[Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, NY, Sunday December 1]
A loud buzzer echoed through the hall. The correctional officer yanked open the bar door. Across the hall, a pair of prisoners noticed Mrs. Kent and whistled. The guards quickly hustled them back to their cells.
"They get excited at anything with a skirt," the officer remarked. "Luthor's at window No. 3."
Lex's face brightened at the sight of a familiar face. "Mrs. Kent?"
Martha waved from behind the Plexiglas window and picked up the phone receiver. "I just had to check up on you. We haven't heard anything from you since you were arrested!"
"You can thank the New York District Attorney's office for my stringent conditions. Solitary confinement." He winced in pain. "Not to mention that I was kicked in the stomach by some nutcase with something against Luthor Corp."
"Are you alright?" Martha asked.
"I'll live," Lex replied. "Anyway, I won't be in this fine establishment for long. I'll be moving shortly to the hospitality of Riker's Island for the duration of the trial. Is that why you're here in New York?"
Martha nodded. "I'm supposed to provide your legal team with any assistance . and keep your father informed of the trial developments."
"Ahh, yes. My father has much at stake in this trial," Lex grumbled. "It's the Luthor name on trial. A conviction would drag down the value of Luthor Corp.'s stock. and alienate political allies in the Empire State."
"There's something else," Martha added. "Clark is under subpoena to testify as a witness."
Lex rubbed his face slowly in disbelief. He did not want his friend involved in this farce. He struggled to insulate the Kents from the political intrigues of his father. But D.A. McCoy lived up to his reputation as a relentless prosecutor.
I failed, he muttered to himself. Clark was the only person in Smallville who gave me his friendship with no strings attached. Now Clark is being forced to test his faith in me. Again.
Too many uncertainties, Lex feared. I can't afford to lose the only true friend I have now.
"I'm sorry Clark had to be dragged into this," Lex stated. "Is he already in New York?"
"No," Martha answered. "He won't be called to testify until later."
Lex could see that Mrs. Kent was genuinely worried. Clark was lucky to have such caring and devoted parents.
"Don't let the trial bother you, Mrs. Kent," Lex insisted. "Mark my words: I'll be home for Christmas."
"I'm sure we all will!" Martha agreed. "I know you had nothing to do with that poor girl's death."
A loud buzzer announced the arrival of the correctional officer. "Mrs. Kent? Time's up."
"Clark sends his regards," Martha said. "Did you know he wanted to reject the subpoena?"
"I hope he had the sense to comply," Lex joked, "Riker's is crowded enough as it is. Thank you for coming by to visit, Mrs. Kent. It . means a lot to me."
"I'll see you at the trial, Lex." Martha hung up the phone and walked down the corridor.
Lex's guard walked towards him. "Just in time for lunch, Lex." He re- attached Lex's handcuffs.
"Oh great," Lex groaned. "Coagulated gravy and Salisbury steak again?"
He shuffled back to his cell for another meal. Alone.
[The Talon, Smallville, Sunday, December 1]
Pete entered The Talon and noticed Chloe sprawled on one of the couches. Scattered on the table and couch were half a dozen newspapers.
"Nice mess, Chloe!" Pete kidded. "Ever heard of recycling!" He shoved aside some papers and sat down.
"All the papers are covering the Luthor trial," Chloe replied. "The Daily Planet, Gotham Times, Smallville Ledger, Leesburg Free Press, Fawcett City Record . even the Inquisitor!"
"I think I'll just stick to Headline News for my daily dish on the 'trial of the century'," Pete picked up a loose paper from the ground, "and do my part to save a few more trees!"
Detectives Munch and Tutuola opened the door.
"Dum, da dum dum . dum da dum dum dummm", Chloe muttered the Dragnet theme. Pete snickered.
Munch nudged his partner's arm. "Oh look, Fin ... it's the friendly neighbourhood press hacks. I picked up The Torch on Friday afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. Thanks for the front page coverage, by the way."
He flashed the first page: 'NYPD seizes Torch files for Luthor case'
"Just be glad she didn't print your less-than-positive remarks about the Kansas A.-G.," Tutuola added.
