Part III
One week later, District Attorney Adam Schiff's office, 5:10 p.m.
"I hope you're happy, Jack," snapped Adam. As the tired, gruff, and raspy- voiced head of the prosecutorial power in the county, he was not pleased with McCoy. "I've got the press and governor on my back like a bunch of vultures."
Jack shook his head. "It won't matter a whit when Dawson is convicted."
"You mean if he is convicted. You have a hitman as your star witness, some phone record corroborations, and a few sheets of scribbled notes as motive," Schiff growled. "Good luck."
"It should come through," McCoy protested. "And I found out that Detective Logan - remember him? - has some similar cases running up on Staten Island. We might be able to establish a pattern."
Adam was still annoyed. "Logan, huh? With our luck the press'll remember him too, and then the cases he works out will become just more trouble."
"He'll come through in court."
"But my office isn't voted for in court, Jack! If the constituents don't like how this case comes out, there goes my - and your - job!" Adam tossed his glasses on his desk, sat down, and rubbed his temples with one hand.
McCoy was about to protest when someone came in with piece of paper. "Mr. McCoy? It's for you," he said, handing over the blue-backed set of papers. He made his exit as Jack flipped through them.
"Well?" asked Schiff.
"Wilson is after our motive," Jack said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"There goes your case."
"We can beat this!"
"Good luck." Adam shook his head.
Judge Andrew's Chambers, 12:45 p.m.
"What is this about, gentlemen?" Judge Andrews was a short, fat man with only a few gray hairs on his head. The rest had no hair at all. As McCoy, Ross, and Wilson moved into the room, Andrews sat down comfortably behind his desk.
Wilson opened the case. "My client has been wrongfully accused of murder. Mr. McCoy here says he has motive in the form of a few notes found in Water's deposit box at the bank. The State says they are made by the victim, but I disagree. I have made a motion to suppress the notes."
McCoy immediately dug in. "We have done a handwriting test on the notes, your honor, and found an 85% match in handwriting. In People v. Clarence, that was more than enough of a match to proceed on."
"Perhaps Mr. Waters, the hit man, is a forger, too," suggested Wilson. "Then the 85% match would be quite normal."
"If that were so than the handwriting would be a near perfect match, as proven by numerous tests," replied McCoy. Ross dug into her briefcase and handed the judge a paper with examples of the tests on it. "In a normal person's day, their handwriting varies anywhere from 10 to 20% from paper to paper, as proven by this test." Another sheet was handed over.
The judge frowned. "How reliable are these tests?" he inquired.
Wilson jumped at the opening. "Not wonderfully so, your honor. Many people's handwriting remains practically the same all the time. Some people expect that -"
"Where's the proof of this statistic?" demanded McCoy of Wilson. Andrews stopped him with an upheld hand.
"As I was saying, some people expect that of others. Besides, sometimes an 85% match isn't enough, like in People v. Thompson and People v. Herkins."
"Those cases are both over 50 years old!" snapped Jack. He shook his head slightly and said, "I can give you People v. Rickson, People v. Numatli, People v. -"
"Enough. You could spout all the cases you want over it, McCoy, but call me a throwback. 85% is not enough for me. The notes are out."
Jack's eyebrows shot up.
"I'll see you in court later. So long." Judge Andrews put his robe back on as the three lawyers left the room.
Ross stared after Wilson as he made off without a word to the two prosecutors. Then she turned to McCoy. "Did I miss something in there? Wilson hardly made a case!"
Jack was glaring at the shut door to the judge's chambers. "No. But something weird just happened." He frowned. "And it made our job a lot harder. We needed those notes."
"But they're gone," Jamie pointed out.
"So we work around it." Jack lifted his eyebrows.
Court Trial, Part 23, 11:43 a.m.
John Waters shifted in his seat again. He was witnessing against Dawson, who was comfortably sitting in the defendant's seat. McCoy was standing next to the jury box, and Waters was doing his best to remain facing him. "So I went into his room and shot Mr. Schleissmann."
"How many times did you shoot him?"
"Um, four times: once in the head, once in the neck, and twice in the chest," replied Waters.
"Pretty gruesome. Now, did you do anything else while you were in the room?"
Wilson looked at McCoy with a what-are-you-trying-to-pull expression, but Jack was watching Waters.
"I searched through his papers and came across some notes. They were, um, damaging to Mr. Dawson."
Wilson shot to his feet. "Objection!"
The judge glared at McCoy. Jack immediately explained, "He is testifying he found damaging papers. What is written on them has not been mentioned."
Andrews sat back with a scowl. "I don't think so, Mr. McCoy. Find another question to ask. The jury will disregard the witness's last statement." Wilson sat down smugly.
Jack bit his lower lip and looked at the ground. "Was there any reason for you to kill Mr. Schleissmann?"
"Yeah. Dawson asked me to."
"Why did he? Did he say?"
"He said the guy had damaging information about him."
"Did you find evidence of that in Mr. Schleissmann's room?"
Wilson snapped up again. "Objection!"
Judge Andrews glared at Jack. "Mr. McCoy, lay off, or I will place you in contempt!"
McCoy frowned again and paced. Then he lifted his head. "Mr. Waters, will you tell me if you looked through Mr. Schleissmann's papers before killing him?"
"Yes, I did."
"Is there any reason why?"
"Dawson said there would be damaging info there, and -"
Wilson got up so fast his chair hit the banister behind him. "OBJECTION!"
