From There to Here

Disclaimer: Same as before and always.

Chapter 2: Moving on Metal



"This woman killed who?" Jamie asked, looking through the case file she'd just been handed.

"It looks like it was her sister." Jack replied, "They need you in the arraignment in three hours."

"Has Mercer called yet?"

Jack shook his head, "No. Speaking of which, I'd like to go over the witness statements in the Salva case again with you this afternoon. Mercer may be sitting on his hands for a good reason, I want to know what it is."

"But… this case, too?" Jamie sighed, "Another murder two charge?"

"Nobody said this would be easy," Jack said, "Have you met Detectives Briscoe and Curtis yet?"

"No. Aren't they the ones who arrested Salva?"

"Right. And they're working this case, too. Give them a call, let them explain it to you."

Jack went back into his office, and Jamie reached for her phone.



"So we found a picture in this guy's apartment of this woman with her sister's husband, and the gun that killed her in a shelf in his closet." Detective Lennie Briscoe explained to Jamie while simultaneously attempting to eat a sandwich at his desk in the Squad Room of the Twenty-Seventh precinct. Jamie couldn't help but smile.

"Joanne Sullivan was killed about two days ago," Rey Curtis said, glancing at his own notes, "and her sister initially told us she didn't even know Joanne was married, or wanted over in Jersey."

"So she kills her sister because her sister discovered she was having an affair with her husband, and she lied to the police. All right, I can go with that." Jamie nodded.

"So, how's Jack doing?" Rey asked. Lennie turned to him, surprised enough to put down his sandwich.

"We know how he's doing." He said quietly, glancing at Jamie. Rey caught the look in his eye and nodded.

Jamie also caught the look, but it only confused her. For some reason she thought of the difference between the spirited Jack McCoy she'd seen waiting for the elevator four months before and the man she now found herself working with.

"So, counselor, how's the Salva case going?" Lennie asked, his voice brightening.

"It's going," She answered, "Not as fast as I'd like, but it's going."

Rey nodded, "Did you think backing off the death penalty was a good idea?"

"No," Jamie answered, "That was Jack's idea. I would have gone for it."

Another indecipherable look passed between the two detectives. Jamie would have questioned it had she not glanced at the clock above Lennie's head.

"I have a date with an arraignment judge. Nice to meet you both." She gathered up her files and left as Lennie and Rey watched her.

"What do you think McCoy thinks of her?" Rey asked Lennie as soon as she was out of hearing range.

"I don't have to think," Lennie replied, "I know."

"Mercer finally called," Jack said, walking up to Jamie's desk, "He wants to meet bright and early in the morning."

"Took him over a week," Jamie shook her head as she looked up at Jack, "What do you think he was waiting on?"

"I don't know," Jack replied, "We'll find out tomorrow."

Jack walked back into his office, and just as he sat down at his desk the phone rang.

"McCoy."

"Hello, Mr. McCoy? This is Paige Kendall."

"Ms. Kendall." Jack said, startled, "I've been waiting for your call."

"I know, I know, it's been a week," She began.

"Over a week," Jack interrupted.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I've had a busy week. Anyhow, you were asking about the Kennedy case. I had a meeting with his PD yesterday, and he's going to get back to me about the plea agreement. He sounded positive."

"Who's defending him?"

"Dean Connors." Paige answered.

"I know him," Jack sighed, "Dean 'What are you offering' Connors. What did you offer?"

"Vehicular manslaughter, one to three years."

"Are you sure that's appropriate?"

"Yes, I am," She said after a pause, the tone of her voice less friendly and more businesslike than a few moments before, "And I'll give you a call when I know the outcome."

"Ms. Kendall," Jack began, but she interrupted him.

"I'm late for a meeting, Mr. McCoy," She said, "I have to go. I'll call you."

She hung up, and Jack slammed the phone back into its cradle. Of course Dean Connors would take a deal like that – it was the equivalent of his client winning a goddamn game show. One year for a murder? 365 days for smashing the life out of…

Enough, Jack said to himself, I have had enough.



Jamie looked up a few minutes later when she heard the door to Jack's office open and close again. Jack was already changed into his jeans, holding his jacket over one arm.

