[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, Manhattan]
Captain Deakins spotted Detectives Eames and Goren across the hall. They had spent the better part of the afternoon at New York Harbour in an attempt to link the package found in the Saunders' girl's condo to Lex Luthor.
A package that just might link Luthor Corp. to chemical weapons, or at least the ingredients to create them.
"How was your trip to the New York Port Authority?" Deakins inquired.
Eames pulled out a file. "There was ship -- under a Moroccan flag of convenience -- docked there in late November. Its cargo was listed as 'fertilizer and pesticide', en route to Greece."
Deakins reviewed the documents. "It says the ship left two weeks ago ..."
"It should be in the Mediterranean by now," Goren surmised. "Luthor Corp. has a warehouse complex along the Greek coast."
"We don't have much time," Deakins closed the file. "If we can prove that the ship's cargo is more than a heap of dung, we can deliver a hammer blow to Lex Luthor's defense that he had no motive to kill the Saunders' girl."
"I've already tipped off my contact with Interpol," Eames remarked. "Should we inform the FBI at this point ... or the Department of Homeland Security? If the chemical agents in that cargo could be fashioned into chem or bio- weapons ..."
"Hold on a sec, folks," Captain Cragen marched into the room. "Van Buren's got some news for you."
Lieutenant Van Buren arrived, followed by homicide detectives Green and Briscoe. Briscoe was snacking on a bag of pretzels.
"Hey, Lennie, I heard you kicked some ass in that mob raid," Goren joked.
"I may be gettin' up in the years," Briscoe replied, "but I can hold my own in a streetfight." Goren snatched a pretzel from Briscoe's bag.
"Shlomo's Bakery pretzels!" Goren grinned. "I couldn't resist, Lennie."
"Officially, we want as much help as we can get," Van Buren announced. "so we've notified the JAG office in Texas and federal agents in Europe about some of our suspicions."
"... and 'unofficially' ...?" Goren wondered.
"This is a homicide investigation first and foremost," Van Buren stated, "The D.A. says they'll be glory enough for all -- once we get solid proof on both the contents of that Mediterranean ship, and the whereabouts of the alleged accomplice to the murder."
"Lex had some help?" Eames was surprised at the revelation.
Briscoe reviewed his notes. "We pulled Luthor Corp.'s employment records for their security staff over the past 18 months. A few guys had some military experience. But we needed someone who had served with the U.S. Army Rangers. Someone on Luthor's payroll who would knew how to use a Ranger knife ... effectively. We're still waiting on the confirmation from JAG HQ."
Green's cellphone rang. "Yes, this is Detective Green. Uh huh, an AWOL Ranger." He flipped a few pages from his notebook and scribbled. "Yes, it said on his Luthor Corp. records that he was honourably discharged. He wasn't?" He continued to scribble. "His New York address? We're working on it. Yes, we'll let you know when we have it. Thank you, Lieutenant."
"What's the scoop, Ed?" Briscoe wondered. "Is our renegade Rambo still in the Big Apple?"
Green ripped out the sheet from his notebook and showed it to Van Buren. "A Sergeant Wallace Johnson. Formerly a U.S. Ranger out of Fort Hood, Texas. Served in the Gulf, Somalia, Colombia. He never reported back to base after his tour in Bogota. The military police have been looking for him for three years."
"So he stiffs Uncle Sam," Briscoe replied, "then takes crappy security jobs under an assumed name ... right? Otherwise, the MPs could just pull up his social insurance records and locate him."
Van Buren reviewed the sheet. "He used the surname Jenkinson when he worked the front desk at Luthor Corp. Wall Street for six months."
"I'll bet 50 bucks this 'Jenkinson' worked there just prior to Chelsea Saunders' arrival," Goren concluded.
"If Lex needed a fall guy to do the dirty work," Briscoe added, "who better than a military man on the run who's got nothing to lose?"
"Good work, everyone," Van Buren gathered the files and documents. "Wallace Johnson's last known address was in the Upper East Side. We'll let the army MPs know what we've got -- once we have GI Joe in custody. I'll have an unmarked car parked outside his building, just in case our friend tries to jump. Once I get a warrant from D.A. McCoy, we nail him."
