A.N.: I apologize for taking so long to finish this story, and thank you to all of you who have stuck with it, and left reviews.
Poison Fruit
Conference Room Seven
Supreme Court 100 Centre St
4pm Friday May 11 2007
"Can we get this over with?" Jack McCoy asked.
"Wait for Regan," Serena said. To someone else, Serena might have seemed her usual cool and expressionless self, but McCoy had worked with her for too many years to be taken in. He could tell she was barely able to sit still with excitement, although being Serena that excitement found expression only in the restless tapping of one finger on the side of her chair. Danielle, Sally and Nora stood by the window, Danielle telling Sally quietly about the day's testimony.
McCoy ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, debating with himself whether or not to simply walk out. The day had been another ordeal of listening to Mike Cutter's insinuations and Regan's cross-examination, designed to cast doubt in the jurors' minds but as far as McCoy was concerned, only drawing out the trial and delaying the inevitable. He hadn't tried to stop her. She made it clear yesterday that that wasn't an option. And he didn't have the heart for another knock-down, drag-out argument with Regan. Last night, lying awake, he'd been haunted as much by the memory of Regan, whey-faced and trembling, as by his imagination of what he'd done to Keri Dyson.
When sleep had come at last, it had brought no rest. In his dreams, McCoy had walked the corridors of the Supreme Court building, hearing Abbie weeping behind the closed doors of the courtrooms he passed, until he came to the door of the women's restroom. For a long time he had stood looking at it, knowing in the hazy way of dreams that he would find Regan behind it, dreading seeing what he'd done to her, knowing that he couldn't turn away.
But when he had opened the door he had seen, not Regan Markham, but Claire Kincaid – Claire as she had been the last time he had seen her, wearing her dark coat. Her eyes were shadowed from a sleepless night, just as they had been that morning, and just like that morning he could see the disappointment and the accusation in them.
She had not been able to understand how he did not share her revulsion and despair at the deliberate taking of a life, had thought she could persuade him, had argued her case with passion and logic and the best legal authorities – and he had never been able to resist the opportunity to argue, had never been able to resist the need to win.
In his dream, he could see as clearly as he had that day so long ago that she was losing faith in her power to make him the man she believed he could be – the man he had tried to be, for her, a man who was certainly a better man than the one he had been when he met her.
Knowing he was dreaming, he was still desperately glad to see her, and at the same time angry. Why this moment? he wondered. When it's been so long since I've seen her, in dreams or in memory, why this moment, why can't I see her when she was happy, when she loved me, when she believed in me?
But he had learnt, in all the years since she had left him behind, to take what he could get, and so he had held out his arms to her and whispered her name. And she had come to him, wound her arms around his neck and pressed her slender body against his, just for a moment warm and real.
Then she had raised her head from his shoulder and leaned back to look at him with those huge, accusing eyes, had pressed her hand against his cheek and told him You're not the man I knew, Jack McCoy.
That had been the end of sleep for McCoy last night.
And when Regan had turned up at his door, the shadows beneath her eyes and the defeated slump of her shoulders had told him she was as tired as he was. Too tired to fight.
He'd never thought that could be possible, that he could be too tired to argue, too tired for anger, but Regan's offered truce had not roused the instinct to attack at the sign of weakness. McCoy had felt only relief.
Even her trespass into his past had roused only a defensive wariness, and Regan had back away from the topic quickly, both of them like exhausted prize-fighters in the tenth round, circling each other warily, too tired to throw or take a blow.
The door opened, startling him from his reverie, and Regan came in. She was a little disheveled and seemed flustered.
"Sorry," she said. "Got mobbed by the press pack." She tossed her briefcase onto the table and pulled out the chair next to McCoy.
"What did you say?" Danielle asked.
"No comment," Regan said, sinking into her seat.
Danielle frowned a little. "Next time, make sure you get in a line about your client's innocence, your confidence about the outcome. The jury isn't supposed to know but – "
"Godammit, Danielle, I've got enough on my plate without whoring to the press!" Regan snapped. There was a small silence, and Regan took a breath. "Sorry." She pushed her hair back from her face with a shaking hand. The gesture revealed a red mark on her cheekbone.
"What's that?" McCoy asked, and when Regan looked blank, he indicated the place on his own cheek. "On your face."
She touched the place and flinched. "One of the cameras got a little too close," she said.
And right then, McCoy discovered he wasn't too tired to be angry. "They what?" he demanded, leaning closer to get a better look.
"It was a scrum, Jack, there was some jostling," Regan said.
McCoy was on his feet. "Judge Wright has the power to ban them from the courtroom and I think – "
"I think we've got more important things to worry about," Regan said sharply. "Sit down." She held his gaze until he reluctantly sank back into his chair. "Serena, Mr. Curtis," she said. "What have you got?"
