A/N: Thanks again to RebeccaInley for outstanding work betaing and to Lynn46 for helping me kick around ideas.


Hostile Witness


Mickey's Diner

102 Centre St

10.30 am Tuesday May 8th 2007


Regan walked Rey Curtis out of the diner and watched him stride away down the street. She dug her phone out of her pocket and double-checked that she hadn't missed a call. No. She'd reached Danielle Melnick and Sally Bell to tell them about the catastrophic chambers hearing, left messages for Serena and Nora Lewin, and since then had been hoping against hope that one of them would call back with a solution, some brilliant piece of lawyerly logic that would enable them to get the case held over to the next gap in Wright's calendar, that would give her time to come up with a better defense than I didn't do it, nobody saw me, you can't prove anything.

Especially since my client won't even co-operate with that pathetic effort.

As yet, she'd received no reprieve. Regan's stomach twisted at the thought of court on Thursday, and she glanced after Rey Curtis, carrying all the hopes of McCoy's defense on his shoulders.

She pushed away the anxiety, locking it away in the box inside her head where she had learnt to keep distractions that she couldn't afford. Don't be worrying about your grocery shopping while your partner is getting a bullet in the head, Gran-Da had advised, and Regan had taught herself to put everything aside for as long as the job demanded, put it aside and shut it away.

Job to do.

Partner going through a door.

No guns, this time, but the consequences could be just as lethal.

Job to do. Deposition time.

She walked the few blocks to One Hogan Place, using the time to try and clear her head. Easier said than done. The sense of helplessness that gripped her whenever she contemplated the days ahead set her gut churning and her head spinning, brought with it the sound of screaming and the taste of blood. Help me, El, oh god it hurts it hurts …

Goddamn it, she raged at herself. You don't have time for this! Jack doesn't have time for this!

For the first time in weeks she had to resort to the calming techniques Emil Skoda had taught her. Imagining herself in a car speeding along the open road at night, the white line rolling towards her, Regan took deep breaths and waited for her heart-rate to slow.

Walking in to the DA's Office without her badge was disorienting, punching the button for Narcotics on sixth rather than the tenth floor more so. Regan imagined that the ADAs she passed were staring at her, thought she could read the shocked fascination of car-wreck rubber-neckers on their faces. Move along here, people, she thought, nothing to see.

Nothing except an ADA gone suddenly radioactive. McCoy had handed her a big lump of career kryptonite when he'd picked her to handle those two complaints and then flim-flammed her into being his attorney. Regan wouldn't have blamed her former colleagues if they had shrunk back against the wall as she passed to avoid contamination.

Mike Cutter didn't shrink away from her when she reached the conference room, but stepped forward briskly, hand outstretched to take hers. His grip was firm and decisive, his eyes keen. Cut-throat Cutter, Regan remembered. She wondered if he was making a deliberate attempt to intimidate her. If he is, it's working.

Connie Rubirosa was already there, along with the court reporter.

"Ms Dyson will be here in a few minutes," Rubirosa said. "With her lawyer."

"Ms Dyson doesn't feel that the DA's Office adequately represents her interests in this?" Regan asked.

"Ms Dyson is a defendant in a matter being handled by Tracey Kibre," Cutter said. "She has an interest against self-incrimination."

"What's her defense?" Regan asked casually, trying hard to appear as if she was only making idle conversation.

"I'm not going to discuss that with you, Ms Markham, and you should know better than to ask," Cutter said with absolutely no inflection to his voice.

"I apologize," Regan said. "I simply can't help noting that the DA's Office has not yet seen fit to interview my client on the matter of People v Dyson."

"Directing that inquiry to Ms Kibre would be more appropriate," Cutter said. "Stop fencing, Ms Markham. You work with Jack McCoy, so no doubt you're good – but I'm better."

The door behind Regan opened and she turned to see Keri Dyson and Lanie Stieglitz.

"Does she have to be here?" Keri asked immediately.

"Yes," Cutter answered. "The defense has the right to be present at discovery depositions. But don't worry, Ms Dyson, she can't ask you any questions or interfere in the proceedings in any way." He shot a warning glance at Regan, and she nodded, doing her best to look meekly co-operative.

In fact, if Lanie Stieglitz hadn't been successful in getting a temporary restraining order against McCoy coming within a hundred yards of her client, he would have had the right to be here too. Regan wondered if Lanie might not have done her a favor. Keri's bruises had advanced to their most startling stage of blue and purple. She looked every inch the much wronged, much abused woman, and thinking back to McCoy's shock at seeing her yesterday at arraignment, Regan was glad he was prevented from being here today.