"So, you didn't accompany D.A. Southerlyn back to NYC," Chloe noted, "why is that?"
"Off the record?" Munch demanded. He lifted a paper from the table and clicked off a mini-tape recorder. He waved his finger disapprovingly. "That's a no-no, Miss Sullivan. Cops are allowed to entrap people. Not the other way around."
"Our boss wants people here on the ground, for now," Tutuola replied.
"Southerlyn's got some work to do before trial day on Monday," Munch added. "Luthor the Younger has been enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of Sing Sing since his arraignment."
Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't even think I'd want a mental picture of that!"
Lana brought a tray with two drinks. "Hot chocolate for you, Detective Tutuola . and coffee - black - for Detective Munch."
"Let's go, John," Tutuola sipped his drink, "Cragen wants an update tonight."
Munch glanced at the papers strewn on the table. "With all the ink dedicated to the Luthor trial, you'd think there wasn't an impending war on Iraq. Oh, and for the record, our little visit to the Torch wasn't quite as newsworthy as the Crows' upset victory on Friday over the Leesburg Cougars. Considering their quarterback is being scouted by the Sharks, that's front page material."
"Lucky for you, YOU didn't have to make that editorial call," Chloe remarked. "We went to press before the winning touchdown."
As Munch and Tutuola exited the Torch, they noticed Clark leaving the hardware store. Clark tried to avoid their gaze, but it was too late.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Clark," Munch hollered. Clark had a handful of supplies in his arms.
"We're the good guys, Clark," Tutuola insisted, "You're not the one in trouble."
"Yeah? Well it sure feels that way!" Clark declared. "My friend's rotting in some New York prison on Murder One. My friends have to give sworn statements. I'm being forced to testify. How else am I supposed to see it?"
"You know, Kent, this is what I don't get," Munch replied. "I've read some back issues of the Ledger. Luthor Corp. has done nothing but evade, cover up, destroy, or ignore problems right here on their own turf! Lex may not hold the reins of the family business just yet, but don't you think he's been trained to put his interests ahead of others?"
"Lex is not like that," Clark insisted. "He's just misunderstood, that's all! He's done a lot for this community, for Metropolis ."
"Yeah, with strings attached," Munch snickered.
"You don't understand," Clark grumbled. "Believe what you want, Detective Munch. I'll say what I have to say in court. Lex will be proved innocent. You'll see. Excuse me, I've got work to do on the farm." He brushed past the detectives.
Tutuola shook his head. "You really know how to piss people off, John. It's like an art with you."
"Maybe so," Munch replied, "but there's something rotten in this town. And it's not the cow pies."
[Homicide Squad, One Police Plaza, New York City, Monday, December 2, 10 a.m.]
Green chomped on a croissant and sat down in front of Lt. Van Buren's desk. Briscoe finished chewing on his bagel and sipped his coffee.
"You had some news from the Major Case Squad?" Green inquired.
Van Buren pushed a file towards them. "Have a look. You know that Grundini case you helped with?"
Briscoe nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we pinch-hit on that mob raid. The cache of weapons. The place looked like an NRA yard sale!"
"We had the CSU go over the weapons. They had begun to file off the serial numbers, so they couldn't be traced. Good thing the MCS hit the place. Detective Goren was working on the phone records, and came up with a lot of calls to Metropolis."
"A Luthor Corp. connection!" Briscoe beamed.
Van Buren paced around. "We'll see, Lennie. I'm waiting on a call from the JAG office in Texas. Maybe an AWOL soldier's been moonlighting. The stolen weapons were from Fort Hood. And here's the kicker. One of those army knives had blood on it. Chelsea Saunders' blood!"
Briscoe and Green looked stunned. "So we have Lex's motive, then," Green speculated. "Saunders was gonna blow the whistle and Junior did her in - or had her iced -- to stop that from happening."
"Go to interrogation room 2. Detective Eames is grilling Grundini now," Van Buren sat down. "See what's going on."
"Well, Ed, it's back into the trenches for us!" Briscoe remarked.
