It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

By Zoltar, Rocket, and Mom

Nov 13, 2002
Central Park
1:22 A.M

Lennie Briscoe tugged at his gloves, hoping to warm them from the winter blast
that had caught the city by surprise. From the corner of his eye, he caught a
glimpse of his partner, Ed Green, climbing delicately down a hillside.

"Ed, over here, " Lennie called out.

Ed waved a hand in acknowledgement. " Why can't people get killed at a decent hour?" Ed groused. "I just drew a full house and the darn beeper goes off."

Lennie chuckled, " so, you drop your hand and come running?"

Ed smiled, " I thought about that Lennie. But then I thought, what the heck,
somebody's already dead, what's a few more minutes gonna do? Now, don’t look at me like that partner, I've got 400 bucks in my pocket that says I'll be treating you to a nice lunch tomorrow. No hot-dog stands for us."

"Hey, I'll settle for a hot chocolate, blast those weathermen."

The two men approached a scene of activity. Cops were walking everywhere, some trying to look busy, others trying to stay warm.

"Hey, you guys mind not tracking your prints all over the place? Or don't they
teach you anything about procedure at the Academy any more?" Lennie yelled out disgustedly. Ed ignored the comment, as he'd come to expect that sort of thing from his older partner. Besides, he was already focusing on a woman in a CSU coat who was squatting next to a downed figure.

"What do we have?" Ed leaned over as he pulled a notepad from his jacket.

"Don't know yet," came the reply, as the woman continued to examine the body.

"C'mon Darcy," Lennie put a hand on the woman's back as he too leaned in for a closer look. Vegetable or mineral, it's gotta be something. And it's too darn cold for us to hang around while you toss a coin."

The woman stood slowly and faced the older man. "Ah Detective Briscoe, always the charmer. You know I'm just giving you the run around because I enjoy freezing my butt off in the middle of the night."

"Sorry, I know," Lennie said apologetically. "What CAN you tell us?"

"Well, there're no bullet holes, and no knife marks, no bruising of any kind," her breath turned white as she exhaled.

"Natural causes?" Ed asked.

" Yeah, could be," She responded.

Lennie eyed her closely. "But you don't seem convinced Darcy."

She stared at the body. "No, I'm not. Now, this is just a guess mind you, and forensics will be able to verify, but I wouldn't rule out poisoning. His coloring indicates it's a possibility."

"Ah great," Lennie sighed, " That means finding the proverbial needle in a haystack." Darcy and Green knew what Briscoe meant and commiserated with him. Guns and knives were a lot easier to find than a plastic vial and they sure as heck weren't getting any finger prints off any poison at the bottom of this sucker's stomach.

"Well, I do have one piece of good news," Darcy teased the detectives.

"What? You finally dumping your old man to live in bliss with me?" Lennie snorted.

"You’re not THAT lucky Detective. No, the guy has I.D. on him," Darcy said.

"Well you gonna tell us or wait till we all catch pneumonia?" Lennie groused.

"Lennie, what you know about medicine could..." she began but was interrupted by a frustrated Ed Green.

"C'mon guys. Please! "

Darcy produced a plastic bag containing a wallet and carefully removed it. She flipped it over to reveal a driver's license.'

Lennie squinted at the name and stared at the picture and suddenly took a step backwards, spun in a circle, and exhaled, "Son of a..."

"Hey Len? What's wrong? You know this guy?" Ed asked in bewilderment as Darcy furrowed her brow too.

Lennie stared at Ed in dismay. "Who IS this guy? You ever read the papers ED? This is none other than the infamous Judge Gary Feldman."

Ed still looked confused.

"Feldman, Ed. Feldman! C'mon he's the guy I told you about who tried to run McCoy's arse up the flagpole over that drunk driving case a few years ago. AND he ran against Adam Schiff in the primaries. Played dirty pool with him too."

A look of recognition came over Ed's face as he leaned closer to get a better look at the victim, who lay face down.

"A Judge huh?" Ed remarked.

