...

Late afternoon at the 27th precinct was quiet and uneventful, furnished with the usual sounds of ringing phones, opening and closing filing cabinets, and clacking keyboards. Leaning back in his dated leather chair, Detective Lupo crunched loudly on his dinner: a paltry bag of potato chips.

"Hey, B—what's your take?" He nodded toward the Squad Commander's office where Captain Harvey Reischer was having an animated conversation with someone on speakerphone. It was a comical image: flailing arms and exaggerated laughter, but no sound. A couple weeks after her fundraiser party, Anita Van Buren had announced that proceeding 17 years as leader of the 2-7 and over 30 years on the force, she was retiring to spend time with her family. Cancer and its subsequent remission had given her a new perspective on life and its merit.

Captain Reischer was a decorated officer, having experience with the Organized Crime, Vice, and Aviation squads. However, his two-year stint in the Movie/Television unit had earned him the nickname of Harvey Hollywood. His nomination to take over the home of the Robbery/Homicide squad was certainly a bone of contention.

Detective Bernard twisted in his chair to glance at Reischer, and then looked back at his partner. "How does someone go from the real world of gangsters and criminal enterprises to conducting traffic on the sets of make-believe ones? I mean, who did he piss off?"

Lupo shrugged and shook his head in disagreement. "I have a couple friends in OC, and it's no walk in the park. There are certain things that you can't un-see. Maybe this guy was just looking for a change of venue."

"Are we still talking about the Captain, here? You aren't getting burnt out are you, Lupes?"

"No… But, sometimes you need a break. Maybe this guy is just smarter than the rest of us. That's all I'm saying. Although… It would be nice to be able to settle down. Speaking of which, here," Lupo tossed his half-eaten bag of potato chips to his partner and wiped his grease-laden fingers against his dark brown trousers. "I've gotta drop a few pounds for Loo's wedding."

"Oh, so you give the contraband to the fat kid, because he'll eat it, right?" Bernard arched his brow.

A duplicitous smirk materialized beneath Lupo's four o'clock stubble. "If you're going to play the discrimination card, you should probably take your hand out of the bag."

Connie shuffled into the precinct, silently greeting the duo with a nod. A barely discernible sheen of sweat across her chest and forehead reflected the muggy August day outside. "Did you get my message?"

"Good news first, please," Lupo referred to her enthusiastic yet enigmatic voicemail from two hours before.

She perched herself on the edge of Bernard's desk and brandished a piece of paper. "The names and addresses of Jacinda Chambers' clients."

"What's the bad news?" Lupo seized the list. Connie pointed at the second name, sighing sadly. "Anita Van Buren… I don't-… I don't understand. I thought that this gal caters to celebrities and socialites. Loo's got a decent pension, but it's nowhere near Chambers' usual asking price."

"I thought it was odd, too. So, I dug a little deeper and it turns out that Anita's fiancé Frank has a daughter, Dominique, who's known Jacinda since they were in 2nd grade. She took on the wedding almost pro bono."

Bernard studied her incredulously. "Where do you find the time?"

Connie shifted nonchalantly. "Some people eat lunch, and some people follow leads."

"How'd Loo handle the news?" Lupo steered the conversation back to the case.

"She wasn't exactly a fan of the idea of a big, elaborate affair, but she's pretty shaken up about this whole thing. Did you guys get the security tapes?"

"I would've called you sooner, but I was eating lunch," Bernard responded sarcastically. He turned his laptop to face her and tapped the spacebar. A grainy video of the exiting gate at the parking structure on Greenwich played at an accelerated pace. Connie leaned closer and saw the garbled image of a dark-colored sedan speeding through the tunnel toward the street. "Great! I'm assuming that you already ran the plate number?"

The detectives exchanged a hesitant glance, and Connie picked up on the trepidation. "But, there's a problem? Of course there's a problem." She groaned. "Let me guess: the car was stolen?"

"No, that would actually be the least of our misfortunes." Lupo handed her a print out from the Department of Motor Vehicles. "The Mercedes is registered to an Audrey Webb, the daughter of Sherman Webb Jr., the former Senator. Webb was a major contributor to Jack McCoy's campaign, and on top of that, he's currently out of the country. We figured it was best to devise a legal strategy before we head out to the Hamptons without a warrant."

Connie frowned.

"We're just covering all of our bases, so there's nothing for Cutter to-…"

"Oh, no, I'm not worried about that. It's just… Audrey Webb. That name sounds familiar." She slid the client list toward her, and her eyes brightened with comprehension. "Save the date, boys. Audrey's getting married this weekend."

"From Shelter Island to Rikers Island—maybe the guests won't notice the difference," Bernard quipped, opening his web browser to find a route to the Senator's house in East Hampton.

Connie fished her phone from her bag. "I'll have Mike get us a warrant."

Next day…

Lupo and Bernard had agreed to pick Connie up from the DA's office early that morning so that she could offer some leverage in the event that the Senator had any qualms about the investigation. Jack McCoy felt that his presence would be beneficial, and at some point, Mike Cutter invited himself along, as well. The ride to East Hampton in the maroon Town Car was crowded and stuffy, and the mood was hushed and rather sober. Detective Bernard drove, chatting comfortably with Jack in the front. In the back, however, Connie was wedged between Cyrus and Mike, who were quietly debating the superiority of various sports teams. She was not entirely sure why, but it made her jealous. She hadn't really thought about it until that moment, but it was the first time in a week that she had seen Mike for more than 5 minutes. Why wasn't he talking to her?

