Author's Note: oh my, you guys are amazing! Thanks for all the kind words! I am not even kidding when I say I stayed up to 6am getting this chapter out. I then promptly fell into bed and had some very crazy dreams involving Harvey and Mike...hmm, come to think of it, maybe I should stay up late writing more often? ;)
He had left. He had really left.
Harvey's hands shook slightly as he picked up Mike's badge. When he had presented his ultimatum, he had thought Mike would choose him - no, choose the firm, he corrected himself sternly. He had thought Mike would choose the future that had promise instead of the bleak echo of the past. It was what anybody with half a brain would do!
How could the boy be such an idiot? He was throwing away the best thing that had ever happened to him. And for what? For some drugged up piece of scum not even worth the air he breathed?
His large hands closed around the plastic casing of the badge. Good. He needed to feel something solid, something to replace the sudden hollowness he felt inside.
No. He was just being ridiculous. He was only angry because now he had to go through the tedious process of hiring another associate. As for anything else that he felt, hell, it was late! He was tired.
"Mr. Specter."
He turned sharply, quickly wiping all emotion from his face. It was one of the paralegals who had called his name, the one that Mike had always been so sweet on. Rachel. Yes, that was her name.
Her eyes were wide and disbelieving. "What just happened?"
"Nothing," he said coarsely. "Excuse me."
"How could you fire Mike?" she burst out.
Unexpectedly strong irritation surged through him at the question; he was a senior partner at this firm and he damn well didn't need to answer to her. Without even acknowledging that he'd heard, he strode away, still clenching the badge in his hands.
His mind raced over the events that had just transpired. He had timed his visit down to the junior associate cubes deliberately, waiting for a time when the area was usually deserted. Part of him had been absolutely certain that he'd see his associate's things scattered all about as usual. Hell, he'd half been expecting to see Mike still there, hunched over a case file, highlighter in hand, pen in his teeth, his profile illuminated only by the harsh glare of the computer monitor.
He hadn't been prepared at all to see the abandoned badge.
Harvey knew he was damn good at reading people. It was one of the strengths that made him such a fantastic lawyer. But he hadn't seen this coming. Not at all.
Who in their fucking right mind would pick someone of the likes of Trevor over this job? Who the fuck did that? It defied all logical thinking.
And here he had thought the boy was smart.
"Oh my God, man, I knew you'd pull through."
Mike stiffened as Trevor drew him into a one-armed hug. His friend looked haggard - he was unshaven, his eyes red, his dark curls in disarray.
Trevor thumped him on the back and then pulled away, a goofy grin on his face. "Are you here to bail me out?"
"No," Mike said shortly.
The smile faded somewhat.
"I don't have the money to do it again," Mike said coolly, "but I am here to defend you."
"Don't have the money?" Trevor blinked, "Hey, aren't you the hotshot New York lawyer working for Headman Possley?"
"Pearson Hardman," he corrected automatically, even as a stab of pain shot through him at the reminder of what he'd left behind.
Trevor waved a hand. "Whatever."
"Let's talk about the case," Mike said quietly, leading Trevor over to a metal table that looked rather like a picnic table nailed to the floor. He opened up the manila folder containing the CAD transcript and the police officer's report. "I've read the reports, but I want to hear it from you."
"Those reports are probably full of shit anyway. I'll tell it to you straight. It was Tuesday night, and of course I was out clubbing when I saw this redhead chick at the bar. I bought her a drink and asked her to dance. You know my style."
"Had you been drinking yourself?"
"No," Trevor asserted firmly, "You know I'm low on cash, man. I had to save it for the ladies."
Of course. He believed it.
"Go on," he said.
"Well she didn't seem that interested in getting it on, so I left her after the dance and hooked up with a few other ladies. I was gonna buy one of them a drink when I noticed that my fucking wallet missing. I started searching all over - pawing at my pockets, checking the floor - and then I look up and I see that girl again."
"The redhead."
"Yeah, that one. I look up at her, she looks at me, and all a sudden she starts running. So that's suspicious, right? I pushed through the crowd and outside the bar, and I see she's about a block away, her and some friend of hers. It's two AM or something, so it's dark out, and they've got a helluva headstart on me. So I go for my truck - it's one I bought for cheap off some farmer - and it's a real piece of shit. But I figure I can only catch her if I'm going faster.