"Leaving a little early?" She said cheerfully. Jack nodded his head.

"Just a little," He said, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jamie watched him as he left, still confused. She had been Jack's second chair for just over a week, and she had never expected a man known as Adam's right hand to be so… moody. That was the word for it, moody. Burned out, maybe. He came in every day, he did his job and yet there was just… something. She couldn't quite put it into words, and so she kept her mouth shut and turned back to her work.

She envied Jack being able to leave an hour early. She would be here well past the next few hours, that was certain, another night she wouldn't be home early enough to kiss Katie goodnight.

But then, she had missed plenty of goodnights working with Neil to set murderers free, too. At least the guilt here came from doing something positive.





"Well, I've seen this evidence of yours, Mr. McCoy. No prints on the purse, no gun, And there's the member of our Hindu community who can tell a Brahma bull from a Guernsey, but can't tell what kind of car it was my client was allegedly driving."

"Mr. Mercer…" Jack tried to interrupt. With the headache he had, listening to Abe Mercer pontificate in the conference room at Riker's was difficult at best, impossible if he didn't shut the hell up, and quick.

"And then there's Mickey Driscoll. Counterfeiter. Hmm. What can we say about him that hasn't already been said by a dozen parole boards?"

"We have the victim's own identification on tape." Jamie interjected.

"My turn to have a brief handy, Ms. Ross," Mercer opened his briefcase and pulled out a file, "Motion to suppress."

"Tough to suppress the fact that the car was in his fiancée's possession." Jack noted as he glanced at Mercer's motion.

"Well, then, charge her with the carjacking."

"What?" Fernando Salva, who had been silent until now, gave his lawyer a worried look.

"Oh, it's a lawyer's joke, son." Mercer said reassuringly to Salva. He looked at Jamie and Jack, "He's very much in love with her."

They left, and Jack gave the motion a second look.

"Mercer's arguing the tape can't be authenticated, is that right?"

Jamie sighed.



"Well, I compared the voice prints from Salva to the tape. It's a twenty to forty percent match."

"Well, a hundred would be good, but I'd settle for sixty to eighty," Jamie told the voice analyst, who had agreed to meet with her before she and Jack were due in Judge Scarletti's chambers. He showed her to a chair in front of his desk, and sat down to explain his findings.

"You have a muffled microphone, too much background noise, not to mention the fact that the tape was ground into the mud."

"They cleaned up a tape that went through a plane crash and sat in a Florida swamp for three weeks," Jamie replied, flashing her best expert witness smile, the same smile she always used when trying to convince someone to testify on behalf of one of her clients. The smile had never spoken as loudly as the checkbook, however.

"This tape wasn't encased in a steel box."

"You write forty percent on your report and no jury will ever hear it."

"I'm not perjuring myself." He said.

Jamie wanted to reach out and strangle him, but instead she smiled again.

"I'm just asking you to be a little more aggressive in your conclusions." She said patiently.

"Expert defense witnesses do that, Miss Ross." He countered, just as patiently.



"What took so long?" Jack asked as Jamie came running down the hallway of the courthouse, "What did he say?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" Jamie asked.

"Jamie." It had taken only a week for him to start calling her by her first name.

"He said it's a forty percent match, tops."

"Well, that's just great."

"Are you ready, now, Mr. McCoy?" Judge Scarletti's clerk leaned her head out of the door. Jack nodded, and followed Jamie into the judge's chambers.



"The voice can't be conclusively identified as my client's," Mercer argued, "And we don't have the victim to authenticate when or where this tape was made."

"We don't need Mrs. Rankin to authenticate. People v. Brown allows the admission of a spontaneous description of events as they occur." Jack countered. He had sent Jamie off to talk to the voice analyst while he researched every case he could find that had to do with tape recordings. He hadn't come up with much, and the task was complicated by the same headache that made Mercer even more insufferable than he usually was.

"That's fine if Mrs. Rankin had physically described my client. But all they have is a voice."

"She elicited from Mr. Salva his first name, where he lives and with whom. Under People v. McGee, that's enough to authenticate."

