Diana was frantic. No one would represent her, and her first hearing approached. There was nothing for it, she decided, but to go pro se. She'd once been a hell of a lawyer, and who knew her case better than she did? She'd already mapped out a theory of the case, her defense being her former cell mate, Joan Woodward, whose married name was Viola, was married to Anthony Viola, and he was a major player in the New Jersey mob. Granted, the feds were all over the Viola family – Joan did twelve months for concealing assets and evidence – and her whole demeanor scared Diana. When she suggested whacking Claire Kincaid, Diana felt she had no choice but to go along. Once again, here she was, in deep shit, because she wanted to please someone else. More specifically, she wanted to survive, and no one in Bedford messed with Queen Joan, who made no secrets of her Viola connections.
She wore one of her old suits to her hearing. She looked across the aisle, at Ben Stone, and Jamie Ross sitting second chair. Glancing back at the gallery, she saw Jack McCoy, and she couldn't help feeling shocked – he'd aged ten years in the months since she'd seen him. The shock quickly became satisfaction as he glared at her, and she couldn't resist smiling at him in the old, flirtatious way. The judge came in, and Diana groaned, it was Lisa Pongracic. Great. The judge looked at her and said "Where is your attorney, Ms. Hawthorne?"
"No one will represent me, Your Honor. Apparently every lawyer in this city knew Claire Kincaid, and they refuse. So I have little choice but to go pro se."
Ben stood. "Your Honor, we believe Ms. Hawthorne does not have the mental capacity now to represent herself, that she's angling for appeal on grounds of inadequate counsel."
"As Your Honor knows, I was a very good attorney. I'm more than capable of defending myself against these scurrilous charges."
"Mr. Stone, do you have any solid basis to support your contention that Ms. Hawthorne isn't capable of defending herself?"
"No, Your Honor," he admitted. "Just a conversation with her at Bedford, which I taped."
"Without my knowledge!"
The judge looked at Lisa. Then she turned her attention to Ben. "You taped her without her permission, Counselor?"
"I did so as a private citizen, Your Honor, not as an agent of the court."
"That's not going to wash with me, Mr. Stone. You're well aware of the laws of this State, and I strongly suspect you knew you'd be prosecuting this case." She looked at Diana again. "Very well, you may proceed pro se, but I'm appointing shadow counsel from Legal Aid. I see that you've put forth a duress defense."
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Mr. Stone?"
"Your Honor, that is pure baloney. Her motive was revenge, plain and simple."
Lisa Pongracic sighed. "I'll read motions and deliver a decision forthwith. I presume you have the moving papers ready, Ms. Hawthorne?"
"I do, Your Honor." She produced two bluebacks, one for the judge and one for Ben.
"Then I'll meet with counsel again in three days. Court is adjourned."
Diana was led away, glancing back at Jack with a small, triumphant smile. Suffer, you bastard, the way I've suffered, then tell me, how does it feel to lose everything that matters to you?
Ben and Jamie walked through the gate and met Jack in aisle. Danielle Melnick and Sally Bell slipped out of a gallery bench and joined them. Ben sighed, he was going to have 'help' whether he wanted it or not. He opened the blueback and scanned it before passing it to Jack. Jack's face flushed and he almost threw it back. "Easy, Jack," Ben said. "We know it's a load of crap."
"May I read it, Ben?" Danielle asked.
Sighing, he passed it to the tiny attorney with the razor sharp brain. She and Sally read it together, then Danielle looked up and passed it back. "I think I'll go to Jersey and visit some old colleagues," she said. "Check out the Violas. I'll get back to you."
"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, as graciously as possible. He'd be a fool to turn down legal brain power like Danielle's, and he knew she was close to Jack, she was out for blood. And, like any good shark, Sally scented it, too, and wanted in on the kill. "I must get back to the office. If you'll excuse me." He and Jamie pushed past Jack and the women.
"C'mon, Jack, let's get coffee," Danielle said. He obediently followed, feeling cut off at the knees by Diana's strategy. It was a repeat of her defense against the charges he brought against her nearly a year ago, with minor variations in theme and execution. Danielle and Sally took him into a bar not far from the courthouse, where Danielle ordered coffee for three, circumventing Jack's urge for something stronger. Sally pushed him into a booth before he could countermand Danielle's order.