Andrews half stood. "That's it, McCoy, three strikes, and you're out! I am placing you in contempt of this court. Bailiff, take him to the holding cell!"
Jack cringed, then requested, "Your honor, I petition that the court recess until bail is posted."
The judge scowled. "Fine. Court is recessing until tomorrow. You, Mr. McCoy, are staying in the jail for the night!"
The bailiff made his way toward McCoy and yanked his hands behind his back, snapping the handcuffs on Jack's hands in a way that added insult to injury. But as he was about to move Jack to the holding cell, McCoy planted his feet and turned on the judge. "For the record, your honor, I believe you have something other than justice on your mind, and I intend to find out just what that is." He gave the judge a purposeful look, and Andrews glared back.
"I don't care what you plan to do much, Mr. McCoy. You pushed it too far. Take him out of here!"
The bailiff grabbed Jack's cuffs and pressed a hand into McCoy's back, forcing him to walk to the holding cell through a sea of reporters, leaving Jamie to stare after him, her mouth gaping.
Holding Cell, 3:55 p.m.
Jamie made her way down the hall of noisy cellmates, following a bailiff to McCoy's cell. She found Jack leaning against the wall in a corner of the cell alone, his jacket slung over his arm and his tie undone. It was hot, stuffy, and sticky there, suddenly making Ross infinitely glad she had never a judge quite as mad as Jack had. She stopped in front of him, an angry look on her face.
"My, my, Jack. I think this is the second time you've ended up down here with me as your second chair."
Jack pushed himself off the wall and walked to the bars, sticking his arms through them and locking his hands together. "I didn't expect you to come down here, Ms. Ross," he smiled. "I assume you've called Adam?" Jamie nodded. "How did he take it?"
"He's on his way down here to chew you out, just like I would if I could think of something to say around the mist of red I'm seeing. My goodness, Jack! You tried three times in a row without a pause!" Jamie shook her head, wishing she could smack the small grin off Jack's face. "What are you grinning at?"
McCoy's eyes twinkled. "I think I have a little solution to our obnoxiously ignorant judge. He was just a little fast to bat me out of there, wouldn't you say?"
"I think it's your own fault, you arrogant bastard," she hissed. "I'll bet you had to touch the stove five times as a kid before it got through your thick head that it hurts!" But a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her mouth after she said it. "Although, I guess, Judge Andrews has been a bit quick to the draw a few times."
Jack nodded. "So, I say we investigate him a little. A 'small' boost in my monthly income might persuade me to throw a trial if I needed the money."
Ross stared at him. "You think someone's paying him to throw the case?"
McCoy shrugged. "Money's being thrown around at everyone, including Marks, Waters, and maybe Andrews. Might as well check into it."
"Jack McCoy!" an angry, gruff voice snapped down the hall. Both Jack and Jamie turned to see Adam marching down the hall towards the cell.
Jamie backed away. "Good luck with Adam, Jack. Sleep tight. I understand this place can be drafty." she grinned evilly and moved off down the hall as McCoy tightened a bit under Schiff's eyes.
"Hello, Adam."
"Oops, Jack." Adam's eyes flared. They didn't do that often. "You screwed up."
"I was -"
"Oh, no, you were not making a point! Now the reporters are flying about with a new story, and it doesn't read well for my office, or your job!" Adam growled. "Do you know what the news bulletins are saying already? 'Executive ADA Jack McCoy Arrested for Contempt!' It's headline news, Jack. I've got TV stations with pictures of you in cuffs coming out of my ears, and for what? It didn't help you, and it's really hurting me."
McCoy explained quickly. "Adam, I think the judge is being bought off. He was awfully quick to have me placed in contempt and to throw out the notes."
"And how much of this can you prove?!"
"None, now, but -"
"Exactly. As soon as Andrews posts bail, I'll have you out. And it's coming out of your paycheck, Jack. Good night." Adam crunched his floppy hat down further on his head and made his way out the door, leaving Jack to wonder if he really had pushed it too far. He dropped his head against the jail bars with a dull thud. What have I done?
Two days later, Executive ADA Jack McCoy's Office, 4:34 p.m.
"So, how was the night?" Jamie grinned. It was Monday morning.
Jack scowled. "Shut up." Jamie laughed and turned back to her work: the bank statements of Judge Andrews.
"Nothing here. Out of curiosity, Jack, where is your regular ADA now? Didn't you have her out for only a week?"
McCoy didn't even look up from the statements he was reading. "She's working for your Executive ADA for now."
Ross almost laughed. For the stunts Jack pulled sometimes, he sure did pull a lot of weight with Adam, seeing as he almost certainly had to check it with him first. Then suddenly she sat up. "Jack, Andrews got five grand placed in his deposit the day our trial started."
McCoy shifted in his seat and leaned over his desk. "Really? Where from?"
"Um, account number 62579." Ross looked up.
Jack jotted the number down and grabbed his phone. "I'm gonna call the bank and find out just who filed that account." He sat and dialed, then waited. "Hello? Yes, I'm from the District Attorney's office, and I want the name of the owner of account 62579. Uh huh. . ." McCoy wrote down something on his note pad. "Okay. How much is in the account right now? Nothing!? Really. . .send us the account information, please, and tell me what account the money is from. Oh? Expect a call from our office." Jack put down the phone. "The account is owned by Mr. Ned Canasta, home phone number 555-0673."
Ross frowned. A555? No such number!"
Jack grinned. "Precisely. And there's nothing in the account right now, although the woman said it had five grand in it only two and a half weeks ago. . ."