"This guy's a trained killer," Deakins offered. "We'd better have an ETF team on stand-by when you make the call, Lieutenant."
"Oh, and on another note," Goren interrupted, "Louie Grundini is turning state's evidence. He figured he's got better odds with the D.A. than with his less amicable Atlantic City buddies."
"Isn't mob loyalty just grand," Briscoe snickered.
Cragen pulled Van Buren aside. "Any chance I'll have Munch and Tutuola back soon?"
"I'm heading to the D.A.'s now, so I'll nudge McCoy to make a call: whether or not to haul that Kent kid in as a material witness," Van Buren assured him. "I sure hope McCoy knows what he's doing. It's my butt on the grill if this mess goes down the drain."
"Yeah," Cragen agreed. "Yours and mine. We get this Johnson fella ... and the case will be locked up so tight, Lex Luthor won't be able to breathe."
The other detectives dispersed to pursue their cases. Briscoe and Green sensed that the investigation was coming to a close. They were one warrant away from the elusive 'smoking gun' that would link Lex Luthor to murder.
And reserve his spot on death row.
[The Torch office, Smallville High]
Chloe looked up from her desk. "How's that article on the science fair going, Pete?"
"I've got one more interview and it'll be all done," Pete replied, as he sat at another desk. "So what's the latest on Lex's Big Trouble in the Big Apple?"
"Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein, threw a major league curveball when he produced a copy of the master keys to Chelsea Saunders' apartment!" Chloe exclaimed. She sorted through the copies of the Daily Planet. "Here's the morning edition."
Pete's eyes grew wider as he read the morning's headline: "Lex defense alleges that Luthor Corp. execs used Saunders condo for extramarital trysts"
He tossed the paper aside in disgust. "Geez, talk about distracting from the case! It's the Luthors just trying to throw up smoke-and-mirrors! Their backs are against the wall and they need to turn the spotlight away from them!"
Chloe picked up the front page. "And get this . NYPD raided a mob arms shipment. They found the knife used to kill Saunders there! Now they're looking for some Spec Ops commando type ."
"Luthor's hitman, eh? Well, even if Lex didn't do the act himself, he surely must have ordered it!" Pete insisted. "For whatever reason - covering up the chemical shipments, the sex scandal, the mob links - he iced Saunders to keep her mouth shut."
Chloe shook her head in disbelief at the headlines. "This case grows more complicated with each passing day! And they haven't even brought up our affidavits yet . or called Clark to take the stand!"
They heard what sounded like an argument in the hallway. "A Civic? I told ya, John, we should have taken the pickup truck. Who drives a Civic in rural Kansas?" It was Detective Fin Tutuola.
"As if." Chloe immediately knew that voice belonged to Detective John Munch. "Fin, I saw the mileage on that piece of junk. Sure, the Civic isn't up to your macho standards, but that truck was one road trip away from the scrap heap."
"A marital dispute, fellas?" Chloe joked.
Tutuola, still annoyed at Munch's rental car choice, rolled his eyes. "You see what I have to put up with, Chloe. Tell him I'm right - that you need a pickup truck to drive around here."
"I'm afraid I'm with Detective Munch on this one," Chloe announced. "The Civic's more economical."
"Thank you, Miss Sullivan," Munch gloated. He scanned the room. "One intrepid blonde reporter. One loyal buddy of Kent. No Kent. That's two outta three. So where is wonder-boy Clark?"
"Chores," Pete replied. "He won't be by here today."
Tutuola picked up the Daily Planet's front page. "Unbelievable! They're saying Luthor execs were knocking boots with their mistresses on Park Ave.? That's nothing but a load of -"
"-- cow pies?" Chloe remarked.
"-- fertilizer?" Pete added.
"So Luthor begins the 'shock and awe' campaign of the trial," Munch scoffed. "Distract from the truth. Conceal the facts. Misdirect the issue."
