As the portly defense lawyer entered the main interrogation room at the 2 7, he first did a double take upon seeing DA Jack McCoy, then he turned to glare at Jake Cohen.
"Jake what the hell is this, "Stan Webber demanded. "When my secretary said you needed me down at the 2 7, I assumed this was about a homicide, albeit a homicide a ways out of your jurisdiction. Why the hell is he here?"
"Listen Stan, "Cohen began as he motioned to the seat next to Jack McCoy."You know what's going on with Brooke right now. Cut the man some slack and just..."
"After the article in the Ledger this morning, it's obvious what's going on with Brooke. To me and every member of the New York Bar," Webber shot back. "Same old Jack. First, you trade my client to the Russians like he's a pound of borsht, now you think you can help Brooke out of this disaster you're responsible for, by opening the flood gates and releasing..."
"I'm not going to sit here and apologize for seeing that a man who sold women as if they were pounds of borsht got what was coming to him," McCoy snapped as he started to stand. "Jake, I told you this was nothing but a waste of time. Any man that would defend scum like Karl Rostov isn't going to give a damn if Brooke lives or dies."
"That's crap McCoy," Webber thundered. "Brooke and I go back since before she married Sam Prescott. Ever since I heard about what happened, I've been just sick about it."
"Then let's all sit down and try to help her," Cohen interjected. "Listen, Stan. The police have some leads that I can't discuss just yet. But, I can tell you, they are trying to find what Rostov referred to as his "Trainers'. From what we can gather, there are about a dozen teams of two that Rostov used to..."
McCoy shook his head impatiently as Cohen looked at him uncertainly letting his voice falter.
"He used them to turn his victims into sex slaves before he put them out as prostitutes."
The lines on Webber's forehead deepened as he nodded and let out a knowing sigh.
"I would have thought most of those men would be serving time here after the penthouse bust," he said warily.
"About half of them are," McCoy admitted. "The others have dropped out of site. The Russians are trying to help us locate them. But given the time constraints…Stan, did Rostov give you any names? Ever talk about using anyone named John?"
"'John,'" the defense attorney sputtered."A guy named 'John' involved with a pimp? Come on McCoy, is this your idea of a joke..."
"It's the name Brooke gave us just before she was assaulted," McCoy shot back desperately.
"What?"
"There was a tape," McCoy explained as he stood and turned his back to the other men, fighting to regain his composer, before he turned back around. "They made Brooke…she told us their demands before…"
Webber's face paled as he nodded in quiet understanding. He looked pleadingly at Cohen, who looked back at him undaunted.
"Before you go into the defense attorney's standard song and dance about privilege, remember Rostov is in a Russian prison. He's not only not your client anymore, but the Russians have assured Jack that after this stunt, Rostov won't be in any position to worry about any kind of rights..."
Webber opened his mouth to respond…to debate the ethics of letting the Russians become Jack McCoy's private route around New York's decision to put the death penalty in limbo. But the look in Cohen's eyes made him think better of it.
As much as he was appalled being put in the position of walking a slippery slope on attorney / client privilege, he knew he couldn't live with himself if he held back at Malinowski's expense. In the last five years, he'd known three other prosecutors that the Russian Mafia had silenced. Allowing the woman he remembered known for almost two decades…the woman who'd beat the pants off of him in his first criminal trial and then turned around and took him to dinner at Islip's only four star restaurant…to allow that woman to become one more dead prosecutor…
"I need to call my office. My assistant can pull Karl's file and fax you over what you need."