"Right before our trial started!"
"But the money isn't from their bank, but instead a deposit of cash from an unknown person."
"Time to find where Mr. Canasta's money is from."
"Try Dawson's account."
"Got it."
* * *
McCoy glared at Dawson's account records the next morning. "Nothing!"
Jamie shook her head. "It's completely clean, and I was dumbfounded. You'd think that he'd be the one to throw the case. However, something occurred to me last night. Adam is always complaining now about the governor going berserk about this trial, right?"
"Yes. . ."
"What if the governor is the one paying off Andrews?"
Jack looked up at Ross from his desk. "You think he'd go that far?"
Jamie shrugged. "Don't know, but it can't hurt to try it."
McCoy shook his head. "What a screwed up group of people run our state. We'll go get the records, Jamie. Now, if possible."
A'We?' Jack, I can handle it."
"Haven't you had enough of the press crowd? You don't have to deal with them alone, Jamie, especially because you wouldn't be stuck with this mess if it weren't for me."
"Not really."
"Oh no?"
"I could have said no, Jack, when you asked me to help you out." Jamie grinned at him. "But thanks. I'd like the company."
"I'll go get my coat."
Albany, New York State, Governor's Office, 5:38 p.m.
Curtis shook his head at the assignment they'd received. "Would you believe this, Lennie, if it weren't on paper in front of you?"
Briscoe raised his eyebrows. "No. But this isn't the first unbelievable assignment ever." The two detectives walked into the governor's office without a word to the startled secretary. "Hello, Governor."
The governor shot out of his seat. "Just who are you? What are you doing?" he snapped as Rey came around the desk.
Briscoe held out his badge. "We are the NYPD, and we have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent. . ." Curtis and Briscoe led the shocked and handcuffed governor out of the building.
Outside Jack McCoy was standing next to Jamie Ross, talking to the excited group of press members. "We have found evidence suggesting that the governor has bribed Judge Andrews, who is presiding over the case against Mr. Dawson, to destroy the case of the State. This is not justice, and we will see to it that all guilty parties involved are properly punished."
"What led you to believe this?" someone cried out.
"We are not ready to divulge that information."
When Briscoe and Curtis led the governor outside, the whole crowd of the media moved in their direction, shouting questions all the way. Ross shook her head as the governor was pressed into a police car. "More fun, Jack."
"Yeah, more fun."
27th Precinct, Desk of Detective Lennie Briscoe, 9:58 a.m.
The phone rang. Lennie, yawning, leaned over his desk to grab it. "Yeah?"
"Lennie, have I got some news for you."
"Mike!?"
"Yeah. Got a pen? You're gonna make McCoy burst when he hears this one!"
* * *
After about 30 minutes of listening and 5 pages of notes, names, and numbers, Briscoe finally was able to say goodbye and hang up. Curtis looked up from some paperwork he had used as filler time. "You about done?" he asked.
"Sure, but listen to this: on Staten, Mike Logan got some rich stuff on Dawson. He says there's another unsolved murder over there that he can link to everyone's favorite aide." Lennie grinned at his younger partner. "You ready for a heavy duty lecture?"
"Why not?"
Another 20 minutes were wasted at Briscoe's desk.
Court Trial Part 28, 3:10 p.m.
The trial was definitely going better. When Andrews had resigned with accusations of accepting bribes at his back, a mistrial had been declared and a new judge had taken over the case. McCoy had been more than pleased, and from the twinkle in his eyes it was easy to see he was happy. However, the news Briscoe had popped on him over lunch three weeks ago had pushed him over the top. He was finally ready to act on it. He popped out of his seat as the court rejoined after a late lunch. "Your honor, the People would like to add one more count of murder in the first degree to the indictment."
Wilson stared at him, as did most of the court. The judge inquired, "Why, Mr. McCoy? Has this passed the grand jury?"
"Yes, your honor, with flying colors," replied Jack, stepping around the People's table and handing the judge a paper explaining the new indictment. Then he dropped another copy on the defendant's desk with a grin of pride directed at Wilson. "Seeing as the prosecution has not yet finished giving its case to the jury for consideration, it is not entirely unreasonable."
"But startling, McCoy. The requirement is a 30-day prior notification, and you may not present this part of the case until then."
"Please, your honor, the court has made exceptions in particularly gruesome cases such as this: People v. Wielder, People v. Cammoson, and People v. Gordon are examples." Jack handed the judge the cases.
Looking through them, the judge announced, "Doesn't sound too bad, Mr. McCoy. Mr. Wilson, any objections?"
Wilson shuffled around his desk. "We, uh, are not prepared for this," he replied hesitantly. Dawson glared at him.
"Well, then, you have some homework, don't you?" smiled the judge. "I'm admitting the new charge. Mr. McCoy, you may proceed."
"Then I would like to call Detective Michael Logan to the stand."
In the back of the room a Caucasian man with dark hair stood up, a distasteful plaid tie marking his sharp-looking but inexpensive suit. He made his way to the stand, was sworn in, and sat down.
"Mr. Logan, please state your name and occupation for the record."
"My name is Michael Logan, and I am a police detective in the 33rd precinct on Staten Island."
"Do you have information regarding the new indictment against Mr. Dawson?"
"Yes."
"Please tell the court."
