[SVU, One Police Plaza, Manhattan, Monday, December 2]
Detective Stabler opened the door to Cragen's office - cup of coffee in hand.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" he mumbled between sips.
"How are things going with you?" Cragen asked.
Stabler hesitated. He knew what the captain was alluding to. "I realize Detective Benson has some concerns about how I'm coping with the investigation, the long hours. I'm fine."
"Look, I know how things seem out of whack now - with the Connors investigations, now the Luthor mess. Once Munch and Tutuola come back from Smallville, we won't be short of hands."
He paused. Stabler was a good cop. With a young family. He had logged so much overtime over the past month and a half. Cragen had seen good cops hit the breaking point before, where their judgment and sense became clouded. Even unreliable. Was Elliot really on the brink?
"With all your overtime ..." Cragen began, "I think you should, maybe, take a day or two off. You've earned it. Live in the real world. Spend time with your daughter ... your family."
Stabler slurped the final drops of coffee. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm just a little on edge, that's all. We can't let up on Connors. Or Lex Luthor, for that matter. I'm not gonna let a bad day get in the way of my work."
Cragen closed the blinds of his office. "Elliot, I've been a cop long enough to know that, when you have a family, you feel you have to wear different hats." He glanced at the photos on his wall. From his police academy days, press clippings of successful arrests. Funeral marches for fallen officers. This job - to be an NYPD officer - was about making sacrifices.
And the strains of the job were slowing eating away at one of his finest officers.
Cragen continued. "You feel you have to be 'one of the boys' at the precinct, a devoted father to your kids, a supportive husband to your wife. I know you wanna be 'the man' for all occasions. This job doesn't make it easy. If you'd like to talk to someone, I could put in a confidential call to Dr. Olivet. This would only be between you and me. Nothing you talk about leaves this office."
Stabler adjusted the suspenders on his shoulders. "I don't need a shrink to crawl into my head. It's just stress, okay? And you know I make a point of keeping my homelife out of the office. Private. I'm asking you not to pull me off the investigation. I've hit rough patches before - and I've got through them. I appreciate your concern, but I'm ... alright."
As he opened the door, Cragen interrupted. "Olivia's watching your back, detective. You just make sure you watch hers."
Cragen walked over to the wall of photos again. He hoped that letting Stabler walk out that door and remain on active duty wasn't a mistake.
[Supreme Court, Manhattan, NYC, 12:50 p.m.]
Assistant D.A. Serena Southerlyn sipped her orange juice, listening intently as Jack continued on his lunch hour tirade about the increasing politicization of the D.A.'s office since 9/11.
"Hell, I don't even know how many players have their fingers in Arthur's honey jar anymore!" Jack quipped.
"I wouldn't be so quick to discredit those players, Jack!" Serena replied. "Some of those fingers belong to people you would also call friends. Friends who could be quite useful to you - should you make a run for Branch's job one day."
Jack puzzled expression and feigned protests proved that her verbal barb had hit its mark. Jack McCoy was a tough competitor. And ambitious. Jack detested the way politicians flaunted the trappings of power. But he also possessed the idealism that usually drives private citizens to seek public office. That need to make a difference was likely born out of the civil activism of McCoy's generation: the anti-war boomers. Convicting Lex Luthor would no doubt be a fine feather in his already flourishing legal cap.
It could also be a springboard to something much larger. If Jack dared to imagine that possibility.
As they turned the corner, they walked into Martha Kent. No longer in Smallville-chic jeans and casual top, Mrs. Kent was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey pantsuit. She held a bundle of files and folders in her arms.
"Mrs. Kent? I didn't expect to see you in New York so soon?" Serena wondered. "Clark's not expected to testify until later."
"As you know, I'm working for Lionel Luthor," Martha replied. "I'm here to provide administrative help for Lex's legal team for the duration of the trial."
"I hope Lionel's footing the bill for you, Mrs. Kent," Jack stated. "Luthor Corp.'s pockets are certainly deep enough."
