My friends and colleagues, we have assembled together to mourn the death of one of our number, and to begin deliberations on an acceptable replacement. Do we have any candidates?
I know we put John James McCoy at risk recently, but he seems to be a perfect fit for the Court of Last Resort.
Jack McCoy…eh?
He's competitive, hates to lose. He's actually one of the best DAs in Manhattan right now.
Yeah…but he's one of Adam's people.
Adam's getting old. He won't be District DA forever.
We can take a look at McCoy as a possible replacement. Might be he could be the one we're looking for. But we need to be sure…
Yeah…Paul was about to betray us. Who saw that coming?
Not I…
Right. If we want Jack McCoy to join us, first we need to see if he's right for us. No more stupid mistakes.
Jack McCoy was feeling a certain measure of satisfaction today.
The murder trial of Samuel Moody had gone well. Moody had been convicted of killing the man who had been embezzling money from his insurance company.
He's going to spend the next twenty years in prison…
Claire Kincaid had gone back to the office, to prepare for another case. But, for now, Jack McCoy could take a breath and relax.
He walked outside the Courthouse. It was a fine, warm, sunny spring day.
"Jack?"
Anna Kopell was there, a small box in her hands. She looked unwell. Circles under her eyes, she clearly hadn't been sleeping well these last several days.
"Anna…" McCoy gave her a hug. "How have you been?"
Stupid question, Jack…
She had been widowed less than a week ago.
"Paul left something for you," she held a box out to McCoy. "Don't know what it is, but it was in Paul's office, and it had your name on it."
She put the box in his hands; then fled quickly, leaving McCoy standing there, feeling faintly idiotic; looking down at the box in his hands.
At the office at Hogan Place, McCoy ignored Claire's questioning look, and closed his office door. Something told him to close the blinds on the windows too.
Feeling just a touch paranoid, are we?
Then, he looked down at the box sitting quietly on his desk. The name, Jack McCoy, had been written in magic marker on the top of the box, and Jack recognized Paul Kopell's careless scrawl. So he opened the box, taking care not to tear the plain brown wrapping.
The box was just large enough to hold a tape recorder/player; complete with power cord and a light set of earphones.
Just in case the batteries don't work. Paul usually tries…tried…to prepare for every exigency…
There was also a tape, already placed in the machine; and McCoy felt chills up and down his spine.
This could be a dying declaration…
Carefully, McCoy plugged the machine into the nearest energy socket. Then, he put the earphones on, and started the recording.
Hiya, Jack…
If you're listening to this, I'm dead. I've been a very bad boy; done some very stupid things lately. One of the worst was letting you almost get arrested. You've never heard of the Court of Last Resort.
We all hate it when guilty people get off for doing bad things. It happens all the time; like when I got Mickey Scott off for rape and murder. If anyone deserved death, it was him.
But I'm too good at my job, I guess…
That's where the Court of Last Resort comes in. We're a panel…Five Judges, five attorneys…and we…Judge, I guess. We look at all acquittals, and decide if Justice was served or not.
What I'm trying, in my own meandering way, is to tell you I got mixed up in a very criminal group of vigilantes.
Please forgive my stupidity…
That was it. Nothing more after that. McCoy pulled the earphones off, staring at the tape recorder, at the tape that had just told him a great evil was lurking in the Hallowed Halls of Justice.
For a moment, he sat there, at his desk, and his mind was empty of solutions.
He picked up his phone, fingers hovering over the number pad.
Who could he call?
His fingers apparently did the deciding for him, punching out a quick series of digits.
"Lieutenant Anita Van Buren speaking."
"Jack McCoy, Lieutenant. I need your help."
"Certainly, Counselor. What's your problem?"
"Not here…" McCoy was almost overwhelmed by sudden paranoia. "We need to meet somewhere…secret. Somewhere safe."
"Thankfully it's a warm spring day," Detective Lennie Briscoe commented as he parked his car and got out.
"Yeah…" Detective Rey Curtis complained. "But why does Van Buren want us to meet her here instead of her office?"
"We'll find out when we see her," Briscoe looked around. "There's her car."
Window down, Van Buren sitting at the wheel.
"Get in, gentlemen," she commanded.
Strangest thing, Jack McCoy was sitting next to her; and he looked…
Frightened…angry too.
Briscoe and Curtis got in, sitting in the back seats.
"Lieutenant…Counselor…" Briscoe made his greeting. "Odd day we're having."
"It's about to get odder still," Van Buren handed him a tape recorder, and a set of earphones.
"Listen to this, both of you," she ordered. "Then we'll talk."
So, Briscoe and Curtis listened to the tape, taking turns on the earphones.
After, Lennie rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"Crap…" he sighed.
"Quis custodiet ipsos Custodes?" McCoy muttered softly to himself.
"So…something's rotten in the District of Manhattan…" Briscoe sighed again. "Are there any plans in the works?"
"Send Undercover in," Curtis suggested; and McCoy chuckled softly.
"Undercover wouldn't work," He shook his head. "This Court of Last Resort is comprised of Judges and lawyers. Cops wouldn't be able to get in."
"Then, how do we get…" Lennie stopped suddenly.
"No…" he breathed. "You can't be serious! The Counselor hasn't been trained in Undercover."
"But he is a lawyer," Van Buren said. "Besides, he volunteered."
"That's…suicide!" Curtis objected. "They killed your friend, Counselor. They-"
"I know they killed Paul!" McCoy snapped. "I was there when they did it!"
"Easy, people…" Van Buren spoke up. "We're all on the same side. And Jack McCoy is the only one we've got that I trust."
McCoy nodded at that.
"I'll probably need to tell Adam-"
"No," Van Buren laid a hand on McCoy's arm. "You tell no one. I mean it, Counselor. You tell no one."
"But-"
"I meant what I said about you being the only one I trust, Counselor," Van Buren's dark eyes were solemn.
"We have a nest of vigilantes in our fair city, gentlemen," she continued. "And we don't know any of their identities. We don't know who they are. I mean to bring them all down; and that means we'll have to keep secrets from our nearest and dearest. Unless, of course, you wish to share Paul Kopell's fate, Counselor?"
McCoy paled at that.
He's beginning to realize the danger he might be placing himself in…
The attorney nodded slowly.
"All right…" he said at last.
"Good," Van Buren turned to look back at Briscoe and Curtis. "I'm going to have to come up with some sort of excuse for you two. I want you to keep yourselves ready just in case the Counselor needs you. If things go wrong, I won't want to have to explain that we lost our Executive Assistant DA through carelessness."
"You can put us on Desk Duty for the duration," Briscoe suggested.
"Yeah; I'll come up with something," Van Buren sighed. She looked from Briscoe, to Curtis, and then to McCoy.
"It's just us four," she said. "And it's up to us to keep Manhattan clean of the cancer of vigilantism. Even if it comes all the way from the top."