"If you'd like we can pass Clark a message?" Chloe offered.
"Yeah," Munch replied. "Tell Clark not to make any plans to leave town. The word from Manhattan is that his time in the spotlight is coming pretty soon. We'll be in touch."
Tutuola picked up on his previous argument as they left. "A Civic? Man, I'm glad my peeps ain't here to see me in that tin can!"
"Poor Clark," Chloe stated, as she called the Kent farm. In the glare of the media capital of America, would Clark be able to withstand the pressure? D.A. McCoy had a reputation for devastating prosecutions. Clark was now in his cross-hairs.
Pete nervously reviewed the Planet again. There was more at stake than a conviction, he mused.
D.A. McCoy could expose Clark's secret.
[Courthouse, Manhattan]
Goldstein escorted his client, Lex Luthor down the hall. At the opposite end, New York State Rep. Connors and his lawyer proceeded to their own trial.
Detective Stabler and ADA Alexandra Cabot stood in the lobby. "Now, Elliot, just stick to the facts," Cabot emphasized. "Don't offer your opinions. And don't go on a moralistic tirade when you take the stand."
"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Stabler grumbled. "Stick to the program. Connors' past record. His abuse of power. His questionable behaviour on Wall Street."
"If Detective Benson can get the Nichols girl to testify," Cabot continued, "I'm certain we can force him to cop a plea. Otherwise, he'll be looking at 15-20 at Sing Sing."
"The sooner you lock that sick bastard behind bars, the better," Stabler growled. He looked around. Why was there a throng of media, he wondered.
Oh yeah. Lex's murder trial was around the corner. He noticed Connors wade through the cohort of reporters and photographers. Connors and his attorney steered clear of the cameras. As the state representative passed by Lex, he strained to catch Lex's glance.
When Connors locked eyes with Lex, he nodded to him.
"Ignore him, Lex," Goldstein advised. "Connors may be a political ally of your father's, but he's tainted goods."
"That pretty much describes my father's entire network of alliances," Lex remarked.
Stabler was enraged. Not only was Lex Luthor marshalling the resources of his corporate empire to evade his own conviction for Murder One, he would likely protect his political allies. New York State Representative Connors was a rising star in Albany. Lionel Luthor opened his wallet generously for the assemblyman's past electoral campaigns. Those silver-spooned sons of bitches, Stabler grumbled under his breath.
"Did you see that? Connors knows Lex! Birds of a feather, those two! He's gonna pull some strings and walk off scot-free!" He marched towards Lex and his attorney, itching for a confrontation.
"Elliot!" Cabot declared in vain. This is the last thing we need.
"If I were you, I'd choose better friends," Stabler snarled at Lex.
"And who might you be?" Lex inquired.
"I'm a detective with the Special Victims Unit," Stabler announced. "And your buddy Connors? He's going to spend a very long time in jail. Help yourself out before you even think of throwing that piece of scum a life- preserver."
"Connors is no friend of mine!" Lex protested.
Stabler, who towered over Lex, blocked his path. "Don't play boy scout with me, kid. If you knew what he did ."
"Detective Stabler!" Cabot exclaimed. Stabler turned towards her voice.
Goldstein took the opportunity to yank Lex out of the media horde and towards the exit.
"You should keep your pitbull on a leash, counselor!" Goldstein snapped at Cabot.
Stabler glared at Lex. "Pompous little prick!"
Cabot was livid. "Stabler, I don't interfere in your job. Don't interfere in mine! Don't say a word to the press about the Connors case, understand? That's my job. When you take that stand, you're in my world. If you want Connors behind bars, I expect you to do your job. Is that clear, detective?"
"Yes," Stabler stated. He put on his blazer. "Let's get this legal crap over with."
Cabot frowned. Stabler was a loose cannon. Another outburst like that, she concluded, and I might ask Capt. Cragen to pull him off the case.
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan]
McCoy sighed and settled into his chair, relieved that he would find some peace in his own office. He wouldn't have to face the voracious New York press, Lex's defense team or reluctant witnesses until tomorrow.
