Part II

27th Precinct, Interrogation Room, 12:31 p.m.

Anita Van Buren watched calmly from one side of the two-way mirror as her detectives grilled Waters. Waters was seemingly confused, but every so often a look of anger would cross through his eyes as he sat there, Curtis passing behind him then, in his face now, then against the wall, Briscoe sitting on the seat next to him, almost reasoning with the guy. Executive "DA Jack McCoy watched the interrogation from over Anita's shoulder. Jack was a tall, lankily built man with features that could use work from the front, but were "Actually quite nice from the side. He watched intently, focusing on the object of the interrogation. It would be his defendant shortly, and he wanted to know everything.

"Come on, John, we know you called Marks," snapped Rey.

"If you didn't, you know, you can always join a voice lineup," Lennie sympathetically explained. "Prove us wrong."

Waters sat in confusion. "I don't know a Timothy Marks. I never called him."

"Prove us wrong then," repeated Lennie.

"No. . . what if this guy makes a mistake and says it's me? Then I'm cooked. Forget it."

"Try this one: Where were you at 1:50 on Tuesday?" Rey asked angrily.

"Working in my shop."

"Got verification?"

"Um, I was alone, as I recall."

"Oops. No goal, John!" Rey got up in his face. "Whadda you think I think when there's no verification? You weren't there, John, you were out shooting Harold Schleissmann, weren't you!?"

"No! I don't even know the guy!" Waters shouted back, but anger hints appeared in his eyes. He was riled.

"You know what else? You got a gun, John, a nice little .22, tucked away. That's the kind of gun Harold was shot with, buddy! Where is that little .22 now? Off in a dumpster, covered with Harold's blood?" There was no reply.

"If you still have the gun and you didn't shoot him, give us the gun. Forensics will get us there. It's all up to you whether we keep up the case or stop here cuz we're wrong." Lennie pointed out calmly. Once again there was no reply, except:

"I want a lawyer, now!"

McCoy frowned. "Not much of a speaker, huh?"

Anita glanced at him. "We think he's our man. We got a voice witness, a sight witness, and a nice little .22' in his possession. Think it's enough for an arrest warrant?"

"Are you sure Marks will pick him?" Jack wanted to check. "And the eyewitness?"

""Bout as close as possible without the "Actual test."

"Test him first. I'm gonna go dance for a judge "Bout a search warrant for Waters' place and perfume shop." Jack turned and began to walk out the door, but Anita stopped him with a question:

"Counselor, where is Ms. Carmichael?"

Jack half turned. "She's got the flu and'll be out a couple of weeks. Gotta run." He walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Anita closed the interview. "Let's check him out with Marks and the girl."

* * *

"All right, Mr. Marks, please choose carefully." Anita stood behind the two- way mirror again, this time along with Curtis, Briscoe, Marks, McCoy, and Mrs. Taskui, Waters' defense lawyer. "Number one."

"You tell me when he falls asleep," came the voice.

"No. Definitely no." Marks frowned.

"Number two."

"You tell me when he falls asleep."

"Nope."

"Number three."

Number three was Waters, who cleared his throat before saying, "You tell me when he falls asleep."

"Uh, no." There were raised eyebrows all around as Marks finished the other voices, saying no to all of them. "The voice was way more raspy," he protested.

McCoy threw up his hands. "Just so you know, the suspect is in there!"

"I'm sure, but I didn't hear the guy. Sorry." Marks shook his head. Briscoe took him to the door.

"Can my client go now?" asked Ms. Taskui.

"Nope. One more to go," replied Anita.

As the woman came into the room, though, a light seemed to come on in Curtis' head, and he motioned for the eyewitness to leave.

"Hey," he remarked excitedly, "Marks said the voice was more raspy."

"Yes, so it isn't my client." Ms. Taskui beamed.

"No, but there's a really simple way to change your voice over the phone: a handkerchief over the mouthpiece! That'd make the voice raspier. Try having Marks hear them through a phone with a handkerchief over it." Rey was pleased with his idea.