"Jack," she said, while Danielle chatted with the bartender, "this is me. You don't have to wear your mask with me. How are you doing?"
"I like to think I'm getting better every day, an inch at a time."
"I'm so sorry about the whole thing."
His brown eyes were soft, and he reached for Sally's hand, touching it for a second. "Thank you."
Danielle slid into the booth across from Jack and Sally. "You are not going to drink around me, buddy," she warned. "Claire would hate it, and I'm not too fond of it myself. Hard as it is, you have to get through this without a crutch, you have to feel every splinter of pain, and then it will start to get better. You know I liked Claire, I feel your loss. I'm going to help nail that bitch." She took out her cell phone and dialed a number as the waitress brought three coffees in thick white mugs. Danielle nodded her thanks, then said "Ruthie, Sally and I are having coffee with Jack at O'Malley's, then Sally and I are taking a trip to Jersey. You up for it?" She reached for her mug, listening. "Oh yeah, it's to take down Hawthorne. She's filed a motion you won't believe. I'll fill you in on the way. Good. Be here in twenty minutes." She clicked off and stashed the phone in her purse. "All your women, Jack," she teased, "have bonded around this one cause, to bring Diana down, to get justice for Claire."
His bewildered look made Sally smile. "C'mon, Jack, is that so hard to believe?"
He drank before trusting his voice. "Truthfully, yes."
"Ruthie loved Claire, you know that." Danielle's voice cut through his daze. "This is very personal for her, and for me, I'll never forget the kindnesses Claire showed me when I very much needed kindness. Sally has her own reasons."
He looked at Sally, probing. Their affair had been good and ended on semi-good terms, but he couldn't see her helping to chase Claire's killer to ground for nothing.
"It could have been me, if things worked out differently," Sally said, "but more than that, Claire was one of us. Just think of us as your harem, seeking vengeance for one of our own."
"But," he sputtered, looking at the tiny woman across from him, "Danielle and I never…"
Danielle smiled. "It's not a necessary qualification. All that counts is affection for you and a desire to help."
"You have your own practices," he said.
"And we have very capable assistants," Sally said.
He shrugged. "What can I say? Thank you for Claire."
"Thank us when the needle goes in Diana's arm. Now, about this ridiculous defense," Sally said.
"Let's wait for Ruthie," Danielle said.
Ruthie rushed in just then, her coat open and her face red. "Coffee," she called out, as she slid out of her coat. "Move your ass, Melnick." She pushed into the booth next to Danielle. "Now, what is this bullshit Diana's up to?"
"She's claiming duress, that her cell mate, the wife of Tony Viola, 'suggested' this revenge killing, told her how to do it, expected her to do it not only for her own honor but for the honor of the Violas, now that they'd taken her under their wing. And Diana, poor scared rabbit that she is, followed Joan's directions to the letter, lest she meet with some accident in the shower, or find some bull dyke having her way with her."
"You have to be shitting me," Ruthie Miller said, as her coffee arrived. "I smell a 730 exam in Diana's immediate future."
"Be that as it may, we're heading over to Jersey. A dear friend of mine works in the federal attorney's office, and we're going to take a very good look at the Viola files." Danielle was nearly through with her coffee, and she caught the waitress's eye. "Jack is probably going back to work," she said, heavily inflecting the word work, "and not hanging out with his best friend, also named Jack. Right, Jack?"
He smiled, a sad but still amused smile. "I'm going to work. I'm finding it's easier when I bury myself in work and stay away from the apartment."
Ruthie reached for his hand and refused to let go. "I miss her, too, Jack. I was really looking forward to being a godmother, not to mention crossing swords with her in court for years to come. You're not alone in your grief and pain, pal. I've cried buckets over that girl."
"I know, Ruthie. She felt the same way about you."
