AN: It's taken me a while to update, so I've included a nice recap for you. Thanks again for all of the reviews! I truly appreciate every single one of them! I would like to dedicate this chapter to June, for her inspiration; to Amy, for reading even though she 'ships Lupirosa; to Abby, for being my ET; and to Potatoes, for keeping it real.
Here's What You Missed: A woman from Mike's past, who has yet to reveal her intentions or just what sort of place she hold's in his history, proves to be a bone of contention for our favorite DANY duo. Meanwhile, on the crime front, Audrey Webb's fiancé is arrested for Jacinda's murder in hopes to catch the real culprit. The problem is that no one is entirely sure who the real culprit is.
...
The Stella Dining Room at Le Cirque was crowded with men and woman dressed to the nines at 3:30 in the afternoon. Tuxedos, coiffed hair drenched in ozone-depleting hairspray, and portrait collared gowns occupied the elegantly draped tables and chairs. Sleepy piano music and the tinker of cocktail glasses chimed in harmony. Celeste Webb stood near the door, attempting to preserve the discretion of her conversation with the detectives from the 27th precinct.
"This really is not a good time. I already told you what I know," she proclaimed in a singsong and snobby manner.
"You can drop the charade, Mrs. Webb. Audrey called you Wednesday morning," Lupo antagonized. "We have the phone records to prove it."
Bernard brandished a copy of a call log. "We also know about your twisted little arrangement with James Northam."
"I have to say, it's a little odd that you weren't at his arraignment, though—according to him, you're his number one fan. Maybe he's covering for you?" Lupo's gaze made her shift uncomfortably. "Maybe Jacinda found out that the wedding was a sham and threatened to expose your scheme. So you decided to use any means necessary to make sure nothing got in the way of your plans. But I bet you didn't expect James to take the fall for it, did you?"
Bernard flashed a small, cynical smile. "Is that how you operate, Mrs. Webb? You connive and strong-arm your way through society until you get what you want? And then, when something goes wrong, you conveniently wash your hands of the situation…"
"No! That is not what happened." Celeste pursed her lips, visibly unaccustomed to being treated in the same regard as a suspect. She guided the detectives out to the corridor for more privacy. "How dare you accuse me of such terrible crimes, and in such a public forum? Have some respect. My family's personal affairs are none of your business."
"They become our business," Bernard snapped, "when someone gets killed because of your dirty laundry. I'm no lawyer, but my advice to you is to start telling the truth or you'll be facing a hefty sentence for obstruction of justice and hindering prosecution."
"This conversation is finished," Celeste asserted firmly. "If you have any further questions—which I'm most certain that you meddling boors will—you are welcome to contact my lawyer."
She paused briefly to regain composure before returning to the luncheon. The easel outside the door held a sign, welcoming guests to a benefit for the New York City Citizen's Crime Commission. Stop the Violence! Lupo and Bernard exchanged amused glances.
"It's always the ones that preach the loudest that you gotta watch out for…"
"Amen to that," Lupo smirked, reading the text message he had just received. "Hey, B, it's the Captain. Someone just showed up at the precinct claiming they witnessed the murder."
"Two days later?" Something didn't sit right.
Lupo shrugged. "Let's find out."
…
Martha Muñiz was sitting timidly in Captain Reischer's office when Lupo and Bernard arrived back at the 2-7. She was young, in her late teens or early twenties, and judging by her clothes and messenger bag, it could be inferred that she was a struggling college student. Lupo tossed his green corduroy jacket onto his desk and met the Captain outside of his office.
"She came in about 45 minutes ago," Harvey explained, sipping stale black coffee out of a blue NYPD mug. "She said that she works at a dry-cleaners across the street from the parking garage, half a block from the crime scene. Her story checks out—she was working the morning of the murder."
"Did she see who was driving the car?" Bernard joined the huddle, popping open a can of soda.
"She gave a description of a female that's a match for Audrey Webb. We've got an ID and her paw prints in the car, but no motive. Call the DA's office and see if it's enough to make the charges stick-…" Harvey trailed off, distracted by a presence in the distance.
Lupo and Bernard turned to see Jack McCoy standing ominously at the entrance of the squad room. A tall, graying man was at his side, holding a thick leather-bound folder. Senator Webb slowly inched closer and handed the binder to Captain Reischer. With immense sorrow in his tone, he explained, "I found this hidden among Audrey's wedding things. Please, Detectives, my daughter… she needs help. I cannot protect her any longer."