"No way! He didn't identify my client before, and that's good enough!"

"It'd be fair, Ms. Taskui," McCoy told her. "They'd all have their voices altered that way."

Taskui crossed her arms, but was forced to agree. Marks was brought back in after the necessary changes had been made. Anita repeated the procedure. "Number one."

"You tell me when he falls asleep." Marks shook his head.

"Number two."

"You tell me when he falls asleep."

"No. . ."

"Number three."

"You tell me when he falls asleep."

Marks leapt to his feet. "That's it! That's the guy! I know it!"

Mrs. Taskui frowned and Waters looked confused, as usual. Jack beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Marks. Call the eyewitness." Marks left the room and the girl walked in. In a matter of seconds she declared, "That's the guy. Number three. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere!" She grinned at Curtis. "Not that your eyes aren't cute too. . ."

"Lay off, girl."

"Thank you, ma'am." Jack effectively ended her time in the room. "Well?" he asked Ms. Taskui.

"I have to talk with my client." Taskui was not pleased.

"Okay." They switched off the intercom as Taskui moved into the room and talked quietly with Waters.

Meanwhile someone knocked on the door behind Anita, the detectives, and Jack, and let himself in. "Here's the search warrant you wanted." The man handed McCoy the papers and left.

"Thanks." He turned to the detectives and Van Buren. "I think we have enough for an arrest, but this will cover it just in case." Jack's eyes twinkled the way they did when he was sure of a win. "Execute this, Detectives, and we're on a roll."

Perfumes of the World, 3:14 p.m.

"Well, he was the clean one, all right." Lennie glanced around the office, which was now a mess. "Too bad we had to ruin it for him."

"I doubt it'll matter if we find that gun." Rey was in a bit of a hurry. "Let's find the damn thing and get it to forensics."

"Think McCoy can get the arrest warrant without the gun?" Briscoe was referring to the "dance for the judge" Jack was doing just then to arrest Waters.

"Probably. Two positive I.D.'s, one right after the other. What a whopper for Ms. Taskui. But let's find it anyway. If we make this case airtight, then this whole thing will hit Mr. Waters on the head really hard."

"All the better."

Unfortunately, the task of finding the gun was proving difficult. It was not in the home, and at this point nothing was in the office. Then suddenly a shout came: "Detectives!" Curtis and Briscoe ran to where the forensics man was indicating: a .22, in the dumpster behind the office.

Curtis ran it up a pencil through the trigger safety. "Man, oh man," he breathed. "This has been burned, bad." The whole outer layer was charcoal due to someone roasting the gun over a flame.

"This'll be fun for forensics to I.D.," declared Briscoe as Rey dropped the gun into an evidence bag. He pointed into the dumpster. "Here, get those bloody clothes too, will you? Maybe they'll help out." The clothes were burned too, but not as badly. "This is one great haul, Rey. How dumb can Waters be?"

"Who knows," Curtis shrugged. "But I love him for it."

EXECUTIVE "DA Jack McCoy's Office, two weeks later, 2:27 p.m.

"Abby Carmichael didn't look so good.

"You sure you're ready to work again?" asked Jack a third time. The pretty, thin, black-haired "Abby nodded again for the third time. "You don't look ready to work," frowned Jack.

"It's the flu. You get over it." "Abby was very matter-of-fact.

"Well, you're not over it yet, "Abby. Go home and get some rest or you'll get yourself sicker. I don't need a sick "DA around: it doesn't help, but instead hurts, how the job is done. It changes how the person "Acts. You haven't said much all morning, and that's not the "Abby Carmichael I know." Jack grinned.

"Yeah, well, give me one more day."

"I'm giving you a whole week, unless you want to check that with Adam. You need the rest."

"I need to get back to work, Jack! This isn't helping at all. Next case." "Abby changed the subject.

Jack shrugged and moved on. "John Waters; indictment for murder one. Oh, yeah, he's the guy that has a .22 gun with the victim's blood on it, the two hearing and eyewitnesses, and the bloody clothes. He's on trial in a week." Jack smiled at that case. "Guess it's pretty airtight, and the lawyer hasn't pulled any funny stuff. Unfortunately, we're missing motive. Without that, it could be a tough case. Should we plead him out, "Abby? "Abby?"