"Do you want to tell them?" Serena asked Curtis.
He shook his head with a smile. "You go ahead."
Serena took four files from her briefcase and laid them on the table. "Keri Dyson laid charges against Harold Grafton for assault in 2000," she said, resting her fingers on the first file. "In 2004, Barry Norrell hired Keri to work in his firm." She touched the second and the third. "In 2005, Nicholas Cherry gave Keri a substantial promotion when he brought her into the Identity Fraud Bureau out of appeals." She pointed to the fourth file. "And in 2007, Keri Dyson told Jack that he could escape criminal charges for assault if he got her a transfer to Narcotics."
One after the other, with the dexterity and flair of a card-sharp, Serena flipped open the files. The first held photographic prints of medical records. The second, third and fourth held photocopies.
"Which of these things is not like the other ones?" Serena asked smugly. "Oh, wait – none of them."
Regan reached for the files as Sally, Nora and Danielle crowded closer to the table, peering over her shoulder. McCoy leaned forward as well, gaze drawn to the medical report that detailed Keri Dyson's injuries, although he knew what was in it, could not have forgotten it if he'd tried even after that single reading in his office. Cracked cheekbone, contusions, trauma to the lower and upper lip …
He tore his gaze away, forcing himself to look at the folder next to it, the one Serena had identified by the name 'Nicholas Cherry'. Instead, he saw the same horrifying list of injuries on an identical page.
McCoy blinked hard, and shook his head slightly. Get it together. Stop imagining things. The page refused to disappear. He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to open them and look at the next folder, but again, all he could see was the catalogue of injuries he'd inflicted.
He sat very still, determined not to let the women around him know he had lost it, gone so far over the edge he was hallucinating.
"This is fucking fantastic, Serena," Regan said, her tone reverent. What is? McCoy wondered, but couldn't work out how to ask without betraying himself.
"Never blackmail lawyers," Serena said, a laugh in her voice. "Either they turn you in – or they keep excellent records."
McCoy looked again at the files in front of him, seeing only the evidence of what he'd done, who he'd become. I have to get out of here, he thought, tried to push back his chair but found Nora behind him, leaning over his shoulder. I have to get out of here.
Clear as if she had leaned over and whispered in his ear, he heard Claire's voice. You're not the man I knew, Jack McCoy, she murmured, with the teasing note in her voice that always let him know she was smiling. For one thing, you're way more stupid.
Serena said they were all alike.
McCoy leaned forward, forcing himself to look at the files again, to look past the words that made his gut twist with memory. All from Mercy General. All signed by Rob Jordan. All dated …
No.
One dated last week. One dated August 2005. One dated May 2004 and in the last folder, photographs of the same file, this time dated June 2000.
The same file.
Not the same file. All copies of the same file.
All forgeries.
There was a roaring in his ears, drowning out the voices around him. He looked at his hand, flat on the table, the hand that he had been unable to imagine as a fist striking a woman's face.
Not a failure of imagination, or a failure to accept responsibility.
Not a failure at all.
Relief swept over him, dizzying in its intensity. It wasn't true.
It was never true.
He looked up. Sally and Danielle were in intense conversation, debating courtroom tactics, as Nora listened. Regan had taken a legal pad from her briefcase and was making notes as fast as she could drive the pen across the paper.
"Regan," McCoy said.
"'Sec, Jack," she said, still writing.
"Regan," McCoy said, putting his hand on her arm. "I didn't do it."
"I know, Jack," Regan said impatiently, still half-distracted.
"No – Regan – " He wanted something more from her, some recognition of how momentously important this was, but the significance seemed to elude her.
The he realized that as far as she was concerned, it was no earth-shattering revelation.
Regan had never needed his innocence proven to her. She never had any doubt. Not for a minute. No matter what I said – or did.
What did I do to deserve such loyalty?
He didn't realize he'd spoken the last sentence aloud until Regan smiled, and covered his hand with her own.
"You saw that the water was up to my neck when I thought it was only knee high," she said.
McCoy shook his head slightly, in bemusement rather than negation, and Regan's fingers tightened on his.
"Regan," Sally said, and Regan turned away from McCoy and leaned forward. "We need to set up another practice cross-examination for you before Cutter calls Dyson on Monday morning."
"Sunday," Danielle said.
"Another?" McCoy asked.
"There's no point," Regan said, with a quick glance at McCoy that said I'll explain later. "Cutter knows she's lying to him. That's why he hasn't called her – he can't suborn perjury. And he won't call her, either."
"Doesn't matter," Serena said. "You can introduce all this – " She indicated the three last files, "in your case after the People rest. And I think that with a few days I can talk Barry Norrell into testifying. He's pretty mad."
