A/N: With thanks to RebeccaInley for fine work beta-ing, and to Lynn46for helpful comments.

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And if you like Jack McCoy fic, you might like the 'Hang 'Em High' Law and Order C2

Medical Evidence


M.E.'s Office

Manhattan

12.30 pm Sunday May 6th 2007


As she left the M.E.'s Office, Regan automatically turned right to walk to the subway that would take her to One Hogan Place. She had taken three steps before she remembered that her after-hours access to the DA's Office had been revoked. She stood indecisively for a moment, wondering if she should go home to Abbie's and work there or head to the Hudson University law library, until the sharp blare of a horn startled her and she realized she was standing in the way of an ambulance trying to pull into the M.E.'s ambulance bay.

Regan stepped back, and then sank down on the low wall that ran along the edge of the ambulance bay and put her head in her hands.

Liz Rodgers had taken a series of forensically impeccable photographs of McCoy's hands, documenting the absence of grazes or bruises, but she had pointed out that the pictures would have had greater evidentiary value if they'd been taken on Friday. Regan had nodded glumly, accepting the implied criticism. Although she couldn't blame herself for losing the whole of Saturday to McCoy's migraine and its sequelae, it was inarguable that she had taken too long to shake herself free from shock and start thinking like the defense attorney McCoy needed her to be.

I'm not much of a prosecutor. I'm probably the world's worst defense attorney. Danielle Melnick would never have missed seeing Jack's hands on Friday.

Regan had another problem, not one of inexperience. A problem Danielle and Sally Bell are probably very familiar with.

Her client was lying to her.

Must happen to them all the time.

And it wasn't like Regan wasn't used to being lied to. Witnesses lied, defendants lied, sometimes the police lied.

But I'm not used to being lied to by Jack.

She believed him when he said he didn't remember what had happened. Regan didn't understand why, even if he didn't know what had happened, he was so ready to believe Keri Dyson's allegations, but she had no doubt he was telling the truth.

About that.

What she couldn't understand was why he was adamantly sticking to the story that he only remembered having two drinks at the Lord Roberts. Regan herself had seen him have three. And if he and Keri had called in at another bar on the way home – or opened a bottle at his apartment – then yes, maybe he'd gotten so loaded he couldn't remember the rest of the night. But it was just plain ridiculous that two drinks would get Jack McCoy so drunk he couldn't remember a third.

And that's how it's going to look in court. Regan could just imagine the jury's faces as she tried to persuade them the reason the defense had no alternate theory of events because the defendant had been too blind drunk to remember what happened, but that the only witness should still not be regarded as credible. That was a big hurdle for any lawyer to clear. With a bar full of people able to testify that McCoy had had at least three drinks – contradicting his own account – she wouldn't dare put him on the stand, for fear his story of an alcohol-induced black-out would look phony.

She'd tried one more time to get him to tell her the truth on the way out of the M.E.'s building. And that went well. McCoy had flat-out insisted she was wrong, and when Regan had pressed him, he'd stormed off down the street.

Regan had thought twice about letting him go off on his own, but he seemed to be in better shape than he had been on Friday, and it was the middle of the day. I'll give him an hour or so to cool off and then I'll hunt him down.

Doesn't solve the problem.

She groaned aloud. How am I supposed to defend him when he won't tell me the truth?

"Regan?"

Regan looked up to see Casey Novak standing in front of her. "Casey," she said, and tried to smile. "Working Sunday?"

"Prepping Warner for testimony tomorrow," Casey said. She looked down at Regan, frowning a little, and then put her briefcase down on the wall and sat next to Regan. "Tough day?"

"Yeah," Regan said.

"Can I help?"

Regan shook her head. "You've heard about Jack?"

"Whole building's heard," Casey said.

"Well, that's what it is. It's the case. And I can't talk about it to you. You're an officer of the court. You wouldn't have protection if you were called to testify."

"But if it was hearsay, anything I could tell the court would be inadmissible," Casey said. "And you have attorney-client privilege as a shield. So you don't need to worry about being forced to choose whether or not to perjure yourself."

"But if I breach confidentiality, then privilege no longer applies," Regan pointed out.

"Not if you're talking about a hypothetical situation," Casey said.

"Does that still cover us with the disciplinary committee?" Regan asked.

"Probably not," Casey said. She opened her briefcase and took out a paper-wrapped sandwich, and took a bite. "But the disciplinary committee is something to worry about after you win the trial," she said with her mouthful. "Just so long as you don't give any grounds for appeal."

Regan looked sideways at her. "Do you lie awake at night thinking up loopholes?"