"Abby had nearly nodded off. She jerked up her head. "Uh, yeah, sure, plead him."

"You didn't hear a word I said, "Abby." Jack lowered his voice.

"Abby looked semi-ashamed. "No, not really."

"You are tired." McCoy shook his head. "Go home, get some more rest, and call me in a week."

"Jack, that's way too long."

"It's enough time to recuperate, "Abby. Enjoy yourself if you get well before that."

"Uh, you forget something? Like a new second chair?" "Abby asked coolly.

"No. Let me worry "Bout that. Go home, "Abby." McCoy leaned back as "Abby rubbed her eyes, stood, and left the room. Jack "Actually sighed in relief. She needed the rest. Besides, the Waters case needed motive, and he knew the perfect "DA to help him get either a conviction or who was ultimately behind the murder. . .

* * *

"Ross residence." Jamie was trying to make dinner when the phone rang. It was not good timing on the part of the person on the other end of the line. She was pretty irritable. Ross' daughter was singing in the living room along with a tape, and Jamie was not much of a cook. As a pretty ex-wife and part-time "DA, she was often busy, either at home with her kid or on the job trying cases with one of the more self-sufficient Executive "DAs. But the voice on the other end was one that caused her to jerk.

"Jamie, what on earth is that in the background? Sing-along songs?"

Ross was visibly startled. "Jack McCoy, what on earth are you calling for?"

"Help, Jamie. I got a caseload like you wouldn't believe, and one case that could go pretty bad without motive. My "DA's gone sick, got the flu. You're the best "DA I've had, so please, help me out here."

"You, Jack McCoy, are asking me for help? Where is that I'm-tougher-than- the-whole-world-put-together guy I worked with?" Ross was not in a talkative mood. "Why don't you handle it? I've got only a part-time job now, anyway. No more long hours here, Mister I-live-at-the-office."

Jack grinned on the other end. "I understand, but it would only be for a few weeks. Please, just one more time, for old times sake?"

"You are a sentimental old fool." Jamie stole one of the lines she had forever remembered from their two years as working partners. "I don't know that I can. I do have another Executive "DA to work with, Jack."

"I know. I've got that covered."

"How desperate can you be?"

"You are the best, Jamie. I'm not saying that to butter you up. I'll say it again, even if you turn me down."

"Okay. I'm turning you down," Jamie laughed.

"You're the best "DA I've ever known." McCoy replied with sincerity.

"Thanks, but I'm kidding. You talk to Adam "Bout this?"

"Uh-huh. He said it was fine."

"You have me back, Jack. Only for a few weeks, though." Ross was smiling as she said it.

"All right. A few weeks, then. Can I see you tomorrow morning?"

"I'll be there."

"Thanks. First thing will be to brief you in, then we're down to business." Jack hung up. Ross laughed, then the buzzer to the oven went off. She turned back to the now slightly burnt dinner with a sigh.

* * *

Ross scanned the Waters case. "Looks airtight to me, Jack."

Jack was poring over some other papers in the case. "Same here, but we're missing motive. Waters, as far as we know, had nothing to do with Schleissmann."

"So we look for connections."

"That's what the police have been up to for the past two weeks. Nothing, and they'd have uncovered something by now." Jack frowned.

Suddenly Jamie seemed to become quite interested in one particular paper. "Look at this: Mr. Alando Schuster, a friend of Schleissmann's, said that the victim had some papers on Jim Dawson, the governor's aide. They were supposed to be damaging. The police looked for them but they were never found."

Jack came around his desk and looked over Ross' shoulder. "Huh. Wonder where they went."

"Maybe Waters took them when he killed Harold," pointed out Jamie.

"But why would he do that?"

"Because he's been told to, maybe?"