"Thank goodess Judge Fitzwater instructed the jury to disregard Goldstein's cross-examination involving those extra-marital trysts in Versailles Condos," Southerlyn stated.
McCoy reviewed the documents in his file. "Unfortunately, he's succeeded in planting a spark of doubt. With that third set of keys, Richard will try to argue that any one of Luthor Corp.'s senior New York execs might have silenced Chelsea Saunders to conceal their alleged infidelities."
"Well, once we put the superintendent -- and the videotapes -- before the jury, we'll blow a hole right through that preposterous theory," Southerlyn insisted.
A knock on the door interrupted the counsellors' thoughts.
Lieutenant Van Buren, accompanied by a tall, brown-haired woman in a medical lab coat, opened the wood panelled door.
"Tell me you've got some good news for me," McCoy pleaded. "I've got the New York Gazette accusing me of political interference, Mayor Bloomberg expressing sympathy for the Luthor family ... and Lex beaming smugly before the cameras!"
"We have a lead," Van Buren declared. "We've traced the murder weapon to a former Ranger." She opened the case file, revealing a dated photo. Wallace Johnson was a thirty-something white male with close-cropped hair. "He worked for Luthor Corp. under an assumed identity. The military police have been looking for him since 2000."
Southerly glanced at the other woman, Medical Examiner Melinda Warner. "And can we link Johnson to the murder weapon?"
Warner laid out several autopsy photos of Chelsea Saunders. "See the serration along the neck? It matches that of the knife found in the warehouse."
"The defense will declare that it's coincidence!" McCoy was unconvinced. "Maybe some goon bought the knife at an army surplus store."
"Maybe," Warner replied. "But not everyone would have been so efficient with the weapon." She pointed at another photo. "He was quick. Clean. He sliced her throat like butter, cutting the carotid artery. Knowing that she would bleed to death in minutes. This was not a mindless act of passion. Your killer knew what to do with the weapon."
Van Buren frowned at the gruesome photos. "The poor girl didn't have a chance."
McCoy considered the evidence before him. This Johnson was a wanted man. He had to strike quickly -- before he escaped.
Or before the army captured him first.
"Our people are just waiting for the sign to move on him," Van Buren said. "If you can get a warrant, you'll have living proof of Luthor's involvement in this mess! At the very least, he's a material witness."
McCoy reviewed the headline on the New York Times. "LUTHOR TRIAL BOGGED DOWN; 'SMOKING GUN' ELUDES NYPD". The entire trial had become water-cooler gossip. He had heard the snide remarks in the coffee shops. The tasteless jokes in the subway. How can they convict Lex if they couldn't even connect the murder to him? the people would say. Hell, until recently, they didn't even have a murder weapon!
Now the wheel of fortune was spinning in his favour. He would not have this Sgt. Wallace Johnson rotting in Leavenworth. He would wring the truth out of the renegade soldier and use his testimony to muzzle Lex Luthor's arrogant grin forever.
Lex would answer for his crimes with a lifetime in Sing Sing prison. Or face his maker on death row.
"I'll have a signed warrant by the end of the hour," McCoy promised. "Lieutenant Van Buren? Arrest him for murder. Use whatever force you feel is necessary to ensure that Wallace Johnson is captured. Alive and unharmed. I need him intact if I'm to haul him before the jury."
Van Buren quickly gathered her files. "And the SVU detectives? Cragen wants to know if they can come home. With Kent."
"Yes," McCoy replied. "Even with Johnson's testimony, I'd like to have my star witness on the bench. Just in case. Have them execute the subpoena for Clark Kent. Remember: he is to have no contact with his mother, since Mrs. Kent is working for defense!"
Now, Van Buren thought, it's time for the NYPD to deliver. The Saunders family will have justice soon. She dialed her cellphone.
"Detective Briscoe? It's game-time! I want you and Green at Johnson's last known address -- with as many men and squad cars as you can muster. Now. D.A. Southerlyn will have the warrant. We're booking him for murder!"