So I'm in my truck, cruising on some residential street, and she and her friend are still running. I yell out at her to stop, she keeps going. Her friend's got her phone out, and she's calling the police I guess.
Then they suddenly stop running, and I hit the brakes of the truck only to find that they don't work. So I do the only thing I can do to stop my truck, and I'm only going about five miles per hour or something like that, and so I put on the hand brake. Well the whole truck starts fishtailing, and I run it into these thick hedges and some sort of white picket fence. Truck comes to a stop, I jump out, and these bitches are screaming at me for hurting the tree."
Mike frowned as he processed that.
"For hurting the tree?"
"I don't know, man. They sure weren't yelling about me driving my car at them then."
"So you got out of your truck. What'd you do then?"
"I confronted her!" Trevor said, his fists clenching, "I told her that I was onto her, that she better give me my wallet back right then and there or there'd be hell to pay."
"Her friend had reached 911 by then. Your threat made it into the call record."
"I wasn't going to hit her or anything," Trevor protested, "Come on, man. You know I've never hit a woman in my life. I just wanted to scare her."
"That could easily be argued as assault," Mike said grimly, "How far away were you from the two girls?"
"At least ten feet. Really? Assault?"
"Keep talking. We'll figure out the details later."
"Well they started yelling at me that the police were coming, and so I told them, good! I was going to call them myself to report a pickpocket. So we all just stood around yelling until the police showed up. Those girls burst into tears and started pointing at me and yammering about how I'd threatened them, and he arrested me. It was only later in jail that I even heard that they had mentioned me running at them with a truck."
"No word on your wallet?"
Trevor scowled. "Fucking police wouldn't listen to me."
"Drop the attitude, Trevor. A jury will never sympathize if you look that pissed off in a courtroom."
For the first time, Trevor looked apprehensive. "Can you save me, Mike? It doesn't sound that bad, does it?"
Mike grimaced. "I don't want to make any promises. Look, give me a day or two to review the police records and transcripts in detail, okay? I'll have a better idea of our chances once I get a feel for how the cards stack up against us."
"All right. All right." Trevor exhaled, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Thanks for coming down here, man. Or. West-here. I dunno. I…look, I owe you one, okay?"
"If the last time you tried to pay me back is anything to judge by…let's forget about it, all right?"
He didn't regret coming out here, but he knew that what he'd given up could never be repaid.
Mike skimmed through the headers of the 911 CAD transcript with minimal interest. It was filled with acronyms that he wasn't too sure how to decipher – he supposed things like SO9 and K8 were officer call signals, and then there were a few timestamps noting when the call had come in, when the officer had arrived on scene, and when Trevor's arrest had been reported to dispatch.
The actual transcript he read with more care:
DISPATCHER: Missoula County 911, what is your emergency?
SARAH COOPER: Please help! There's this crazy man from the bar
threatening me and my friend!
MONIQUE BELL: Call the police! Help! Someone!
DISPATCHER: Ma'am, help is on the way. I'm going to need some
more information from you. Where is your current location?
SARAH COOPER: [REDACTED] Please hurry! Look, look you can hear him –
MALE VOICE (indistinct): - give it back right now – I'll fucking – you – got that?
DISPATCH: Yes, ma'am, I can hear him. I am calling a unit to your location
right now. Can you please describe the man?
MONIQUE BELL: I didn't take shit! Get away from me!
SARAH COOPER: Please! We need an officer right now!
DISPATCHER: Ma'am, please remain calm, we have one unit headed your way.
If you could provide a description of his appearance, it would be of
great help to our officers.
SARAH COOPER: You better back off! I've called the police!
MONIQUE BELL: Hear that? The police are on their way!
MALE VOICE: (indistinct) – you fucking dirty little thief –
DISPATCH: Caucasian, black, Hispanic?
SARAH COOPER: I'll scream, I'll scream and wake everyone up!
MONIQUE BELL: She's still on the phone with 911! They can hear
everything you're saying!
MALE VOICE: (indistinct)
DISPATCH: Ma'am, I advise that you and your friend back away slowly. The
police are on their way; do nothing to aggravate the situation. Do you hear me?
MONIQUE BELL: You fucking 'tard! Should've never danced with you!
MALE VOICE: (indistinct)
SARAH COOPER: You tell him how it is!