It was a long winded story. Mike recounted finding a young woman hanging from a bed sheet in the middle of her room. She had sent an e-mail to Dawson two days before the determined day of her death involving an affair they had, and had notified him that she planned to tell the world. After several dead ends, it had been discovered that she had been killed by a Mr. Arnold Smith, who admitted to the murder in face of tough punishment. He had a disk that had an e-mail the victim had never sent on it: it was to be sent to the victim's friend, and it described her affair with Dawson. Smith had explained that Mr. Dawson had asked him to do it for 5 grand. It was five o'clock when Logan finally wrapped up.
"Thank you, Detective." McCoy sat down.
Wilson jerked to his feet. "Um, may the court recess?"
The judge sat back. "Very well. I could use the break. Court will rejoin at nine tomorrow morning." He banged the gavel and walked out.
Everyone stood and stretched. Jack shook his head at Logan as he made his way off the witness stand. "My, my, Logan, you did quite a bit of work behind my back."
Mike turned to face him. "That's my job." He paused, then did something he never expected to do to Jack McCoy. "Care to grab a drink with me?"
The answer surprised him: "I don't drink anymore, Mr. Logan. See you tomorrow in court, and thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Whatever, McCoy. It's good to see Manhattan again, anyway. So long." Mike made his way toward the door.
Wilson came up behind Jack. "McCoy," he said.
Jack spun around. "What's up?"
"Your office, ten minutes." Wilson shot off towards the courtroom door.
Ross glanced at her partner. "What was that?"
McCoy was straightforward. "A plea bargain meeting. But I don't think so. Dawson is going down with the ship."
EXECTUTIVE ADA Jack McCoy's office, 5:12 p.m.
"What on earth am I doing here?" snapped Dawson. "You, McCoy, are going way overboard!"
Jack eased himself into his own chair. "It's you who went way overboard, Mr. Dawson. You killed two people. You yourself said you weren't that stupid. But I guess you are."
"Why you -"
"Shut up!" hissed Wilson. "Mr. McCoy, let's talk pleas."
"Forget it. I want Dawson in jail for the rest of his life, if not in an electric chair." Jack was incredulous of the idea of letting Dawson get a plea.
"Be reasonable!"
"Your client killed two people because they were going to say something he didn't like," Jack pointed out, Aand you're telling me to be reasonable?! No bargains here. I have a strong case, and I smell a conviction." McCoy leaned back, looking at Wilson. Ross barely smiled at Jack's take-no-crap attitude toward the whole thing.
"Fine. Murder two, he gets maximum sentence."
"Hey!" shouted Dawson. "You're dealing away my future here!"
McCoy planted his eyes on Dawson. "You got yourself into this mess, Mr. Dawson."
"And you, Tom, are doing nothing to get me out! Your fired," Dawson shouted at Wilson. Then he stood up and turned towards Jack, leaning over Jack's desk and shaking a finger in his face. "I'm getting a better lawyer. Then I'm coming after you, McCoy. You and all your friends who helped cook up these false accusations! You're gonna regret the day you ever crossed swords with me!" Dawson spun around and stormed out, Wilson following him with an apologetic shrug to McCoy. The door shut.
Jack took a deep breath. "That was interesting."
Jamie watched him. "You'd never guess he's like that when you watch T.V."
"Yeah. You wanna head home? I think it'll be smooth sailing for a while. We've got a nice case."
"Sure. See you tomorrow."
Courthouse Building, 4:30 p.m.
Jamie and Jack made their way down the courthouse steps. It had been a long day, with numerous witnesses introducing various parts of the evidence of Logan's case against Dawson. Dawson had indeed gotten a new lawyer, Sean Jackson, and some of the questions he had asked had really been good, nearly tripping up the witnesses, and helping make the defendant's case to the jury. As usual a crowd of the press had attacked them just outside the courtroom, but their interest in what Dawson had to say was always greater than the curiosity about the two prosecutors, so they left McCoy and Ross once Dawson passed through the doors. It was a quiet afternoon for a building in the middle of New York City, so both McCoy and Ross were startled when suddenly shots rang out from down the road. Jack and Jamie's heads snapped up, and Jack was the first to see the black van making its way down the road towards them, an automatic popping out of its passenger window. Someone screamed, jolting Jack out of a freeze. Jamie was standing, unmoving, next to him, staring at the van. "Oh my goodness," she breathed.
Then Jack's hand pressed into the small of her back as he forced her to the ground, shouting, "Get down!" He dropped on top of her, his eyes squeezed shut, gasping out prayers he hadn't said since he was a little Catholic boy. Jamie could feel his hand holding her head down against the ground and his body against hers, and somehow it was a comfort despite the screams and shots she heard over her own pounding heart. Jack felt something that seemed to explode into his arm, and at the same time he heard the van screeching around the corner. The shots ceased. He relaxed and slid off of Jamie, slowly sitting up. Next to him Ross sat up herself, her complexion white from fear. Jack looked just as bad.
"Oh no, Jack, your arm!" Jamie shivered, and Jack glanced down at his arm - it was bleeding heavily.
"That's what stung me. . ." he groaned. "Ow."
"You need medical attention!" Jamie yanked a cellular phone out of her purse and dialed 911. "Hello? Answer me, dammit! Hello? Yes, there's been a drive-by shooting in front of the courthouse. There's a gunshot victim! Hurry! Ten minutes? Whadda you mean, ten minutes to get here?! We need you now!" Ross gasped. "Okay, but as fast as you can!" She hung up to see Jack slowly folding up, and she eased him to the ground. "Gees, Jack, live through this, please!"