"Yeah, I guess so," Green replied. He skimmed through the file. It didn't make sense. The mob is usually meticulous about destroying evidence related to their professional hits. No fingerprints. No witnesses. To leave a murder weapon lying around a warehouse seemed, well, careless.
Sloppy. Even for a slime-bag like Louie Grundini.
Grundini was a known hitman. Then why would Lex do the messy deed himself - if he could have just enlisted a professional to do it? That was the problem. Grundini was nowhere near Saunders' condo. As far as they knew.
Lex was. The videotape proved it.
"What a mess," Green muttered to himself.
"You're telling me!" Briscoe replied. "I got blueberry jam all over my sleeve!"
Green laughed. "I was talking to myself, Lennie."
"Ya know, they have shrinks for that sorta problem," Briscoe deadpanned.
[Supreme Court, Trial Part 3, Monday December 2]
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," McCoy asked the witness.
A middle-aged South Asian leaned towards the microphone. "Mohammed Aziz. I'm a driver for Detour Taxi Company."
McCoy examined a scheduling sheet. "Your dispatcher's records indicate that you had just dropped off a fare that night in Manhattan, is that correct?"
"Yes," Aziz replied. "Broadway. A couple going to see 'The Producers'." McCoy continued. "The dispatcher then received a call at 6:35 p.m. A pick- up at Luthor Corp.'s Wall Street offices?"
Aziz leaned towards the microphone again. "Yes, that's correct, sir."
McCoy paced, then stopped beside the prosecution's table. "You arrived at Luthor Corp.'s offices. Did your boss say who would be waiting at the main doorway?"
Aziz glanced nervously towards the defendant's table. "My dispatcher told me that I was to pick up Lex Luthor."
McCoy strolled towards the witness stand. "Mr. Aziz, is the person you picked up that night in this room today?"
"Yes." Aziz stated.
"Please point to this person," McCoy said. Aziz pointed towards the defendant's table. At Lex Luthor.
"Let the record show that the witness identified the defendant, Lex Luthor, as his fare," McCoy declared. "And where did you take Mr. Luthor, sir?"
"I drove him to Versailles Condominiums," Aziz replied.
"... where Chelsea Saunders would later be found dead," McCoy added.
Richard Goldstein, Lex's attorney, shook his head in protest. "Your Honour, the people are drawing conclusions for the jury!"
"Withdrawn," McCoy smirked as he sat down.
Goldstein immediately stood up. "Mr. Aziz, is Lex Luthor the only bald fare you've ever picked up in New York City?"
"Relevance, Your Honour?" McCoy barked.
"Let me rephrase," Goldstein grinned. "Mr. Aziz, how many hours do you work a day?"
"12 to 14 hours," the taxi driver replied. "I have to support my family."
"And during this 12- to 14-hour workday," Goldstein paced across the floor, "could you remember the name of every single fare you picked up?"
"That's a lot of people," Aziz smiled.
"And on that night, how many fares did you drive around?" Goldstein asked. "Probably around 20 to 25," Aziz answered.
"Probably?" Goldstein paused.
"Your Honour, the people will concede that Mr. Aziz won't remember the face of the hundreds of fares he picks up over the course of a week," McCoy growled impatiently.
"Mr. Aziz," Goldstein continued, "Can you name all the fares you picked up that night?"
"No, I -" Aziz blurted.
"Then how can you be sure that the man you picked up at 6:40 p.m. was Lex Luthor?" Goldstein demanded. "Your dispatcher may have told you that you were picking up Lex Luthor, but you might have just picked up some guy with male-pattern baldness!"
"Do you take me for a fool?!" Aziz exclaimed. "I read the papers and watch the news. I know who I picked up!" He pointed towards Lex. "That man is Lex Luthor, is he not?! That was the man I drove to Versailles Condos."
"No further questions, Your Honour," Goldstein sighed.
Lex leaned towards his team of attorneys. "Is that the basis of my defense?" he whispered angrily. "Male-pattern baldness? My father's not paying you $600/hr to practise bush-league law! I'm charged with Murder One - a capital offence!"
"I was merely challenging the jury to consider the testimony's validity," Goldstein insisted, "It's just a bump in the road. Don't sweat it, Lex."
