Wine, Woman, and Wiretaps
Abbie Carmichael's Townhouse

7.45 Saturday 28th October 2006

"You're just in time," Abbie said. "I was seconds away from sending out the search party."

"That would be more convincing if Tom had his coat on," McCoy said, handing over the bottle of wine he'd brought. "Or shoes, for that matter."

"I'm no match for you pair of keen investigators," Tom Cassidy said, clapping McCoy on the shoulder. "I was painting upstairs, I only got finished twenty minutes ago. You and I were nearly both in the dog-house. Can I get you a drink? Scotch straight, right?"

"Thanks," McCoy said. He hung his coat on the rack and followed Tom into the living room. "You're redecorating?"

Abbie and Tom exchanged a look McCoy couldn't read. "Refreshing the spare bedroom," Abbie said. " Tom's trying to get it done before he ships out."

"I'm behind schedule, though," Tom admitted cheerfully. "It turns out interior decorating isn't my strong suit."

"There's a surprise," McCoy said, accepting the drink Tom gave him.

To McCoy's surprise – and relief – Abbie didn't seem inclined to get on his back over the Firienze case or anything else over dinner. She served roast beef and followed it with vanilla pudding and didn't raise anything more disruptive of digestion than possible candidates for the Brooklyn DA's seat in the upcoming election.

It wasn't until she had poured him a brandy and Tom was in the kitchen washing up that she went on the attack.

"You look pretty tired, Jack," she said. "Branch leaning on you too hard?"

"You're learning subtlety at the Southern District," McCoy said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"Yes, and guile – you're about four drinks up on me. But regardless of my subtlety and guile, the truth remains – you look tired." Abbie reached over the table to take his hand. "Is it the Firienze case?"

"That's certainly enough." Abbie was right – he was tired. Tired and a little drunk, and the thought of Mary took him by surprise, grabbed him and shook him with smooth blonde hair shaved back to show sutures, a face swollen and black with bruises – with dark hair and tape and the trunk of a car – with red hair and green carpet and blood

" Jack!" Abbie said, hand closing hard on his.

"Sorry," McCoy said. He set his glass down. "I think I'd better have some coffee. What were you saying?"

"Sure, coffee, because what you really need right now is insomnia." Abbie looked at him intently. "I'm worried about you, Jack."

"Oh, nonsense, Abs," McCoy said, covering her hand with his own. "You don't need to worry about an old dog like me."

"I've hardly seen you this year. You're working harder than ever. When I see your name in the law reports there's always someone different in your second chair. You're too thin, and you look exhausted. And now Mary Firienze."

And now Mary Firienze.

McCoy shook his head. "I have to get this guy, Abbie," he said softly. " Mary was doing her job, the job we hired her to do, and because of that she's in the hospital beaten unrecognisable."

"The job you hired her to do?" Abbie asked. " Jack, you can't feel responsible for this."

"I'm not responsible for what Edward Walters does or doesn't choose to do," McCoy said sharply. "But I am responsible for the outcomes of decisions of the DA's Office. We give these cases to these young girls, Abbie, girls like Mary, and we send them into the courtroom to go face-to-face with the Edward Walters, the Volskys of this world. And what happens?"

"First of all," Abbie said, "they're not 'young girls'. They're lawyers."

"Don't get politically correct on me now, Abbie, not at this late date," McCoy said.

"Secondly, the nature of the job we do is that it brings us into contact with some of the worst people in our world. That's what we sign up for. You've been there. Hell, I've been there. I've got a file of death threats thicker than my thumb since I moved federal. It's a sign we're doing our jobs." Abbie sighed. "What do you want, do you want your prosecutors to back off when they discover that the people doing really bad things are actually really bad people?"

"It's all very well for you to say that it comes with the territory," McCoy snapped. "Do you remember what you said about Matt Bergstrom? That he looked at you like you were meat hanging on a hook?"

"And he's in jail and he's staying there because he forgot that I'm a lawyer, not a carcass," Abbie said. "You taught me that, Jack. You told me to keep it separate."

"You can't deny there's an added risk for you that there isn't for me," McCoy said. "And when I ask lawyers like you, women like you, to take on those risks, I should do my best to make sure you're protected from them."

"You can't protect people, Jack," Abbie said. "Not from the work they choose to do. Not from life."

"Then why do we even bother doing this job?" McCoy asked her. "What's the point of it? The longer I do it, the less I seem to achieve. The criminal justice system is supposed to protect the public – I can't even protect the people around me!"

"What about justice?" Abbie asked.

"What about it? Is there even any possibility of justice for Mary?"

"You have to believe there is, Jack," Abbie said.

"It's all bullshit," McCoy said. "We lock one guy up, there's ten more in his place. No matter how well or how long we do this job, there's always another murderer, a thief, a mobster, a madman. And it's not like closing the cell door and throwing away the key raises the dead and sends them back to their families."

"It never did, Jack," Abbie said. "We do what we can do. We're prosecutors. We prosecute."

"That's it?" McCoy asked.

"I've never heard you talk like this, Jack. That's it, yeah – and it's enough."

"Is it?" McCoy gave Abbie's hand a final squeeze and let her go. "It's late, Abs. I'd better go."

"It's not that late," Abbie said.

"Yeah it is," McCoy said. "It really is."


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