One week later, District Attorney Adam Schiff's office, 5:10 p.m.
"I hope you're happy, Jack," snapped Adam. As the tired, gruff, and raspy- voiced head of the prosecutorial power in the county, he was not pleased with McCoy. "I've got the press and governor on my back like a bunch of vultures."
Jack shook his head. "It won't matter a whit when Dawson is convicted."
"You mean if he is convicted. You have a hitman as your star witness, some phone record corroborations, and a few sheets of scribbled notes as motive," Schiff growled. "Good luck."
"It should come through," McCoy protested. "And I found out that Detective Logan - remember him? - has some similar cases running up on Staten Island. We might be able to establish a pattern."
Adam was still annoyed. "Logan, huh? With our luck the press'll remember him too, and then the cases he works out will become just more trouble."
"He'll come through in court."
"But my office isn't voted for in court, Jack! If the constituents don't like how this case comes out, there goes my - and your - job!" Adam tossed his glasses on his desk, sat down, and rubbed his temples with one hand.
McCoy was about to protest when someone came in with piece of paper. "Mr. McCoy? It's for you," he said, handing over the blue-backed set of papers. He made his exit as Jack flipped through them.
"Well?" asked Schiff.
"Wilson is after our motive," Jack said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"There goes your case."
"We can beat this!"
"Good luck." Adam shook his head.
Judge Andrew's Chambers, 12:45 p.m.
"What is this about, gentlemen?" Judge Andrews was a short, fat man with only a few gray hairs on his head. The rest had no hair at all. As McCoy, Ross, and Wilson moved into the room, Andrews sat down comfortably behind his desk.
Wilson opened the case. "My client has been wrongfully accused of murder. Mr. McCoy here says he has motive in the form of a few notes found in Water's deposit box at the bank. The State says they are made by the victim, but I disagree. I have made a motion to suppress the notes."
McCoy immediately dug in. "We have done a handwriting test on the notes, your honor, and found an 85% match in handwriting. In People v. Clarence, that was more than enough of a match to proceed on."
"Perhaps Mr. Waters, the hit man, is a forger, too," suggested Wilson. "Then the 85% match would be quite normal."
"If that were so than the handwriting would be a near perfect match, as proven by numerous tests," replied McCoy. Ross dug into her briefcase and handed the judge a paper with examples of the tests on it. "In a normal person's day, their handwriting varies anywhere from 10 to 20% from paper to paper, as proven by this test." Another sheet was handed over.
The judge frowned. "How reliable are these tests?" he inquired.
Wilson jumped at the opening. "Not wonderfully so, your honor. Many people's handwriting remains practically the same all the time. Some people expect that -"
"Where's the proof of this statistic?" demanded McCoy of Wilson. Andrews stopped him with an upheld hand.
"As I was saying, some people expect that of others. Besides, sometimes an 85% match isn't enough, like in People v. Thompson and People v. Herkins."
"Those cases are both over 50 years old!" snapped Jack. He shook his head slightly and said, "I can give you People v. Rickson, People v. Numatli, People v. -"
"Enough. You could spout all the cases you want over it, McCoy, but call me a throwback. 85% is not enough for me. The notes are out."
Jack's eyebrows shot up.
"I'll see you in court later. So long." Judge Andrews put his robe back on as the three lawyers left the room.
Ross stared after Wilson as he made off without a word to the two prosecutors. Then she turned to McCoy. "Did I miss something in there? Wilson hardly made a case!"
Jack was glaring at the shut door to the judge's chambers. "No. But something weird just happened." He frowned. "And it made our job a lot harder. We needed those notes."
"But they're gone," Jamie pointed out.
"So we work around it." Jack lifted his eyebrows.
Court Trial, Part 23, 11:43 a.m.
John Waters shifted in his seat again. He was witnessing against Dawson, who was comfortably sitting in the defendant's seat. McCoy was standing next to the jury box, and Waters was doing his best to remain facing him. "So I went into his room and shot Mr. Schleissmann."
"How many times did you shoot him?"
"Um, four times: once in the head, once in the neck, and twice in the chest," replied Waters.
"Pretty gruesome. Now, did you do anything else while you were in the room?"
Wilson looked at McCoy with a what-are-you-trying-to-pull expression, but Jack was watching Waters.
"I searched through his papers and came across some notes. They were, um, damaging to Mr. Dawson."
Wilson shot to his feet. "Objection!"
The judge glared at McCoy. Jack immediately explained, "He is testifying he found damaging papers. What is written on them has not been mentioned."
Andrews sat back with a scowl. "I don't think so, Mr. McCoy. Find another question to ask. The jury will disregard the witness's last statement." Wilson sat down smugly.
Jack bit his lower lip and looked at the ground. "Was there any reason for you to kill Mr. Schleissmann?"
"Yeah. Dawson asked me to."
"Why did he? Did he say?"
"He said the guy had damaging information about him."
"Did you find evidence of that in Mr. Schleissmann's room?"
Wilson snapped up again. "Objection!"
Judge Andrews glared at Jack. "Mr. McCoy, lay off, or I will place you in contempt!"
McCoy frowned again and paced. Then he lifted his head. "Mr. Waters, will you tell me if you looked through Mr. Schleissmann's papers before killing him?"
"Yes, I did."
"Is there any reason why?"
"Dawson said there would be damaging info there, and -"
Wilson got up so fast his chair hit the banister behind him. "OBJECTION!"