Captain Deakins spotted Detectives Eames and Goren across the hall. They had spent the better part of the afternoon at New York Harbour in an attempt to link the package found in the Saunders' girl's condo to Lex Luthor.
A package that just might link Luthor Corp. to chemical weapons, or at least the ingredients to create them.
"How was your trip to the New York Port Authority?" Deakins inquired.
Eames pulled out a file. "There was ship -- under a Moroccan flag of convenience -- docked there in late November. Its cargo was listed as 'fertilizer and pesticide', en route to Greece."
Deakins reviewed the documents. "It says the ship left two weeks ago ..."
"It should be in the Mediterranean by now," Goren surmised. "Luthor Corp. has a warehouse complex along the Greek coast."
"We don't have much time," Deakins closed the file. "If we can prove that the ship's cargo is more than a heap of dung, we can deliver a hammer blow to Lex Luthor's defense that he had no motive to kill the Saunders' girl."
"I've already tipped off my contact with Interpol," Eames remarked. "Should we inform the FBI at this point ... or the Department of Homeland Security? If the chemical agents in that cargo could be fashioned into chem or bio- weapons ..."
"Hold on a sec, folks," Captain Cragen marched into the room. "Van Buren's got some news for you."
Lieutenant Van Buren arrived, followed by homicide detectives Green and Briscoe. Briscoe was snacking on a bag of pretzels.
"Hey, Lennie, I heard you kicked some ass in that mob raid," Goren joked.
"I may be gettin' up in the years," Briscoe replied, "but I can hold my own in a streetfight." Goren snatched a pretzel from Briscoe's bag.
"Shlomo's Bakery pretzels!" Goren grinned. "I couldn't resist, Lennie."
"Officially, we want as much help as we can get," Van Buren announced. "so we've notified the JAG office in Texas and federal agents in Europe about some of our suspicions."
"... and 'unofficially' ...?" Goren wondered.
"This is a homicide investigation first and foremost," Van Buren stated, "The D.A. says they'll be glory enough for all -- once we get solid proof on both the contents of that Mediterranean ship, and the whereabouts of the alleged accomplice to the murder."
"Lex had some help?" Eames was surprised at the revelation.
Briscoe reviewed his notes. "We pulled Luthor Corp.'s employment records for their security staff over the past 18 months. A few guys had some military experience. But we needed someone who had served with the U.S. Army Rangers. Someone on Luthor's payroll who would knew how to use a Ranger knife ... effectively. We're still waiting on the confirmation from JAG HQ."
Green's cellphone rang. "Yes, this is Detective Green. Uh huh, an AWOL Ranger." He flipped a few pages from his notebook and scribbled. "Yes, it said on his Luthor Corp. records that he was honourably discharged. He wasn't?" He continued to scribble. "His New York address? We're working on it. Yes, we'll let you know when we have it. Thank you, Lieutenant."
"What's the scoop, Ed?" Briscoe wondered. "Is our renegade Rambo still in the Big Apple?"
Green ripped out the sheet from his notebook and showed it to Van Buren. "A Sergeant Wallace Johnson. Formerly a U.S. Ranger out of Fort Hood, Texas. Served in the Gulf, Somalia, Colombia. He never reported back to base after his tour in Bogota. The military police have been looking for him for three years."
"So he stiffs Uncle Sam," Briscoe replied, "then takes crappy security jobs under an assumed name ... right? Otherwise, the MPs could just pull up his social insurance records and locate him."
Van Buren reviewed the sheet. "He used the surname Jenkinson when he worked the front desk at Luthor Corp. Wall Street for six months."
"I'll bet 50 bucks this 'Jenkinson' worked there just prior to Chelsea Saunders' arrival," Goren concluded.
"If Lex needed a fall guy to do the dirty work," Briscoe added, "who better than a military man on the run who's got nothing to lose?"
"Good work, everyone," Van Buren gathered the files and documents. "Wallace Johnson's last known address was in the Upper East Side. We'll let the army MPs know what we've got -- once we have GI Joe in custody. I'll have an unmarked car parked outside his building, just in case our friend tries to jump. Once I get a warrant from D.A. McCoy, we nail him."