Casey laughed. "The rules of evidence can keep justice in a cage sometimes. Occasionally you have to – " she gestured as if pulling something apart "– squeeze them open a little to let her through." She took another bite of her sandwich. "What's on your mind?"

Regan chose her words carefully. "Hypothetically. A lawyer has a client – let's call him Jack, just hypothetically – who has been charged with assault. And this hypothetical lawyer has been told by her hypothetical client that on the night in question, he was so drunk he couldn't remember anything. He said that normally that never happens. That he must have been drunker than ever in his life. That when he woke up he had the hangover to prove it."

Casey chewed and swallowed. "So?"

"So he says – this hypothetical client says – he remembers having two drinks at the bar, and then he doesn't remember anything else."

"Two drinks wouldn't make Jack McCoy drunk," Casey said. She took another bite. "Was he drinking beforehand?"

"He says no. And – Casey, I saw him –"

Casey held up her hand. "I think you mean to say, this hypothetical lawyer saw him. Actually, maybe the hypothetical lawyer was told by somebody who saw him."

"Right. Anyway, according to what somebody told this lawyer –" Regan paused, trying to keep track of the degrees of separation. "He had at least three drinks in the bar. And he'd remember a third drink, right? I mean – he's not a lightweight."

"Two drinks, no recollection of what happened next?" Casey said. She finished her sandwich and stood up. "Come on."

Regan got to her feet. "Where are we going?"

"Back inside. You need to talk to somebody."

Regan followed Casey back into the M.E.'s Office and down the long, dimly lit corridors. Casey knocked on the door of an examination room and opened it without waiting for an answer.

Regan knew Melinda Warner by sight, although they'd never been introduced. The doctor didn't offer to shake hands when Casey performed the introductions and Regan wondered if the other woman was used to people being reluctant to clasp the fingers of someone who dug around inside dead people for a living.

"Melinda," Casey said. "Someone has a few drinks in a bar, can't remember anything past the first two, woke up the next morning with no idea what happened the night before."

Warner looked at Regan, frowning slightly. "I can draw some blood for a tox screen," she said. "It's best done as soon a possible. Roll up your sleeve."

"A tox screen?" Regan asked. "Hang on. First off, it's not me. Casey's not talking about me. It's – a friend of mine."

"Then your friend needs to go to the E.R. She needs a tox screen and, I'm sorry to have to tell you, she should have an S.A.E. as well." Warner rested her hands on the stainless steel table. "Casey can arrange for the SVU detectives to meet her there, so she can make a report. Did it happen last night?"

"No – last week – an S.A.E.?"

"A Sexual Assault Examination," Warner explained gently.

"I know – I know what an SAE is," Regan said impatiently. "I'm asking – why?"

"You've just described the classic symptoms of GHB," Melinda Warner said. "Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid. It's a date rape drug. It causes a sense of well-being and relaxation, similar to alcoholic intoxication, followed by enhanced libido, reduced inhibition, and then drowsiness. It also causes memory lapses, amnesia. The next day, it's like a bad hangover – nausea, headache, irritability."

"Holy – " Regan whispered. "And there's a test for it?"

"It clears out of the body pretty quickly. Sometimes even the next morning is too late," Warner said. "If it happened last week then I'm afraid your friend has probably left it too late for a successful prosecution. She should make a complaint anyway, though. Whoever drugged her could very well be a serial offender – and they often target the same bars and nightclubs. SVU builds profiles of these kinds of attackers. Your friend could help them get this guy, even if they can't arrest him for what he did to her."

Regan looked from the doctor's sympathetic gaze to Casey. "Thanks, Casey," she said. "I'm going to ask you to step out now and give me a few moments with Dr Warner."

"I thought you might," Casey said. "I've got to get back to the office, anyway. Good luck, Regan. There's a lot of us pulling for you."

When the door had closed behind the SVU prosecutor , Regan put her briefcase down on the examination table and clicked open the locks. "Dr Warner, Casey and I haven't been entirely honest with you. This didn't just happen to a friend of mine. It happened to a client."

Warner took a step backwards and folded her arms. "According to the rumor mill, you only have one client," she said.

"For once, the rumor mill is right," Regan said. She took the file of Keri Dyson's compliant from her briefcase.

Warner held up her hands. "Before you say anything or show me anything, you need to know I'm not some professional 'expert witness' for hire by the defense."

"I won't call you to the stand," Regan said. "I just want your opinion."

"You might not call me," Warner said. "But you signed in here today. If whoever's prosecuting this case checks those logs then they'll ask everyone in the building who you saw. And if the prosecution puts me on the stand, I'll tell the truth."