"Yeah," Curtis said from where he had been leaning against the wall, almost forgotten by the lawyers gathered around the table. "He was cagey at first but once I told him that he wasn't the only one, and that we had proof Keri Dyson had lied to him, he started talking pretty quickly."
"Okay, we'll list him as a witness – " Regan said.
"Not until Monday," Danielle cautioned. "You can legitimately wait until you're sure he'll do it – don't give Cutter any more warning than you can help – "
"What did you say you told Norrell, Detective?" McCoy interrupted.
"He didn't want to talk to me at all," Curtis said, "But once I told him we could prove that Ms Dyson's accusations were false, he opened up and told me everything, including handing over the file he'd kept with the medical records she'd used to blackmail him. His story is the same as yours. Memory loss, and then Ms Dyson turns up with bruises and a sob story and a proposal to let him off he gives her a nice new job."
"You told him you had evidence?" McCoy said.
"Yes," Curtis said.
"What's wrong, Jack?" Regan asked.
"I take it these photographs of a confidential medical record were not obtained legally?" McCoy said, pointing to the first folder.
"Since we're not planning to introduce them it's not – " Serena said.
McCoy shook his head. "You'd better stop planning to introduce any of them," he said. "They're all fruit of the poison tree."
"That applies to illegal searches by the police," Danielle said. "Believe me, Jack, I've relied on it often enough at in limine hearings to know."
"To the police or their agents," McCoy said. "We're in front of William Wright, leader of the cheer-squad for the Fourth Amendment. You, Detective Curtis, are a former homicide detective working in company with a former prosecutor on behalf of an attorney and client who are current, if suspended, members of the DA's Office. If you put Norrell on the stand and Cutter asks him about his conversation with Detective Curtis, all of this is going to be ruled inadmissible faster than you can blink. You'll be left with nothing but Norrell's word. What do you think that's worth?"
"Shit," Serena said. "What if he doesn't say anything?"
"That's not a chance I'd like to take," Danielle said.
"We could cover off the issue in advance," Sally suggested. "Leave no reason for Cutter to ask the question. Mr. Curtis could take the stand to testify about his investigation and Regan could ask him – "
"Ms Bell, I wouldn't testi-lie for Mr. McCoy when I was a cop and I won't do it now," Curtis said.
"How are we going to get it in, then?" Regan asked, sounding as if she were on the edge of panic. "How are we going to get it in?"
"The only way is on cross," McCoy said. "You can use it to impeach – if Cutter opens the door."
Regan shook her head. "He won't. He won't call her. He's too smart, Jack. He's too smart. He – "
Danielle put her hand on Regan's shoulder an instant before McCoy reached out to do the same thing. He let his hand drop back to the table as Danielle said reassuringly: "We'll figure something out, Regan, don't worry."
Regan's jaw set.
"Don't patronize her, Danielle," McCoy said. "Or do you want her to go play with her doll-house while the grown-ups sort this out?"
Danielle drew breath to reply and Nora Lewin held up her hands. "I don't know about any of you, but I am exhausted. And I don't think anything is going to be solved by us taking our lack of sleep and low-blood-sugar out on each other. So I suggest we adjourn until tomorrow morning. We can reconvene at Abbie's and look at this with fresh eyes."
"Not me," Serena said. "I'm going to Virginia."
"Virginia?" Sally asked.
"I got a line on Joe Evatt," Curtis said. "Your doorman, Mr. McCoy. He was working last Thursday night and hasn't been in since – or at home. But I finally talked to one of the neighbors who said his younger sister had a baby on Friday, almost three months early, and Joe took time off from work to go down to Richmond and be with his family."
"Do you know where?" McCoy asked.
"No, but how many hospitals are there in Richmond with neo-natal ICUs?" Curtis said. "I've got a photo from his employment records, we can flash it around and see if any of the nurses or medical technicians recognize him from visiting hours."
"We're going to drive down tonight," Serena said. "Stay over, hit the ground running tomorrow morning and track him down – see what he has to say." She hesitated. "And Jack – I won't screw up again."
"You didn't screw up," McCoy said, turning to include Curtis in that. "Either of you. You got the evidence – evidence I didn't even believe existed. We just have to be creative in how we use it." He looked at Regan, caught her gaze and held it. "And we will be."
She nodded, accepting his reassurance the way she had not accepted Danielle's.
.oOo.
A/N: Fruit of the poisonous tree is a legal metaphor in the United States used to describe evidence gathered with the aid of information obtained illegally. Like the exclusionary rule, the fruit-of-the-poisonous-tree doctrine is intended to deter police from using illegal means to obtain evidence. The discovery of a witness is not evidence in itself because the witness is attenuated by separate interviews, in-court testimony and their own statements, but I have stretched that in this story for plot purposes. The phrase is drawn from the biblical passage found in Matthew 7:17 and 7:18, which reads "Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit."
