directly behind the chair and rested a hand on his shoulder, careful not to upset or alarm him. The older man glanced back over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth slightly curled upward. But she could see the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Adam? I spoke with a nurse at the nurses' desk. She said Jack's condition isn't good by any means. In fact, him getting pneumonia in his weakened condition makes it worse. But you've been with him since he's been here, and I want to hear your opinion. What do you think?"

Schiff let out a deep breath and turned his face forward. His eyes took in the wires connected to all the IVs and the heart monitor. Lastly, his eyes studied the bag hanging from the pole beside the bed, then the tubing, and the needle inserted into the crook of Jack's elbow and covered by tape. Then, his eyes landed on McCoy's face and stayed there.

"You want to know what I think, Miss Carmichael," Schiff muttered partially to himself. "I think we're gonna lose him and it's just a matter of time." His lower lip quivered and he swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

Abby's eyes shifted until she found herself staring at her unconscious boss, watched the ventilator breath for him, and the rise and fall of his chest signaling he was still alive. She stepped around the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Schiff.

"Adam, we need to keep the faith that Jack will pull through."

The older man chuckled. "Keep the faith," he muttered. "Right now we need more than faith; we need a miracle."

Abby put a hand on the older man's knee.

"I believe we're going to get that miracle. He will get better." She grinned. "He'll probably want to get out of this bed and prosecute the creep who shot him himself."

The older man raised his head and looked at his subordinate; a small grin on his face. "You're probably right." But the grin faded as quickly as it appeared. "But if he doesn't make it, I'm going to need you to promise me you'll prosecute the bastard."

Carmichael's eyes hardened. "You have my word on that, sir."

"Good. Now, is there something you want to talk to me about?"

Abby stiffened and there was a look of surprise on his face. "How did you…?"

"Just a feeling I have. What is it?"

Carmichael updated the District Attorney on the latest involving the investigation. When she finished, she waited for his response.

Schiff stared at the woman, a stunned look on his face. "Are you telling me that McCoy may have been shot by a cop and not the son or wife of Jacob Herlihy?"

"That's what it looks like. The weapon was a law enforcement issue Glock 17. Police identified the weapon as belonging to Officer Andrew Sampler which had been reported stolen about ten days before Sampler was killed."

Adam felt a headache coming on and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Can't anything just be simple?!" There was anger in his voice. "Why must things be so damn complicated with this shooting!?"

Carmichael licked her lips before she told the older man the worse part.

"I'm afraid there's more, sir. We may have two people involved in the attack on Jack."

"Two people?"

"Yes, sir. It seems that the video tape for the entire courthouse was deleted, so there's no way to identify who shot Jack from the tape. Also, there's no way someone could shoot him and delete the video at the same time. Therefore, the police now believe that there were two people involved. There are two detectives from the 27th Precinct right now going through all of Jack's case files since he's been with the District Attorney's office hoping something will show up. But there's a lot of cases."

"Wonderful," Schiff said sarcastically. "Somebody steals a cop's gun, kills the cop from whom he stole the gun with his own gun, then shoots McCoy with the same gun while his partner erases the video servicing the entire courthouse. And to top it off, the gun is dumped in the trash inside the courthouse because he knows when it's traced it'll show it was owned by the cop he killed. This just keeps getting better and better."


"This looks like the place," Briscoe said as he parked outside a red brick house. As he got out of the front passenger-side, Curtis noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

'Hey, Lennie, I think somebody's home. I just saw the curtain move."

Briscoe's eyes narrowed as he closed the driver's side door and glanced upward at a window. "You sure?"

"Positively."

"I remember Sampler having a live-in girlfriend named Laci Daley," said Briscoe. "Could be her."

"Let's hope so."

The two detectives walked up the four steps to the front door. Curtis raised his fist preparing to knock. But before he could, the door opened and they were face-to-face with a dark-haired brunette with piercing ocean blue eyes and a sad expression. They recognized her as Laci Daley.

She was confronted with two gold police badges.