DISPATCH: Ma'am, please do not aggravate the situation. I repeat, do not -
[call terminated]
Based on the police report, Monique Bell was the redhead, Sarah Cooper the friend. Mike furrowed his brow as he reread the police report summary that the officer who had arrived on scene had written.
Caucasian, young man, mid-to-late 20s. Hostile and belligerent upon
arrival at scene. Continually alleged one of the women, redhead early 20s had
stolen his wallet while dancing in a bar. Shouted often, was unresponsive
to attempts to calming. Women were in near hysterics shouting that he
had been threatening them with bodily harm if they did not return aforementioned
money. Man grew hostile at accusations and became unruly; arrested him
for disorderly conduct.
Interviewed the two women on scene after a partner, K82, arrived on scene
to escort man to county jail. Redhead then alleged that man had threatened their persons,
in addition to attempting to run them over with his motor vehicle, a light-blue
1960s Ford F100 truck. Truck was smashed into hedges and fence of property at
[redacted], minimal damage to front bumper, fence picks knocked to 45 degree angle.
And most concerning of all was a PI report from a private investigator the district attorney had ordered. It plainly stated that the 1960s Ford F100 truck's brakes and steering had been investigated, and found to be in poor, albeit working condition.
Mike quickly reviewed the photos that the police had taken of the truck. There were several shots of the truck, the front buried in the hedge, and three shots of the interior. The inside was a mess - there were empty beer bottles and soda cans everywhere, some crumpled bags of chips, even a pizza box. It was typical Trevor.
He set down the case folder, swallowing hard. He was in over his head. He was in way over his head. Who was he kidding? He'd never done a criminal trial before. He wasn't even a real lawyer! And now that he had the reports and Trevor's statement, he no idea what he should do next. Could he find witnesses? Who could collaborate anything Trevor had said? Or should he suggest Trevor take the stand, at risk of baring his throat to the prosecution?
No. No. He knew Trevor was far too emotionally unstable to ever be allowed to take the stand. He'd overreact in a second under pressure, the second he thought he was being insulted.
But if he had no witnesses, damning transcripts, and a defendant who couldn't be trusted on the stand, then what case did he have?
The next day, he again visited Trevor at jail. "Your best bet is a plea bargain," he said, without preamble. "The prosecutor is a district attorney, a woman named Martha Mays. I can arrange a meeting with her."
Trevor wrinkled his nose. "What does that mean?"
"You plead guilty – "
"Hell no!"
Mike grimaced. "Hear me out. You plead guilty to the lesser charge of assault, Trevor, and they let you off easier. A reduced sentence. Maybe we can get away with just a fine."
Then again, for an original charge of assault with a deadly weapon, he doubted a mere probation would fly.
"Or house arrest. Or a shortened prison sentence," he amended.
"No," Trevor said flatly, "I'm not spending any time in jail if I'm innocent!"
"Think!" Mike snapped, "You think your chances look good? You have no witnesses to collaborate your story. The 911 dispatch report clearly suggests you were the aggressor. It even caught one of your threats on record. You've already been arrested once before for disorderly conduct. And just how hard do you think Martha Mays will have to work to find out that you were a druggie?"
"Hey, I asked you to come here to defend me, and you're making arrangements with the other side to lock me up – "
"I gave up my fucking job to come here, you ungrateful bastard!"
Trevor's mouth snapped shut. "What?"
Mike sagged in his chair, his anger spent. "You heard me."
"Mike – listen, man – "
"Forget it, okay?"
There was a long pause. Trevor shuffled his feet awkwardly. "You really don't think I stand a chance in court?"
Undoubtedly.
"I would go for the plea bargain," he said.
Trevor blew out his breath in a huff, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. "Okay," he said quietly, and then, "Maybe I could – maybe I could have a word with Harvey, y'know? Get you your job back?"
The mental image of anyone, let alone Trevor, having a word with Harvey flashed across Mike's mind, and for some inexplicable reason, he started laughing even though it really, really wasn't very funny at all.
Harvey should have known he couldn't keep something like this from Jessica forever.
"Where is your associate?" she demanded, the second he stepped into her office and pulled the door shut.
"Good morning. Yes, I am doing quite well, thanks for asking. And yourself?"