Harvey opened the folder. Pages of notes, pictures, and fabric samples had been shredded and vandalized with messages of hate. A clipping of a Manhattan lifestyle magazine feature about Jacinda fluttered to the floor, and Bernard picked it up. He read the blaring inscription. "'Die, whore. Thief. Fake bitch. I will smash you.' Call me crazy, Captain, but I think that qualifies as motive."
…
Audrey was arrested on Friday afternoon, and after the convening of a Grand Jury, she was formally indicted on Monday. The arraignment took place first thing Tuesday morning, and it was no easy feat. The Webbs had hired one of the best defense lawyers in the country, Eleanor Harper.
In the wake of the aftermath, Connie meandered into Mike's office, completely bypassing her own desk. It was a habit she'd formed over the time they'd been working together. Mike was lounging on his couch, reading a copy of the Sports page. Connie tugged the baseball mitt from his hand, tossing it onto a pile of boxes, and planted a greasy paper bag onto the center table. "I see you've already started your lunch break."
He heaved himself upward and massaged a kink out of his neck. "How'd it go?"
"Eleanor Harper tried to get the indictment thrown out the window on the grounds that we've already arrested and attempted to convict one person for the Chambers murder… You know, the usual spiel to make us look incompetent." Connie unpacked a few takeout boxes, two sets of utensils, and a handful of fortune cookies. "Don't worry—Judge Braden ruled in our favor. Our case against Audrey is solid."
"Don't be so sure," Mike grimaced, digging into the pot stickers with reckless abandon and pair of chopsticks. He gestured toward the slab of impaled concrete on the credenza. "Remember that case I told you about? Harper was the riding defense."
Connie hesitated before smiling mischievously. "Yes, but…this time, you've got me on your side."
"And they say that I'm the cocky one," he shot back.
Jack emerged from the side door with his black spectacles sitting near the tip of his nose. "Chan's Kitchen? Are we celebrating a victory?" He sat at the round table and pilfered an eggroll.
"Remand, pending trial," Connie beamed.
"I trust that you two understand that this case needs to be handled with the proper decorum."
Mike could hardly speak through a mouthful of food. "The same as any other case."
"Except that it's not any other case," Jack corrected. "You're dealing with the daughter of a family that holds considerable weight in the community, and I consider Sherman to be a friend."
Connie sensed that Mike was about to make a smart-aleck remark that would ignite an argument, so she quickly interjected, "Point taken. Kung Pao?"
"No, thank you." Jack rose from his chair and smoothed his tie. "I've got to save room for dinner—Rebecca's in town with the baby."
"I want a picture this time!" Connie called toward Jack's ebbing figure.
He gave a small wave as he disappeared into the corridor. A messenger knocked at the opposite door and dropped off an infamous blue tri-folded document. "Uh-oh." Connie quickly scanned the contents and groaned. "It's a motion to exclude Martha Muñiz's identification of Audrey Webb."
"Based on what?" Mike objected.
Connie read further and then closed her eyes in a state of incredulity. "Apparently this isn't the first time that Martha's come forward as a witness to a murder. Braden wants us in his chambers in an hour."
…
Mike Cutter was fuming. Connie stood silently to his left, observing the heated exchange between Mike and Eleanor Harper. She snuck a glance at Judge Braden, seated comfortably behind his desk. His eyebrows were drawn tightly in displeasure, and Connie had the feeling that by the end of the motion hearing, someone would be facing contempt.
"Your Honor," Mike reasoned, "Miss Muñiz was working in a shop across the street from the crime scene. She would have seen the vehicle coming out of the parking garage, and she had a clear view of the driver. There should be no question about the validity of her statement."
"Crime scene units have not been employed to verify that such information could be acquired from the witness' location at the time of the murder. There is no proof-…"
"People v. Kennon. Forensic and/or logistical substantiation is not a requirement for an eyewitness account to be tenable." Mike silently thanked Westlaw and his Blackberry.
"So if a homeless man tells me that he can talk to God, I'm supposed to believe him? Please! Martha Muñiz is a compulsive opportunist," Eleanor countered, hardly containing the urge to roll her eyes. "She has an unscrupulous habit of lying about her knowledge of criminal activity in order to gain access to reward money. And, to add insult to injury, she did not approach the police until two days after the murder occurred. Her behavior is highly suspect."