"This guy's a trained killer," Deakins offered. "We'd better have an ETF team on stand-by when you make the call, Lieutenant."
"Oh, and on another note," Goren interrupted, "Louie Grundini is turning state's evidence. He figured he's got better odds with the D.A. than with his less amicable Atlantic City buddies."
"Isn't mob loyalty just grand," Briscoe snickered.
Cragen pulled Van Buren aside. "Any chance I'll have Munch and Tutuola back soon?"
"I'm heading to the D.A.'s now, so I'll nudge McCoy to make a call: whether or not to haul that Kent kid in as a material witness," Van Buren assured him. "I sure hope McCoy knows what he's doing. It's my butt on the grill if this mess goes down the drain."
"Yeah," Cragen agreed. "Yours and mine. We get this Johnson fella ... and the case will be locked up so tight, Lex Luthor won't be able to breathe."
The other detectives dispersed to pursue their cases. Briscoe and Green sensed that the investigation was coming to a close. They were one warrant away from the elusive 'smoking gun' that would link Lex Luthor to murder.
And reserve his spot on death row.
[The Torch office, Smallville High]
Chloe looked up from her desk. "How's that article on the science fair going, Pete?"
"I've got one more interview and it'll be all done," Pete replied, as he sat at another desk. "So what's the latest on Lex's Big Trouble in the Big Apple?"
"Lex's attorney, Richard Goldstein, threw a major league curveball when he produced a copy of the master keys to Chelsea Saunders' apartment!" Chloe exclaimed. She sorted through the copies of the Daily Planet. "Here's the morning edition."
Pete's eyes grew wider as he read the morning's headline: "Lex defense alleges that Luthor Corp. execs used Saunders condo for extramarital trysts"
He tossed the paper aside in disgust. "Geez, talk about distracting from the case! It's the Luthors just trying to throw up smoke-and-mirrors! Their backs are against the wall and they need to turn the spotlight away from them!"
Chloe picked up the front page. "And get this . NYPD raided a mob arms shipment. They found the knife used to kill Saunders there! Now they're looking for some Spec Ops commando type ."
"Luthor's hitman, eh? Well, even if Lex didn't do the act himself, he surely must have ordered it!" Pete insisted. "For whatever reason - covering up the chemical shipments, the sex scandal, the mob links - he iced Saunders to keep her mouth shut."
Chloe shook her head in disbelief at the headlines. "This case grows more complicated with each passing day! And they haven't even brought up our affidavits yet . or called Clark to take the stand!"
They heard what sounded like an argument in the hallway. "A Civic? I told ya, John, we should have taken the pickup truck. Who drives a Civic in rural Kansas?" It was Detective Fin Tutuola.
"As if." Chloe immediately knew that voice belonged to Detective John Munch. "Fin, I saw the mileage on that piece of junk. Sure, the Civic isn't up to your macho standards, but that truck was one road trip away from the scrap heap."
"A marital dispute, fellas?" Chloe joked.
Tutuola, still annoyed at Munch's rental car choice, rolled his eyes. "You see what I have to put up with, Chloe. Tell him I'm right - that you need a pickup truck to drive around here."
"I'm afraid I'm with Detective Munch on this one," Chloe announced. "The Civic's more economical."
"Thank you, Miss Sullivan," Munch gloated. He scanned the room. "One intrepid blonde reporter. One loyal buddy of Kent. No Kent. That's two outta three. So where is wonder-boy Clark?"
"Chores," Pete replied. "He won't be by here today."
Tutuola picked up the Daily Planet's front page. "Unbelievable! They're saying Luthor execs were knocking boots with their mistresses on Park Ave.? That's nothing but a load of -"
"-- cow pies?" Chloe remarked.
"-- fertilizer?" Pete added.
"So Luthor begins the 'shock and awe' campaign of the trial," Munch scoffed. "Distract from the truth. Conceal the facts. Misdirect the issue."
