Disclaimer: Goren, Eames, Deakins, and Carver aren't mine. Emily Dimitrio is. Thank you, Dick Wolf.
Goren took a deep breath and sat down across the table from Emily. He spread his hands out on the table and stared down at them. 'Come on, come on... this is nothing. This is cake. Come on!' his inner monologue continued.
"Bobby, I'm sorry, but I don't think you're going to get what you want out of this interrogation."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't kill Damon Sanders."
"Any way you can prove that?"
"Yes. I just came into town this morning. I was in California. My plane landed at 5:00 in the morning, at La Guardia." Goren looked over his shoulder into the observation room, where Eames had already flipped open her cell phone and was calling La Guardia.
"We'll find out soon enough," Goren said, displaying more confidence than he felt. "But let's set aside Damon Sanders' death for a moment. Let's discuss his life. How... big a part of it were you?"
"Why is that important to you?"
"Well, it goes towards establishing this little thing I find important... motive, have you heard of it?" His patience was wearing thin.
"Oh, Robert Goren, sarcasm does become you. Unfortunately, it doesn't really hurt me."
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Emily." To which she rolled her eyes and sighed.
"Of course not, you're just trying to get me to say I'm a murderer."
"How big a part of Damon Sanders' life were you?"
"We dated for a few weeks. Okay?"
"Serious?"
"No, not serious. I'd be surprised if Damon had ever been serious about anything. You wouldn't know what that's like, Bobby."
"I can imagine. Go on," Goren was desperate to keep the conversation away from him.
"Why don't you ask me what the point of this afternoon's charade was?"
"Okay, what was the point?"
"Think about it, Bobby... I knew, through reliable resources, that your toughest case was this business with a Nicole Wallace. Elizabeth Hanes, as she introduced herself to me. If I wanted to get you to my apartment, all I had to do was find the only person you'd believe if they looked at you with a smile and said they'd killed me."
"I would have gone to your apartment if Joe Blow had said he killed you."
"Well, yes, but it was just more fun this way. What would have been Joe Blow's motive?"
"What was Elizabeth's?"
"To hurt you, obviously. Don't ask questions you know the answer to, Bobby, it's boring and transparent." Goren gritted his teeth at her criticism, trying to brush it off. "I know exactly how things played out before Elizabeth even stepped into your apartment. You knew something was off, you had that famous Goren hunch - even when you saw Damon, you had a feeling something terrible was coming. Something bigger than a dead actor no one liked, anyway. And then you saw my picture. And in that great brain of yours, it clicked. Femoral artery... pink water...." Emily's voice lowered. Goren's heart was racing, his hands clenched. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it... "You remembered my attempt at ending a life. Since then, I've done a bit of studying. Found out the femoral artery's a little more to the left of where I cut... that's a shame for me."
"It was a shame for Damon Sanders."
"Oh, that prick? Come on, Bobby. He used women. Day in, day out. He found their weakness, exploited it, used it. Used them."
"Used you."
"Used me, yes. Come on, Bobby. Men who use women, for sex, for fun... you've dealt with that all your life. Isn't it justifiable homicide?" Goren nodded slightly, but he wasn't agreeing with her. He was digesting everything she'd just said. She'd confessed to committing the murder, lickety-split. And yet he wasn't satisfied.
"Your last attempt at ending a life... what was your motive there?" Damn you, Bobby. Damn you. Why did you have to ask it, why can't you leave it alone?
"Ah, Bobby, as always... grinding salt into his open wounds. For the learning experience of pain," Emily snorted. "Bobby, my attempt was the act of a woman who could no longer look in the mirror."
"You can't look in the mirror, now, Emily. What did trying to.... doing that... what you did, what did that accomplish?"
"You can't even say it, Bobby? The man of a million words and dirty mind tricks, can't say 'kill yourself'? Unbelievable."
"What did it accomplish?" Goren asked, ignoring Emily's statement.
"Trying didn't accomplish anything, but succeeding sure would have."
In the interrogation room, Eames and Carver stood, unsure what to do. Carver had heard Emily's admission of guilt. As a district attorney, he was ready to move into the room and cut a deal. He could be home by dinner. But as a man who liked and respected Robert Goren, he didn't want to interrupt. Eames was experiencing a similar crisis. She wanted Bobby to get his answers, but she didn't want him to get hurt. Instinctively she knew that whatever Emily was going to say to him, it wasn't going to be what he wanted to hear.
"Let's get in there," she said, before she could rethink her decision. Carver looked at her, eyebrows raised, but complied.
"Miss Dimitrio, you've just confessed to the murder of Damon Sanders," Carver began. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion.
"No, I haven't." Goren, Eames, and Carver simultaneously began replaying her words in their minds. They all reached the same conclusion at the same time: she hadn't, in that many words, said that she had actually done it.
"You may as well have. Why don't you just come clean? Make a deal," Eames urged her. Emily shook her head.
"I don't think I should continue this conversation without my lawyer present. I'll see you around, then, Bobby," she said, standing from her chair and moving towards the door. Goren pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, not watching her go. Carver and Eames moved aside so she could pass through the door, unable to stop her. It wasn't the first time they'd been forced to let a known murderer walk out the door, because they didn't have enough to hold them. But it was the first time that they'd felt as if they'd let down a friend. Goren sat in silence, his hands still over his eyes, until he heard Carver mutter quietly to Eames and leave the room. He lowered his hands and looked up at Eames, wanting to say something but finding no words.
"I'm going home," he said at last, rising from his chair and brushing past Eames. She stared after him, standing helplessly in the interrogation room. She stayed there for a few minutes, putting papers and photos back into Bobby's binder. 'I can't believe he forgot this,' she thought. It was his second most important investigative tool - right after his library card, Eames thought with a grim smile. But for once, the library and the binder couldn't help him. And for once, neither could Eames.