"Mr. Luthor has been kind enough to provide me with a hotel room, salary and expenses," Martha answered. She checked the clock above the courtroom entrance. "Oops! I've got to get these files to Mr. Goldstein before the deliberations continue. Bye!"
"Martha Kent, the quintessential midwestern working mother ... in the employ of the insufferable Lionel Luthor? It's Norman Rockwell-meets- Machiavelli! I hope she knows what's she's in for."
"She's a good person, Jack," Southerlyn insisted. "She went to college in Metropolis. Just because the closest you've ever gotten to farm life is the grocery vegetable aisle ... doesn't mean you can label her a clueless hick being blindly led on a fool's errand by city slicker Lionel! New York isn't the centre of the civilized world, you know ..."
"Perhaps your time in Smallville has tilted your judgment, counsellor?" Jack grinned. Only not entirely in jest.
As the afternoon session continued, McCoy called Luthor Corp.'s V.P. of operations, Dan Gonzalves. Mr. Gonzalves was visibly uncomfortable, constantly tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.
Not surprising, since the boss' son was mere feet from him.
"Mr. Gonzalves, please explain to us the purpose of Suite 3015 in Versailles Luxury Condominiums, Park Avenue?" McCoy inquired.
"Luthor Corp., as you know," Gonzalves began, "has employees around the globe. Sometimes, they may need to spend a weekend in the Big Apple for a critical project."
"Is it not true, Mr. Gonzalves, that employees may even stay weeks, or longer ... depending on the project," McCoy continued, "as was the case with Ms. Chelsea Saunders."
"Yes." Gonzalves gulped.
"Chelsea Saunders was a junior public relations assistant in Luthor Corp.'s Marketing Department, correct?" McCoy asked.
"Ummm, yes she was," Gonzalves replied. "Actually, it was her first 'big break' on Wall Street. Before the Corp., she had worked in a part-time capacity for some dot-com startup. She was a hard worker."
"And she stayed at Versailles ... since September?" McCoy raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, she stayed there since September," Gonzalves answered. "One could say it was a no-risk situation. She could live in Manhattan ... and be close to work. Her job required a lot of client contact, irregular hours. And in the event she wasn't up to the task ..."
"... she could be given a pink slip and sent home without worrying about rent or a lease hanging over her head ..."
"Well, yes, that's it," Gonzalves muttered. "She was from Illinois. But she was an excellent employee, so living and working in Manhattan worked out well for her."
McCoy walked over to a wooden table. "Your Honour, I'd like to present People's Exhibit A1: the master key to suite 3015." He dangled the bagged key, with the Luthor logo embossed on the keychain. "For the record, Mr. Gonzalves ... how many sets of keys does your Wall Street office hold to suite 3015."
Gonzalves glanced nervously around. At the defendant's table, Lex studied the V.P.'s fidgeting. He's looking for an out, Lex wondered to himself. An exit.
"Mr. Gonzalves?" McCoy prodded.
Gonzalves took a breath. "Two sets, Mr. McCoy. That one you now have ... and the employee's set."
McCoy walked over to the evidence table again. "You mean this one?" He dangled another bagged set of keys. "This is People's Exhibit A2, the set of keys found in Chelsea Saunders' purse. Homicide detectives found no signs of forced entry. No tampered locks. Nothing to indicate robbery."
McCoy approached the witness stand. "Explain to me, sir, how anyone could have opened that suite door - if the master set was sitting in your Wall Street offices and the employee set was in Chelsea's purse?"
"Maybe someone followed her inside," Gonzalves replied.
"Oh really," McCoy sneered. "What insight. No wonder you're vice president of operations!"
"Objection!" grumbled Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein.
"Withdrawn," McCoy continued. "Since Ms. Saunders had her keys, the only means of access - other than the possibility that someone followed her inside - would have been the master set of keys."