"If you'd like we can pass Clark a message?" Chloe offered.
"Yeah," Munch replied. "Tell Clark not to make any plans to leave town. The word from Manhattan is that his time in the spotlight is coming pretty soon. We'll be in touch."
Tutuola picked up on his previous argument as they left. "A Civic? Man, I'm glad my peeps ain't here to see me in that tin can!"
"Poor Clark," Chloe stated, as she called the Kent farm. In the glare of the media capital of America, would Clark be able to withstand the pressure? D.A. McCoy had a reputation for devastating prosecutions. Clark was now in his cross-hairs.
Pete nervously reviewed the Planet again. There was more at stake than a conviction, he mused.
D.A. McCoy could expose Clark's secret.
[Courthouse, Manhattan]
Goldstein escorted his client, Lex Luthor down the hall. At the opposite end, New York State Rep. Connors and his lawyer proceeded to their own trial.
Detective Stabler and ADA Alexandra Cabot stood in the lobby. "Now, Elliot, just stick to the facts," Cabot emphasized. "Don't offer your opinions. And don't go on a moralistic tirade when you take the stand."
"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," Stabler grumbled. "Stick to the program. Connors' past record. His abuse of power. His questionable behaviour on Wall Street."
"If Detective Benson can get the Nichols girl to testify," Cabot continued, "I'm certain we can force him to cop a plea. Otherwise, he'll be looking at 15-20 at Sing Sing."
"The sooner you lock that sick bastard behind bars, the better," Stabler growled. He looked around. Why was there a throng of media, he wondered.
Oh yeah. Lex's murder trial was around the corner. He noticed Connors wade through the cohort of reporters and photographers. Connors and his attorney steered clear of the cameras. As the state representative passed by Lex, he strained to catch Lex's glance.
When Connors locked eyes with Lex, he nodded to him.
"Ignore him, Lex," Goldstein advised. "Connors may be a political ally of your father's, but he's tainted goods."
"That pretty much describes my father's entire network of alliances," Lex remarked.
Stabler was enraged. Not only was Lex Luthor marshalling the resources of his corporate empire to evade his own conviction for Murder One, he would likely protect his political allies. New York State Representative Connors was a rising star in Albany. Lionel Luthor opened his wallet generously for the assemblyman's past electoral campaigns. Those silver-spooned sons of bitches, Stabler grumbled under his breath.
"Did you see that? Connors knows Lex! Birds of a feather, those two! He's gonna pull some strings and walk off scot-free!" He marched towards Lex and his attorney, itching for a confrontation.
"Elliot!" Cabot declared in vain. This is the last thing we need.
"If I were you, I'd choose better friends," Stabler snarled at Lex.
"And who might you be?" Lex inquired.
"I'm a detective with the Special Victims Unit," Stabler announced. "And your buddy Connors? He's going to spend a very long time in jail. Help yourself out before you even think of throwing that piece of scum a life- preserver."
"Connors is no friend of mine!" Lex protested.
Stabler, who towered over Lex, blocked his path. "Don't play boy scout with me, kid. If you knew what he did ."
"Detective Stabler!" Cabot exclaimed. Stabler turned towards her voice.
Goldstein took the opportunity to yank Lex out of the media horde and towards the exit.
"You should keep your pitbull on a leash, counselor!" Goldstein snapped at Cabot.
Stabler glared at Lex. "Pompous little prick!"
Cabot was livid. "Stabler, I don't interfere in your job. Don't interfere in mine! Don't say a word to the press about the Connors case, understand? That's my job. When you take that stand, you're in my world. If you want Connors behind bars, I expect you to do your job. Is that clear, detective?"
"Yes," Stabler stated. He put on his blazer. "Let's get this legal crap over with."
Cabot frowned. Stabler was a loose cannon. Another outburst like that, she concluded, and I might ask Capt. Cragen to pull him off the case.
[Office of Executive D.A. Jack McCoy, Manhattan]
McCoy sighed and settled into his chair, relieved that he would find some peace in his own office. He wouldn't have to face the voracious New York press, Lex's defense team or reluctant witnesses until tomorrow.