Andrews half stood. "That's it, McCoy, three strikes, and you're out! I am placing you in contempt of this court. Bailiff, take him to the holding cell!"
Jack cringed, then requested, "Your honor, I petition that the court recess until bail is posted."
The judge scowled. "Fine. Court is recessing until tomorrow. You, Mr. McCoy, are staying in the jail for the night!"
The bailiff made his way toward McCoy and yanked his hands behind his back, snapping the handcuffs on Jack's hands in a way that added insult to injury. But as he was about to move Jack to the holding cell, McCoy planted his feet and turned on the judge. "For the record, your honor, I believe you have something other than justice on your mind, and I intend to find out just what that is." He gave the judge a purposeful look, and Andrews glared back.
"I don't care what you plan to do much, Mr. McCoy. You pushed it too far. Take him out of here!"
The bailiff grabbed Jack's cuffs and pressed a hand into McCoy's back, forcing him to walk to the holding cell through a sea of reporters, leaving Jamie to stare after him, her mouth gaping.
Holding Cell, 3:55 p.m.
Jamie made her way down the hall of noisy cellmates, following a bailiff to McCoy's cell. She found Jack leaning against the wall in a corner of the cell alone, his jacket slung over his arm and his tie undone. It was hot, stuffy, and sticky there, suddenly making Ross infinitely glad she had never a judge quite as mad as Jack had. She stopped in front of him, an angry look on her face.
"My, my, Jack. I think this is the second time you've ended up down here with me as your second chair."
Jack pushed himself off the wall and walked to the bars, sticking his arms through them and locking his hands together. "I didn't expect you to come down here, Ms. Ross," he smiled. "I assume you've called Adam?" Jamie nodded. "How did he take it?"
"He's on his way down here to chew you out, just like I would if I could think of something to say around the mist of red I'm seeing. My goodness, Jack! You tried three times in a row without a pause!" Jamie shook her head, wishing she could smack the small grin off Jack's face. "What are you grinning at?"
McCoy's eyes twinkled. "I think I have a little solution to our obnoxiously ignorant judge. He was just a little fast to bat me out of there, wouldn't you say?"
"I think it's your own fault, you arrogant bastard," she hissed. "I'll bet you had to touch the stove five times as a kid before it got through your thick head that it hurts!" But a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her mouth after she said it. "Although, I guess, Judge Andrews has been a bit quick to the draw a few times."
Jack nodded. "So, I say we investigate him a little. A 'small' boost in my monthly income might persuade me to throw a trial if I needed the money."
Ross stared at him. "You think someone's paying him to throw the case?"
McCoy shrugged. "Money's being thrown around at everyone, including Marks, Waters, and maybe Andrews. Might as well check into it."
"Jack McCoy!" an angry, gruff voice snapped down the hall. Both Jack and Jamie turned to see Adam marching down the hall towards the cell.
Jamie backed away. "Good luck with Adam, Jack. Sleep tight. I understand this place can be drafty." she grinned evilly and moved off down the hall as McCoy tightened a bit under Schiff's eyes.
"Hello, Adam."
"Oops, Jack." Adam's eyes flared. They didn't do that often. "You screwed up."
"I was -"
"Oh, no, you were not making a point! Now the reporters are flying about with a new story, and it doesn't read well for my office, or your job!" Adam growled. "Do you know what the news bulletins are saying already? 'Executive ADA Jack McCoy Arrested for Contempt!' It's headline news, Jack. I've got TV stations with pictures of you in cuffs coming out of my ears, and for what? It didn't help you, and it's really hurting me."
McCoy explained quickly. "Adam, I think the judge is being bought off. He was awfully quick to have me placed in contempt and to throw out the notes."
"And how much of this can you prove?!"
"None, now, but -"
"Exactly. As soon as Andrews posts bail, I'll have you out. And it's coming out of your paycheck, Jack. Good night." Adam crunched his floppy hat down further on his head and made his way out the door, leaving Jack to wonder if he really had pushed it too far. He dropped his head against the jail bars with a dull thud. What have I done?
Two days later, Executive ADA Jack McCoy's Office, 4:34 p.m.
"So, how was the night?" Jamie grinned. It was Monday morning.
Jack scowled. "Shut up." Jamie laughed and turned back to her work: the bank statements of Judge Andrews.
"Nothing here. Out of curiosity, Jack, where is your regular ADA now? Didn't you have her out for only a week?"
McCoy didn't even look up from the statements he was reading. "She's working for your Executive ADA for now."
Ross almost laughed. For the stunts Jack pulled sometimes, he sure did pull a lot of weight with Adam, seeing as he almost certainly had to check it with him first. Then suddenly she sat up. "Jack, Andrews got five grand placed in his deposit the day our trial started."
McCoy shifted in his seat and leaned over his desk. "Really? Where from?"
"Um, account number 62579." Ross looked up.
Jack jotted the number down and grabbed his phone. "I'm gonna call the bank and find out just who filed that account." He sat and dialed, then waited. "Hello? Yes, I'm from the District Attorney's office, and I want the name of the owner of account 62579. Uh huh. . ." McCoy wrote down something on his note pad. "Okay. How much is in the account right now? Nothing!? Really. . .send us the account information, please, and tell me what account the money is from. Oh? Expect a call from our office." Jack put down the phone. "The account is owned by Mr. Ned Canasta, home phone number 555-0673."
Ross frowned. A555? No such number!"
Jack grinned. "Precisely. And there's nothing in the account right now, although the woman said it had five grand in it only two and a half weeks ago. . ."