McCoy conferred with Southerlyn. Mr. Aziz had identified Lex as the man he drove to Park Avenue. That's all they wanted to achieve this morning: to establish that Lex Luthor was at Versailles Condominiums by 6:45 p.m. Ample time for him to commit murder by 7 p.m.
Both the prosecution and defense questioned the taxi dispatcher, Mr. Adrian Solensky. McCoy had the dispatcher confirm that Luthor Corp. called for a cab. Goldstein tried to suggest that Mr. Solensky, too, was over-worked and perhaps did not send a cab to Wall Street. Unfortunately for the defense, Mr. Solensky kept meticulous - and computerized - records.
Ergo, reducing the chances of human error, Goldstein grumbled. Round 1 to D.A. McCoy.
Judge Fitzwater's gavel announced the lunch recess. Proceedings to resume at 1 p.m. sharp.
A horde of reporters greeted Lex and his attorneys. "Any thoughts on this morning's proceedings, Mr. Luthor?" one TV reporter asked.
"I've been advised not to elaborate on anything in the trial so far," Lex replied. "But I will say this. I am innocent."
Goldstein basked in the media spotlight. "The prosecution is building their case on coincidences, shoddy police work and Houdini trial tricks! Only one thing is certain: Lex will be exonerated. You won't want to miss this afternoon. It'll be quite the show!"
McCoy and Southerlyn peered at the cameras and reporters huddled around Goldstein.
"What a peacock!" McCoy scowled. "Richard is toying with the media to spin doctor his less-than-admirable performance at trial!"
Southerlyn paused. "As if you never used the media as a soapbox, Jack!"
McCoy laughed. "That's the difference between the prosecution and defense. When I speak to the media, I'm speaking to the people whose rights I'm protecting. When Goldstein struts before the cameras, he's playing to the only crowd that matters to him ..."
"Wall Street tycoons?" Southerlyn guessed.
"Well, them too," McCoy replied. "I was going to say Luthor Corp.'s ruling oligarchy. Daddy Luthor and his courtiers, after all, are footing Lex's legal bill."
A loud buzzer echoed through the hall. The correctional officer yanked open the bar door. Across the hall, a pair of prisoners noticed Mrs. Kent and whistled. The guards quickly hustled them back to their cells.
"They get excited at anything with a skirt," the officer remarked. "Luthor's at window No. 3."
Lex's face brightened at the sight of a familiar face. "Mrs. Kent?"
Martha waved from behind the Plexiglas window and picked up the phone receiver. "I just had to check up on you. We haven't heard anything from you since you were arrested!"
"You can thank the New York District Attorney's office for my stringent conditions. Solitary confinement." He winced in pain. "Not to mention that I was kicked in the stomach by some nutcase with something against Luthor Corp."
"Are you alright?" Martha asked.
"I'll live," Lex replied. "Anyway, I won't be in this fine establishment for long. I'll be moving shortly to the hospitality of Riker's Island for the duration of the trial. Is that why you're here in New York?"
Martha nodded. "I'm supposed to provide your legal team with any assistance . and keep your father informed of the trial developments."
"Ahh, yes. My father has much at stake in this trial," Lex grumbled. "It's the Luthor name on trial. A conviction would drag down the value of Luthor Corp.'s stock. and alienate political allies in the Empire State."
"There's something else," Martha added. "Clark is under subpoena to testify as a witness."
Lex rubbed his face slowly in disbelief. He did not want his friend involved in this farce. He struggled to insulate the Kents from the political intrigues of his father. But D.A. McCoy lived up to his reputation as a relentless prosecutor.
I failed, he muttered to himself. Clark was the only person in Smallville who gave me his friendship with no strings attached. Now Clark is being forced to test his faith in me. Again.
Too many uncertainties, Lex feared. I can't afford to lose the only true friend I have now.
"I'm sorry Clark had to be dragged into this," Lex stated. "Is he already in New York?"
"No," Martha answered. "He won't be called to testify until later."
Lex could see that Mrs. Kent was genuinely worried. Clark was lucky to have such caring and devoted parents.
"Don't let the trial bother you, Mrs. Kent," Lex insisted. "Mark my words: I'll be home for Christmas."