Jack shot back around his desk to his papers and shuffled through the hopeless mess. "Here!" he exclaimed, holding up one paper. "Water's phone records. Pretty clumsy, but he got a call from one particular phone - it's owned by Jim Dawson." Jack smiled slightly. "Nice detective work, Jamie."

But now Ross was slightly incredulous of her own idea. "You think Dawson had Schleissmann killed and his paperwork taken because of a scandal print? Unlikely at best."

"But Waters doesn't know that. We don't know what's on those incriminating papers' that are missing. Perhaps Waters knows, especially if he took the papers on orders." Jack was on a roll. "If he killed on orders, than maybe he didn't want to sink alone. If he didn't, then I'll bet he still has those papers. I think we should plead him out - for the papers and his testimony."

"On one flimsy "Account by a German friend?" Ross frowned.

"Waters doesn't know we think this. Let's play hardball." Jack stood up. "Ready for a trip to Rikers?"

Riker's Correctional Facility, Interrogation Cell, 12:45 p.m.

Ms. Taskui looked uncomfortably at the two seated prosecutors. "What do you want?"

"To speak with your client "Bout a plea bargain," Ross stated simply.

"Really? What kind of plea?"

"Murder two, 20 to life," Jack answered.

"That's ridiculous!"

"It's a gift with all the evidence stacked against your client. Two witnesses, one that I.D.'s you speaking "Bout seeing the victim asleep - I doubt that was a sleeping hour poll - and another that puts him at the scene of the crime. One .22, charcoaled on the outside, was in the dumpster behind his office, and forensics matched the bullets at the hotel to the gun. Also, some bloody clothes with the victim's blood were in the dumpster. The fact they fit your client is probably not a coincidence." McCoy was painfully straightforward.

Ms. Taskui shifted "Bout a little. Then Waters, who had been looking out the window, spun around. "Hey, McCoy, you wanna loosen that a little more in exchange for a bit of help?"

Jack looked at him. "What kind of help?"

"I didn't kill that guy for the heck of it, and I can get you the man who wanted it done. I can also solve "Bout five murders for you right now. But first, I want Man two, minimum sentence, and witness protection." Waters looked pleased. Ms. Taskui looked lost.

McCoy eyebrows shot up. "Let's hear the story first."

"I get a call from a certain Mr. Dawson - you know, the Gov's aide. He came through my hotline - um, the line I get jobs' - killing jobs - from. He wanted this Schleissmann guy dead in three days and some, uh, interesting' papers destroyed, and then he told me where to find him - it should be clean and fast, he said." He paused. "So I call the hotel and go through to the room "Cross the hall from Mr. Schleissmann's. For two grand I wanted him to tell me when the guy was asleep - it's easier when they're asleep. Then I waited two days before he gave me a call back. I left my silencer at home - man that was stupid - and cuz I was out of days to wait, just went ahead and shot the guy. I took his papers, but I didn't destroy them - kept 'em in case the whole thing went down. They're in a deposit box at the bank. I woulda spoke up sooner, but this piss-ass lawyer wouldn't let me call you." He glared at Ms. Taskui. "I've done this stuff a few times - it was my sixth murder."

"So you're a hit man." Ross was not pleased.

"Basically, yeah."

"What did you do' Mr. Schleissmann for?" asked McCoy.

"Um, safety." Waters frowned. "This is why I want witness protection. Those papers I stole: those'll tell you that Dawson is connected with the mob. It's true, too. He had me nailed for a few things I did with em, and if I didn't kill Schleissmann, I was goin' to jail for a few other, uh, crimes. But now I'm not going down alone." Waters smirked. "So, why not fess up, for a new I.D. and a few years in jail? Besides, he also offered me ten grand for the job."

Ross was visibly bothered by that. "Forget -"

"Man one, 15-year sentencing recommendation, and witness protection. You testify and give us those papers, plus the other guys you did," McCoy spoke up. Ross spun and stared at her partner.

Waters nodded. "Deal, then."

Jack stood up. "Let's go."

On the way out of the jail, Jamie suddenly protested, "What was that all "Bout?"

"What was what all "Bout?"