It's going to be interesting when she testifies, Regan thought. Of course, I hope by then Rey Curtis has turned up something that will make it pretty interesting for her, too.

But she couldn't ask any probing questions here today, testing the edges of Keri's story. Nor, she noted, did Cutter, not that she would have expected him to make such a novice mistake in front of a defense attorney. This deposition was a court document, not witness prep. No doubt Cutter and Connie will spend plenty of time with Keri over the next few days making sure her story is trial ready.

Today, Keri only had to repeat what she'd said in her complaint, and Regan noted she did it almost word­-for-word. No new information for us to work with. She took notes anyway – the number of drinks Keri said McCoy had (three); the way they'd gotten from the bar to McCoy's apartment (a cab which Dyson had paid for); where she said the assault had taken place (in the hall); what she'd done afterwards (fled sobbing). It all sounded plausible – to anyone who didn't know Jack McCoy.

And to a few who do, Regan thought glumly, looking at Lanie Stieglitz sitting protectively close to her client.

Although uncomplicated, the deposition took hours. As the court reporter packed up, Regan glanced at Connie Rubirosa and was glad to see that she looked troubled, a slight frown creasing her perfect face as she studied the papers in front of her.

Ask her the right questions, Regan willed the other woman. Ask everyone the right questions. Find out what happened, in case I don't manage to.

Connie looked up, caught Regan's eye and quickly looked away.

Regan sighed silently, shoved her notepad into her briefcase, and followed Lanie and Keri out of the conference room.

In the corridor she caught sight of the door to the restroom closing behind Keri. Lanie Stieglitz set her briefcase down and folded her arms, obviously preparing to wait for her client. As Regan passed her, the other woman spoke.

"I'm surprised at you, Ms Markham," she said abruptly.

"I can't imagine why," Regan snapped, barely checking her stride.

"I would have thought that a young woman," Lanie said, following Regan toward the elevator, "A young woman with your background and life experience, wouldn't be so quick to spring to the defense of a man who commits this kind of crime."

"First of all," Regan said, stopping dead in the corridor and turning to face Lanie, "I'm not young."

"From my perspective?" Lanie said with a smile.

"Secondly," Regan went on, refusing to be mollified, "I don't know what you mean by my background and my life experience."

"You have a law enforcement background," Lanie said. "Don't look surprised. You've been Arthur Branch's favorite fund-raising speechmaker for a couple of months now. Word gets around. And you've been the victim of male violence yourself, if the newspaper reports about the Walters shooting were correct."

"And thirdly, and most particularly importantly, I'm not springing to the defense of 'a man', as you so disdainfully put it, but Jack McCoy, my colleague and yours, Jack McCoy who I am perfectly confident would cut off his right hand before he raised it in anger against a woman, Jack McCoy who is, might I remind you, innocent until proven guilty." Regan realized her fists were clenched and made an effort to relax them. "So don't talk to me about law enforcement, and male violence, Ms Stieglitz. The background and life experience that's relevant here is knowing the kind of man Jack McCoy is and knowing what he's capable of and what he'd never, ever do."

"Dear," Lanie said, "When you get to my age you'll understand, there's very little that people aren't capable of, under the right circumstances."

"Including your client," Regan said. "If your client's story is true, why did she go to Jack and try and blackmail him into giving her a promotion, instead of going straight to the police?"

"She was upset and confused by the betrayal of her trust by someone she looked up to and admired," Lanie said. "Jack McCoy is twisting the situation to try and weaken her credibility as a witness against him."

"That might fly in front of a jury," Regan said, "But I was in the room. It's my signature on the complaints. And I can tell you now, that's not the way it played out."

Regan hoped she saw a flicker of uncertainty in Lanie's eyes. If it was there, and not just her wishful thinking, it was quickly gone. "Of course you're taking his side in this," Lanie said. She put her hand on Regan's arm. "I've known Jack for a lot of years. He's a great lawyer, and a man with a lot of integrity, at least by his own standards. But he's just a man, when it's all said and done – a man with more than a few flaws. One of which is charming the pants off any woman who spends too much time with him. So look out for yourself. Don't let your feelings for him get in the way of your good judgment. Look at this case dispassionately."

"For someone who has built a career on women's rights," Regan snapped, "You have a remarkably low opinion of our intelligence. I'm thinking with my brain, Ms Stieglitz, not my heart – or any other part of my anatomy."

She turned on her heel and strode for the elevator, too angry to trust herself to say anything further. Inside, she punched the button for the ground floor with a hard blow with a side of her hand, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Great. Regan studied the side of her hand as the elevator lurched downwards, seeing the reddening mark that would turn into a bruise. This case goes much longer I'm not going to be able to hold a pen.