"I'm sure we all will!" Martha agreed. "I know you had nothing to do with that poor girl's death."
A loud buzzer announced the arrival of the correctional officer. "Mrs. Kent? Time's up."
"Clark sends his regards," Martha said. "Did you know he wanted to reject the subpoena?"
"I hope he had the sense to comply," Lex joked, "Riker's is crowded enough as it is. Thank you for coming by to visit, Mrs. Kent. It . means a lot to me."
"I'll see you at the trial, Lex." Martha hung up the phone and walked down the corridor.
Lex's guard walked towards him. "Just in time for lunch, Lex." He re- attached Lex's handcuffs.
"Oh great," Lex groaned. "Coagulated gravy and Salisbury steak again?"
He shuffled back to his cell for another meal. Alone.
[The Talon, Smallville, Sunday, December 1]
Pete entered The Talon and noticed Chloe sprawled on one of the couches. Scattered on the table and couch were half a dozen newspapers.
"Nice mess, Chloe!" Pete kidded. "Ever heard of recycling!" He shoved aside some papers and sat down.
"All the papers are covering the Luthor trial," Chloe replied. "The Daily Planet, Gotham Times, Smallville Ledger, Leesburg Free Press, Fawcett City Record . even the Inquisitor!"
"I think I'll just stick to Headline News for my daily dish on the 'trial of the century'," Pete picked up a loose paper from the ground, "and do my part to save a few more trees!"
Detectives Munch and Tutuola opened the door.
"Dum, da dum dum . dum da dum dum dummm", Chloe muttered the Dragnet theme. Pete snickered.
Munch nudged his partner's arm. "Oh look, Fin ... it's the friendly neighbourhood press hacks. I picked up The Torch on Friday afternoon, Ms. Sullivan. Thanks for the front page coverage, by the way."
He flashed the first page: 'NYPD seizes Torch files for Luthor case'
"Just be glad she didn't print your less-than-positive remarks about the Kansas A.-G.," Tutuola added.
"So, you didn't accompany D.A. Southerlyn back to NYC," Chloe noted, "why is that?"
"Off the record?" Munch demanded. He lifted a paper from the table and clicked off a mini-tape recorder. He waved his finger disapprovingly. "That's a no-no, Miss Sullivan. Cops are allowed to entrap people. Not the other way around."
"Our boss wants people here on the ground, for now," Tutuola replied.
"Southerlyn's got some work to do before trial day on Monday," Munch added. "Luthor the Younger has been enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of Sing Sing since his arraignment."
Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't even think I'd want a mental picture of that!"
Lana brought a tray with two drinks. "Hot chocolate for you, Detective Tutuola . and coffee - black - for Detective Munch."
"Let's go, John," Tutuola sipped his drink, "Cragen wants an update tonight."
Munch glanced at the papers strewn on the table. "With all the ink dedicated to the Luthor trial, you'd think there wasn't an impending war on Iraq. Oh, and for the record, our little visit to the Torch wasn't quite as newsworthy as the Crows' upset victory on Friday over the Leesburg Cougars. Considering their quarterback is being scouted by the Sharks, that's front page material."
"Lucky for you, YOU didn't have to make that editorial call," Chloe remarked. "We went to press before the winning touchdown."
As Munch and Tutuola exited the Torch, they noticed Clark leaving the hardware store. Clark tried to avoid their gaze, but it was too late.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Clark," Munch hollered. Clark had a handful of supplies in his arms.
"We're the good guys, Clark," Tutuola insisted, "You're not the one in trouble."
"Yeah? Well it sure feels that way!" Clark declared. "My friend's rotting in some New York prison on Murder One. My friends have to give sworn statements. I'm being forced to testify. How else am I supposed to see it?"
"You know, Kent, this is what I don't get," Munch replied. "I've read some back issues of the Ledger. Luthor Corp. has done nothing but evade, cover up, destroy, or ignore problems right here on their own turf! Lex may not hold the reins of the family business just yet, but don't you think he's been trained to put his interests ahead of others?"
