Hey,
Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.
James Sinclair, John Clarke Jr and Baldwin Jones are characters from NYPD Blue. I'm borrowing them for this story.
I was never satisfied with the verdict in episode ten, so the opening scene deals with events after that episode.
Chapter Four
May 21st
"Your Honour, the catalogue of mistakes and errors made by the District Attorneys Office during my client's original trial almost beggars belief." James Sinclair raised his hand, starting to count the points off on his fingers. "Vital evidence was mishandled by the prosecution during the trial."
"A key defence witness was approached by the prosecution and illegally informed of testimony." A second finger joined the first.
"Both the lead prosecutor, James Steele and his second chair, Christina Finn, acted inappropriately and in some cases illegally. My client made several complaints against Mr. Steele, which the trial judge refused to consider."
Alex made a quick note on her legal pad, biting nervously on her lip. Three good points. Probably more than enough for the judge.
Sinclair decided to twist the knife a little further. "On several occasions, my client told Mr. Steele that her husband, the deceased, had been abusive towards her for a number of years. Not only where these claims not investigated, but Mr. Steele rejected them out of hand." He paused, breaking off to direct a withering glance at Jim. "As far as he was concerned, he already had his killer."
"Finally, we request that the court considers punitive action against Ms. Finn." Sinclair sat down, adjusting his tie, leaning across to confer with his client, speaking softly in her ear.
Jim shifted nervously in his seat next to Alex. The last time he had seen her, she had been shattered, broken, her world falling apart around her.
Now she sat next to James Sinclair, innocently made up, demure.. Waiting for her chance to walk away after murdering her husband.
"Ms. Cabot, have you anything to add?"
Alex jerked angrily to her feet. "No, Your Honour. I've reviewed the trial files and I am satisfied that we proved our case in court and with the conduct of my deputies. Further, we refute categorically any allegations that evidence was mishandled. The defendant was offered access to the evidence. That she chose not to exercise that right is not my office's fault."
"I agree with you on that point, Ms Cabot. But not on the others." The Judge lifted his gravel and slammed it against the bench. "I'm over turning the original verdict and all charges are to be dropped. Ms. Phelps, you're free to go."
xxxXXXxxx
August 19th 1400
"Ms. Rossi." James Sinclair stood up as she came into his office, walking from behind his desk to take her hands with a familiarity she found both off putting yet oddly reassuring. "Please accept my condolences over recent events."
"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair."
"Please, call me James. Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you." She sat down on the edge of a leather sofa, glancing around the large office, at the view of the imposing New York sky line, visible through the windows.
"Will there be anything else, sir?"
"Could you bring us some coffee, Howard?" James Sinclair walked back behind his desk. "And ask Julie to join us."
xxxXXXxxx
He slumped against the door of the cell, resting his forehead against the bars. He smiled grimly. The way things were going, he'd be lucky if he saw anything other than bars for the next twenty years or so.
He sighed heavily, his smile fading. This was all his fault. He'd fucked things up, fucked things up for all of them.
Again.
If only…
If only he hadn't opened his fucking stupid mouth, talked her into going back to that drunken abusive asshole. If only she hadn't listened to him. If only…
If only his father wasn't…hadn't been a drunken abusive asshole.
He should have done it. It should have been him. He should have been a man and done it himself.
He'd fucked things up.
Again.
He should have let her walk away, should have let her leave when Jessica wanted her to. Jessica would have known what to do, would have known how to protect her, make sure that bastard couldn't hurt her anymore.
Jessica always knew what to do.
He was the screw up, the fuck up. Always had been, always would be.
This was all his fault.
xxxXXXxxx
August 18th 1730
"You want another one, Joe?"
Joseph Rossi nodded, sitting quietly on his stool, in his bar. The same stool he occupied every night until closing time. He knew this bar, he knew the people who drank in here. He liked them.
They treated him with respect.
"Come on, you useless sonofabitch!"
Joseph looked up at the sound of Tom's slightly slurred voice, drawn towards the game on the small screen, angled above the bar.
"What's the score?"
"4-1 to the Sox, top of the fifth." Tom glanced at him quickly, then back at the game, groaning loudly as another decision went against the Yankees. "Who the fuck taught you to pitch?"