"That's impossible!" Gonzalves declared. "We have strict procedures. The only people who have custody of the master keys are senior executives."
"Meaning no one lower than a vice president," McCoy stated. "That would also include Lex Luthor, correct?"
"Mr. Luthor isn't involved in day-to-day activities ..." Gonzalves blurted, as his eyes darted across the courtroom.
"That's not the question I asked!" McCoy insisted. "Lex Luthor had access to the master keys for suite 3015 - yes or no!"
"He's badgering the witness!" Goldstein stood up to protest.
"He's avoiding the question, Your Honour," McCoy said.
Judge Fitzwater nodded. "Objection denied. The witness will answer the question."
Gonzalves bowed his head. "Yes."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Gonzalves," McCoy announced, "could you repeat that again?"
"I said yes, Mr. Luthor would have access to the master keys," Gonzalves wiped his brow.
"Did Lex Luthor have access to the master keys on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder: yes or no?"
"Yes." Gonzalves replied.
McCoy placed the master keys atop the witness stand. "Under oath, can you declare that you knew the whereabouts of these keys on the night in question?"
"No, Mr. McCoy," Gonzalves reluctantly muttered, "I cannot."
McCoy grinned. "No further questions."
Goldstein adjusted his tie. "Mr. Gonzalves, you say that there are two sets of keys for the Versailles condo, correct?"
Gonzalves nodded. "Yes ... umm, I do."
Goldstein fumbled in his suit pocket. "Are you familiar with Long Island Locksmiths, Mr. Gonzalves?"
"No, sir, I am not," Gonzalves insisted.
McCoy and Southerlyn glanced at each other nervously. What's he up to?
Goldstein yanked out another set of keys and slammed it atop the witness stand. "These keys, sir, are duplicates of the master key set. Made by Long Island Locksmiths. Why is that?"
McCoy immediately stood up. "Objection, Your Honour. The people were unaware of an additional set of keys!"
Judge Fitzwater scowled at Goldstein. "Both of you. In my chambers, now!"
"I don't know what kind of parlour tricks you have up your sleeve, Richard, but don't expect me to put up with it!" McCoy snarled as he closed the doors of Judge Fitzwater's chambers.
"Believe me, Jack, I learned about the third set of keys during the lunch hour," Goldstein declared.
The judge scratched his head. "I'm with the D.A. on this one, counsellor. You have exactly five minutes to explain your tactics or I'll move to strike your cross-examination!"
"Your Honour," Goldstein began, "my client's conviction is based on the assumption that only he had the means to gain entry that night to the Saunders' condo. This new set of keys brings that entire allegation to question."
McCoy rolled his eyes in disbelief. "But it doesn't bring Luthor's motive or opportunity to commit the crime into doubt. I'm not hinging my prosecution on whether or not there were three or 30 keys available!"
"How did you find out about this new set of master keys?" the judge inquired.
"My administrative assistant, Mrs. Kent, noticed a bill of sale in Luthor Corp.'s 1st quarter records," Goldstein stated as he presented the bill to Judge Fitzwater. "I'm prepared to enter this and related documents as part of the evidence."
The judge studied the documents and began to nod. "Make the connection quickly, Mr. Goldstein, or I will strike down this line of questioning."
McCoy protested emphatically. "Your Honour, he's going to lead the jury on a wild goose chase to distract them from the fact that Lex Luthor was in the building at the time of the murder, had the motive, the means and the opportunity to cover up the crime!"
"Well, then, Mr. McCoy," Judge Fitzwater replied, "I'm sure you are capable of making those facts clearer to them." He pointed at both of them. "I want no more surprises. From either of you!"
As the attorneys returned to the courtroom, Mrs. Kent glanced towards Lex, who exchanged a confident grin. McCoy spotted their glances, then glared at her.
His icy stare sent a shudder down her back. She had thrown up a potential roadblock in the D.A.'s prosecution.
Jack was displeased. That didn't bode well for Clark, she feared.
