"Has the Jury reached a verdict?" Judge Gary Feldman was presiding over the case.
"Yes, Your Honor," The Jury Foreman replied. "We have. We find the Defendant Guilty, on all counts."
Jack McCoy, standing at his usual place, felt none of the satisfaction he normally felt upon hearing the Jury return a Guilty Verdict.
The Defendant, a man just now convicted of Manslaughter in the First, a Drunk Driver, would receive the maximum penalty for killing a pedestrian.
Judge Feldman would see to that.
Judge Feldman…
McCoy repressed a sigh.
Gary Feldman was also the leader of The Court of Last Resort.
He called himself the Chief Magistrate.
Feldman was a murderer, with at least three murders to his credit.
Of course, he hadn't done it himself. The Court of Last Resort had its very own hitman that it called upon to commit the actual murders.
Lieutenant Anita Van Buren was still trying to identify the hitman, but the evidence trail was thin on that count.
Whoever he was, he was very good at policing his brass, leaving no trace behind; not even a partial fingerprint.
"What's wrong, Jack?" Claire Kincaid pulled him out of his reverie. "You won."
"Yeah…" McCoy managed a rueful smile.
"Still got…the flu?" she challenged.
"Ah…I'm feeling better."
"Jack!" Feldman called out. "Meet me in Chambers."
"Yes," McCoy nodded. He felt Claire's hand on his arm.
"Weren't we going out to lunch?"
"Yes," McCoy turned to her. "It'll just be a few minutes. Meet you there?"
Claire regarded him with a level gaze.
"Don't be too long, Jack…" she spoke softly.
That wasn't Claire, his Second Chair. That was Claire, the woman who was his lover…
Heart abruptly aflutter, he nodded.
"I won't."
After she was gone, heading over to Reilly's Bar & Grill, McCoy walked down the Courthouse halls, for Judge Gary Feldman's Chambers.
He dreaded the reason why he was being summoned…
When he arrived, he found Feldman deep in conversation with Judge Stephen Harrow, and Amelia Straker; also members of the Court of Last Resort.
"You've heard of the Christopher Case?" Feldman sat at his desk as he spoke.
"Yes," McCoy nodded. Sandy Christopher, found dead in her Apartment. She had been beaten, raped, and then strangled.
The case had been prosecuted by the up and coming Michael Cutter; and he was relatively inexperienced. Mistakes were made, and the Defense Attorney, Danielle Melnick, had gotten the Defendant, Sandy's ex-husband, Barry Christopher, an acquittal.
It had been Stephen Harrow who had presided over the case; and now, he was bringing Barry Christopher to the attention of the Court of Last Resort.
"We'll go into Session to Debate Mr. Christopher's fate at nine PM tonight, at the usual place," Judge Feldman looked up at McCoy with dark, intent eyes.
"I'll be there," McCoy promised.
"Good, see you then…"
Taking a deep breath, feeling ill, Jack McCoy nodded, then left.
Claire Kincaid watched as Jack McCoy entered Reilly's, stopping just inside to look for her.
He worried her. Really, he did.
He's been so strange these last two weeks. Paul Kopell's death must have hit him hard…
Kincaid had read the reports on Paul Kopell's death. He had been shot through the head with an armor piercing bullet, his head virtually exploded, squashed like a melon, right in front of Jack McCoy.
All things considered, McCoy had taken this remarkably well. Something…had happened the week before. Whatever it was, Adam Schiff had been royally pissed off about it, but neither he, nor McCoy, would say anything about what it was…
Jack's been…skittish lately; and he's not normally like this…
"Sorry about being late," McCoy sat down at the table across from her. If anything, he looked even more distracted than he had before, and Claire wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled.
Why won't you tell me what's wrong?
Dr. Emil Skoda had no idea why Adam Schiff had summoned him into his office at 1 Hogan Place.
There didn't seem to be any serious murders that demanded his special area of expertise.
But, here he was, sitting in Adam Schiff's office, the DA, himself, serving coffee, accompanied by one of his ADAs, Claire Kincaid. Schiff's Executive Assistant DA, Jack McCoy, was absent, though…
Uh-oh…
"Are we here to discuss a case?" Skoda spoke cautiously. "Or…something else?"
"I'm worried about Jack McCoy," Schiff admitted. It was clear to Skoda that Schiff really didn't want to do this.
"Well…he did witness the violent, and very bloody death of a friend," Skoda said. "Has the Counselor done anything…unusual?"
"No."
"Yes."
Adam and Claire both spoke at the same time. Now, Kincaid looked at her boss.
"Adam?" her eyes were wide.
Schiff sighed, closed his eyes as he sat at his desk.
"A few days after Paul's death…Detectives Briscoe and Curtis…arrested Jack. They'd caught him on the top floor of the building the sniper had used to shoot Paul from. They brought Jack to me instead of to the Precinct."
Claire sat quickly.
"He didn't say anything to me about that…"
"No," Schiff snorted. "I imagine he didn't. Thing is…Jack's been…acting strangely. I know Jack. He's…afraid. Can you help, Dr. Skoda?"
Whatever Skoda was expecting to hear, it surely wasn't this.
"If he comes to me, I might be able to help," he said at last. "Are you afraid he might be experiencing…a breakdown?"
"He and Paul were friends, Emil."
"I know…"
Skoda hesitated, looking for the right words to say.
"Jack McCoy's a…Thoroughbred…" he finally said. "He's supremely good at his job; exceptional, in fact. But…"
Thoroughbreds were bred and trained to be racehorses, and they were…exceptional racehorses. But, when they broke…
Broken racehorses usually get put down…
He sighed again.
"If you can get him to come to me, I'll see if he needs help."
"Getting Jack to come to you…" Schiff chuckled mirthlessly. "While you're at it, you can wish for the Moon on a silver platter…"
Jack McCoy parked his bike a few blocks away from the Warehouse…
He'd already called Van Buren, told her what he was expected to do.
Condemn a man found innocent by a Jury of his peers…
"Vote along with the rest of your peers," Van Buren was implacable. "If they vote to kill Barry Christopher, you vote to kill him too. We need to get the hitman too."
So…McCoy guessed it was decided…
He made his way into the warehouse, went to the wall at the back, and there the elevator was, open and waiting for him, ready to take him down to the Court of Last Resort…
And, how very pompous it all was, each member donning the black robe, and taking his, or her, seat.
"Getting cold feet, Counselor?" Feldman was speaking, and McCoy didn't rightly know how to answer that.
Cold feet?
So cold, they're frozen…
"Don't worry, Jack," Feldman laid a reassuring hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Let's start…"
The next hour was spent on going through all the evidence on Barry Christopher; the evidence that Melnick had gotten thrown out in Court, and McCoy had to agree, the evidence was…compelling.
Compelling enough for a reasonable jury to return a verdict of Guilty.
But this isn't a jury…
After the verdict had been agreed upon, it was time for the…Judges to render Sentence.
This was the last thing McCoy wanted to do. But Van Buren had told him…
He had to do this…
He heard each Judge down the line speak the Sentence.
"Death," Gary Feldman pronounced.
"Death," Stephen Harrow…
"Death," from Amelia Straker.
Death…Death…Death…
Down the line the vote went, until it came down to Jack McCoy. Heart in throat, voice dry as dust, he spoke the only word he could speak now, the word he really didn't want to say. The word he had to say to preserve his status as Van Buren's…Undercover Agent…
"Death."