"Detectives Curtis and Briscoe?" The woman stood aside and held the door open, allowing the officers to come inside. "It's been awhile. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Briscoe swallowed the lump in his throat, and Curtis chewed his lower lip. Both detectives hated they were about to force this woman to relive the terror she felt from the break-in, but knew they had little choice in the matter.

"We need to ask you a few questions, Laci," he said quietly. "I'm afraid it has something to do with the break-in ten days before Andy's death." He saw the pained look on her face.

"Follow me into the living room," she said and led the detectives into the next room where she motioned for them to sit down on the sofa while she sat in a nearby chair.

"What did you want to ask me?" she asked, hands resting in her lap. "I told you everything when you both were here before and after Andy died."

"Before we begin," Curtis started. "We'd like to know how you're doing. Are you all right? Is there anything you need or anything we can do for you?"

Laci sighed. "I'm okay. Really. I can't tell you it hasn't been hard since Andy died. Everything reminds me of him, but I'm dealing with it." She licked her lips. "Now what can I do for both of you?"

"We assume you heard about the shooting in the courthouse at 100 Centre Street?" asked Briscoe.

"The Jack McCoy shooting? Yes, I heard about it on the news. But what does it have to do with Andy or me?"

Briscoe paused momentarily. "Well, apparently McCoy was shot with the gun that was stolen from Andy, and was also used to kill him."

Laci gasped at this news. "Is Mr. McCoy all right?" she asked shakily.

"He's in very serious condition right now and might be paralyzed from the waist down."

"My God. But what can I do to help?"

"We need to ask if you or Andy found anything other than his weapon missing when someone broke into the house." Curtis asked.

Laci pursed her lips as she rattled her brains to recall the break-in, and the terror she felt at the time.

"I remember Andy and I searched the entire house afterwards and the only thing we noticed missing was his service weapon. Why?"

Briscoe sighed. "We'd like your permission to search your home. It's not that we don't believe you, Laci, it's just that you may have overlooked or not noticed something when you and Andy searched the house."

"I don't know what you expect to find, but go ahead."


Abby sat in the hard plastic chair Schiff had vacated minutes ago when she convinced him to go to the cafeteria and get something to eat, and to take a break from sitting with McCoy.

She reached over and covered Jack's hand with her own. She chewed her lower lip nervously.

"Jack, I sent Adam to the cafeteria so he could have a break and get something to eat. He's been here since you were brought in and refuses to leave your side." She leaned closer to her boss. "I've been told if you talk to a person who's in a coma, that they can hear you even if they can't respond. Now I don't know if that's true or not." She licked her lips before continuing. "But if it is, then I want….no, I need you to listen. We need you to get better. If you give up, then you're letting Herlihy win. You can't let him win, Jack. You can't." She took in and let out a deep breath. "I refuse to let Malcolm Herlihy or his mother win especially if one of them are responsible for putting you in here."

"And what if it turns out Malcolm Herlihy or his mother isn't responsible for what happened?" a gruff voice said from behind her.

Abby looked over her shoulder and spotted Schiff standing in the doorway holding a Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand, his other hand gripping the door handle holding the door ajar. His face was expressionless.

Abby let out a deep breath. With a glance back over her shoulder at her boss, she again turned toward Schiff and let out a deep breath.

"If it turns out not to have been Malcolm Herlihy or his mother who did this to Jack, I promise you I will prosecute whoever it is to the best of my ability. On that you have my word."

Schiff nodded and walked further into the room until he stood beside his female ADA. There was a grim expression on his face as he stared into her brown eyes.

"And after you convict the bastard whether it be one of the Herlihys or a cop, I'll need to decide what kind of punishment is suitable for the bastard or bastards."

"Seems to me the death penalty should be the punishment of choice here," she said.

"Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves, Miss Carmichael? Nobody's even been arrested yet."

"I know that. But when they are, I say we should fry 'em both."

"And if the shooter turns out to be a cop?"

When Abby answered, there was no hesitation in her voice.

"If the shooter turns out to be a cop, I will still crucify him and his associate. I gave you my word on that. All I ask is that you strongly consider the death penalty for both of 'em."