Chapter 2: Interrogation and Release
Disclaimer: Not mine, Dick Wolf's. No permission, no profit, no money, yadda yadda.
Thursday, October 2, 2003
8:31pm
In the interrogation room, Green looked at Colton as he paced back and forth in front of their murder suspect, who sat quietly looking down at the table top, elbows resting on the table and a resigned expression on his face. They had been there about an hour and a half already. Green and Colton had run through all the factual questions in the first twenty minutes, and were now just trying to trip Curtis up. Had been trying to, for over an hour.
"So you have no idea how those drugs got into your mother's house."
"No."
"Or what could have caused your mother to drink, real heavy, when she normally only drank Communion wine."
"No."
"That stuff just waltzed into your mother's apartment, and made it into her bloodstream with no help from you." Colton shook his head. "Oh the jury's gonna love that. You make me sick. I hope you're not gonna go looking for sympathy because you're a cop, or because your wife is sick-"
"I'm not looking for-"
"Shut up! Don't expect any sympathy from me either. I don't know you. I never worked with you. From what I've heard you haven't been a real cop in years, you're coasting along on your rep and letting the others in your precinct down."
Their suspect shrugged.
"You know, if you cooperate, you might get a deal that includes protection once you're inside. I'm sure you know a pretty young cop would be real popular in Sing Sing. Or maybe you're looking forward to that - it's more action than you get at home, right Rey?"
Curtis looked down at the table and sighed wearily.
===
ADA Serena Southerlyn, Lt. Van Buren and Briscoe watched from the observation room.
"I don't believe this," Briscoe muttered.
"Me neither," Van Buren said. She looked at the thin, tired man at the table, comparing him with the brash young detective that had worked under her command for four years. "Lennie... do you think he did it?"
Briscoe shook his head. "No. I know him."
"You knew him," Van Buren corrected him.
"What, you think he did it?"
She stared at the interrogation room for a while. Finally, she shook her head.
===
There was silence in the room for a couple of minutes, as Green and Colton tried to figure out where to go from there. Finally Curtis spoke up.
"Look, I get it, you're the bad cop and he's the good cop. I used to do this too, remember? Can you cut the crap? I'd like to find out what happened to my mother just as much as you do. I'm not trying to give you the runaround. I want to cooperate."
"Oh, that's great, Rey. It's so nice that you're willing to actually do something for the NYPD, after jacking off at your job for the last four years."
"John..." Green said chidingly.
"You cut the crap, Curtis. We know the score here." Curtis looked up at him. "You wanted to walk out on your family, but didn't want to leave them high and dry. That insurance money - you could set up your wife and kids to be taken care of and move on. I know I'd want to - no more laundry, or cooking, or any of that shit your wife is supposed to do. I mean, how's it feel, being a big hombre who spends all his time wiping noses and changing diapers? Huh? And not even getting any from the wife? Me I'd be getting out too."
"Fuck you," Curtis muttered, flushing darkly.
"Oooh, we struck a little nerve, there. You wanted out, didn't you? You wanted to be able to walk out on all of them, without any of that Catholic guilt."
"Fuck you!"
"Hey, hey, Rey, it's OK," Green said softly.
Curtis bit his lip and crossed his arms, trying to keep control.
"So, how long have you been thinking about getting out? Come on, tell me you haven't thought about it. It's only natural."
Curtis shook his head again and pressed his lips together.
"You used to have a bit of a temper, didn't you? I heard about that. Where is it now?" Colton taunted.
Curtis looked away.
"Oh that's right, you only beat up little girls now. Big man. Do ya hit your wife too, now that she's in a wheelchair and can't hit back?"
Curtis put his hand on his forehead, covering his eyes. Colton reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand down, and sat on the table next to Curtis. He leaned close, into Curtis' space.
"You hit her?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.
"No!" Curtis spat at him.
"You beat your kids?"
Curtis jerked his face away from Colton's.
"You do, don't you?"
"No."
"What about what the neighbours say? They've seen you slap them. Why have that guilty look on your face if you aren't abusing them?"
"Because-"
"Because what?!"
Green insinuated himself into the space between Curtis and Colton, and crouched down next to the chair, looking up at Curtis' face. "Because what, Rey?"
"Because-" he looked at Colton, expecting more abuse, then back at Green when Green made an encouraging sound. "Because... I may not be technically abusive but I'm not the kind of parent I should be, OK?" Green nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Just - just because you're not hitting your kids hard enough to bruise them doesn't make it right."
"What are you doing that's not right?" Green asked.
"I lose my temper with them, slap instead of just sending them to their room, I... I yell at them and say stuff I know hurts them, stuff I shouldn't say. And, and I do the same with Deborah, yelling at her and saying things I shouldn't. Just because it's not against the law doesn't make it right," his voice caught and he pressed his lips together. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
"Why don't you leave them, Rey? If you're so miserable, why don't you leave them?" Green asked gently.
"None of your business," he forced out.
"Come on, man, why don't you leave her?" Colton challenged. "And those kids. That Serena, she's some piece of work. I mean, your presence is obviously not doing her any good - she's probably going to end up in the joint just like you. That other daughter of yours, the retard. She's a real pride and joy, isn't she? That's some reason to stick around. And that wife, who just lies in bed all day - man, I'd be outta there so fast..."
"She's my wife. They're my children. That means something."
"She's not your wife, she's your patient," Colton pointed out. Curtis winced.
"You took vows and that means something to you, right?" Green soothed.