"Thank goodess Judge Fitzwater instructed the jury to disregard Goldstein's cross-examination involving those extra-marital trysts in Versailles Condos," Southerlyn stated.
McCoy reviewed the documents in his file. "Unfortunately, he's succeeded in planting a spark of doubt. With that third set of keys, Richard will try to argue that any one of Luthor Corp.'s senior New York execs might have silenced Chelsea Saunders to conceal their alleged infidelities."
"Well, once we put the superintendent -- and the videotapes -- before the jury, we'll blow a hole right through that preposterous theory," Southerlyn insisted.
A knock on the door interrupted the counsellors' thoughts.
Lieutenant Van Buren, accompanied by a tall, brown-haired woman in a medical lab coat, opened the wood panelled door.
"Tell me you've got some good news for me," McCoy pleaded. "I've got the New York Gazette accusing me of political interference, Mayor Bloomberg expressing sympathy for the Luthor family ... and Lex beaming smugly before the cameras!"
"We have a lead," Van Buren declared. "We've traced the murder weapon to a former Ranger." She opened the case file, revealing a dated photo. Wallace Johnson was a thirty-something white male with close-cropped hair. "He worked for Luthor Corp. under an assumed identity. The military police have been looking for him since 2000."
Southerly glanced at the other woman, Medical Examiner Melinda Warner. "And can we link Johnson to the murder weapon?"
Warner laid out several autopsy photos of Chelsea Saunders. "See the serration along the neck? It matches that of the knife found in the warehouse."
"The defense will declare that it's coincidence!" McCoy was unconvinced. "Maybe some goon bought the knife at an army surplus store."
"Maybe," Warner replied. "But not everyone would have been so efficient with the weapon." She pointed at another photo. "He was quick. Clean. He sliced her throat like butter, cutting the carotid artery. Knowing that she would bleed to death in minutes. This was not a mindless act of passion. Your killer knew what to do with the weapon."
Van Buren frowned at the gruesome photos. "The poor girl didn't have a chance."
McCoy considered the evidence before him. This Johnson was a wanted man. He had to strike quickly -- before he escaped.
Or before the army captured him first.
"Our people are just waiting for the sign to move on him," Van Buren said. "If you can get a warrant, you'll have living proof of Luthor's involvement in this mess! At the very least, he's a material witness."
McCoy reviewed the headline on the New York Times. "LUTHOR TRIAL BOGGED DOWN; 'SMOKING GUN' ELUDES NYPD". The entire trial had become water-cooler gossip. He had heard the snide remarks in the coffee shops. The tasteless jokes in the subway. How can they convict Lex if they couldn't even connect the murder to him? the people would say. Hell, until recently, they didn't even have a murder weapon!
Now the wheel of fortune was spinning in his favour. He would not have this Sgt. Wallace Johnson rotting in Leavenworth. He would wring the truth out of the renegade soldier and use his testimony to muzzle Lex Luthor's arrogant grin forever.
Lex would answer for his crimes with a lifetime in Sing Sing prison. Or face his maker on death row.
"I'll have a signed warrant by the end of the hour," McCoy promised. "Lieutenant Van Buren? Arrest him for murder. Use whatever force you feel is necessary to ensure that Wallace Johnson is captured. Alive and unharmed. I need him intact if I'm to haul him before the jury."
Van Buren quickly gathered her files. "And the SVU detectives? Cragen wants to know if they can come home. With Kent."
"Yes," McCoy replied. "Even with Johnson's testimony, I'd like to have my star witness on the bench. Just in case. Have them execute the subpoena for Clark Kent. Remember: he is to have no contact with his mother, since Mrs. Kent is working for defense!"
Now, Van Buren thought, it's time for the NYPD to deliver. The Saunders family will have justice soon. She dialed her cellphone.
"Detective Briscoe? It's game-time! I want you and Green at Johnson's last known address -- with as many men and squad cars as you can muster. Now. D.A. Southerlyn will have the warrant. We're booking him for murder!"