"Don't you play idiot with me, Jack! You just pleaded out the murderer of six people!" Jamie was horrified.

"To solve five other crimes and nail a corrupt politician," McCoy answered calmly. Then he grinned at his partner. "Besides, with any luck, some of those crimes were committed "Cross the county lines. I can't say what the lawyers over there will do with the new information. They may prosecute instead."

Jamie shook her head. "Gees, Jack. Please, explain before you do that, or I might kill you for plea bargains like that." Jack laughed.



Office of Jim Dawson, Aide of the Governor, 5:20 p.m.

Curtis and Briscoe brushed right by the secretary and into Dawson's office. "Hey," she protested, but the two detectives ignored her.

Dawson was meeting with a lobbyist when Briscoe stepped in. "Detectives, I have told you everything I wish to say," Dawson snapped.

"Yeah, well you'd better not say anything now," warned Briscoe, holding up an arrest warrant. Curtis grabbed Dawson's hands and pulled him out of his chair, snapping the cuffs on as Briscoe mirandized him. "You are under arrest for the murder of Harold Schleissmann. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do or say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. . ."

The three men made their exit, leaving the lobbyist to gape in surprise.

Courthouse, Arraignment, 10:37 a.m.

"Docket number 63727, The People versus Jim Arnold Dawson, the charge is murder in the first degree," read the secretary of the court, handing the case to the judge.

"Well, well, Mr. Dawson, having scandal troubles today?" asked the judge. "A plea, please?"

Dawson glanced at his lawyer, Thomas Wilson, then said, "Not guilty."

Jamie stood on the other side of the room. "Your honor, Mr. Dawson had a hit man come to Mr. Schleissmann and kill him in cold blood. The People ask for one million dollars in bail."

"That's ridiculous!" shouted Wilson. "My client has his roots deep in the community! He's an aide of the governor, and he can't very well just run away from that."

"If he only needs a phone to commit crimes, then why not put him in a place where phones are monitored?" Jamie pointed out.

"If he didn't commit the crime, who cares?"

"Please, Mr. Wilson, save it for the trial. Bail is 500 thousand, cash or bond. Next," sighed the judge.

Jamie began to pack up, but as Dawson passed by her on the way to the holding cell, he hissed, "You and McCoy won't get away with this!" Then he was gone.

Jamie stared after him, surprised, then exited the courtroom. As she left the building, she was mobbed by reporters. "Who is Mr. Schleissmann? Why is Dawson allegedly responsible for his murder? What is going through your head right now? What is Mr. McCoy thinking?" Shouted questions came from everywhere. It was all Ross could do to make it to her car and drive to the office.

Staten Island, 34th Precinct, two days later, 11:17 a.m.

Mike Logan was having a bad day.

It wasn't the job: in fact, his job was looking up. Six months ago he had been reinstated into the rank of homicide detectives. After he had punched the politician at the courthouse he had been told he would never work a murder again, but here he was.

No, it wasn't the job. It just wasn't a good day. It was raining, he was visibly tired, and the cases he was working had pretty much all come to dead ends. He was reading yesterday's paper - he'd forgotten to buy a copy of that day's paper - in hopes of finding good news.

On the cover was a picture of Jamie Ross being mobbed. The headlines read, "Jim Dawson Accused of Murder!" Logan read the article with raised eyebrows. It was sketchy, it said, but supposedly the victim had damaging information on Dawson, and so Dawson had him killed by a hit man. The hit man was unknown.

Logan frowned, then turned back to one unsolved case that had unfolded months ago. A woman, once a secretary, had been found hanging in her room by a bed sheet. On her computer an unlocking of previously sent e-mails had proven she had notified Dawson that she wanted to tell the world of an affair they had, giving Dawson motive to kill her. However, everything at the scene had suggested a suicide. Logan wrote a note to himself on a sticky pad: look into this case, then put it in another pile. Reading the article again, he noticed Lennie Briscoe was one of the detectives on the Dawson case. "Well, well," murmured Logan. "Let's see if I can help you out at the 2-7 again." He grinned.