"Yes."
"Yeah, means so much to you that you go and fuck the first pretty face you see," Colton laughed.
"Fuck you."
"Yeah. You're into commitments, responsibility... that's why you couldn't even remember the name of the chick you had on Friday."
"Fuck you!"
"And as for taking an oath... I seem to remember that part of being a police officer involves upholding the law, or something, right?"
Curtis just looked at him sullenly.
"So... when did pot become legal? I'm sorry I missed that announcement, or I woulda been celebrating. Like you."
Curtis sighed wearily. There was a pause. Colton sat back down in his chair, leaned back, and cocked his head at Curtis. "You know," he said jovially, "your wife didn't look too happy when I went out for coffee just now. We let her read the statement your girlfriend made. I don't know if you know, but that girl was happy to describe everything you two did in in-ti-mate detail." Curtis flinched. Colton noticed, and leaned in with a smile. "Said you were pretty good in the sack, for whatever that's worth. Oh, no, you two didn't make it to the sack - you were on her couch, weren't you? You think your wife liked reading about lovely Rita giving you a blow job at the bar - hey Ed, isn't that Public Lewdness? - and you going down on her back at her place, and then the two of you-"
"Nice try, dickhead, except my wife can't read," Curtis interrupted him tiredly, though his face had darkened during Colton's recitation.
The two detectives looked at each other, momentarily confused. "Beg pardon?" asked Green.
"She's got MS. Her eyes are screwed up right now. She can't focus on letters, she can't read."
"She can't read, can't walk, can't take care of the kids, can't fuck - what the hell can she do, Rey? Why are you still with her?"
"Oh good, back to this again," Curtis leaned his head back on the chair and rubbed his shoulder.
"Hey! You don't get to relax in here!" Colton kicked the leg of Curtis' chair, jolting him. Curtis looked at him warily.
"So, you think maybe I should read Rita's report to your wife? See what she thinks?"
Curtis bit his lip and looked away, humiliation plain on his face.
"I'm talking to you!" Colton shoved his face back into Curtis' space. Curtis crossed his arms, setting his jaw and refusing to meet Colton's eyes.
"You know, maybe we should charge you with Public Lewdness, just for the fun of it. I mean, Rita's already admitted to the bar thing... what about you? You remember that part, or is that also part of your alcoholic amnesia?"
"I remember," Curtis muttered.
"I didn't quite hear you. What exactly do you remember?"
"I remember," he repeated, more loudly. Colton put a hand under his chin, forcing his face up, and raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest. "I remember. She - she went down on me at the bar. Happy?" he said quickly, his face dark, shame and self-disgust written over every feature.
"We could just forget about it, if you co-operate."
"Right, I'm gonna cop to a murder I didn't commit to avoid the consequences of a misdemeanor I did commit," he blew out his breath in frustration. "The hell with you. Read the report to my wife, if that's how you get your sick jollies. Read it out loud at my church while you're at it. Charge me with Public Lewdness, I'll plead guilty. I thought you were Homicide, not Vice. Fucking sadist."
"Do you need a break?" Green asked unexpectedly.
Colton and Curtis looked up at Green, startled.
"Let's take a break, John." They filed out.
===
"John, I think you better back off," said Green once they were in the observation room.
"What?! Why?" Colton was incredulous.
"I... I think you're going a bit too hard on him. What he did with that woman... that has nothing to do with the case. Same with his wife's condition and their sex life. You're just using it to embarrass him."
"No shit, Eddie. We use whatever we have, shake up the suspect, get them angry. Christ, he killed his mother - you think he'll admit to it if I just offer him tea and biscuits and ask him nicely? What's the matter with you?"
Briscoe cleared his throat. "I think Ed's right."
Colton turned on him, jabbing a finger at him. "You aren't part of this case, because you can't be objective. He was your partner, OK, I understand you don't wanna think he'd do anything like this, but try to remember he's a suspect. Our chief suspect." Colton looked from Green to Briscoe, then turned to Van Buren. "What, do you think I'm going too rough? You're the one who OK'd his arrest."
Van Buren shook her head. She looked at the interrogation room, where Curtis was resting with his head pillowed on his arms on the table. "John, he worked here. He was a good cop. I can't..."
Colton slammed his hand against the wall. "Look, while you're all feeling sorry for Rey Curtis, try to remember that we're here because of Estela Curtis. She didn't do anything wrong, and she was killed by her own son for her insurance money." He paused, took a hold of himself, and chose his next words carefully. "I think if this is how you people are going to be we should move this investigation to another precinct. You're all too close; you are not being objective. If it was anybody in there other than Curtis, you'd be cheering what I'm doing." He paused again. "His privacy has been shattered. He feels violated, upset, angry and humiliated. That's good. If he's rattled enough he'll let something slip. Basic interrogation procedure."
There was another pause, and Briscoe cleared his throat. "Look, you're right, I shouldn't be part of this. Do you mind if I go in there for a minute while you all figure out what you're gonna do?"
Van Buren nodded. As Briscoe entered the interrogation room, Curtis raised his head and looked at him warily.
"Relax. I'm not here to interrogate you. I'm not on the case."
"Y-yeah," Curtis' voice was unsteady.
"Don't say anything you don't want heard, though."
"Yeah." Curtis stood up and moved to the window. They were quiet for a few minutes.
"You were in the observation room?" Briscoe nodded and Curtis looked away. He leaned his back against the wall, grateful for the chance to get out of the chair after so long. "They're pretty good. I almost feel like making something up just to get them off my back."