The waitress refilled their mugs and dumped a handful of creamers on the table. Ruthie reached for one and poured it into her coffee, releasing Jack's hand to do so. He put both hands under the table, clenching his fists. He appreciated their concern, their willingness to work pro bono on this, but there were areas of his soul that were off limits, even to Ruthie Miller or Danielle Melnick.
"We're going to give Ben reams of material," Danielle promised. "We're going to poke so deeply into Diana and Baumgarten, they'll think we're proctologists. We have our own resources, and don't mind using them."
Jack brought his right hand up to grab his mug. "I do appreciate it, and I'm sure Ben does, too. I know Claire would."
Ruthie's smile was fond. "I remember running into her at the courthouse restaurant, during the Carmel case. She believed women could have it all. I, of course, pointed out the fallacies in that, and left her with the brilliant witticism 'tick tock, girl.' Kind of ironic that she got knocked up a couple of months later." She looked at Jack then and blushed. "Sorry. It's just that she was so easy to tease sometimes."
Jack cleared her throat. "Believe it or not, she remembered that. When she told me she was pregnant, one of the first things she said was 'Ruthie and her tick tocks. I'm blaming this on her.'"
"I trust you pointed out I had nothing to do with it. Improper equipment and all that."
Jack laughed, a real laugh, but a tear formed in his left eye, which he wiped as quickly as possible. "She was so shocked when that stick turned blue, she made me look at it to make sure she wasn't hallucinating." His smile was sweet. "She walked around all day in a daze. I kept telling her it wasn't the end of the world. 'I know,' she said, 'it's just that Ruthie is never going to let me live this down if I'm not Wonder Woman.' By the next day, she was happy, she woke up happy and stayed that way, even when she was communing with the toilet every morning."
Sally realized he was probably speaking more freely to them than he had to anyone, sharing memories and feelings, and she wondered if it was because they all cared about Claire, were bonded to her in some way, individual as they might be. She looked at Ruthie, telegraphing the message with her eyes, and saw recognition in Ruthie's. Ruthie was the closest to Claire of all of them, but respect for the dead woman was the one common denominator of their little group, that and a fondness for the broken man sitting with them.
"I wouldn't, either," Ruthie said. "Payback's a bitch, she gave me enough grief about Andrew." She smiled. "She would have been a wonderful mother. In the end, I think Adam would have lost yet another female assistant, but hey, who can argue with a mom wanting to take care of her baby?"
Jack blushed again. "He was ready for that one, from the moment we told him." Then he looked down, into the dregs of his coffee, and an anguished "Oh God" escaped, a strangled whisper that tore the hearts of the women sitting with him. He regained control in seconds, then looked at each of them. "I am very grateful to each and every one of you, whatever your personal reasons for taking time from your practices to chase down an evil woman."
Ruthie nodded, then Danielle said "Does this mean you'll start cutting better deals with us?"
That made him grin. "When hell freezes over."
"Which it will when Diana arrives," Ruthie said. "She'll freeze the balls right off Satan, he won't know what hit him when she arrives."
"Which isn't going to happen if we don't get going," Danielle said. "You going to be all right, Jack?"
He nodded. "I'm going back to work." He reached for his wallet, but Danielle cut him off with a look. The women got up, each leaving money on the table, and Jack walked out with them. They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, then Jack nodded and headed for Hogan Place.
"I hope he makes it," Sally said. "He's not very good at dealing with his emotions."
"He'll make it," Danielle said, "and then we're going to have one hell of a time with him in court. I for one look forward to it." She buttoned her coat. "Are we ready?" She pointed to a car and driver waiting at the curb. "Off we go to armpit of the northeast."
--xx—
Jack did go back to work. He went to Ben's office first. Ben was making notes, referring back to the blueback and then to open texts on his desk. He looked up when Jack walked in. "We're on it. I'm already demanding a 730 exam."
Jack nodded. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."
Ben smiled. "Will do. Now, go do your own work before Adam kicks your fanny."
Jack smiled and turned, walking back to his office. Young Cutter was bent over a blueback of his own, and he looked up when Jack walked in. When Jack ignored him, he stood, eager to present the outlines of the motion and his ideas for counterarguments. Jack heard him out as his hand reached for that bottom drawer, then he stopped. No more drinking at work, he told himself. Focus on the work. And he speculated about the women descending on the U.S. Attorney's office and smiled at the thought of the poor man, swarmed by those women, then he turned his attention to the young man at his heels, a puppy in search of a pat on the head.