"Right before our trial started!"
"But the money isn't from their bank, but instead a deposit of cash from an unknown person."
"Time to find where Mr. Canasta's money is from."
"Try Dawson's account."
"Got it."
* * *
McCoy glared at Dawson's account records the next morning. "Nothing!"
Jamie shook her head. "It's completely clean, and I was dumbfounded. You'd think that he'd be the one to throw the case. However, something occurred to me last night. Adam is always complaining now about the governor going berserk about this trial, right?"
"Yes. . ."
"What if the governor is the one paying off Andrews?"
Jack looked up at Ross from his desk. "You think he'd go that far?"
Jamie shrugged. "Don't know, but it can't hurt to try it."
McCoy shook his head. "What a screwed up group of people run our state. We'll go get the records, Jamie. Now, if possible."
A'We?' Jack, I can handle it."
"Haven't you had enough of the press crowd? You don't have to deal with them alone, Jamie, especially because you wouldn't be stuck with this mess if it weren't for me."
"Not really."
"Oh no?"
"I could have said no, Jack, when you asked me to help you out." Jamie grinned at him. "But thanks. I'd like the company."
"I'll go get my coat."
Albany, New York State, Governor's Office, 5:38 p.m.
Curtis shook his head at the assignment they'd received. "Would you believe this, Lennie, if it weren't on paper in front of you?"
Briscoe raised his eyebrows. "No. But this isn't the first unbelievable assignment ever." The two detectives walked into the governor's office without a word to the startled secretary. "Hello, Governor."
The governor shot out of his seat. "Just who are you? What are you doing?" he snapped as Rey came around the desk.
Briscoe held out his badge. "We are the NYPD, and we have a warrant for your arrest. You have the right to remain silent. . ." Curtis and Briscoe led the shocked and handcuffed governor out of the building.
Outside Jack McCoy was standing next to Jamie Ross, talking to the excited group of press members. "We have found evidence suggesting that the governor has bribed Judge Andrews, who is presiding over the case against Mr. Dawson, to destroy the case of the State. This is not justice, and we will see to it that all guilty parties involved are properly punished."
"What led you to believe this?" someone cried out.
"We are not ready to divulge that information."
When Briscoe and Curtis led the governor outside, the whole crowd of the media moved in their direction, shouting questions all the way. Ross shook her head as the governor was pressed into a police car. "More fun, Jack."
"Yeah, more fun."
27th Precinct, Desk of Detective Lennie Briscoe, 9:58 a.m.
The phone rang. Lennie, yawning, leaned over his desk to grab it. "Yeah?"
"Lennie, have I got some news for you."
"Mike!?"
"Yeah. Got a pen? You're gonna make McCoy burst when he hears this one!"
* * *
After about 30 minutes of listening and 5 pages of notes, names, and numbers, Briscoe finally was able to say goodbye and hang up. Curtis looked up from some paperwork he had used as filler time. "You about done?" he asked.
"Sure, but listen to this: on Staten, Mike Logan got some rich stuff on Dawson. He says there's another unsolved murder over there that he can link to everyone's favorite aide." Lennie grinned at his younger partner. "You ready for a heavy duty lecture?"
"Why not?"
Another 20 minutes were wasted at Briscoe's desk.
Court Trial Part 28, 3:10 p.m.
The trial was definitely going better. When Andrews had resigned with accusations of accepting bribes at his back, a mistrial had been declared and a new judge had taken over the case. McCoy had been more than pleased, and from the twinkle in his eyes it was easy to see he was happy. However, the news Briscoe had popped on him over lunch three weeks ago had pushed him over the top. He was finally ready to act on it. He popped out of his seat as the court rejoined after a late lunch. "Your honor, the People would like to add one more count of murder in the first degree to the indictment."
Wilson stared at him, as did most of the court. The judge inquired, "Why, Mr. McCoy? Has this passed the grand jury?"
"Yes, your honor, with flying colors," replied Jack, stepping around the People's table and handing the judge a paper explaining the new indictment. Then he dropped another copy on the defendant's desk with a grin of pride directed at Wilson. "Seeing as the prosecution has not yet finished giving its case to the jury for consideration, it is not entirely unreasonable."
"But startling, McCoy. The requirement is a 30-day prior notification, and you may not present this part of the case until then."
"Please, your honor, the court has made exceptions in particularly gruesome cases such as this: People v. Wielder, People v. Cammoson, and People v. Gordon are examples." Jack handed the judge the cases.
Looking through them, the judge announced, "Doesn't sound too bad, Mr. McCoy. Mr. Wilson, any objections?"
Wilson shuffled around his desk. "We, uh, are not prepared for this," he replied hesitantly. Dawson glared at him.
"Well, then, you have some homework, don't you?" smiled the judge. "I'm admitting the new charge. Mr. McCoy, you may proceed."
"Then I would like to call Detective Michael Logan to the stand."
In the back of the room a Caucasian man with dark hair stood up, a distasteful plaid tie marking his sharp-looking but inexpensive suit. He made his way to the stand, was sworn in, and sat down.
"Mr. Logan, please state your name and occupation for the record."
"My name is Michael Logan, and I am a police detective in the 33rd precinct on Staten Island."
"Do you have information regarding the new indictment against Mr. Dawson?"
"Yes."
"Please tell the court."