"You could always ask for a lawyer."
"I know. I just - I wanna cooperate. If there's anything I remember that could help, I want to help. But god, I'm tired. And they're not asking anything about anything, other than stuff to make me confess to something I didn't do. I know, I know, that's their job... but I'm getting the urge to track down and apologize to every suspect we ever grilled like this who turned out to be innocent."
Briscoe chuckled. Curtis cleared his throat and looked at him. "Lennie. What's gonna happen to my kids? What's gonna happen to Deborah?" he asked softly.
"Your kids are with foster care for the night. Deborah's probably going with Social Services, they'll find a temporary nursing home. Your sister's coming in tomorrow, so maybe something can be worked out with her."
Curtis nodded sadly. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "Do you think I might be able to call them? I'll be in lock-up tonight, right? And bail hearing tomorrow."
"Yeah, probably. I'll follow up what's happening to them as soon as you're done here. I'll see about you contacting them. Unless you want me to do that now."
"I don't know-"
The door slammed open and Colton and Green came back in. "You done?" Colton asked Briscoe rudely. Briscoe narrowed his eyes but merely nodded, giving Curtis an encouraging look as he left. Colton sat himself down again.
"So let's start again. You have no idea how the Methotrexate got into your mother's possession."
"No, I don't."
"Who filled Deborah's prescriptions?"
"Probably me. My sister might have filled that one, but I doubt it."
"Who gives her the drugs?"
"I do, or Olivia does."
"Where did you keep them?"
"Medicine cabinet in the kitchen."
"Don't you keep drugs in the washroom?"
"They don't all fit. Pills go in the kitchen and syringes go in the washroom. Some of Deborah's drugs are IV drugs."
"Who gives her those?"
"I do or she gives them to herself, depending on what kind of injection she needs."
"Ever take some of the needles for yourself, Rey? You got any other recreational habits we should know about?"
"No."
"Right," Colton snorted.
"I couldn't afford it even if I wanted to," Curtis snapped, annoyed.
"Do ya want to, Rey?"
Curtis expelled his breath.
"You know what you need to tell us," Green said.
"Ask me anything relevant and I'll answer. I'm not trying to dodge anything."
"How about you tell us what happened last Friday, again," Green said encouragingly.
"Again? I can't tell you anything new. I don't know what happened to my mother." The detectives looked at him expectantly and he sighed and began again, saying the words almost by rote. "I went out at 7:30, got to Rosario's around 8, met Rita Johannes, left for her place about half an hour later, we had sex, smoked pot, she says I left around 10 and I have no reason to believe that's not true, then I walked around. I came home at 1:30 to find you at my mother's house. That's all I know."
"And you don't remember where you went, for three hours. No recollection of what you were doing while your mother was dying. Nobody saw you," Colton said mockingly.
"I was drunk and high, I told you that already. I'd had about eight beers and two or three joints. I have a vague memory of going into a church, probably my own, on 58th street. I think I was at a park for a while. I may even have gone into another bar, I don't know. Other than that, no, I don't know."
"So how do you know you didn't go to your mother's place?"
"Because I wanted to get away from everything - my family, my home, all of it. I wouldn't have gone back home. Besides... I uh, I never go home until I know the alcohol is out of my system enough that I won't throw up at home or pass out where the kids will see me the next morning."
"Very considerate of you," Colton sneered.
"Yeah, I'm the father of the year," Curtis said bitterly. Colton smirked.
"So what happened while you were 'walking around'?"
"I don't know. I don't remember."
"'Course you do. You just don't wanna say."
"I was drunk! I was stoned outta my mind!! I don't remember! I wish I did, but I don't and there's nothing I can do about it!! And you asking me for the next two days isn't going to change that!!" He slammed his chair back and started to stand up. Colton grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back down and getting in his face. Curtis glared back at Colton, fists clenched and chest heaving with frustration and anger.
Briscoe left the observation room, unable to watch any more. He got a cup of coffee and thought about what was going on in the interrogation room. Every instinct he had told him that Curtis had nothing to do with his mother's death... but years of experience putting together clues pointed straight at him. And it wasn't a pretty picture. The conservative, clean-cut young detective and family man he had worked with would have been horrified to know that some day a good night would consist of getting drunk and stoned, getting a blow job at a bar, having anonymous sex and then wandering around in a haze until he could go home without throwing up or passing out.
===
When he went back into the room an hour later, the tableau had changed slightly. Curtis still sat in the same place, Colton had retreated to the window, and Green was sitting next to Curtis, invading his personal space but speaking quietly and sympathetically.
"Rey, nobody doubts that you've done the best you could. But... nobody can do it all, man. Lennie told me you're a real stand-up guy, one of the best detectives he ever worked with. He couldn't believe you had anything to do with your mom's death. But he can't believe the changes in you, man. You... you've gone through some hard times since you worked the 2-7. You're backed into a corner, you're broke and exhausted and one more sick person to take care of was too much. We all get that."
Curtis's elbows were on the table, his hands clasped in front of his face. He leaned his forehead against his hands and closed his eyes. Green continued to talk to him softly, and Curtis slowly opened his eyes and blinked, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.
"Are you falling asleep on us? Are you?!" Colton asked incredulously, taking two quick strides and slamming his hand on the table next to Curtis. Curtis jumped slightly, and looked away from the face looming back at him.
"I'm sorry, OK? I've been up since 5am," Curtis mumbled.