She pushed back from her desk and rose to her full height. "Good morning, Harvey. Answer the question, please."
Harvey thought of Mike's badge, locked away in his top cabinet drawer. He should have chucked it into the trash. He didn't even know why he'd kept it.
"I've always said I work best alone."
"Harvey Specter, I think I recognize an attempt at stalling when I see one."
Point. He forced a quick, tight smile. "He isn't here. And since when do you keep tabs on junior associates?"
"When it becomes my business to do so," she said archly. "Tell me what happened."
He swallowed down the pain, picking up a random, oddly shaped glass figurine from her desk and rolling it casually in his hands. "You thought he was too soft to be a lawyer. You were right," he said lightly. Carelessly.
He was Harvey Specter. Why did he give a damn if the kid had thrown it all away? He'd find another.
She looked at him severely for a moment. "Cancel whatever else you were planning on doing this morning. Other partners will cover for you," she said finally, "You'll be meeting with a new client."
"That important, huh?"
He didn't really care who it was. He was just glad she'd changed the subject.
She handed him a folded piece of paper.
That wasn't how it was usually done. Suspiciously, he took it from her and unfolded it.
Sobreto Village Nursing Home, Room 147.
Sobreto Village Nursing Home was a plain, rather unassuming place, minimally staffed, simply furnished. Harvey's lips thinned with distaste as he strode through the corridors, noting the dulled wallpaper beginning to peel off the walls.
"Room 147, sir," one of the attendants said.
He smiled a thank you, pausing for just a second outside the door to make sure that his tie was straight and that his hair was in order. It was a reflexive gesture, one he did before meeting any client, and he did it now though he had a strong suspicion that this latest 'client' was anything but.
"Please enter," a frail voice called at his knock.
He pushed the door open.
An elderly woman was sitting on the sole chair in the room. She looked diminutive, her clothes hanging off of her as though they had once fit perfectly, but her warm smile was radiant. "Mr. Specter, I'm presuming," she said, "My, aren't you a handsome one."
He flashed a practiced smile. "Mrs. Ross. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Please take a seat," she said, and then chuckled, "Well, I suppose I have hogged the only one. If you'd be patient, I would be happy to move – "
"No, please. I prefer the bed anyhow. If I may."
He gracefully seated himself across from her.
"Thank you, Mr. Specter, for making the time to see me. I understand you must be so terribly busy, given how much time Michael spends at work. I can hardly imagine how busy it must be for a senior partner!"
"I was surprised you were able to reach me, ma'am."
Her eyes twinkled as she held up a small white card. "I filched Michael's business card from him a few days ago. The young lady receptionist was very kind, and passed along my message. Heavens, I was surprised to find myself speaking with the managing partner herself, but she was most understanding."
His mind drew rapid conclusions from her words. "Mike didn't ask you to call me."
"I imagine he would be dreadfully embarrassed if he knew."
Well, this was an interesting development.
"I wanted to thank you, Mr. Specter. You gave Michael a new life."
"Ma'am, please," he said, uncomfortably. He didn't deserve this. Not now. If she had heard from Mike recently, then surely she knew what had happened…
She looked at him kindly. "Do you realize that we have something in common? Ah, yes," she said, "Perhaps not fashion taste or hair styling products, but if what I hear from Michael is correct, we both have a…distaste, shall I say, for Trevor."
He very carefully kept his face blank.
"I do not like that boy. I never did. He was a bad sort from the time he was eight and encouraged Michael to cheat on tests for the first time, all the way through high school with his wild parties, and through to adulthood. But Mr. Specter, when Michael came to me saying that Trevor needed his assistance, and that he would need to resign this wondrous opportunity he'd been given, I told him to go. I told him to go, because I didn't want his heart to be burdened with guilt."
She looked at him keenly. "And you, Mr. Specter? I am well aware of the choice you put before him. Was that fair?"
"Yes, ma'am. Professionally."
"Bah! It has been many, many years since I was in the work force. You know I'm not speaking of professionally."
Harvey winced inwardly. He supposed he had…perhaps a bit…tried to manipulate Mike's decision.
"You gambled with matters of the heart, Mr. Specter, as I'm certain you do every day in your business transactions. You gambled, and this time, you lost."
"I wouldn't have put my career on the line for anyone."
"But you did put your life on the line for Michael."
He looked away.