It was a long winded story. Mike recounted finding a young woman hanging from a bed sheet in the middle of her room. She had sent an e-mail to Dawson two days before the determined day of her death involving an affair they had, and had notified him that she planned to tell the world. After several dead ends, it had been discovered that she had been killed by a Mr. Arnold Smith, who admitted to the murder in face of tough punishment. He had a disk that had an e-mail the victim had never sent on it: it was to be sent to the victim's friend, and it described her affair with Dawson. Smith had explained that Mr. Dawson had asked him to do it for 5 grand. It was five o'clock when Logan finally wrapped up.
"Thank you, Detective." McCoy sat down.
Wilson jerked to his feet. "Um, may the court recess?"
The judge sat back. "Very well. I could use the break. Court will rejoin at nine tomorrow morning." He banged the gavel and walked out.
Everyone stood and stretched. Jack shook his head at Logan as he made his way off the witness stand. "My, my, Logan, you did quite a bit of work behind my back."
Mike turned to face him. "That's my job." He paused, then did something he never expected to do to Jack McCoy. "Care to grab a drink with me?"
The answer surprised him: "I don't drink anymore, Mr. Logan. See you tomorrow in court, and thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Whatever, McCoy. It's good to see Manhattan again, anyway. So long." Mike made his way toward the door.
Wilson came up behind Jack. "McCoy," he said.
Jack spun around. "What's up?"
"Your office, ten minutes." Wilson shot off towards the courtroom door.
Ross glanced at her partner. "What was that?"
McCoy was straightforward. "A plea bargain meeting. But I don't think so. Dawson is going down with the ship."
EXECTUTIVE ADA Jack McCoy's office, 5:12 p.m.
"What on earth am I doing here?" snapped Dawson. "You, McCoy, are going way overboard!"
Jack eased himself into his own chair. "It's you who went way overboard, Mr. Dawson. You killed two people. You yourself said you weren't that stupid. But I guess you are."
"Why you -"
"Shut up!" hissed Wilson. "Mr. McCoy, let's talk pleas."
"Forget it. I want Dawson in jail for the rest of his life, if not in an electric chair." Jack was incredulous of the idea of letting Dawson get a plea.
"Be reasonable!"
"Your client killed two people because they were going to say something he didn't like," Jack pointed out, Aand you're telling me to be reasonable?! No bargains here. I have a strong case, and I smell a conviction." McCoy leaned back, looking at Wilson. Ross barely smiled at Jack's take-no-crap attitude toward the whole thing.
"Fine. Murder two, he gets maximum sentence."
"Hey!" shouted Dawson. "You're dealing away my future here!"
McCoy planted his eyes on Dawson. "You got yourself into this mess, Mr. Dawson."
"And you, Tom, are doing nothing to get me out! Your fired," Dawson shouted at Wilson. Then he stood up and turned towards Jack, leaning over Jack's desk and shaking a finger in his face. "I'm getting a better lawyer. Then I'm coming after you, McCoy. You and all your friends who helped cook up these false accusations! You're gonna regret the day you ever crossed swords with me!" Dawson spun around and stormed out, Wilson following him with an apologetic shrug to McCoy. The door shut.
Jack took a deep breath. "That was interesting."
Jamie watched him. "You'd never guess he's like that when you watch T.V."
"Yeah. You wanna head home? I think it'll be smooth sailing for a while. We've got a nice case."
"Sure. See you tomorrow."
Courthouse Building, 4:30 p.m.
Jamie and Jack made their way down the courthouse steps. It had been a long day, with numerous witnesses introducing various parts of the evidence of Logan's case against Dawson. Dawson had indeed gotten a new lawyer, Sean Jackson, and some of the questions he had asked had really been good, nearly tripping up the witnesses, and helping make the defendant's case to the jury. As usual a crowd of the press had attacked them just outside the courtroom, but their interest in what Dawson had to say was always greater than the curiosity about the two prosecutors, so they left McCoy and Ross once Dawson passed through the doors. It was a quiet afternoon for a building in the middle of New York City, so both McCoy and Ross were startled when suddenly shots rang out from down the road. Jack and Jamie's heads snapped up, and Jack was the first to see the black van making its way down the road towards them, an automatic popping out of its passenger window. Someone screamed, jolting Jack out of a freeze. Jamie was standing, unmoving, next to him, staring at the van. "Oh my goodness," she breathed.
Then Jack's hand pressed into the small of her back as he forced her to the ground, shouting, "Get down!" He dropped on top of her, his eyes squeezed shut, gasping out prayers he hadn't said since he was a little Catholic boy. Jamie could feel his hand holding her head down against the ground and his body against hers, and somehow it was a comfort despite the screams and shots she heard over her own pounding heart. Jack felt something that seemed to explode into his arm, and at the same time he heard the van screeching around the corner. The shots ceased. He relaxed and slid off of Jamie, slowly sitting up. Next to him Ross sat up herself, her complexion white from fear. Jack looked just as bad.
"Oh no, Jack, your arm!" Jamie shivered, and Jack glanced down at his arm - it was bleeding heavily.
"That's what stung me. . ." he groaned. "Ow."
"You need medical attention!" Jamie yanked a cellular phone out of her purse and dialed 911. "Hello? Answer me, dammit! Hello? Yes, there's been a drive-by shooting in front of the courthouse. There's a gunshot victim! Hurry! Ten minutes? Whadda you mean, ten minutes to get here?! We need you now!" Ross gasped. "Okay, but as fast as you can!" She hung up to see Jack slowly folding up, and she eased him to the ground. "Gees, Jack, live through this, please!"