Goren took a deep breath and sat down across the table from Emily. He spread his hands out on the table and stared down at them. 'Come on, come on... this is nothing. This is cake. Come on!' his inner monologue continued.
"Bobby, I'm sorry, but I don't think you're going to get what you want out of this interrogation."
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't kill Damon Sanders."
"Any way you can prove that?"
"Yes. I just came into town this morning. I was in California. My plane landed at 5:00 in the morning, at La Guardia." Goren looked over his shoulder into the observation room, where Eames had already flipped open her cell phone and was calling La Guardia.
"We'll find out soon enough," Goren said, displaying more confidence than he felt. "But let's set aside Damon Sanders' death for a moment. Let's discuss his life. How... big a part of it were you?"
"Why is that important to you?"
"Well, it goes towards establishing this little thing I find important... motive, have you heard of it?" His patience was wearing thin.
"Oh, Robert Goren, sarcasm does become you. Unfortunately, it doesn't really hurt me."
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Emily." To which she rolled her eyes and sighed.
"Of course not, you're just trying to get me to say I'm a murderer."
"How big a part of Damon Sanders' life were you?"
"We dated for a few weeks. Okay?"
"Serious?"
"No, not serious. I'd be surprised if Damon had ever been serious about anything. You wouldn't know what that's like, Bobby."
"I can imagine. Go on," Goren was desperate to keep the conversation away from him.
"Why don't you ask me what the point of this afternoon's charade was?"
"Okay, what was the point?"
"Think about it, Bobby... I knew, through reliable resources, that your toughest case was this business with a Nicole Wallace. Elizabeth Hanes, as she introduced herself to me. If I wanted to get you to my apartment, all I had to do was find the only person you'd believe if they looked at you with a smile and said they'd killed me."
"I would have gone to your apartment if Joe Blow had said he killed you."
"Well, yes, but it was just more fun this way. What would have been Joe Blow's motive?"
"What was Elizabeth's?"
"To hurt you, obviously. Don't ask questions you know the answer to, Bobby, it's boring and transparent." Goren gritted his teeth at her criticism, trying to brush it off. "I know exactly how things played out before Elizabeth even stepped into your apartment. You knew something was off, you had that famous Goren hunch - even when you saw Damon, you had a feeling something terrible was coming. Something bigger than a dead actor no one liked, anyway. And then you saw my picture. And in that great brain of yours, it clicked. Femoral artery... pink water...." Emily's voice lowered. Goren's heart was racing, his hands clenched. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it... "You remembered my attempt at ending a life. Since then, I've done a bit of studying. Found out the femoral artery's a little more to the left of where I cut... that's a shame for me."
"It was a shame for Damon Sanders."
"Oh, that prick? Come on, Bobby. He used women. Day in, day out. He found their weakness, exploited it, used it. Used them."
"Used you."
"Used me, yes. Come on, Bobby. Men who use women, for sex, for fun... you've dealt with that all your life. Isn't it justifiable homicide?" Goren nodded slightly, but he wasn't agreeing with her. He was digesting everything she'd just said. She'd confessed to committing the murder, lickety-split. And yet he wasn't satisfied.
"Your last attempt at ending a life... what was your motive there?" Damn you, Bobby. Damn you. Why did you have to ask it, why can't you leave it alone?
"Ah, Bobby, as always... grinding salt into his open wounds. For the learning experience of pain," Emily snorted. "Bobby, my attempt was the act of a woman who could no longer look in the mirror."
"You can't look in the mirror, now, Emily. What did trying to.... doing that... what you did, what did that accomplish?"
"You can't even say it, Bobby? The man of a million words and dirty mind tricks, can't say 'kill yourself'? Unbelievable."
"What did it accomplish?" Goren asked, ignoring Emily's statement.
"Trying didn't accomplish anything, but succeeding sure would have."
In the interrogation room, Eames and Carver stood, unsure what to do. Carver had heard Emily's admission of guilt. As a district attorney, he was ready to move into the room and cut a deal. He could be home by dinner. But as a man who liked and respected Robert Goren, he didn't want to interrupt. Eames was experiencing a similar crisis. She wanted Bobby to get his answers, but she didn't want him to get hurt. Instinctively she knew that whatever Emily was going to say to him, it wasn't going to be what he wanted to hear.
"Let's get in there," she said, before she could rethink her decision. Carver looked at her, eyebrows raised, but complied.
"Miss Dimitrio, you've just confessed to the murder of Damon Sanders," Carver began. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion.
"No, I haven't." Goren, Eames, and Carver simultaneously began replaying her words in their minds. They all reached the same conclusion at the same time: she hadn't, in that many words, said that she had actually done it.
"You may as well have. Why don't you just come clean? Make a deal," Eames urged her. Emily shook her head.
"I don't think I should continue this conversation without my lawyer present. I'll see you around, then, Bobby," she said, standing from her chair and moving towards the door. Goren pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, not watching her go. Carver and Eames moved aside so she could pass through the door, unable to stop her. It wasn't the first time they'd been forced to let a known murderer walk out the door, because they didn't have enough to hold them. But it was the first time that they'd felt as if they'd let down a friend. Goren sat in silence, his hands still over his eyes, until he heard Carver mutter quietly to Eames and leave the room. He lowered his hands and looked up at Eames, wanting to say something but finding no words.
"I'm going home," he said at last, rising from his chair and brushing past Eames. She stared after him, standing helplessly in the interrogation room. She stayed there for a few minutes, putting papers and photos back into Bobby's binder. 'I can't believe he forgot this,' she thought. It was his second most important investigative tool - right after his library card, Eames thought with a grim smile. But for once, the library and the binder couldn't help him. And for once, neither could Eames.