Colton kicked Curtis' chair again. "Yeah, poor Rey. You're a useless piece of crap, Curtis!"
Curtis put his head back in his hands and said, "I'm sorry. I want to help. But we've been here three hours and I... I can't take this any more." He took a deep breath. "I want a lawyer."
Green and Colton looked at each other and nodded. Without another word, they left the room.
Van Buren stood at the doorway. "Do you have your lawyer's phone number handy, Rey?"
Curtis looked up at her sadly, then shook his head. "I can't afford one. I'll need a court-appointed PD."
Van Buren opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something to him. Then she closed her mouth, nodded at him, and left.
Curtis stared at the tabletop for a minute, then folded his arms on the table and lay his head down. Within minutes he was asleep.
===
Friday, October 3
10:37am
"Your Honor, the People request that bail be set at $500,000," said ADA Southerlyn.
"That's a little high. The defendant has strong roots in the community and no criminal record-" countered Mike Taylor, Curtis' PD.
"The charge is murder, Your Honor."
"$500,000 is a bit high. Bail is set at $200,000."
"My client doesn't have access to that kind of money - "
"That's what bail bondsmen are for, Mr. Taylor."
"People further request that Mr. Curtis' children be held in foster care for the duration of the trial."
"Your Honor, that's hardly fair-"
"The defendant has been charged with killing his own mother. He is a risk to his family. The children's mother is severely disabled and unable to care for them herself. The interests of the children must be protected."
"Mr. Taylor?"
"Your Honor, Mr. Curtis' four children are being held in foster care for the moment, which is traumatic enough following the death of their grandmother. They are in four separate homes at a time when they need their family the most. There has been no history of child abuse or neglect - in fact, Mr. Curtis has sacrificed a great deal in order to take care of them, and there is no indication that he has been anything but an excellent parent-"
"Other than the fact that his ten-year old was arrested for selling cocaine at her school," Southerlyn countered.
"That does make me a little suspicious of his parenting abilities. Request for continued foster care is granted, pending a review by Child Social Services. Mr. Curtis is free to go once bail is arranged."
===
Monday, October 6
11:32am
McCoy and Southerlyn viewed the videotape of Emil Skoda's interview with Rey Curtis. McCoy was struck by the changes in Curtis: the quiet, hesitant, tired voice, the downcast eyes, the sad, shamed expression. The hopelessness he projected during the interview was almost palpable.
"So, what do you think? Do you think he killed his mother?"
"The man I knew four years ago, no, never. This guy, I'm not sure but I gotta tell you, my gut tells me no." McCoy raised his eyebrows at Skoda.
"It doesn't seem like he's capable of feeling any positive emotions any more. Just about the only things he's felt in a long time have been sadness, shame and exhaustion. He's too tired to do anything about his situation. He's not even trying to find a way out - just pushing himself through day by day. Maybe if she'd died falling down the stairs, that would be one thing. He could have snapped and pushed her, but... premeditated, feeding her pills, getting her to change her will? I don't see it. That requires planning and forethought. He's not capable of that any more."
"You're not giving us much diagnostic help here. You're just talking about feelings."
"Yeah, well. I can tell you this much - he is suffering from clinical depression. And I'm sure his wife is, too."
"Do you think he's suicidal?" McCoy asked.
"Maybe. He feels that he's failed everybody - his wife, his children, himself, the Church..."
Southerlyn got them back on track. "So if you're asked to testify..."
"I can't tell you he did it. I can't give you any diagnosis other than clinical depression."
"Your report's going to Social Services too, right? Are you going to recommend that his children be returned?"
"I'm going to recommend they're returned providing he gets treatment for his depression. With a strong recommendation that he also get some kind of support, help with their care. I don't think he's a threat to them, but he does need help."
Southerlyn shrugged and began to get up, satisfied that the DA's part in this was done. McCoy remained where he was, thoughtful.
"Do you think he'd accept help?" he asked Skoda.
"If he could think to ask for it, yes."
"Rey's always been pretty proud..."
"Not any more. Now he's just tired. Honestly, I don't think he's capable of murder at this point in his life. He's suffering from isolation, exhaustion, severe depression. What he needs is counseling, support, and anti-depressants. Instead he's got a priest who tells him that this is all part of God's plan and probably his fault anyway. He needs help."
===
Tuesday, October 7
9:03am
"Arthur, can I talk to you for a minute?" McCoy appeared at Arthur Branch's door.
"Sure, Jack." Branch put down the report he was reading.
"It's about the Curtis case."
"Yes?"
"I'm going to ask you to take me off it."
"Excuse me?" Branch gave McCoy his full attention. "It could be a capital case!"
"I know. I just don't think I can do it." McCoy smiled at Branch as he stared at McCoy skeptically.
"Because you worked with Curtis before? That's not like you, Jack. You've prosecuted friends of yours, even put them behind bars. Besides, I didn't think you were that close to Curtis."
"I wasn't. It's not that. I've been talking to Lennie Briscoe and Emil Skoda, and it's made me think." McCoy walked around to the window. "I can't prosecute him. I knew him when he was in Homicide, and he was... he was a good cop. Honest. Very ethical, to a point where it really pissed me off sometimes. I just can't believe he'd do this, and I don't think I'd do a good job trying to prosecute him because I don't believe he could be guilty. Let Serena do it."
"OK... I have to admit, this is a little surprising to me."
McCoy smiled, a little surprised at himself.