Detective Stabler opened the door to Cragen's office - cup of coffee in hand.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" he mumbled between sips.
"How are things going with you?" Cragen asked.
Stabler hesitated. He knew what the captain was alluding to. "I realize Detective Benson has some concerns about how I'm coping with the investigation, the long hours. I'm fine."
"Look, I know how things seem out of whack now - with the Connors investigations, now the Luthor mess. Once Munch and Tutuola come back from Smallville, we won't be short of hands."
He paused. Stabler was a good cop. With a young family. He had logged so much overtime over the past month and a half. Cragen had seen good cops hit the breaking point before, where their judgment and sense became clouded. Even unreliable. Was Elliot really on the brink?
"With all your overtime ..." Cragen began, "I think you should, maybe, take a day or two off. You've earned it. Live in the real world. Spend time with your daughter ... your family."
Stabler slurped the final drops of coffee. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm just a little on edge, that's all. We can't let up on Connors. Or Lex Luthor, for that matter. I'm not gonna let a bad day get in the way of my work."
Cragen closed the blinds of his office. "Elliot, I've been a cop long enough to know that, when you have a family, you feel you have to wear different hats." He glanced at the photos on his wall. From his police academy days, press clippings of successful arrests. Funeral marches for fallen officers. This job - to be an NYPD officer - was about making sacrifices.
And the strains of the job were slowing eating away at one of his finest officers.
Cragen continued. "You feel you have to be 'one of the boys' at the precinct, a devoted father to your kids, a supportive husband to your wife. I know you wanna be 'the man' for all occasions. This job doesn't make it easy. If you'd like to talk to someone, I could put in a confidential call to Dr. Olivet. This would only be between you and me. Nothing you talk about leaves this office."
Stabler adjusted the suspenders on his shoulders. "I don't need a shrink to crawl into my head. It's just stress, okay? And you know I make a point of keeping my homelife out of the office. Private. I'm asking you not to pull me off the investigation. I've hit rough patches before - and I've got through them. I appreciate your concern, but I'm ... alright."
As he opened the door, Cragen interrupted. "Olivia's watching your back, detective. You just make sure you watch hers."
Cragen walked over to the wall of photos again. He hoped that letting Stabler walk out that door and remain on active duty wasn't a mistake.
[Supreme Court, Manhattan, NYC, 12:50 p.m.]
Assistant D.A. Serena Southerlyn sipped her orange juice, listening intently as Jack continued on his lunch hour tirade about the increasing politicization of the D.A.'s office since 9/11.
"Hell, I don't even know how many players have their fingers in Arthur's honey jar anymore!" Jack quipped.
"I wouldn't be so quick to discredit those players, Jack!" Serena replied. "Some of those fingers belong to people you would also call friends. Friends who could be quite useful to you - should you make a run for Branch's job one day."
Jack puzzled expression and feigned protests proved that her verbal barb had hit its mark. Jack McCoy was a tough competitor. And ambitious. Jack detested the way politicians flaunted the trappings of power. But he also possessed the idealism that usually drives private citizens to seek public office. That need to make a difference was likely born out of the civil activism of McCoy's generation: the anti-war boomers. Convicting Lex Luthor would no doubt be a fine feather in his already flourishing legal cap.
It could also be a springboard to something much larger. If Jack dared to imagine that possibility.
As they turned the corner, they walked into Martha Kent. No longer in Smallville-chic jeans and casual top, Mrs. Kent was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey pantsuit. She held a bundle of files and folders in her arms.
"Mrs. Kent? I didn't expect to see you in New York so soon?" Serena wondered. "Clark's not expected to testify until later."
"As you know, I'm working for Lionel Luthor," Martha replied. "I'm here to provide administrative help for Lex's legal team for the duration of the trial."
"I hope Lionel's footing the bill for you, Mrs. Kent," Jack stated. "Luthor Corp.'s pockets are certainly deep enough."