Regan paused. "I understand that," she said. "But Jack's innocent. So there's no way the truth can hurt him."

Warner rested her hands on the table and leaned forward a little, gaze steady on Regan's face. "I've spent most of my career finding ways to prove that women aren't lying when they accuse men of attacking them," she said. "Whatever the stereotype about the vindictive, lying bitch. And every court case comes complete with the wife or girlfriend or sister saying 'He's innocent, he'd never do this'."

"I know," Regan said. "I'm not asking for your blind faith. I'm asking for your scientific opinion."

"You've got enough blind faith for the both of us?" Warner said dryly.

"Not blind," Regan said.

Warner shook her head, silently disagreeing, but she didn't protest again when Regan laid the file down on the examination table and flipped it open. "Doctor," she said, "Can this drug – GHB – does it make people aggressive?"

"No," Warner said decisively. "Affectionate, drowsy – not aggressive." She made no move to reach for the file. "An intoxication defense won't fly."

"Okay," Regan said. "What's your opinion of these injuries?"

Finally, reluctantly, Warner picked up the file. She tilted the photographs toward the light and scrutinized them for a moment. "At least three separate blows," she said at last, voice coolly professional. "Two to the eye area and one to the mouth. From the location of the bruises I infer the assailant was right-handed. I can see some bruising to the throat consistent with the victim having been restrained with the left hand around her neck. Does that paint a clear enough picture for you?"

"Pretty clear," Regan said. "Dr Warner, was whoever hit her wearing a ring?"

"Possibly on the left hand," Warner said. "But I doubt on the right. Even a small ring would leave an imprint, probably a cut, with blows of this force." She studied the photographs a moment longer and then put them down and picked up the doctor's report from Mercy E.R. "He hit her hard enough to fracture her eye socket, according to the E.R. doctor."

"He?" Regan said.

"It's not impossible for a woman to hit this hard," Warner said. "But I would rank it as extremely unlikely."

"If I told you that Jack McCoy wears a ring on his right hand, would you consider it likely that he'd inflicted these injuries?" Regan asked.

"I couldn't offer a professional opinion in court based on photographs," Warner said. She scanned the doctor's report again. "The attending doctor didn't record any cuts or grazes, but that doesn't mean they might not have been there." She paused. "Now there's a blast from the past. Rob Jordan treated Ms Dyson. I haven't seen him since he went down to Baltimore. I didn't even know he was back in the city."

"He's a friend?" Regan asked.

"We went to medical school together," Warner said.

"Good enough friend to give him a call?" Regan suggested.

"Now, hold on," Warner said, putting the file down with a snap. "There's no friend who's a good enough friend to ask to breach doctor-patient confidentiality."

"No, no, no!" Regan said quickly. "Not confidentiality. The report is in evidence. Dyson's waived her confidentiality. I can subpoena the doctor and he'll have to testify, at least about the report. I just want to know – will he talk to me, if I go see him?"

Warner hesitated again. "Well, all right," she said. "I can't see that doing any harm."

Regan waited while Warner dialed a number and spoke to the desk clerk at Mercy. Sooner than Regan expected, Warner hung up, and she was frowning.

"He's not there," Warner said.

"Different shift?" Regan asked.

"No," Warner said. "He doesn't work there." She shook her head, looking puzzled. "Not even on the casual roster."

"Then what's his name doing on the report?" Regan asked. "Do you have a number for him in Baltimore?"

"Somewhere," Warner said, and shrugged. "Like I said, we haven't been in contact."

"Do you think you could dig it out and give him a call?" Regan asked. "And let me know?"

"Sure," Warner said. "I'd like to know what he's doing signing medical reports at a hospital where he doesn't work, myself."

Regan gathered her papers together and put them back in her briefcase. "Thanks for your help, Dr Warner," she said.

"Remember what I told you," Warner said. "I won't lie for you, not in court."

"I know," Regan said. "I won't need you to. I have an innocent client."

"You're not the first defense attorney to tell me that," Warner said.

"I could just be the first to be right, though," Regan said, holding the M.E.'s gaze.

After a moment, Warner gave the tiniest of nods.

As Regan headed back up the long corridor that led to the outside world, she felt irrationally exhilarated. Persuading Melinda Warner to admit at least the possibility of McCoy's innocence meant more than just the M.E.'s help.

If I can win her over, then maybe – just maybe – I can do the same with the twelve citizens in the jury box.

Maybe.

For the first time, Regan began to think it was possible. For the first time, she felt like she had a fighting chance.


.oOo.