===
Tuesday, October 7
4:45pm
"Hello, Rey," McCoy began, trying not to show his shock at the appearance of the man in front of him, even after having seen him in the video. In prison garb, he resembled nothing like the man McCoy had worked with so many years ago.
"What are you doing here? Don't I need my lawyer present if you're gonna interrogate me?"
"Actually, I'm not going to be the prosecutor for your case. I begged off," McCoy grinned at Curtis' skeptical expression. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to offer to handle your defense."
Curtis stared at him, nonplussed. "I've got a lawyer," he stated flatly.
"Yes, Mr. Taylor, a court-appointed public defender who's right out of law school and so overworked he'll have no time to give you a real defense."
"I can't afford a real lawyer," Curtis retorted.
"I'll do it pro-bono, then."
"Charity? From Jack McCoy?"
"Call it a favour for a friend. Besides, it might not be such a favour, since I'm not terribly familiar with defense. I might forget which side I'm working for."
"Seems a strange time to make friends. We were never friends before."
"So now's a good time to start." McCoy paused for a moment. "Lennie says your bail's finally been arranged."
Curtis looked away. After a moment, McCoy asked, "Rey?"
"Yeah."
"You can leave today."
"Yeah, OK." He didn't seem to be paying much attention to McCoy. Then he turned and focused on him. "I just... I've spent the last few days in lock-up, in the Isolation Unit 'cause I'm a cop, and it's been... interesting. Never thought I'd get to look at it from the inside. It's not fun. Too much time to think." He smiled slightly. "I hope you're as good at defense as you are at prosecution. I'd hate to spend the rest of my life in here."
===
Tuesday, October 7
6:45pm
After his release, Curtis, Briscoe and McCoy met at McCoy's apartment. McCoy quickly ran over the few facts of the case that Briscoe hadn't been able to fill him in on. When they were done, he outlined some of what he had been able to find out from his end, including Skoda's thoughts on the interview and the fact that he would probably call upon Skoda as a defense witness. Curtis listened expressionlessly, not offering any commentary of his own. McCoy then paused before broaching a more personal subject.
"Rey, the first thing you need to do is go on anti-depressants. Emil Skoda wrote a prescription for you. He says you should start as soon as possible."
Curtis looked at him in surprise. "What are you, my lawyer or my shrink?" He blew out his breath scornfully. "Anti-depressants. Great. That'll fix everything. Is a pill going to convince a jury I didn't kill my own mother?"
"No, but it will put you in a better position to help me convince them. I don't know yet if I want you to take the stand in your own defense but I know I can't if you're like this. You don't see yourself. I believe you're not guilty, but the jury won't. You look like hell."
"Thanks, McCoy, I feel like hell," Curtis shot back, annoyed. "It may have something to do with being accused of my mother's murder and being kept away from my wife and family."
"You felt like hell before the arrest."
"Is an anti-depressant gonna make my wife get better, or make Tania normal? Is it gonna help Serena behave if I'm drugged?"
"No, but it will help you to be able to cope better. Look, you're in almost an impossible situation. One family member disabled is bad enough, but you have two. That puts an enormous strain on any person, any marriage, any family. You're fighting against enough in your life without also fighting against a chemical imbalance that is not your fault. Please."
Curtis looked down at the tabletop, pressing his lips together.
"Taking an anti-depressant is not a sign of weakness," McCoy pointed out. Curtis rubbed his forehead, resisting the idea. "If you won't take it for yourself, take it for your children. I read the preliminary reports from Child Social Services. Your children said you aren't abusive, but they said you're always exhausted and irritable. They haven't seen you laugh or enjoy life in months. That's not healthy for them. You're doing your best, but you can't continue like this. It's not fair to your children and it's not fair to you," McCoy was at his most persuasive.
"Besides, you need to show Social Services that you're trying to get back on your feet," Briscoe added. "Odds are, you'll get your kids back soon anyway 'cause there's no evidence of abuse. But you're charged with murder. They might not wanna release your kids to you if they're nervous about you, about your state of mind."
"Fine," Curtis gave in wearily.
Briscoe and McCoy traded relieved looks. Briscoe picked up the prescription and scanned through the drug lit Skoda had provided. "Says it'll take about three to six weeks before you can tell if it's working. Side effects... sleepy and lethargic for the first few days... yadda yadda yadda... whoa, you probably shouldn't be alone for the first few days in case you pass out or something. You better come stay with me... don't drive, don't operate heavy machinery... metallic taste, slight headache, nausea, decreased libido..."
"That's not such a bad thing," Curtis said bitterly. "What the hell, if I can't have it, may as well not want it, right?" His voice was dull.
"Rey..."
"Lennie, it's just a joke. Gimme a break, OK? Quit looking at me like you think I'm gonna fall apart any second, you're not my mother," Curtis closed his mouth as soon he spoke, grimacing at his own words. There was an awkward pause. "Sorry. That was in pretty poor taste. I keep forgetting she's dead. Or maybe I just don't want to remember." He picked up the prescription. "Well, OK, if you don't have any other legal advice for me, we might as well go get this filled."
===
Wednesday, October 8
2:27pm
Curtis lay on Briscoe's couch, listlessly watching a football game on TV. He had taken the medication the night before and it had indeed made him sleepy and lethargic, so much so that he had slept through the night and most of the day. Briscoe had gone to work in the morning and returned in the afternoon to find Curtis still asleep, although he'd woken up soon after Briscoe's return. Now he lay, still dressed in the same worn grey t-shirt and faded jeans he'd worn the day before, trying to work up the energy to get up and change.