"And if he had identified himself as Jack, a lawyer, living alone on the West Side," Mercer made a point of looking at Jack as he said this, "No, the only thing the tape proves is that the killer knew my client. I have a cite here, People v. Terrio…"

"Terrio supports admitting tape-recorded conversations." Jamie spoke up.

"Yes," Mercer said, glaring at Jamie, "But it also sets a standard for admissibility," Mercer opened up his paperwork and began to read from it, "A mere self-serving statement of identity by a person who's voice is unknown to the listener is insufficient authentication."

"Let me see that." Judge Scarletti reached across his desk and took the paperwork from Mercer.

"What possible motive would he have to lie about his identity?" Jack said, trying one last argument, "He knew he was going to kill her."

"I'm sorry, Mr. McCoy, it's on point. You need Mrs. Rankin to authenticate."

We need Mrs. Rankin, Jack thought, that is possibly the most idiotic, stupid, boneheaded…

"If she were available, your honor, we wouldn't be here. It's absurd. His client benefits from killing…"

"That's enough," Judge Scarletti cut him off, "I'm ruling for the motion. The tape is out."

"Thank you very much, your honor." Mercer said.



"Oh, that's not good news." Adam said when he saw the looks Jamie and Jack bore when they returned to the office.

"He got the tape thrown out." Jamie shook her head, "By arguing we needed Mrs. Rankin to authenticate."

"Abe Mercer," Adam sighed, "Ten years ago he was a broken down relic. Bad divorce, partner suing him… if Doc Gooden can rise from the dead, why not Abe Mercer?"

"With a little help from Judge Scarletti?" Jamie asked.

"Spilled milk. Half the time he makes idiotic rulings in our favor. There still a case here?"

"Without the tapes it's the Bulls without Jordan." Jack said.

"Yeah, well, seven and a half to fifteen is better than nothing. Put on your game face and talk to Mercer." Adam sighed again.

"In his shoes, I'd take a chance with the jury."

"Well, Scarletti will take the hit in the press, and a month from now it'll be Fernando who?" Adam nodded at Jamie and then walked into his office.

"A plea?" Jamie asked Jack.

"I don't like it any more than you do," Jack said.

"Maybe there's something else we can do." Jamie suggested.

"See what you can come up with," Jack nodded, "We'll wait a few days before we talk to Mercer again."



"Jamie. Long time, no hear. How are you doing?" Jamie could hear his smile on the other end of the phone.

"Not bad, Chuck, and you? How are you?"

"Good. How's Katie doing?"

"She's fine. She's three, you know, but she's stuck in that stage where everything is 'no, no, no.'"

"I remember that," Chuck laughed on his end of the phone, "So, what's going on?"

"I'm working for the DA's office now…"

"Right, I heard. Congratulations on joining our side."

Jamie laughed, "Thanks. Did you read in the papers about Fernando Salva?"

"The carjacking murder? I sure did. You're working that case?"

"I am. But it's not going the way I'd hoped. I was thinking maybe you could give us a hand…"

"In taking over the case, you mean? I'm all ears, Jamie."

"Can you come in to my office? I can go over the particulars with you, and then we'll talk to Jack McCoy and see what he thinks. He's actually in charge."

"Sounds good. Thursday will work, if that's all right with you."

Thursday, Jamie glanced at her calendar, three days away.

"Thursday's good. Tell Emma I said hello."

"I will. See you Thursday." Chuck replied, and Jamie hung up the phone. Turning the case over to the US Attorney's office would bring Salva that much closer to a death penalty, and that would satisfy everyone – she hoped.

"Jamie," Jack was calling from his office doorway again, "Can you go over these statements with me again? Maybe you can turn up something I'm not seeing."

"Sure." Jamie walked into Jack's office and sat down at the table in front of his desk. Witness statements and evidence files were spread everywhere on Jack's desk and the table, suggesting he'd been looking through them for a while. The two of them sat down and began to page through the evidence again.

"Did you see this?" Jamie asked after a long moment.

"What?" Jack made a move to look over her shoulder, but he was interrupted when the phone rang.

"McCoy."

"Mr. McCoy?" The voice on the other end was professional, but hesitant, "This is Paige Kendall."