Mike's neck was red with fury. "Oh, so now we solicit justice through egregious generalizations? Your Honor, Miss Muñiz did not initially come forward because she was afraid that the police would not believe her. And, with regard to her habit-…" he glared, "-…she called a Crime Stoppers line one time when she was fourteen. It was an honest mistake."
"Mr. Cutter may be an expert judge of character," Eleanor retorted sarcastically, "but he conveniently forgot to mention Ms. Muñiz's second offense. Three years ago, she led the authorities on a wild goose chase that ended at a motel in New Jersey. She admitted to being under the influence of methamphetamines. There is no doubt that she was after the $750 reward in the interest of maintaining her…lifestyle. I have here the report from the Trenton Police Department."
Mike and Connie swapped bewildered and flustered glances. Lupo and Bernard had not mentioned anything about drugs or fraud. If there was one thing Mike hated, it was being made to look like a fool. Eleanor continued to spout her pompous opinion. "The way I see it, the Prosecution's star witness is either blind, delusional, or a liar. Any way you look at it, her testimony lacks credibility and is, therefore, inadmissible as evidence against my client."
"Your Honor, the People would like to request a continuance-…" Mike pleaded, desperately attempting to save the sinking ship.
Judge Braden folded his hands in front of him on the desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cutter, but I will not impede Ms. Webb's right to a speedy trial just because your detectives didn't do their homework. Frankly, I am inclined to agree with Ms. Harper. Your witness has a rather ignoble record, and her belated decision to contact the police only serves as a further blow to her reliability. Her statement is out. You can file an inclusionary motion if you find someone who can corroborate the identification."
"In that case, Your Honor, I move for a dismissal of all charges against my client based on insufficient evidence."
Mike had reached his boiling point, but Connie stopped him from saying anything he would regret with a gentle squeeze of his forearm. She immediately felt a flash of heat on her cheeks—what was that about? Fortunately, no one had noticed the inappropriate gesture except Mike, who gazed at her fleetingly with a half-puzzled, half-tranquil expression.
"Don't be greedy, Ms. Harper," Judge Braden scolded. "The trial will convene next Monday at 9:00 am."
Welcoming the dissolution, Mike and Connie made a swift exit. They walked in silence, brooding over the unsatisfactory decision. Finally, Connie sighed and offered a few words of encouragement as they plodded down the marble staircase. "We're not completely screwed. We know that Audrey knew about the affair—or what she thought was an affair—and we've got her prints in the car. We've also got the phone call to her mother, and-…"
"It sounds even worse when you say it out loud," Mike protested.
Outside the Courthouse, the summer sun was bright and blinding. Regaining her sight, Connie spotted an unwelcomed visitor on a cell phone near the base of the stone steps. She failed to keep her negative reaction to herself and muttered, "What is she doing here?"
Mike eyed her quizzically. Clearly, he was not so averse to being in the presence of Bianca Peters. As they reached the sidewalk, Mike greeted her amiably. "Annie, what are you doing here?"
"What a coincidence. I was just calling you," she smiled. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I might steal you away for dinner."
In the neighborhood? Doing what? Lying in wait like a lioness hunting a gazelle? Looking for the inside scoop on a story to get the promotion that she didn't deserve? Connie prayed that her face did not reflect her urge to vomit. She then scolded herself for even having the urge to vomit—just why exactly did this Bianca character elicit such an inimical response?
"I'm sorry, but… I can't. This isn't a good time. I have-… Well, we have a lot of work to do. I hope you understand," Mike apologized, nervously wringing the handle of his briefcase.
For a moment, Connie thought she saw a gleam of malice in Bianca's blue eyes. Whatever it was, it dissipated to a pout. "Oh, how disappointing! We simply must catch up, Michael. You work so hard…. You really ought to take some time for yourself—loosen that dreadful tie. Perhaps tomorrow night at eight o'clock? My place?"
Connie's eyes grew wide at the brazen attempt at seduction. She cleared her throat and announced, "I'm going to head back to the office. See you there?"
She tossed a sheared smile at Bianca and quickly fled the awkward situation. Within a few minutes, she reached the large gilded doors of Hogan Place. She had been so deep in thought, analyzing her feelings about the case and Mike's love life, that she could not recall how she'd arrived there. Hers was a dangerous profession. There was always a risk of becoming too emotionally involved with a case. No one had warned her about the risk of becoming too emotionally involved with a partner, however. She didn't want to admit it to anyone, least of all herself, but she felt threatened by the precipitous arrival of the woman that seemed to still have a place in Mike's life… in his heart. Especially since she thought that she and Mike might have… well, she wasn't sure what she thought.