"They're playing like a team of old women this year."
"They always play like a team of old women."
The bar shook with a brief rumble of laughter, attention quickly drawn back to the game.
Joseph scowled and finished his beer, signalling for another drink. Suddenly his odds weren't looking so good.
xxxXXXxxx
August 18th 2330
"I did it." Jason looked around, straining his neck, desperate to keep his eyes on at least one of them. "I shot him."
"No you didn't." Baldwin stopped his pacing, leaning over Jason's shoulder, his voice soft and menacing. "We know you're lying."
"I'm not."
Clarke smiled, almost sympathetically. "You ever hear of a CSI, Jason?"
Trapped between them, Jason cringed, shaking his head.
"They got this test they do, called a GSR Test. It tells them if a person has fired a gun or not." Clarke leaned across the table. "Yours came back negative."
"We know you're lying."
"Who are you trying to protect, Jason? It'll go a lot better for you if you get in front of this now."
"Cant you just…" His voice caught and he coughed, harsh and loud in the small room. "Forget about that? It should be me" He dropped his head into his hands, covering his face with his hands. "He deserved it. It should have been me."
xxxxXXXxxx
August 19th 1530
"Would you like a soda or something, Mrs. Rossi?" Clarke walked over to the other side of the table, pulling out a chair for her. "Maybe something to eat?"
Rubbing warily at her wrists, Joanna Rossi sat down. "Maybe some water." She seemed small, nervous, frightened of them, trying to sink back, through her chair.
"I'll go get it." Baldwin walked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
Clarke smiled at her, trying to reassure her, put her at ease. "Why don't you tell me what happened last night?"
"Last night?"
He nodded. "When your husband got home from the bar." His voice soft, persuasive.
Joanna nodded, moving her chair a little closer to the table, their heads close together, almost conspiratorial, her mouth open to speak.
The door of the room opened and Clarke glanced quickly over his shoulder, expecting to see his partner back with Mrs. Rossi's water. She wanted to talk, wanted to get it off her chest. It would be easy to push her over the edge.
He saw a woman, her eyes dark and burning as her gaze swept across them. "Mrs. Rossi, don't say anything more."
"Who are you?"
She walked around the table, pulling out the other chair and sitting down. "I'm Julie Phelps. Mrs. Rossi's attorney."
xxxXXXxxx
She was so tired.
What a fucking day. Her mother, her brother, her job, Jim…
Her father. She missed him, suddenly, with an ache that left her guilt ridden.
The door knocked, hesitant and nervous..
She ignored it, still on the couch, praying that whoever it was would take the hint and go away. She didn't feel strong enough…
The door knocked again, harder.
Maybe it was…
She walked quickly over to the door and glanced through the peephole, frowned and then opened the door.
Nick Potter stood outside her apartment. "Hey, Jess."
"Hey Nick. What are you doing here?"
He shifted nervously from foot to foot, playing with his tie, glancing over his shoulder. "I was just on my way home from work and I thought I'd stop by. Just to see how you were holding up." He held out a bag. "I brought you some dinner."
Automatically she reached for it, the aroma of Chinese food washing over her.
"Thanks, Nick. You didn't need to do this."
"It's okay." He smiled, the action doing a lot to ease the weariness in his face, lift the exhaustion lying across his shoulders. He'd come straight from work, she realised, still wearing his suit, the tie loosened in a vain effort to combat the heat. He nodded at the food. "You should go eat that before it gets cold."
"Oh right. Just let me get my purse."
"It's okay, Jess." He raised his hands, backing away from her. "It's on me."
"Thanks, Nick."
"Anytime."
He smiled again and walked off, leaving her standing in the doorway of her apartment.
A sudden thought occurred to her and she ran to the stairwell, still clutching the bag of food. "Nick!"
He looked up, half way down the stairs. "Yeah?"
"Who caught the Rodgers case?"
"I did."
"You don't need to go to trial. I think he'll take a deal. Offer him three to five and I think his lawyer will talk him into taking it."
"Okay. Thanks, Jess."
She smiled down at him, a genuine smile for the first time in a day, feeling her spirits, her guilt lighten. "Anytime."
End of Chapter Four
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