The tinny ring of a cell phone plucked her from her musings. Lupo answered his call, and Mike turned his attention to his own Blackberry. Connie cleared her throat and nudged his shoulder. "I thought you had another class this morning."

"I pawned it off to Carver. He owed me a favor." Mike set his phone on his lap and smiled apologetically. "Hi, how are you?"

"Oh, so now you want to talk? I'm no sloppy seconds, Cutter."

"How do you know I wasn't saving the best for last?"

Connie rolled her eyes, stifling a grin. Lupo's gruff voice interrupted the intimate exchange. "The Senator's plane just landed at JFK. The Captain sent out a couple of patrol cars in case we ruffle some feathers. They're about 30 minutes behind us."

"Backup?" Jack echoed. "We're going to the Hamptons, not North Korea."

...

An hour later, they were turning onto a private road. The car came to a halt several yards from a sprawling, shingled estate, surrounded by uniformly manicured hedges. A cool breeze from the Atlantic sent a chill down Connie's spine as she walked up the gravel driveway toward the ivy-covered porte cochère. Bernard gestured to the detached carriage house off to the right of the home, where an open door revealed a Mercedes with a damaged bumper. "I guess money doesn't buy you the brains to ditch the murder weapon."

Standing under the white stone portico, Connie shivered visibly, and Mike thought of giving her his suit jacket. As flattering as her thin turquoise sweater was, it was highly impractical. She met his concerned gaze and self-consciously muttered, "What?"

The front door opened, and a short, middle-aged woman in a traditional maid's garb stood in the foyer. She spoke with a heavy accent. "Yes, can I help you?"

"Good morning," Detective Lupo flashed his badge and peered into the entryway behind her. "We're looking for Audrey Webb. Is she here?"

"No, Ms. Audrey is not here. You are from the police?"

A voice echoed from inside the home. "Elba? Who is it?" An older, very prim woman with shoulder length silver hair appeared at the base of the stairwell. She approached the door and motioned for Elba to leave. "I'm Celeste Webb. What's this about?"

Bernard pulled a neatly folded search warrant from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Mrs. Webb. "Your daughter's vehicle was involved in a homicide in Manhattan yesterday morning. We need to take a look around."

"There's been some kind of mistake," the color drained from Celeste's face. "James, Audrey's fiancé, took the car out to the Pridwin—that's the wedding venue. It was quite windy yesterday! He said a tree branch fell and-…"

"Mrs. Webb," Connie intervened, "We have surveillance video that places Audrey's car in Tribeca at the time of the murder."

Celeste nodded grimly and beckoned them into the house. Lupo and Bernard headed out to the garage to take a look at the Mercedes, while Jack, Mike, and Connie followed Celeste into the living room. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

The trio politely declined, and Connie scrutinized the ornate décor, wholly disinterested in Mrs. Webb's woe-is-me story. She noted the housekeeper's troubled demeanor and trailed her down the hallway into the kitchen. "Elba, is everything okay?"

"Yes. Everything is fine," Elba began wiping down the visibly clean surface of the granite island.

"Is there something you would like to tell me?"

"No…"

Connie chewed her lip and gently moved closer. Her brows furrowed with empathy. "La obstrucción de la justicia es un delito grave. Si sabes algo y no nos informa, irá a la cárcel."

Elba tensed with fear, and Connie continued, "But, if you know something and you tell me, I promise you that you will not be in any danger of losing your job or your family."

A few moments later, Connie returned to the drawing room, a triumphant gleam in her eye. Mike rose from the sofa and met her near the window. From afar, their silhouettes against the sunlight told an interesting tale. Her arms were folded across her chest, formal and guarded. His posture was casual, inclined toward her, and his eyes followed every movement of her lips, cheeks, nose, and brows. She quietly relayed her conversation with the housekeeper. "Elba found Jacinda and James in the pool house a couple of months ago working on more than just a seating chart, if you catch my drift. James told her to keep her mouth shut, or he'd have her deported. Of course, she's here legally, so he had no grounds… but it was enough to scare her."

"So, James and Jacinda were having an affair—why would he kill her?"

"Maybe he was worried about her ratting him out?"

"Why not pay her off?"

"True. What about Audrey, though? A woman scorned is a pretty powerful motive."

"It's a possibility," Mike shrugged, gazing out the window at the glistening pool. "I'll have Lupo and Bernard pick up this James guy. But first, we need to find Audrey Webb."

The doorbell chimed in the distance, and Elba passed meekly through the parlor to greet yet another visitor. She reappeared quickly with an unexpected guest in tow. The woman's gorgeous tawny hair and alabaster skin was abrogated by the obnoxiously pretentious tone to her British accent. Connie watched the interchange between Celeste and the new arrival with disgust. She turned to Mike to make a comment, only to be surprised by the deer-in-headlights look on his face. "What? What is it?"

A snobbish and syrupy voice screeched, "I don't believe it. Mi-chael Cutter! What on Earth are you doing here?"

Connie had her answer. This stranger wasn't a stranger at all.