--xx—
The U.S. Attorney was Steve Walsh, an old school friend of Danielle's, and he was genuinely glad to see her. He ushered the women into his office, ordered coffee, and then sat behind his desk. "What can I do for you, Danielle?"
"Consider us on a mission from God, Steve. We want everything you have on the Violas, particularly that stellar example of womanhood, Joan Woodward Viola."
He didn't hide his surprise. "Danielle, you know those files are confidential."
She frowned. "We're working on the murder of a New York City ADA. We believe Joan is tangentially involved. I'm primarily interested in what landed her in a New York prison, Bedford."
His eyebrows shot up at the mention of the murder. "Joan whacked an ADA? The Violas are old school, they don't touch cops, district attorneys, or family members."
"I didn't say she whacked her. I said we think she had some tangential involvement. Her cell mate is charged with the crime."
The door opened, and Steve's secretary came in with coffee. Once she was gone and the door again closed, Steve got up and went to a file cabinet. He thumbed through the files, then yanked one. He perused it before handing it to Danielle. Sally and Ruthie stood behind her, bent slightly over her shoulders, reading with her. Joan Woodward Viola had concealed evidence and laundered mountains of cash, and served eight months for it. She was now behaving herself as far as the feds could tell. Disappointed, Danielle closed the file and passed it back to Steve.
"So what can you tell us about the Violas? If Joan 'encouraged' this other woman to kill the ADA, would they help?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think so, but times are changing. The younger men, coming up in the organization, don't respect the old rules and customs. They'll do anything for a buck. Did this woman do the actual killing herself?"
"No, she was still in jail," Danielle said. "She arranged for a man named Baumgarten to do it. Made it look like an accident."
"I've never heard that name," he said, "sorry. The looking like an accident, that sounds like a Viola specialty, but I seriously doubt it had the sanction of Tony Viola. I don't think I can be much help."
"Well," Danielle said, and flashed her brightest smile, "we appreciate the help, the look at the file. If you hear anything about it, please call me."
The women left the building silently, but once outside, Danielle turned to her friends. "Are we up for a trip to Bedford?"
Sally checked her watch. "Sure, we can make it up there in time if your driver goes like a bat out of hell."
Ruthie nodded. "Live in nanny. Let's go."
It was a two and a half hour drive. They went through the entry procedures and then found themselves in the warden's office. He knew all of them, individually they'd made many trips to Bedford to see clients, but he was surprised to see them together.
"How may I help you ladies?" he asked.
Ruthie took the lead on this one. "We'd like to see Diana Hawthorne's files, as well as Joan Woodward's."
Tim Taylor leaned back, surprised. "Are you defending Ms. Hawthorne?"
Ruthie shrugged. "We're involved, that's enough. Call Ben Stone if it will make you feel better. The files?"
He shrugged. Whatever would help put that skinny broad on death row, he thought. "ADA Ross was here yesterday, photocopying the same material."
"We're a special branch," Ruthie said.
He got up and got the files for them. "The room next door has a table and a copy machine," he said.
They filed into the small room next to his office and opened the files. Diana's was a gold mine of information – visitation logs, copies of her correspondence, which included a photocopy of the article about Claire's accident, even a listing of her conjugal visits with Baumgarten. "How the hell did she manage that?" Ruthie asked.
Danielle's eyebrows arched. "Should we be looking for a secret marriage?"
Sally snorted. "I think not. She's a master manipulator, we all know that."
They read the weekly summary of Diana's conduct, which was exemplary most of the time. She got on well with her cell mate, but clashed on occasion with the CO's, and nearly came to blows with another prisoner once. That was classified as justified, as the other woman made advances to Diana in shower. Joan Woodward had come to her defense and it quickly ended without CO intervention. Hawthorne and Woodward kept a neat cell, no contraband was ever found, and both were scheduled for either early release in Woodward's case, or on time for Diana. They looked at the top material, the arrest warrant, which they'd put aside to read the past – Diana had been taken, screaming, from the visitor's lounge and put on suicide watch.