Deep in thought, she walked straight past the subway entrance and only realized her mistake two blocks later. About to retrace her steps, she stopped. The late afternoon air was pleasantly warm, and the thought of the commuter crush turned her stomach.

Do I really have time to waste? she wondered, and then decided that maybe the walk would clear her head. Worth it.

However, any measure of calm the long walk home gave her quickly evaporated when she unlocked the front door and saw McCoy in the hall, wanting to rehash the morning's chamber's hearing.

"We don't need to talk about it," Regan said dully. "It's done. It's over."

"You must have done some pretty good tap-dancing," McCoy said. "Thursday – that's even sooner than I'd – "

"I didn't do any damn tap-dancing, Rubirosa folded her cards," Regan snapped. Thursday. Her stomach twisted.

"I guess she saw she was outclassed," McCoy said. This is just exactly how he always is when I win a Hail Mary argument against a good defense lawyer, Regan thought. Building my confidence. Encouraging me.

How can he act like this is just one more case for me to cut my teeth on?

"I need a glass of water," she said shortly, turning away from him and heading for the kitchen.

She turned on the tap and let it run, head bowed as she leaned on the edge of the sink. The steady hiss reminded her of the sound of tires on an empty road at night and she closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling of peace the thought gave her.

"You might need a glass," McCoy said, right beside her, startling her and setting her pulse racing again.

She turned off the tap hard, and hissed in pain as the flanges dug into the side of her hand. "God – damn – " She couldn't find words violent enough to express the black fury that surged though her, clenched her fist and slammed it down on the counter, deliberately bruising the tender flesh further, and again.

"Hey!" McCoy caught her wrist. "Regan. Take it easy!"

She snarled wordlessly, turning to glare at him, struggling to escape his grip, but he held her fast, and when she grabbed his hand to peel his fingers away he hauled her closer to him, pinning her arms between them, his other arm around her shoulders.

"Take it easy," he said again, his tone making it an order, holding her too tightly for her to anything but lean against him.

"Fuck you," Regan said, but she stopped struggling.

McCoy chuckled, his grip on her easing. "Not the most sincere invitation I've ever had."

Goddamn charming S.O.B, Regan thought, smiling despite herself. She took a deep breath, then another, feeling panic ebb. "I hired a private detective today," she said after a few moments, her voice a little muffled by McCoy's shoulder.

He went still. "Why did you do that?" he asked at last, his voice even.

"To find out what happened – to find out what there is to know about Dyson – to help me prepare for trial. On Thursday." She raised her head and pulled away from him a little to look him in the eye. "You can't imagine I can do all the prep myself in forty-eight hours."

"You don't need prep," McCoy said. He let her go and took a step away from her.

"Your confidence, while touching, is misplaced," Regan said waspishly.

"You don't need prep because you won't be presenting a case," McCoy said. "No witnesses. No cross-examination of the prosecution witnesses. No opening or closing statements."

"What the – oh for – Jack, we talked about this," Regan said. "You were going to co-operate, remember? Let me try and salvage my reputation, at least?"

"That was before I knew you weren't going to come up with anything better than some cock-and-bull story about drugs and a frame-up, for god's sake, as if that's going to go anywhere."

"I think it's the truth, Jack," Regan said. "I think that's what happened."

He shook his head, not looking at her. "Intoxication is not an excuse."

"Involuntary intoxication is a defense – " Regan started.

"I know it's a defense," McCoy interrupted. "I have been at this a few years, Regan, I know the law and all the ways defense lawyers can help their clients escape the consequences of their actions. I'm not going to play that game."

Regan stared at him, unable to find words. Finally she ran her fingers through her hair.

"We'll talk about this later," she said. "Right now I have an appointment."

"With your private detective?" McCoy asked.

"With my shrink," Regan said. "Although, personally? I think you're the one who needs his services."

"I won't let you run an insanity defense, either," McCoy said, and Regan wasn't entirely sure he was joking.


.oOo.


A/N: Depositions in criminal trials are more often taken by the prosecution for the purpose of recording witness testimony in case the witness is not available for trial. However, in some jurisdictions, depositions form part of the discovery process. The defendant or his/her counsel does not have a constitutional right to be present unless the deposition is taken to preserve testimony of a witness who will be unable to testify at the trial, but statute may establish that right where the deposition is taken as part of the discovery process. I do not in fact know what the state of the law on this is in New York State, so I am pretending that NY is a jurisdiction with discovery depositions and statute-established rights for defense to be present.