"Lex is not like that," Clark insisted. "He's just misunderstood, that's all! He's done a lot for this community, for Metropolis ."
"Yeah, with strings attached," Munch snickered.
"You don't understand," Clark grumbled. "Believe what you want, Detective Munch. I'll say what I have to say in court. Lex will be proved innocent. You'll see. Excuse me, I've got work to do on the farm." He brushed past the detectives.
Tutuola shook his head. "You really know how to piss people off, John. It's like an art with you."
"Maybe so," Munch replied, "but there's something rotten in this town. And it's not the cow pies."
[Homicide Squad, One Police Plaza, New York City, Monday, December 2, 10 a.m.]
Green chomped on a croissant and sat down in front of Lt. Van Buren's desk. Briscoe finished chewing on his bagel and sipped his coffee.
"You had some news from the Major Case Squad?" Green inquired.
Van Buren pushed a file towards them. "Have a look. You know that Grundini case you helped with?"
Briscoe nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we pinch-hit on that mob raid. The cache of weapons. The place looked like an NRA yard sale!"
"We had the CSU go over the weapons. They had begun to file off the serial numbers, so they couldn't be traced. Good thing the MCS hit the place. Detective Goren was working on the phone records, and came up with a lot of calls to Metropolis."
"A Luthor Corp. connection!" Briscoe beamed.
Van Buren paced around. "We'll see, Lennie. I'm waiting on a call from the JAG office in Texas. Maybe an AWOL soldier's been moonlighting. The stolen weapons were from Fort Hood. And here's the kicker. One of those army knives had blood on it. Chelsea Saunders' blood!"
Briscoe and Green looked stunned. "So we have Lex's motive, then," Green speculated. "Saunders was gonna blow the whistle and Junior did her in - or had her iced -- to stop that from happening."
"Go to interrogation room 2. Detective Eames is grilling Grundini now," Van Buren sat down. "See what's going on."
"Well, Ed, it's back into the trenches for us!" Briscoe remarked.
"Yeah, I guess so," Green replied. He skimmed through the file. It didn't make sense. The mob is usually meticulous about destroying evidence related to their professional hits. No fingerprints. No witnesses. To leave a murder weapon lying around a warehouse seemed, well, careless.
Sloppy. Even for a slime-bag like Louie Grundini.
Grundini was a known hitman. Then why would Lex do the messy deed himself - if he could have just enlisted a professional to do it? That was the problem. Grundini was nowhere near Saunders' condo. As far as they knew.
Lex was. The videotape proved it.
"What a mess," Green muttered to himself.
"You're telling me!" Briscoe replied. "I got blueberry jam all over my sleeve!"
Green laughed. "I was talking to myself, Lennie."
"Ya know, they have shrinks for that sorta problem," Briscoe deadpanned.
[Supreme Court, Trial Part 3, Monday December 2]
"Please state your name and occupation for the record," McCoy asked the witness.
A middle-aged South Asian leaned towards the microphone. "Mohammed Aziz. I'm a driver for Detour Taxi Company."
McCoy examined a scheduling sheet. "Your dispatcher's records indicate that you had just dropped off a fare that night in Manhattan, is that correct?"
"Yes," Aziz replied. "Broadway. A couple going to see 'The Producers'." McCoy continued. "The dispatcher then received a call at 6:35 p.m. A pick- up at Luthor Corp.'s Wall Street offices?"
Aziz leaned towards the microphone again. "Yes, that's correct, sir."
McCoy paced, then stopped beside the prosecution's table. "You arrived at Luthor Corp.'s offices. Did your boss say who would be waiting at the main doorway?"
Aziz glanced nervously towards the defendant's table. "My dispatcher told me that I was to pick up Lex Luthor."
McCoy strolled towards the witness stand. "Mr. Aziz, is the person you picked up that night in this room today?"
"Yes." Aziz stated.
"Please point to this person," McCoy said. Aziz pointed towards the defendant's table. At Lex Luthor.
"Let the record show that the witness identified the defendant, Lex Luthor, as his fare," McCoy declared. "And where did you take Mr. Luthor, sir?"
"I drove him to Versailles Condominiums," Aziz replied.