"So she's on the edge," Sally mused. "Shelly had a point."
"She was never one of us," Danielle said, sharply. "The ice queen, remember?"
Sally nodded. "I'm not feeling sorry for her, just thinking aloud. Wonder if she can get over on Liz Olivet."
"I doubt it," Ruthie said. "Liz is a sharp cookie."
"Jack was no slouch," Sally said, "and look what happened there."
"So he screwed her," Ruthie snorted. "Not exactly headline news."
Sally flushed, and Ruthie touched her arm. "It's OK, Ruthie. I know what you meant."
Danielle had moved to Joan's file. "Nothing useful here. Visits from her family, boring mail from her kids, a job in the kitchen. Let's copy Diana's file and get back to the city."
--xx—
Jamie was tired. It was six, and Ben usually ended his day at six, to confer with Jack, freeing her to go home to Katie. She could get used to this, but today he showed no signs of slowing down, let alone quitting. He studied each line of Diana's Bedford file as if it was Holy Writ, making notes, writing questions, asking questions. Jamie felt as if her brain had been sucked dry. Finally, at seven, Ben closed shop, storing the files in a locked drawer.
"Go home, Jamie," he said. "We're tired, and tired people make mistakes. There aren't going to be any mistakes in this case."
"Are you stopping in to brief Jack?"
He nodded. "It helps."
"Good. He seems better to me."
Ben smiled. "We can only hope, Jamie." He pulled on his suit coat. "I'll see you in the morning."
She left, and noticed Jack bent over his desk as she passed his office. His left hand propped up his head, and he didn't notice as she passed. Maybe that's a good sign, she thought, he's concentrating. She tried to put the office behind her as she stepped into the elevators, but then an old memory came, unbidden. She was getting out of the elevator in the courthouse, and passed Jack and who she now knew was Claire waited to get on. Jack's eyes were locked on Claire's as he said "You made it sound like a major felony." Claire grinned, and Jamie wondered what they were talking about.
She hated it when these flashes came, she wanted to be as objective as possible about Claire Kincaid, know as little as needed. Emotional involvement could submarine this case, and she didn't want to lose, not this time. This was the first time Jamie had ever thought the death penalty justified, and it surprised her, but she went with it. If anyone deserved it, she thought, it was Diana Hawthorne, and she had a feeling that it might bring Jack some peace, but she doubted it. Nothing short of the second coming of Claire Kincaid would bring him peace, restore him, make him whole.
She got off the elevator and pushed all thoughts of work away, focusing on Katie, the one constant in her life. She stepped into the brisk night air and signaled for a taxi, thinking of the little girl who would be getting ready for bed when she got home, and she urged the driver to step on it.
--xx—
Jack looked up when Ben walked into his office. He automatically reached for the drawer, and poured two glasses. They sat on the couch, and Jack waited.
"We have records of multiple visits to Bedford by John Baumgarten in the months leading up to Claire's death. We have the testimony of visitors and prisoners alike who overheard them discussing tracking her movements and waiting for the perfect moment. On the last visit, we have a witness who heard Diana tell Baumgarten that the night of the execution was a high possibility, to track Claire closely, and if the opportunity presented itself, go for it."
"Is that witness credible?"
Ben shrugged. "It's a prisoner, who was waiting for her family to arrive. White collar crime, no axe to grind, so yes, I'd say she'd credible. She's been out a month, and she's willing to testify, I didn't have to cut a deal for it."
"That helps," Jack said.
"We have to wait for Olivet's report. She meets with Diana tomorrow, so that should come later tomorrow, or the next morning at the latest."
"Let's hope Liz's bullshit detector is in high gear," Jack said, and he refilled his glass, ignoring Ben's mild disapproving glance.
"How are you getting along?" Ben's eyes tracked the refilled glass from Jack's hand to his lips.
Jack sipped, then said, "Better."
"Better at hiding it, or really better?"
Jack shrugged. "My struggle, Ben. I'm working through it."