"Is career so important to you, Mr. Specter?"
"It's all I have."
"It's all you had, perhaps. You have a friend now, too, whether you realize it or not. And you protect your friends. Even when they are scumbags like Trevor, and especially when they're not."
He shook his head. "Respectfully, ma'am, friends don't exist in this business. Any day, you might face one of them as your opposing counsel."
And winning was everything. Friends knew you, knew your psychology, knew your weaknesses. Friends could predict your moves, and stab you where it hurt.
"Might I presume to give you a spot of advice?"
"Please."
She smiled gently at him. "When you are as old as I, you won't have a career. You may have good memories of a time when you did, you may have honorary positions and millions in the bank, your name etched in plaques in the hallways – but none of that will matter. Consider that, Mr. Specter, when you are weighing the choice of career or friendship."
Mike's words from the day before slammed back into his memory: "I'm not like you! I don't abandon my friends."
He'd written it off as just a petty insult the other day, but…no, that wasn't true. The words had hit him harder than he'd expected, he who usually let insults bounce off him like nothing.
Shit. Mike had, however knowingly or not, somewhat managed to pierce the chink in his armor.
"Michael hurt you," she said delicately, "You feel he betrayed you by choosing to go help Trevor."
That was nonsense. He didn't get hurt. He never let himself get hurt by others.
"He did what he had to do," he said, flippantly.
But he knew, and she knew, that the flippancy was a lie.
"As you will do what you must do. Even though Michael hurt you. Even though you hurt him."
"I didn't hurt - "
"You gave him an impossible ultimatum to try to force his behavior, when what he deserved was your understanding."
"It was a very reasonable - "
"Mr. Specter," she said severely, and he ground to a halt.
He hated to admit it, but she was right. She was right.
Soundlessly, he gave a minute nod.
"You seem to be a good man, Mr. Specter. I am very grateful that my grandson works for you."
He looked her in the eye, and knew immediately that her words and choice of tense hadn't been as innocuous as they superficially seemed. They had been a deliberate challenge.
"You should have been a lawyer, ma'am."
"And you are a lawyer, and an excellent deflector at that," she laughed, "Very well. I have enjoyed our conversation. I know you must be a busy man, so I will not keep you long."
As he made his way toward his car, Harvey paused for a moment at the receptionist's desk. "This place looks in need of renovation," he commented.
She looked at him dourly. "You think? But with the rising cost of medical equipment, if it comes down to having what we need and having pretty flowers outside..."
"I'm the type of person who likes to have both." And with that, he passed her a check.
By the time Harvey had returned to the office, he had made the decision. He was going to Montana.
Not because he cared about the kid or anything, he reasoned to himself. He was going to Montana, so he could personally kick Mike's ass for being such an idiot. Plus he really, really didn't want to have to hire another associate.
"Louis Litt has been looking for you," Donna said, as he stopped by her desk.
He dismissed that without much thought. "Donna, can I ask you for a favor?"
"I've already canceled your appointments for the remainder of the week." She held up an envelope. "Your flight to Montana leaves in four hours. Ray is waiting outside with the car to take you to the airport. You have a hotel reservation down the street from where Mike is staying. I've written down the address of the county jail and courthouse on the envelope." She held up another manila folder. "This contains a copy of the prosecution's evidence."
He blinked at her.
"And I've more or less told Louis to shove it because you'll be out of town," she added as an afterthought.
"How did - how did you - ?" He couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Donna, you are amazing. What would I do without you?"
"Trip over your own untied shoes, probably," she said.
His smile faded, and he tilted his head, looking back at her with a wounded look.
"Oops," she said, with an innocent smile, "Did I say that out loud?"
District attorney Martha Mays was a formidable looking woman, likely in her late thirties, with greying brown hair pulled tightly into a bun, piercing brown eyes, and rather aquiline features.
"I hear the defendant is interested in a plea bargain. Name your terms," she said briskly, not even bothering with an introduction.
Awkwardly, Mike sat back down. He had originally risen to shake her hand, but she'd left him in-limbo. "He'll plead guilty to the lesser charge of assault. Drop the charge of aggravated assault with a motor vehicle."
She snorted. "Assault alone is merely a misdemeanor. Why should the People even consider these terms?"
