Office of ADA Mike Cutter

6th Floor, One Hogan Place

4 pm Sunday May 13th 2007


"Excuse me, Mr. Cutter," Bill Fitzgerald said.

Cutter looked up from the draft of his closing statement. "What is it, Bill?"

"I just had – I'm down in the Complaints Room today – and I just had an odd call."

Cutter put his pen down. "What kind of odd call?"

"It was from a guy who didn't want to give his name." Fitzgerald took a step forward, hesitating. "But he asked me –"

"Spit it out," Cutter said impatiently.

"About the statute of limitations on blackmail."

"So?" Cutter asked.

"So when I told him what the limits were for misdemeanors and felonies, he said that he'd heard it was different if you didn't know there'd been a crime. That he'd just found out that this woman who had accused him of assaulting her had shown him false medical charts as 'proof' to blackmail him into giving her a promotion. That he hadn't known it was a fake because he couldn't remember anything that had happened, but now a private detective had turned up with proof and he wanted to know what would happen if he brought charges."

Cutter sat very still. "What did you tell him?" he asked at last, hoping his voice sounded conversational.

"I went through the equitable tolling principles and the rest of it," Fitzgerald said. "But that's not why – "

"Mr. Fitzgerald," Cutter said. "Let me just stop you there before you get into the kind of unwarranted speculation that might cause both of us a problem."

Fitzgerald stopped, and swallowed. "Yes, Mr. Cutter," he said.

"I'm glad to hear that you gave the caller in this completely unrelated matter the correct legal advice."

Fitzgerald swallowed hard again, opened his mouth and then closed it. "Yes, Mr. Cutter."

"You should probably be getting back to your desk."

"Yes, Mr. Cutter."

Cutter waited until the door had closed behind Fitzgerald before he dropped his head to his hand. "Shit, shit, shit."

This was what Markham had. This was why Keri Dyson was stonewalling them on the medical records.

And this was why he could under absolutely no circumstances put her on the stand.

He got to his feet and strode to the door. "Connie. Connie!"

Her head popped up over the wall of her cubicle. "Yeah?"

"Get down to that fucking hospital and tear the place apart if you have to. I don't give a shit what they tell you about doctor-patient confidentiality. Take some blues and find probable cause to arrest every damn person who gets in your way until you get your hands on those records."

Connie hesitated. "Mike … "

"Just fucking do it, Connie, Christ, this case is coming apart under me like a Taiwanese bicycle, will you get on the fucking team!"

She didn't move. "Maybe the case is coming apart because there isn't a case in the first place."

"Shit, Connie!"

She folded her arms. "Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing."

He took a step toward her. "Don't you tell me what I'm thinking! I'm thinking that I have a guilty man on trial who is going to walk because my witness didn't trust the system to get it right without her salting the meat!"

"That's what you want to be thinking," Connie snapped back. "But you're too good a lawyer and too smart a man to fall for it."

"Oh, finally, a compliment." He reached her cubicle and grasped the barrier with both hands. "Listen, Connie, we're in this now. What happens if we don't get a conviction? Jack McCoy will still be damaged goods just by the charges. Arthur Branch will look like a vindictive SOB for pushing the trial. Nobody will know that McCoy was the one who forced Arthur's hand and nobody will care that he was acquitted."

"What does that have to do with the law? With justice? With our jobs?"

"Ask me that when Arthur loses the next election and McCoy is losing cases in front of jurors who think that smoke only ever comes from fire." He gave the barrier a little shake, and her desk shifted, pens rattling in their caddy. "You want to see this office come apart? You want to see what the criminal justice system looks like when it does? Keep undermining me, Connie, and you will and then we can have a chat about justice and the law and our jobs."

Connie leaned forward, right into his face. "Nothing will take this office apart as fast as convicting an innocent man because of – "

Cutter threw up his hands. "Jesus fucking Christ, Connie, he'snot innocent. He was ready to plead. Whatever happened that night, Jack McCoy himself thinks he ought to go to jail, and even if I don't know exactly why, in this case I think I'll respect his judgment." He ran his fingers through his hair. "The only people who think he belongs back on the tenth floor are the women he's – "

"Watch it," Connie snapped.

"Charmed, I was going to say." He sighed. "Now, are you going to start pulling in harness? Or do I have to go down to the hospital myself?"

Connie hesitated long enough for Cutter to think she was going to refuse. Then she sighed, and grabbed her coat and bag. "I'll go."

He eyed her. "So you can turn over anything exculpatory to Regan Markham before you show it to me?"

"Among other reasons," Connie said calmly. She turned on her heel and headed for the elevators, then stopped, and turned back. "Mike."

"Yeah?"

"You want to know why Jack thinks he ought to be in jail? Why don't you ask him."

.oOo.