"What time is it?" he asked groggily.
"About 2:30."
"How come you're home?"
"Ed's got the flu. I got a pretty easy caseload till he gets back - mostly desk duty."
"Oh."
"How are you feeling?"
Curtis didn't answer.
"Rey?"
"Like hell," was the laconic answer.
Briscoe got himself a drink, returned to the living room and sat down on the easy chair next to the couch. He looked at Curtis' profile on the couch next to him.
"Feel like talking?"
"No."
They watched the game for a while. Out of the blue, Curtis said slowly, "I think... it's been almost two years since I watched sports. I never noticed."
"Long time."
"Yeah. I don't know half the players."
Twenty minutes later, another sound bite.
"I don't think I've slept the whole night through in a few years either."
"You have trouble sleeping?"
"Yeah."
"What keeps you awake?"
"Work and the baby, mostly." He thought for a moment. "Sometimes guilt over screwing around on Deborah, or yelling at the kids. Sometimes I worry about Deborah, or Tania, or Serena, or about how the hell I'm gonna feed everybody, pay for everyone's meds."
Briscoe waited for a while, but nothing else seemed forthcoming. Finally he said, "Speaking of feeding, I'm gonna get something to eat. You want anything?"
"Nah."
Briscoe frowned. "It's 3:30. Have you eaten anything since last night?"
Curtis continued to watch the screen. "Ummm... no, I don't think so."
Briscoe regarded the thin frame, the shoulder blades and ribs visible through Curtis' t-shirt. "Aren't you hungry?"
"No."
"Eat anyway."
"Don't, OK? Don't nursemaid me."
"Rey, how much do you weigh?"
"What?" Curtis glanced back at him. "How the hell should I know?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"You look like you've lost a hell of a lot of weight. Don't you ever eat?"
"Of course I eat," he turned back to the screen.
"When, once a week?"
"I don't know, whenever I'm hungry and have the time. Why?" Curtis was starting to get annoyed.
"Skoda said your lack of appetite was a sign of clinical depression."
"Thanks, Doc."
"Didn't you notice you were losing weight?"
"I had other things on my mind, Lennie."
"Sorry." Briscoe got up to get himself a sandwich, hesitated for a moment, then made two. He came back to the couch and deposited the second plate on the coffee table. "Sit up. Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Force yourself."
Curtis gave him an exasperated look, but sat up and started to eat half-heartedly. Partway through the sandwich, he said, "This is pretty good."
"Now I know you're depressed. You never liked anything I called food before." Curtis gave him a slight smile. He paused and looked around thoughtfully.
"This feels really weird. Disorienting. I keep expecting somebody to need help with their homework or fight over their dolls or something."
"Can't help you with the dolls, but I do have a case I could use some help with..." Briscoe joked.
"Yeah, wouldn't that go over great. Not only having a murder suspect out on bail staying at your apartment, but helping you with your cases. I don't think so," he shook his head ruefully.
Briscoe frowned, sensing that Curtis's off-the-cuff remark and casual tone hid more than it revealed.
"Sorry. That wasn't real sensitive of me," he offered.
"What?"
"What I said. About my case."
"Oh." Curtis's attention seemed to wander back to the game, the conversation and the half-eaten sandwich forgotten. Briscoe mentally shrugged and went back to watching the game.
"Wish I could see my kids," Curtis mentioned about half an hour later. Briscoe looked at him. He'd stayed on the couch, one leg drawn up to his chin, arms clasped around the leg. He stared at the screen, but Briscoe could see that the game had lost his interest. Lousy game anyway.
"You'll see them on Friday."
"Yeah," Curtis replied without much enthusiasm. Briscoe wondered at himself. He was pretty good at getting suspects to talk - whether he played the bad guy, prodding them into blurting out what they wanted to hide, or whether he played the good guy, convincing them that he would be able to understand what they wanted to share. But here he was, not making any headway getting a friend who obviously needed help to open up. The problem was, he couldn't treat Curtis like a suspect, but he didn't have much experience getting regular people to confide in him. He suddenly felt sick of the whole situation, and blew out his breath in frustration.
"What?" Curtis drew away from the screen long enough to meet his eyes.
"I..." Briscoe didn't know what to say. He gave himself a mental shake, and went for straightforward. "I was just thinking, I can only get people to talk to me when I think they're guilty of something. I told my daughter once that I'm used to people already being dead before I have anything to do with them. Live people, I'm not so good at."
Curtis thought that over for a moment. "I guess I should thank you for the vote of confidence."
"Don't thank me. Talk to me."
"Why? What do you want me to say?"
"Anything! You-" Briscoe stopped, exasperated. "Ah, never mind," he muttered, disgusted with himself.
"I'm sorry," Curtis said softly. His voice was low and he turned his face back to the screen. "I guess... I thought you already knew everything, I mean you watched during the interrogation, you know everything I know. You know everything I did that night. I don't have anything else to say."
"I'm not asking about the case. You're... remember once we were in the car, and you were looking for a place to stay 'cause you and Deborah were separating, I told you I'd been down that road before a couple times, if you wanted to talk. That's all."
"You been a murder suspect before, Lennie?" Curtis' voice was still soft, the tone he had often used with small children or victims' families... or suspects he wanted to lull into a false sense of security. Briscoe shivered a little, hearing it directed at himself. "Gee, there's so much about you I didn't know."