"You have no evidence that Trevor used the truck with intent to hit the two women. You only have statements from the two themselves, which isn't considered as trustworthy as a neutral third party account. Without proof of intent, there is no assault."
"And you only have the defendant as witness. I believe the jury will find him far less trustworthy, especially since the CAD transcript and police reports all indicate that the defendant was hostile for no cause," she said, "The reports also clearly indicate that both Ms. Bell and Ms. Cooper were frightened."
"The defendant wasn't hostile without cause. Ms. Bell stole his wallet."
"That isn't a fact. The police found nothing to prove anything of the sort."
"The police didn't investigate that claim at all."
"Because they found the defendant untrustworthy," she snorted, "That only aids my case."
He swallowed. "You still have no indisputable proof of intent that Trevor wanted to hit the two. There is room for reasonable doubt."
"If that's all you have, we're done."
His mind raced, and he threw out the last, desperate argument he had brainstormed the previous night. "There's an arguable inconsistency with the girls' reaction."
She made a bored, go-on gesture with her hand.
"They never even mentioned Trevor driving the truck at them during the 911 dispatch call. They only later brought it up to the officer on scene."
"And?"
"If I were to drive at you with a truck, and you were dialing 911, wouldn't it be one of the first things that you mention?"
He held his breath, waiting.
But the words fell flat in the air.
"Not if I were in shock," she said patronizingly, "Which, given the situation, would be absolutely understandable."
That had been his supposed ace in the pocket.
She looked at him knowingly. "What did you say your name was, Mr...?"
"Ross. Mike Ross."
"Ah, Mr. Ross," she broke out into a broad smile, "I had a feeling you might come to Montana."
He looked at her narrowly.
"Yes," she said, "I conducted a thorough investigation into the defendant's past. Your name cropped up a number of times."
Shit. Shit, shit. If she had ordered a background check of Trevor, then she knew so many things...
"Supposing I were to build this case on trustworthiness and credibility," she said, "And supposing I were to call you as a character witness to the defendant. I think you, Mr. Ross, could speak to a great many things on the defendant's past that would greatly aid my case."
"Mike would never - " Trevor began savagely.
Mike kicked him under the table. Hard.
Too late. Mays' smile grew. "So there is something he could say then. Something you'd rather keep hidden."
"By Montana's Rule of Professional Conduct 3.7, you'd first need to prove I'm a necessary witness," Mike said, with a calm and confidence that he didn't feel.
"Ah, but who better knows of your friend's past than his oldest friend? I think I could easily convince a judge that your testimony is unique and necessary. And that would disqualify you from acting as his advocate, would it not?"
Shit.
She smiled broadly, with the look of a cat that has just seen a mouse. "But after seeing you in action, Mr. Ross, I do believe I would like to face you at trial. So I won't invoke Rule 3.7 this time." She stood up. "No plea bargain. I look forward to seeing you in court."
As she left the room, Mike let his head drop to the table.
They were so fucking screwed.
After reassuring a white-faced Trevor that he would review all the evidence and try to look for something to work with, Mike stepped out of the county jail and into the brisk early evening chill. The sun was in the final stages of setting, painting long shadows across the pavement.
He pulled his suit jacket closer around him and shivered, and not simply from the cold.
"You must be a man of great faith. Or a great fool."
Mike whipped around at the voice. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
And yet it was.
It was Harvey - dressed in a perfectly pressed dark suit, a manila folder in hand - casually leaning against the wall of the county jail, looking for all the world as if there was absolutely nothing unusual about the fact that he was there.
He must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Something.
Harvey pulled himself off the wall. Three quick strides, and he was in front of Mike, thwapping the manila folder against Mike's chest. "You didn't even bother asking the police for a copy of the audio tape? The CAD report? You simply took the prosecution's copy at face value?"
Mike had never thought he'd see Harvey again, let alone here, in Montana, and for him to show up looking as immaculately composed as he always was - and wait, was Harvey helping?
He found his voice again. "What are you doing here?"
Harvey looked back at him impassively. "We have work to do. Get moving."
tbc
Author's Note: This was a bit of a double chapter, just as a thank you to all the folks who reviewed. I'll send over the full story as I have it to anyone who correctly guesses how Harvey's going to use the evidence (the CAD transcript, the police officer's statement, PI report, witness statement). As always, I'd love to hear what you think.