"... where Chelsea Saunders would later be found dead," McCoy added.
Richard Goldstein, Lex's attorney, shook his head in protest. "Your Honour, the people are drawing conclusions for the jury!"
"Withdrawn," McCoy smirked as he sat down.
Goldstein immediately stood up. "Mr. Aziz, is Lex Luthor the only bald fare you've ever picked up in New York City?"
"Relevance, Your Honour?" McCoy barked.
"Let me rephrase," Goldstein grinned. "Mr. Aziz, how many hours do you work a day?"
"12 to 14 hours," the taxi driver replied. "I have to support my family."
"And during this 12- to 14-hour workday," Goldstein paced across the floor, "could you remember the name of every single fare you picked up?"
"That's a lot of people," Aziz smiled.
"And on that night, how many fares did you drive around?" Goldstein asked. "Probably around 20 to 25," Aziz answered.
"Probably?" Goldstein paused.
"Your Honour, the people will concede that Mr. Aziz won't remember the face of the hundreds of fares he picks up over the course of a week," McCoy growled impatiently.
"Mr. Aziz," Goldstein continued, "Can you name all the fares you picked up that night?"
"No, I -" Aziz blurted.
"Then how can you be sure that the man you picked up at 6:40 p.m. was Lex Luthor?" Goldstein demanded. "Your dispatcher may have told you that you were picking up Lex Luthor, but you might have just picked up some guy with male-pattern baldness!"
"Do you take me for a fool?!" Aziz exclaimed. "I read the papers and watch the news. I know who I picked up!" He pointed towards Lex. "That man is Lex Luthor, is he not?! That was the man I drove to Versailles Condos."
"No further questions, Your Honour," Goldstein sighed.
Lex leaned towards his team of attorneys. "Is that the basis of my defense?" he whispered angrily. "Male-pattern baldness? My father's not paying you $600/hr to practise bush-league law! I'm charged with Murder One - a capital offence!"
"I was merely challenging the jury to consider the testimony's validity," Goldstein insisted, "It's just a bump in the road. Don't sweat it, Lex."
McCoy conferred with Southerlyn. Mr. Aziz had identified Lex as the man he drove to Park Avenue. That's all they wanted to achieve this morning: to establish that Lex Luthor was at Versailles Condominiums by 6:45 p.m. Ample time for him to commit murder by 7 p.m.
Both the prosecution and defense questioned the taxi dispatcher, Mr. Adrian Solensky. McCoy had the dispatcher confirm that Luthor Corp. called for a cab. Goldstein tried to suggest that Mr. Solensky, too, was over-worked and perhaps did not send a cab to Wall Street. Unfortunately for the defense, Mr. Solensky kept meticulous - and computerized - records.
Ergo, reducing the chances of human error, Goldstein grumbled. Round 1 to D.A. McCoy.
Judge Fitzwater's gavel announced the lunch recess. Proceedings to resume at 1 p.m. sharp.
A horde of reporters greeted Lex and his attorneys. "Any thoughts on this morning's proceedings, Mr. Luthor?" one TV reporter asked.
"I've been advised not to elaborate on anything in the trial so far," Lex replied. "But I will say this. I am innocent."
Goldstein basked in the media spotlight. "The prosecution is building their case on coincidences, shoddy police work and Houdini trial tricks! Only one thing is certain: Lex will be exonerated. You won't want to miss this afternoon. It'll be quite the show!"
McCoy and Southerlyn peered at the cameras and reporters huddled around Goldstein.
"What a peacock!" McCoy scowled. "Richard is toying with the media to spin doctor his less-than-admirable performance at trial!"
Southerlyn paused. "As if you never used the media as a soapbox, Jack!"
McCoy laughed. "That's the difference between the prosecution and defense. When I speak to the media, I'm speaking to the people whose rights I'm protecting. When Goldstein struts before the cameras, he's playing to the only crowd that matters to him ..."
"Wall Street tycoons?" Southerlyn guessed.
"Well, them too," McCoy replied. "I was going to say Luthor Corp.'s ruling oligarchy. Daddy Luthor and his courtiers, after all, are footing Lex's legal bill."