"Mr. Luthor has been kind enough to provide me with a hotel room, salary and expenses," Martha answered. She checked the clock above the courtroom entrance. "Oops! I've got to get these files to Mr. Goldstein before the deliberations continue. Bye!"
"Martha Kent, the quintessential midwestern working mother ... in the employ of the insufferable Lionel Luthor? It's Norman Rockwell-meets- Machiavelli! I hope she knows what's she's in for."
"She's a good person, Jack," Southerlyn insisted. "She went to college in Metropolis. Just because the closest you've ever gotten to farm life is the grocery vegetable aisle ... doesn't mean you can label her a clueless hick being blindly led on a fool's errand by city slicker Lionel! New York isn't the centre of the civilized world, you know ..."
"Perhaps your time in Smallville has tilted your judgment, counsellor?" Jack grinned. Only not entirely in jest.
As the afternoon session continued, McCoy called Luthor Corp.'s V.P. of operations, Dan Gonzalves. Mr. Gonzalves was visibly uncomfortable, constantly tugging at the collar of his dress shirt.
Not surprising, since the boss' son was mere feet from him.
"Mr. Gonzalves, please explain to us the purpose of Suite 3015 in Versailles Luxury Condominiums, Park Avenue?" McCoy inquired.
"Luthor Corp., as you know," Gonzalves began, "has employees around the globe. Sometimes, they may need to spend a weekend in the Big Apple for a critical project."
"Is it not true, Mr. Gonzalves, that employees may even stay weeks, or longer ... depending on the project," McCoy continued, "as was the case with Ms. Chelsea Saunders."
"Yes." Gonzalves gulped.
"Chelsea Saunders was a junior public relations assistant in Luthor Corp.'s Marketing Department, correct?" McCoy asked.
"Ummm, yes she was," Gonzalves replied. "Actually, it was her first 'big break' on Wall Street. Before the Corp., she had worked in a part-time capacity for some dot-com startup. She was a hard worker."
"And she stayed at Versailles ... since September?" McCoy raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, she stayed there since September," Gonzalves answered. "One could say it was a no-risk situation. She could live in Manhattan ... and be close to work. Her job required a lot of client contact, irregular hours. And in the event she wasn't up to the task ..."
"... she could be given a pink slip and sent home without worrying about rent or a lease hanging over her head ..."
"Well, yes, that's it," Gonzalves muttered. "She was from Illinois. But she was an excellent employee, so living and working in Manhattan worked out well for her."
McCoy walked over to a wooden table. "Your Honour, I'd like to present People's Exhibit A1: the master key to suite 3015." He dangled the bagged key, with the Luthor logo embossed on the keychain. "For the record, Mr. Gonzalves ... how many sets of keys does your Wall Street office hold to suite 3015."
Gonzalves glanced nervously around. At the defendant's table, Lex studied the V.P.'s fidgeting. He's looking for an out, Lex wondered to himself. An exit.
"Mr. Gonzalves?" McCoy prodded.
Gonzalves took a breath. "Two sets, Mr. McCoy. That one you now have ... and the employee's set."
McCoy walked over to the evidence table again. "You mean this one?" He dangled another bagged set of keys. "This is People's Exhibit A2, the set of keys found in Chelsea Saunders' purse. Homicide detectives found no signs of forced entry. No tampered locks. Nothing to indicate robbery."
McCoy approached the witness stand. "Explain to me, sir, how anyone could have opened that suite door - if the master set was sitting in your Wall Street offices and the employee set was in Chelsea's purse?"
"Maybe someone followed her inside," Gonzalves replied.
"Oh really," McCoy sneered. "What insight. No wonder you're vice president of operations!"
"Objection!" grumbled Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein.
"Withdrawn," McCoy continued. "Since Ms. Saunders had her keys, the only means of access - other than the possibility that someone followed her inside - would have been the master set of keys."