"Ms. Kendall. I didn't expect to hear back from you so soon."

"I promised I'd call," She said, "I wanted to let you know that I've spoken with Dean Connors, and Michael Kennedy will be taking the plea."

"What?" Jack's reply was so sharp Jamie turned her head to look at him, concerned.

"Mr. McCoy…"

Jack glanced at Jamie, who was watching him intently, and took a deep breath to disguise his anger.

"I'd like to meet with you to discuss this," Jack said, "If that's all right."

"Of course," She said, more sympathetically, "When is a good time for you?"

"Thursday afternoon would be good."

"I'll see you then." She hung up, and Jack sat back down at his desk.

"What was that?" Jamie asked.

For a moment, Jack considered telling Jamie. But if he did, then she would start giving him that look – that pitying look he'd had more than enough of. She would see him differently if she knew.

"Nothing. Just a case," Jack said, "Now what was it you wanted me to look at?"





Jamie and Jack were both a little apprehensive when Thursday afternoon rolled around, but for different reasons. Jamie wasn't sure how Jack would react to her calling Chuck Rodman, and Jack wasn't at all sure what he planned to say to Paige Kendall. He decided to spend a little time looking over the CPL for laws relating to driving under the influence while he waited to go downstairs and talk to the younger ADA. He was lying on the couch in his office with his feet propped on the armrest, tired from another night of little sleep, when there was a knock on his office door.

"Come in." He said.

"Jack, you got a minute?" It was Jamie, who popped her head in the door. When Jack turned to look at her, she had someone with her. Damn – this meant he had to stand up and look like a prosecutor again.

"This is Chuck Rodman," Jamie said, "With the US Attorney's of the Southern District. Chuck and I went to Columbia together. I told him about the Salva case."

Jack stood up, slightly curious as to the reason for Rodman's presence in his office.

"I appreciate you stopping by commiserate."

"Well," Rodman continued, "I can offer you more than my sympathies. We'd like to take the case off your hands. Under the federal anti-carjacking statutes, we don't need to prove that Mr. Salva intended to kill Mrs. Rankin in order to seek the death penalty."

"US v. Holloway, I'm familiar with the ruling."

"Then you're also aware that the federal standards for authentication are much broader than New York's.

"They can get the tape back in." Jamie said.

Jack did not like the way this was shaping up. His own assistant, arguing to give away a case? He felt cornered, caught off guard.

"It's forum shopping." He said.

"I did the research," Jamie told him, "Collateral estoppel won't prevent a federal judge from revisiting Scarletti's decision."

"We can practically guarantee a conviction. And an execution."

Pompous son of a bitch, Jack thought.

"That's make a nice set of antlers to hang on your wall. I'll think about it."

"The feds have the stronger case." Jamie sounded as if she suddenly knew better than he did.

"I said I'd think about it. Thanks for coming in, Mr. Rodman."

Jamie and Chuck exchanged looks. She'd been fairly certain Jack would agree with her, or at least be happy to get the case off his hands. His reaction puzzled her. She showed Chuck out and turned back to Jack.

"Stacking sandbags," Jack said, "You learn that from Neil Gorton?"

"No, I learned what defense attorneys are capable of." Jamie shot back, "Mercer's halfway to an acquittal. We lose in State court, the feds can't touch Salva. He's gonna be free because we passed up on this opportunity. Think of how that will play in the media."

"No wonder Adam likes you." Jack said, only half-intending to say the words out loud.

"The case is dead in the water!" Jamie yelled.

"According to you," Jack responded, making an effort to keep his cool, "You seem to think that you're the only capable attorney in this office."

Jamie thought, in that split second, of a million things she could say to that. She was the one here late every night, not him.

"I have known Chuck Rodman for ten years. I don't see what the problem is!"

"I don't like end runs," Jack shook his head, "You wanna bring in the feds, you talk to me first."

"So this is a pissing contest." Jamie spat, "I thought if Salva gets the maximum, everybody wins."

All right, Jack thought, that's enough.

"In my office, we don't hand off the ball, we run with it. Maureen Rankin was killed in our jurisdiction! Prosecuting her killer is our responsibility!"