Later that afternoon, Connie hunched over her desk, working on the witness list for the Webb case. She had purposely delved deep into an assignment so that Mike would not notice that she was avoiding him. Unfortunately, they had been colleagues long enough for Mike to detect that something was wrong. When it was nearly time to leave, he appeared in his doorway.
"Connie… can I see you in my office?"
His tone caught her off guard, and she furrowed her brow. "I'm…kind of in the middle of something. What is it?"
"This will only take a minute," he assured.
Connie sighed heavily and begrudgingly left her workstation. She stepped gingerly into Mike's office, and he closed the door behind her. The space was eerily silent and slightly suffocating.
"After what I witnessed today, I think we need to…clarify a few things."
She knew exactly where this conversation was going, and it made her squirm. She folded her arms over her chest and vainly attempted to look surprised. "What are you talking about?"
Mike smirked and perched himself on the arm of the couch. "I can infer that you see Bianca as just another dogged journalist, willing to do anything for a story."
"I don't think that!" Connie snapped defensively. "To be honest, I don't have an opinion on the matter."
"Well, opinion or not, I hope that you know that we are a united front, and I would never do anything to jeopardize a case… Regardless of my relationship with Bianca."
Connie's breath swelled in her throat. So there was something between them. Quashing the internal dialogue, she tried to appear unruffled, flatly replying, "Okay. Are we done here?"
Mike seemed dissatisfied with her response, but he abandoned the issue and moved over to the whiteboard hanging on the side door. "Not quite. I called Detective Lupo."
"I'm sure that went well." Connie could only imagine the verbal assault Mike had unleashed on the detectives for missing such a key detail about Martha Muñiz.
"Martha's records from New Jersey were sealed."
"Sealed?" Connie frowned and moved closer. "Why?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. A 22-year-old city college kid gets collared for a meth-induced adventure and gets off scot-free?" Mike studied the notes he had scribbled across the board earlier that day.
"Someone is looking out for her…. But, who?"
"I don't know," Mike shrugged, quickly veering down a different path. "I find it hard to believe that on a crowded street, no one else saw the driver of the car that killed Jacinda Chambers."
A light bulb went off in Connie's head. She uncapped the black marker and began drawing a rough diagram of the area surrounding the crime scene. "There was a construction crew set up on Hubert the morning of the murder. If the car continued down Greenwich, it would've gone through the site… The entire intersection was blocked off—there was no other way out."
"How does that help us? There are no cameras to prove-…"
"No, but just past the construction zone…" she sketched out a building "…is another parking garage. The entrance faces Greenwich."
"Let's hope that the cameras show Audrey driving the car."
"I'll draft the subpoena for the tapes!" Connie could hardly contain her renewed exhilaration. She stopped in her tracks when Mike reached out and took hold of her hand that was still clinging to the marker. "Oh, right… You probably need this more than I do."
In reality, he didn't care about the pen. It was just an excuse to touch her… to recapture the connection that he feared was lost. He could level with her and give rise to tension; or he could persist in silence and wish for the best. Something foreign in him told him to tell her the truth. "Connie… There is nothing between Bianca and I… Not anymore. We had a brief involvement back at Hudson. After a year, she decided that she and I didn't share the same passion for Law. She was more interested in sentiment and shock value than fact and dogma. People grow apart, but some handle things better than others. Bianca's never been one to take 'no' for an answer."
Connie's mouth went dry. She appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to be so candid—he was such a reserved, quiet person.
"I don't want anything to change between us."
The office was overcome with a sweltering heat. Connie heard herself talking, but her rational part of her brain did not sanction the words. "Mike, I think we've reached a point that nothing could change how I feel. I mean-… how we feel… about working…together."
He was still clutching her hand. Her heart was pounding. Their eyes were linked by an invisible chain of attraction and awareness that was so unique to them. Connie willed her eyelids shut, fracturing the connection. "I… I have to get to work on the subpoena. You should call Captain Reischer and let him know that we're… back on track."
She retreated from the office, dizzy with anger at her indecorous behavior. Mike's phone beeped from his pocket, and he unenthusiastically read the message.
The offer still stands. You know where to find me. –Annie
...
AN: Will Mike meet up with Bianca? Will the Webb case survive? ;)