RIKERS ISLAND

MAY 5

There was a note of finality in their footsteps as they passed down the lonely halls of Rikers. Claire found some satisfaction in visiting, for it allowed her to remember where the villains they prosecuted on a daily basis wound up. She was not, like McCoy, in favor of the death penalty, but nor did she feel at times as she strode down the cold corridors that this was enough punishment. For the man who had raped and murdered a little girl, for the husband that killed his wife in a fit of rage, for the cab driver that had assaulted his victims and left them to die in back alleys. She watched Jack as he entered the room, wondering how he could contend with his doubts. He never seemed to have any when it came to the death penalty, for all his deeply rooted Catholic superstitions. He had attempted to deny that they still influenced him, but it wasn't true.

The man they encountered was not what she expected. He had such a seemingly innocent nature to his appearance that she wondered for a moment if there wasn't a mistake. Jack wasn't fooled. There was something about him off kilter, a clever, sinister aspect beneath a tranquil appearance. He was quite muscular and tall, but his most impressive feature was his eyes, such a pale shade of blue they seemed transparent.

"Jack McCoy," said his attorney, an attractive older man with a voice to match his disposition, deep and intimidating. "I presume you're here on Adam's insistence to offer a plea?"

A flicker of eye movement, just enough for Jack to appraise the individual representing Robert Hilton. Despite his best of intentions, and the assurances Claire had given him in the early hours of the morning that the plea would be rejected, he had no desire to make an offer. His pause was so lengthy that Claire glanced across at him, concern darkening her countenance. Looking at the man who had so brutally murdered his wife, Jack said, "No."

The smug expression on the defense attorney's face faded. "Then what are we doing here?"

Taking his briefcase from the desk and indicating to the guard that he wanted to be released, Jack retorted, "I'll see you in court." The door buzzed open and he passed through it, his assistant on his heels. Claire remained in a petulant silence until they reached the end of the hall. Jack removed his hall pass and tossed it onto the desk, signing out in bold form.

She ventured, "Adam isn't going to like this."

"Adam left it up to my judgment. Last night you were just as enthusiastic about a trial as I was."

She hurried to catch up with him as the door let them out into the parking lot and brilliant sunlight. It was nice to be away from New York City, to see it against the horizon, though barbed wire and chain-link fences surrounded them. Rikers Island was not a pleasant place and nor was it a simple drive from Manhattan. "Jack," she said, reaching out to draw him up, "that was before I saw the defendant. The easiest way to win domestic cases is to make sure of women on the jury. We cannot do that with charming Damien Prescott defending a man who looks like—"

Jack turned into her path so suddenly that she nearly collided with him. "Like what?" he asked testily, and she could see she had wounded his pride. It was never so much a matter of stacking the jury to him as it was presenting a reasonable case. Anything that usurped his abilities in court remained a tender spot, and she had inadvertently tread on it. He had been known to flout even official authority when it came to matters of honor.

"Like… he does," she finished lamely. It was true, for while Jack was intent on his adversary, she was aware of other things. There was a subtle but profound sexuality in Hilton's presence, one she knew would be of influence in the courtroom. He had not looked at the lead prosecutor so much as at her, a fact that had escaped him in his moment of passionate ambition.

The wind came up and she brushed her hair out of her face, attempting to meet her partner's level gaze. "Would you trust him, Claire?" he demanded.

"No," she admitted. "But I know his history."

Jack nodded. "Then we'll just have to make sure the jury does too. Call Briscoe. I want every shred of evidence the Boston PD can give concerning his former history, any assault convictions, if his wife ever pressed charges. If we can form a pattern and motive, it will be admissible."