Jamie responded to his raised voice by walking out of the office and slamming the door. Claire would never pull something like that, Jack thought, she wouldn't even…

Damn. Claire. He still had to go downstairs. Still had to try to convince an overworked, barely experienced ADA that Claire's life was worth more than one year in prison.

In a perfect world, both Michael Kennedy and Fernando Salva would be strapped down on a gurney, he thought, then contradicted himself.

In a perfect world, both Claire and Maureen Rankin would still be alive.



Jamie didn't wait for Jack to come out of his office. Fine, she thought, if we're not going to turn the case over, we shouldn't have to take a plea bargain. She knew the detectives had already executed their search warrants; maybe it wouldn't hurt to go down to the twenty-seventh precinct and go over the evidence with them. She grabbed her briefcase and told Monica where she was going on the way out.



"Come on in," Paige Kendall joked, "Have a seat."

She grabbed a chair from the desk across from hers and turned it around so Jack could sit down. Jack could finally match a face to her voice, and she looked just as he had expected her to – young, blonde and innocent. If it hadn't been for the corn-fed Midwestern accent, she would have reminded Jack of his ex-wife. Maybe that was why he already didn't like her much.

"Arlene told me the victim in the Kennedy case was someone from your office. I'm sorry."

"I wanted to discuss the plea arrangement with you," Jack searched his brain for arguments, "I just don't think vehicular manslaughter is the way to go here."

"What charge do you suggest?" She asked.

"Murder two, depraved indifference. He got into a car knowing he was intoxicated, he should have known his actions could kill someone."

"I can't prove that, Mr. McCoy. The fact that he was drunk mitigates his intent. I'm sure you know…"

"Of course I know," Jack raised his voice, unaccustomed to being contradicted by an ADA who looked as if she were about sixteen, "I also know that it is still possible to prove…"

"Then you know," She spoke over him, deliberately, "That this is what I have to work with. The charge fits the case, I'm sorry if you don't agree with that."

Jack stood up and looked down at her.

"I don't agree with that," He said sharply, "Not at all. I think you…"

"Look," She stood up and looked at him with anger flashing in her eyes, "I don't care what you think. You can't just come down here and dictate to me! If you have a problem with my handling of this case, you take it up with Arlene."

Jack leaned closer to her, "You can count on it."

By this time, their discussion had grown so loud the other ADA's in the office had stopped working and were looking at them. Jack turned away from the stares and went back upstairs to his office, leaving a frustrated and shaky Paige behind him.



"We tossed Salva's apartment and his fiancée's. No gun." Rey was explaining to Jamie while Jack was busy shouting loud enough for the entire fourth floor to hear.

"The car was repainted," Jamie suggested, "I read in a forensics textbook last night that paint has unique characteristics."

"Right," Lennie noted, "You can match it up to the manufacturer."

"So if we knew who in Salva's neighborhood uses this paint, that might lead us to another witness."

Lennie and Rey exchanged a look.

"Well, not that we didn't think of that, but the lab says they're all backed up."

Jamie nodded, and smiled.

"Would a call from a judge's clerk help?" She asked.

Lennie laughed a little and nodded, appreciating her nerve.

"Consider it done," She said, gathering up her things, "See ya."

As Jamie left, Rey watched her and turned back to his partner.

"There's a lot to be said for pretty faces, Lennie."



"Jack. Who the hell do you think you are? You are not in charge down here. This is my department. If you have a problem with one of my people, you talk to me."

Jack felt a bit sheepish the next day when Arlene Wolensky called him down to her office. He still felt the plea agreement was wrong, but he regretted letting the conversation turn into a shouting match. If only Jamie hadn't… well, that was beside the point. The real problem was what it had been since that night, weeks before – that gnawing grief, that impassioned anger, that constant knowledge that everything important had ended, that time had stopped.

It had stopped when Michael Kennedy decided to speed through a red light.

"I'm sorry, Arlene," Jack apologized, "I know I was rough on her."

"You were. You have to understand, Jack, that we've done what we can with this case. Take yourself out of it, you'll see what I mean."

Jack nodded, and Arlene paused before going on.

"I talked to Adam this morning."

"Oh." Jack nodded again, this time with new understanding.