"Rey-"
"Shut up!" Curtis was suddenly angry. "You don't know what I'm going through! You don't know what it's like to know your kids are in foster care because somebody's afraid you're gonna hurt them - what it's like to be interrogated, have every goddamn stupid, shameful thing you've done thrown in your face - you don't know! Leave me alone!"
He stood up, then his face paled, and he swayed and steadied himself on the side of the couch. Briscoe got up quickly, concerned. "Are you OK?"
"Y-yeah-" Curtis shook his head, blinking rapidly and gripping the couch. Briscoe steadied him.
"Hey, easy, easy, the drug lit said you might have problems at first if you get up too fast-"
"Yeah, yeah," Curtis tried to focus his eyes, fighting sudden nausea. "I - oh shit, I think I'm gonna be sick-" Briscoe quickly shoved him down onto the couch, pushing his head down between his knees and grabbing a trash can. Curtis' throat worked as he swallowed over and over again, fighting to keep his stomach from heaving.
"OK... OK... I'm OK, I'm not gonna throw up," he whispered. Briscoe nodded but kept the trash can where it was. Minutes later, Curtis sat up shakily. "I'm OK," he looked at Briscoe. "Really."
Briscoe held his gaze until Curtis dropped his eyes again. He chose his words carefully. "Look, you're right, I don't know what you're going through. But I wanna help. How many times do you want me to say that?"
Curtis rubbed his forehead. "There's nothing you can do. Talking doesn't make any difference, it just makes me think about it, and I really, really try to avoid that."
Briscoe opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. After a moment, Curtis continued. "I told you. I told you everything. My life's fallen apart and I don't even know which part of it is the worst; whether it's Tania, or Deborah, or Serena, or the - the goddam mountain of crap I have to do every day, or the fact that I'm not doing any of it right, or... or the fact that we don't have any money left, or that none of that is gonna get any better," his words picked up speed as everything tumbled out at once, "or my mother dying or being arrested or realizing that I might never be with my kids again if I get convicted or, or knowing that maybe they'll even be better off in foster homes than with me, because I'm not - I'm not the person I used to be, and, and Deborah-" suddenly his eyes filled with tears and he stopped. His forehead creased in pain as he fought for distance from everything he had just blurted out. He rubbed his forehead with a shaking hand. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke in a hoarse, empty tone. "Thinking about shit like this is why I turned in my service revolver about a year ago. I'm in admin now, I don't need it, and I just couldn't have the temptation there."
Briscoe felt a chill settle through his whole body. He searched for the right words to say, to not shut the floodgates. "You... the temptation? To use it?"
Curtis nodded slowly. He closed his eyes tightly and the tears spilled down. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, covering his eyes with one hand. His lips pressed together, jaw trembling with suppressed sobs. He whispered brokenly, "I wanted to... I want to, so badly. I just want all of it to end, but it would only end for me, you know? I couldn't - I couldn't leave my kids to deal with it, I couldn't leave Deborah to deal with it if - if I ate my own gun-" his voice broke.
Briscoe covered his mouth with his hand. The only sound was Curtis' labored breathing as he tried to keep some shred of control. Finally Briscoe put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Let it go."
Curtis shook his head, trembling. Briscoe repeated himself. "Let it go. It's OK, Rey." A sob tore from Curtis' throat, and he covered his face with his hands as his shoulders heaved. He cried bitterly, his whole body shaking as he finally gave in to his grief. Briscoe remained still, gripping Curtis' shoulder, staying through the pain and allowing Curtis time to deal with it. He thought about how long Curtis had had to deal with all of this on his own, and how miserable he must have been to consider suicide as an option. Remembering his battle with the bottle and his own failed marriages, he recalled the feelings of hopelessness and wondered how he could have allowed himself to drift away, to not know that Curtis was feeling the same despair.
A long time later, the weeping finally began to die down. Curtis had crossed his arms together, elbows resting on his knees and face hidden by his arms, and his body continued shaking as he slowly calmed down. Finally he was still, the silence in the room broken only by occasional soft shuddering breaths, the aftermath of the storm that had just passed.
Briscoe squeezed his shoulder and got up, going in to the bathroom and returning with a wet facecloth. He sat back down and touched Curtis' shoulder again, handing him the facecloth when he finally looked up. Curtis wiped his face slowly. Briscoe cleared his throat.
"Feel any better?" Curtis glanced at him quickly, then away again. He shrugged.
"I feel like crap," he rasped, his throat raw. "But yeah, a bit better." He bit his lip. "Thanks." Briscoe nodded.
"How long you been holding that in?"
"What?"
"Have you ever talked to anyone about wanting to commit suicide?" Curtis shook his head vehemently, not meeting his eyes. "Your wife? Your priest? Your mother?" Curtis continued to shake his head. "Why not?"
"How could I tell Deborah? And Father Morelli and my mother - they'd just say it's a sin." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I didn't want to admit to anybody... I couldn't."
"Couldn't even let it go and cry?"
"I... I thought if I did, I'd never stop," he admitted almost inaudibly.
"Well, you did," Briscoe pointed out. Curtis smiled slightly, still not meeting his eyes. "Rey, you don't need to be embarrassed." Curtis shrugged and looked away. "Everybody's got a breaking point. We all hope we never reach it. Some of us just aren't so lucky." Briscoe paused, then decided maybe Curtis needed a bit of space.
"You... uh, you gonna finish that sandwich?" Curtis looked down at the coffee table, surprised to see the sandwich still there.
