A/N: Once again, many thanks to RebeccaInley for her sterling work as a beta, and to Lynn46 for her insight.


Zealous Prosecution


10th Floor

One Hogan Place

11 am Wednesday May 9th 2007


Connie turned a page, turned it back. Statements, statements …

She sighed and pressed two fingers to her temple, trying to avert the headache she could feel just waiting to start.

It wasn't the reading, although there was only so much time a girl could spend pouring over witness statements and police files getting a case ready for trial before she wanted to run screaming down the fire stairs and into the street.

It wasn't the pressure, although this was probably the fastest she'd ever moved from arraignment to trial.

It was the case.

She just didn't like the case.

And when she said like, she didn't mean it the way she'd mean it if she thought I don't like vanilla ice-cream. Connie had spent enough time in the company of police officers since starting at the DA's Office for their habits of speech to have rubbed off on her, even in the privacy of her own head.

So when she rubbed her forehead again and thought I just don't like this case, it wasn't an expression of personal preference. It was a considered professional opinion that carried the same implication as a detective turning to a colleague and saying Yeah, I don't like the husband for this, I think his alibi is gonna check out.

I don't like this case. I don't think it should have got past the Complaints Room.

Well, maybe that was unfair. A woman with a black eye and a split lip, a doctor's report and absolutely no hesitation about naming her attacker: any ADA in the Complaints Room would have filled in the paperwork and got the DA's investigators working on it.

It was the next step that Connie baulked at – escalating straight from complaint to arraignment without a pause for breath.

She shook her head, rubbed her temple again.

"Something wrong?" Mike Cutter asked from her doorway.

"A few gaps here," Connie said, choosing her words carefully.

"Such as?" He came further into her office and propped himself against the wall, hands in his pockets.

"We've got statements from the ADAs who were there at the Lord Roberts that night – well, except from Markham and from me, of course."

Cutter looked at his shoes, frowning in thought. "What do you know about Regan Markham?"

"Not much," Connie said, truthful but evasive. "She's been on the tenth floor since last September, working with McCoy. Fraud before that. Solid record, nothing spectacular."

"Then why the rapid promotion?" Cutter asked.

"It was …" Connie started, and then stopped. She could tell Cutter the truth – that McCoy had burned through every ADA in the Trials Bureaus the summer after Alex Borgia was murdered, herself included. I worked one case with him and there wasn't enough money in the world to entice me to work another. "It was a time when Jack McCoy was working with a lot of different people," she said at last. "I guess looking for the right fit. Markham… " she shrugged. "Markham must have been it."

"And you weren't," Cutter said. "Must have burned you, to be turned down, given your conviction record."

"It was my decision," Connie said.

"Because?"

"Because none-of-your-business," Connie said.

"Now come on, Connie," Cutter said. "Is it relevant to the trial? Did he try to put the moves on you like he did with Dyson? Did he – I hear he has a temper, did he – "

"No, and no, and no!" Connie said. "Listen, as far as I could tell, Jack McCoy had no idea I was even female when I worked that trial. I know his reputation, and I know you know it, but there wasn't even a hint of anything inappropriate." She paused, and went on in a more measured tone, "Yes, he has a temper. And it was a bad time for him. How would you be if one of your ADA's got beaten to a pulp and shoved in a car trunk to die? Jack was – hard to deal with. I wasn't Alex Borgia, and that meant I was never going to be good enough to sit in his second chair, and he made it perfectly clear that was what he thought from the second I walked into his office."

"But not when it came to Markham."

"You'd have to ask her," Connie said. "I know half the tenth floor has heard them shouting at each other at one time or another. But they work well together."

"Hmmm," Cutter said. "And now she's defending him. Hey, do you think we should get her off the case? She's a witness, well, kind of, I can subpoena her as one, and then she can't act as his lawyer and – "

"Is she legitimately a witness?" Connie said, "To anything other than what I or half a dozen other people saw?"

"Does that matter?" Cutter asked. "If they're some kind of double-act, it'd have to throw him off balance to get a new attorney the day before opening statements."

Connie sighed. "Mike, this rush to trial – rush to judgment – it doesn't sit well with me anyway. Aren't we playing hard enough hard-ball without dirty tricks?"

"Dirty tricks are just what losers call winning trial tactics," Cutter said.

"Maybe in your playbook," Connie said.

"And this is my case," he reminded her sharply.

"Fine," Connie said. "So you want me to draft a subpoena?"

"No," Cutter said. "I do want to know more about Jack McCoy, though. You're right – we are rushing to trial. I want to know more about our defendant – what makes him tick – so I can explain his actions to the jury."

"Okay," Connie said. She hesitated, then took the opening. "Mike, don't you think we need a better idea of what his actions were?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, our whole case is based on Keri Dyson being one hundred percent truthful and one hundred percent accurate. How often does that happen?"

Cutter raised his eyebrows. "Just about never," he said. "Good point, Connie. Get the investigators busy – make sure of it. Cover all the bases."

"I'll do it myself," Connie promised.

She made a quick time-line of Keri Dyson's statement and put an asterisk next to what needed to be confirmed. Time of leaving bar, taxi ride to McCoy's apartment, time of arrival, time she left …

A thought struck Connie. She said she paid for the cab, she thought. Wonder if she paid cash?

I wonder if Keri's the sort of ADA to cut corners when it comes to office lurks and perks?

Instead of calling one of the investigators, Connie called Colleen Petraky.

"Is there any way to check who used cab vouchers on a particular day?" she asked the chief office administrator.

"Of course," Colleen said, sounding surprised. "They all come back to us, you know, for accounting and acquittal, and get scanned in."

"Did Keri Dyson use one last Thursday night?" Connie asked.

There was a little pause on the line. "Look, Ms Rubirosa," Colleen said at last. "I understand you're doing your job. But I think that if you want to look through the records you're going to need to do like you would for any other office, and get a judge to authorize you."

"Colleen, don't hang up!" Connie said quickly. "I am doing my job – the part of my job that is to make sure there's a reason for prosecution. I'm not – " She glanced around to make sure no-one was standing by her open door, and then lowered her voice and cupped her hand around the receiver. "I'm not out to hang Jack, whatever you've heard."

"You might not be," Colleen said. "But you're not the only one whose opinion counts in this, are you?"

"I'm not. But I am the only one who's on his side. So help me out, Colleen. Did Keri use a cab voucher that night?"

"Hold on," Colleen said. Connie heard her keyboard in the background. "Yes. At 8.37 that night."

"Right after they left the bar," Connie said. "Does it say where from and to?"

"No," Colleen said. "Just the area. But maybe the cab driver would remember."

"Maybe," Connie said with a sigh. "Give me the name of the company and I'll start interviewing drivers."

"Oh, I can do better than that," Colleen said, a smile in her voice. "His hack number is right here on the form."

"Colleen Petraky," Connie said fervently, "You are my favorite person in the whole world."


.oOo.


A/N: You know who my favorite people are? People who leave reviews!