Ben nodded, he wouldn't pry. Jack would talk if he wished, otherwise Ben would leave it alone. He knew how annoying the probes of well meaning friends could be. "I'm heading home, busy day tomorrow."
"I won't be far behind you. I sent that puppy home an hour ago. I am nobody's role model, but somebody forgot to tell him."
Ben grinned. "Didn't we all find someone to emulate when we were rookie ADA's?"
"I suppose."
Ben rose, and put his empty glass on Jack's desk. "I'll see you in the morning. Get a good night's sleep, my friend."
Jack stood, too, and walked the short distance to the door with Ben. "Thanks. Good night, Ben." He closed the door after the man and returned to his desk. He knew he should go home, but he still hadn't adjusted to the emptiness, the loneliness. Still, it was better than here.
He finished his drink and changed, then rode home as recklessly as always, daring fate or God or whatever it was that determined who lived or died. He remembered a scene from one of his favorite movies, "Cool Hand Luke," where Luke, in the middle of a Florida thunderstorm, stood in the middle of the road, holding a shovel to the skies and daring 'the old man' to do his thing. Cool Hand Jack, he thought, parking his bike. Claire would have loved that image, laughed herself silly at me comparing myself to Paul Newman.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness. He stood for a moment, letting it hit him with its usual viciousness, the darkness and emptiness. No soft lighting, no sweet voice arguing over whose turn it was to make dinner, no body straining under his on the couch. He flipped the master switch then. Remembering that Claire often preferred sweaty sex to a drink as a way to unwind was not what he needed to be remembering right now. He put his helmet and keys down, then walked into his kitchen. He poured a hefty drink, then went to his stereo, hitting play. Whatever he'd listened to the night before would do tonight.
He sat on the couch, and thought of Diana, preferring rage to pain and depression. Ben had a good strategy outlined, and he would methodically go through it all, laying the groundwork, then the events leading up to the act itself, and Diana would find herself on death row. Jack had no doubts, refused to entertain even the slightest one. Claire would be avenged, and he would be there to see it. The irony was not lost on him – he would be there as Diana died, whereas he'd left Claire to die alone. She died the moment Baumgarten smashed into her, despite her young body struggling against the inevitable.
He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. "I miss you," he said. "Will it ever stop?" He put his feet on the coffee table, listening to the Doors.
Yes. He was no longer surprised when she answered him, and he didn't care if it was an auditory hallucination or not, it felt real and that was all he cared about.
"Why can't I see you?"
Because your ass would end up in Bellevue if you did. You have to let go, Jack.
"I don't know how to do that."
Buy a new couch for starters. He heard her laugh, God she had a great laugh.
"Ruthie really misses you," he said, "they dragged me out for coffee today."
I know, I was there.
"How's that?"
Jack, I'm in your heart, and as long as I'm in your heart, I won't leave you. Sooner or later, I'll begin to fade as you get on with your life. It's how it works.
"So this isn't real, our conversations?"
They're as real as you want them to be, and as long as they don't spill into your work life, there's nothing wrong with it. I love you, Jesuit boy, and the guilt you feel is so not necessary. Let it go.
He sighed. "I'm not sure I want to."
You have to. Either that, or go nuts, and hey, I don't want to hang with you in a locked ward. So get your ass in gear, you should be chasing down the bad guys and sending them away, not sitting there thinking about me. I'm gone, I won't be coming back. You must accept that. Go buy a new couch, and clean this dump up, start over.
"You want me to start dating, too?" He smiled.
Sure, eventually. What I really want is for you to change your driving habits. It's no different from suicide by cop and it won't get you anywhere near me. Now, finish that and go to bed. I promise good dreams.
And that was it, she was gone as Jim Morrison sang of "Riders on the Storm." He shook his head, then looked at his glass. She was right, he had to buy a new couch, and he had to get back in the game. He finished his drink, put the glass beside the bottle, and got up, cutting off the music and then the lights, and made his way through the shadows to his bedroom. He undressed and fell into bed, curling on his side, clutching the pillow that still faintly smelled of her, and succumbed to the alcohol, hoping for those good dreams she'd promised.