"Uh, no, I think I really would throw up. No offense to your cooking, I just feel kinda shaky. Nauseous. Actually, I can't believe this, but what I really feel is tired. Again."
"You expected that though."
"I can't live like this if this stuff is gonna make me want to sleep all day."
"That's just supposed to be during the adjustment period. You want I should leave you alone so you can sleep some more?"
Curtis finally met his gaze, eyes reddened, body still shuddering occasionally. Briscoe was struck once more by the sadness and resignation in his eyes. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind that. Sorry."
"Hey, you know, I do have a bed, I could take the couch if you want."
"Nah, I haven't slept in a bed in a couple years." Briscoe raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I couldn't, not after Deborah and me stopped - it was just, you know, I preferred to not be tempted. I moved to the couch in the living room."
"Rey... you gotta talk to somebody about that."
"I do, my priest."
"I mean a shrink."
"I can't afford that," he said flatly.
Briscoe hesitated, then plunged in, "I just don't see what kind of practical advice a priest can give you on your love life. Other than Thou Shalt Not. Which might be easy for him to say, but it's killing you."
Curtis cocked his head to the side, face expressionless, waiting for Briscoe to finish. When Briscoe stopped talking, he began, his barriers lowered enough to talk haltingly through the embarrassment. "Lennie... there's just not much to talk about. There's not much to do about it, either. She's got MS. One of the things that goes is sex drive. She just doesn't want to. And it... would be painful for her. She can't force herself, and - I mean, this isn't the Middle Ages where it was a wife's duty to just lie still and think of England. I - I don't want her that way. That's no better than rape. I may be far gone but I'm not a rapist."
Briscoe scowled. "So that's it? You sleep on the couch, you want her but you don't even touch her, once a month you pick up a stranger at a bar and then you feel guilty about it for the rest of the month? That's your sex life from now on?"
Curtis flushed and dropped his gaze. "What do you suggest?" He stood up, slowly this time, and moved away from the couch.
"I dunno. There's gotta be something else though. How much did you and your priest talk about it?"
"Not a lot. I don't really... it's not something I'm comfortable with, OK? Even this much is kinda freaking me out. We're talking about my private life here." He crossed his arms, looking away.
"Do you and Deborah know other couples dealing with MS?"
"No."
"You might wanna start there. I mean, support groups can help."
"Sure," Curtis shrugged, obviously not sold on the idea.
"I'm talking from experience here, remember? There's a reason AA works. It helps to talk to people who know where you're coming from. And you gotta know you can't be the only guy who's had a tough time getting thrown outta his wife's bed." Curtis shrugged, looking away from him. "Maybe there's something you two could do to make things better. At least something different from what you're doing, 'cause that's not working."
"Maybe." Curtis shook his head and said, "I'm - I'm sorry, but I really can't... this is too weird. I can't just calmly discuss my sex life with you. It's private - you don't know how damned humiliating it is to me that you know about Rita, and the - the blow job at the bar, and all that," he blushed again. "Catholic upbringing."
"I don't think any less of you for what you did at the bar."
"I think less of myself," Curtis said, his voice low.
"Hey, I've done worse."
"I'll take your word for it." He ran his fingers through his hair and changed the subject. "I'm gonna take a shower and go back to sleep, OK?"
"Sure. You sure you don't wanna eat before you do?"
"Uh - probably after I shower, my stomach will have calmed down. Ask me later, OK?"
"Sure." Curtis grabbed a towel from the linen closet and went to the washroom. Briscoe returned to the kitchen to get another snack, but turned when he heard Curtis clear his throat behind him. Curtis stood at the entrance to the kitchen, fiddling with his wedding band and staring at the floor, looking, in other words, like someone who had something to say but didn't have the slightest clue of how to say it.
"Lennie..." Curtis met his eyes briefly, smiled uncertainly, looked away. "Um... I just... I just wanted to say thanks for, uh, you know, for being there. For taking me in and, and letting me talk. I - I'm not real good at this," he fidgeted a bit more. Briscoe waited patiently. "I mostly, um, I mostly don't think it helps much to dwell on stuff that isn't going to change, but... but it's good to know I can if I want to."
"Any time," Briscoe said. Curtis nodded. He turned to go, then stopped and turned back.
"Do you mind if I, if I ask a personal question?" he blurted out.
"Shoot."
"Did you, I mean, when, when you were - when you were an alcoholic and going through all that, did you ever... did you ever think of..."
"Suicide?" Briscoe asked.
"Yeah," Curtis nodded, relieved.
Briscoe thought back to those years. "Yeah. Some."
"Why didn't you do it?"
Briscoe shook his head. "I'm not really sure. Dumb luck. AA had a lot to do with it. Talking helps, but it's not so easy for guys to admit they need to."
Curtis nodded. "Yeah. This is really uncomfortable."
"So are a lot of medical procedures that can also save your life," Briscoe pointed out.
"Yeah. I guess so," Curtis smiled slightly. He turned and went to the washroom.
Briscoe took a deep breath. He didn't know what he had expected when he had asked McCoy to handle Curtis' defense, and when he offered to put up Curtis for a few days. He had the feeling they were all in for a rough time. But at least Curtis was talking - hesitant, ashamed, but talking. Maybe if he and McCoy could keep him talking, they could figure out a way to help him.
===
Author's Notes for legal eagles: No, it's not legally or ethically possible for Jack, an Executive Assistant District Attorney, to act as a defense attorney even if he wanted to. It's called suspension of disbelief :)