"That's impossible!" Gonzalves declared. "We have strict procedures. The only people who have custody of the master keys are senior executives."
"Meaning no one lower than a vice president," McCoy stated. "That would also include Lex Luthor, correct?"
"Mr. Luthor isn't involved in day-to-day activities ..." Gonzalves blurted, as his eyes darted across the courtroom.
"That's not the question I asked!" McCoy insisted. "Lex Luthor had access to the master keys for suite 3015 - yes or no!"
"He's badgering the witness!" Goldstein stood up to protest.
"He's avoiding the question, Your Honour," McCoy said.
Judge Fitzwater nodded. "Objection denied. The witness will answer the question."
Gonzalves bowed his head. "Yes."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Gonzalves," McCoy announced, "could you repeat that again?"
"I said yes, Mr. Luthor would have access to the master keys," Gonzalves wiped his brow.
"Did Lex Luthor have access to the master keys on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder: yes or no?"
"Yes." Gonzalves replied.
McCoy placed the master keys atop the witness stand. "Under oath, can you declare that you knew the whereabouts of these keys on the night in question?"
"No, Mr. McCoy," Gonzalves reluctantly muttered, "I cannot."
McCoy grinned. "No further questions."
Goldstein adjusted his tie. "Mr. Gonzalves, you say that there are two sets of keys for the Versailles condo, correct?"
Gonzalves nodded. "Yes ... umm, I do."
Goldstein fumbled in his suit pocket. "Are you familiar with Long Island Locksmiths, Mr. Gonzalves?"
"No, sir, I am not," Gonzalves insisted.
McCoy and Southerlyn glanced at each other nervously. What's he up to?
Goldstein yanked out another set of keys and slammed it atop the witness stand. "These keys, sir, are duplicates of the master key set. Made by Long Island Locksmiths. Why is that?"
McCoy immediately stood up. "Objection, Your Honour. The people were unaware of an additional set of keys!"
Judge Fitzwater scowled at Goldstein. "Both of you. In my chambers, now!"
"I don't know what kind of parlour tricks you have up your sleeve, Richard, but don't expect me to put up with it!" McCoy snarled as he closed the doors of Judge Fitzwater's chambers.
"Believe me, Jack, I learned about the third set of keys during the lunch hour," Goldstein declared.
The judge scratched his head. "I'm with the D.A. on this one, counsellor. You have exactly five minutes to explain your tactics or I'll move to strike your cross-examination!"
"Your Honour," Goldstein began, "my client's conviction is based on the assumption that only he had the means to gain entry that night to the Saunders' condo. This new set of keys brings that entire allegation to question."
McCoy rolled his eyes in disbelief. "But it doesn't bring Luthor's motive or opportunity to commit the crime into doubt. I'm not hinging my prosecution on whether or not there were three or 30 keys available!"
"How did you find out about this new set of master keys?" the judge inquired.
"My administrative assistant, Mrs. Kent, noticed a bill of sale in Luthor Corp.'s 1st quarter records," Goldstein stated as he presented the bill to Judge Fitzwater. "I'm prepared to enter this and related documents as part of the evidence."
The judge studied the documents and began to nod. "Make the connection quickly, Mr. Goldstein, or I will strike down this line of questioning."
McCoy protested emphatically. "Your Honour, he's going to lead the jury on a wild goose chase to distract them from the fact that Lex Luthor was in the building at the time of the murder, had the motive, the means and the opportunity to cover up the crime!"
"Well, then, Mr. McCoy," Judge Fitzwater replied, "I'm sure you are capable of making those facts clearer to them." He pointed at both of them. "I want no more surprises. From either of you!"
As the attorneys returned to the courtroom, Mrs. Kent glanced towards Lex, who exchanged a confident grin. McCoy spotted their glances, then glared at her.
His icy stare sent a shudder down her back. She had thrown up a potential roadblock in the D.A.'s prosecution.
Jack was displeased. That didn't bode well for Clark, she feared.