"He told me that Ms. Kincaid was more than a co-worker, but that's all he would tell me." She said, gently.

"She was." Jack acknowledged with some difficulty. The words caught in his throat.

"I can only imagine what you're going through," Arlene said, using the practiced language she'd gained during her years with the DA's office, "But I'm standing behind Paige's decisions on the case, and she has accepted the plea bargain. Michael Kennedy is scheduled to allocute a week from today."

"A week?"

"Mmm-hmm," Arlene nodded, handing Jack a sheet of paper. At first he stared at it without recognizing the printed words – it was the standard form letter the office used to notify victims and victim's families of court proceedings.

The simple act of handing him that letter, Jack realized, put him into that nameless, faceless group of people they so rarely saw and yet were supposed to be fighting for. He was standing on the other side of the system he immersed himself in each day, the imperfect system he had been trying so long to survive inside. Now Michael Kennedy, Paige Kendall and Arlene Wolensky had thrown him out of it, at least as far as this case was concerned.

"Thank you, Arlene." Jack said, making a concerted effort to hide his feelings. In fact he was lost even within Arlene's tiny office, set adrift in familiar surroundings.

"You're welcome," She said kindly, extending her hand to shake his. Jack shook her hand – an automatic gesture – and somehow found his way out of her office and back to his own.

Jamie wasn't at her desk, and Jack stared at the empty space as if he expected Claire to come back – just for a moment, he believed she might. Just for a moment he could imagine her there, imagine her still filling his life with her presence.

Now – Jack shook his head, trying to shake the feeling of disorientation that was attacking him. He was in control, wasn't he? He had to be. In control, always, of every situation. Crowded courtrooms during summations, conference rooms during plea negotiations, even in his past relationships.

But it was harder now. It felt as if the wheels of his mind were grinding against each other in a struggle just to keep functioning.

"Jack?"

Jack turned at the sound of a woman's voice. In his state, he could imagine that voice belonged to…

"Are you all right?" Jamie asked, and the sight of her concerned face brought Jack back to reality with a crash.

"I'm fine." He said, trying to muster a smile for Jamie, who didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure?" She asked. Jack nodded.

"All right," Jamie watched him carefully as he walked back into his office.



Late that night, Jack sat up in the darkened living room of his apartment with a glass of scotch in his hand. He had tried sleep, but that was a futile effort. Thankfully it was Friday – no, now it was Saturday – and tomorrow wouldn't demand much of him. There wasn't much he felt capable of doing.

This late at night, it was easy to let go and remember. During the day he fought the constant reminders. Today had reminded him why – it was too easy to find yourself lost, out of control, standing on the precipice.

But he understood why. Until Arlene had handed him that form he could pretend he was still himself, emotionally detached, out to prosecute Kennedy and put his two cents in for an appropriate sentence.

Except he wasn't himself. He wasn't detached. He just wanted Kennedy to go away forever for one simple reason. The man had killed Claire.

The man had killed Claire. The words didn't even feel real. Thinking them was unnatural; he couldn't even begin to imagine saying them out loud. To say someone had killed her would mean truly admitting she was dead, an admission he still wasn't ready to make.

He remembered a night, maybe a few months before, when a dream about his father woke him in the middle of the night. The son of a bitch, pounding on the door of the basement, his mother in tears, holding on to the doorknob with one hand and his head with the other, begging him to leave them alone.

When he'd startled awake, he woke up Claire, who gave him a look of concern and then, silently, rose and left the room. She came back with a glass of water and handed it to him, then climbed back into bed and slipped her arm around him. He pulled her close and lay back down, taking advantage of the simple comfort provided by her presence, the whole interaction conducted without a word. They didn't need to say anything. There was more than enough time to say something later. Time for all those thank yous and I love yous that they never said, a day, someday, when their shared talent for communication wouldn't falter miserably when it came to the things that were most important.

Except now, there was no time. It was all over, just like that.

Now the nightmares were different. And now, when he startled awake, there was nobody there.



******************

Note: Arlene Wolensky can be seen in the episode "Juvenile," and Dean Connors in "Star-Crossed." I hope they don't mind me borrowing them for this story.