Lennie's exasperation grew. "Not just "a" Judge, Ed. THIS Judge. THIS freakin' Judge. We better call Van Buren, this thing's gonna hit the fan as sure as I'm standing here freezing my... Why couldn't he have been dumped in Jersey?"

As Ed spoke to Darcy, Lennie's eyes searched the area looking for clues, clues he knew he wouldn't find at 1 in the morning. Suddenly, he caught sight of two small glistening orbs, midway up a nearby hill. -So, you've come to help this evening, I see - Lennie thought as he slowly made his way towards the sparkling lights. He slowly approached the small form and reached down, gently picking it up. " Roscocat, what brings you out on such a cold night? Don't you have a lady friend you should be seeing?" Lennie scratched the feline's stomach. Just as quickly, Roscocat jumped from the embrace of the cop and landed quietly back on the ground. A persistent purring caught Briscoe's knowing attention. " I know that sound. You've found something haven't you," Lennie sat on his haunches. Suddenly he saw what his four-legged friend had found. " Ah, a piece of evidence, my friend?" Lennie stared at the object. Taking a pen from his pocket, he poked at gray material and picked something up with the end of his pen. Lennie carefully examined the find. It was a dingy gray colored cap, the kind generally found at the loading docks. A shiver ran up Lennie's spine as he recalled another place he'd seen such an offending piece of apparel. The top of Jack McCoy's head!!! A disbelieving Briscoe looked from the hat down the hill towards the crime scene. - I don't believe it, I can't believe it - Briscoe whispered. "Roscocat, of all the times to lend a helping paw..." but the Detective turned to find the feline had retreated to parts unknown. Lennie sadly started down the hill towards the others.

"Ed, found something," Lennie said quietly,

Cha CHING

Scene: 27th Precinct
11:00 A.M
Office of Lt. Anita Van Buren

A weary detective Lennie Briscoe yawned widely as he absently stared at the snowflakes falling past the window in his boss' office. With eyes glued to the outside, his ears listened intently to the one sided phone conversation.

"Yes, Ye ... of course sir ... all we can spare... we'll do our best ... I " Van Buren smirked at an amused Ed Green, as she tried to extricate herself from the phone call. It was with great relief that the call finally ended and she unceremoniously dropped the receiver on its cradle.

"Making friends at City Hall?" Ed smiled as he leaned against the wall.

The attractive woman shook her head as she leaned back in her chair, " THAT was the Deputy Mayor.
Before him it was Judge Karen Parker, President of the NYC Magistrate's Organization, whatever the heck that is, before HER it was my boss and before HIM it was that weasly Mark Prentice from the New York Ledger snooping around. You see what I'm getting at guys?"

Lennie turned his attention from the window to his unamused boss. "Yeah, if we don't have somebody hanging from a yardarm by sunset, the world as we know it could end today."

Anita had to smirk appreciatively. No one could quite sum up a predicament like her man Briscoe.

"I don't get it," Ed interjected, " From what you guys have told me, Feldman didn't have many friends. Why all the heat for this joker?"

Anita looked at her younger detective and spoke calmly, " Ed, these folks are no different than we are when one of our own goes down. We not like the guy, but he's ours, like it or not. And Feldman is one of theirs and they're gonna make our lives miserable until we hand over a suspect. Sometimes it's about appearances as much as justice."

Ed shrugged, "Ok, I got the picture now. What do you wanna do next Lennie?"

Lennie crossed towards the window and resumed staring at the falling snow.

"Uh, Len? You still with us?" Ed asked.

Without answering Lennie Briscoe shook his head. What he was thinking he would not say aloud for if he said it aloud it might somehow make it true. -- Gotta be at least a hundred guys with ugly gray caps like that. No way Jack'd do something that stupid -- he thought. Then he slowly turned to face the others and said aloud, " I think we better go lean on Rodgers and see what she's found out about the vic. Then ..."

Lennie stared at a spot just inside Van Buren's office. Ed and Anita looked down in unison.

"Roscocat!" Ed exclaimed. " You brought us something I see." Ed bent over and picked up a newspaper, the New York Ledger.

"Well?" Anita asked.

"Let's see, it's today’s ... but I don't ... uh-oh," Ed's face grew pensive.

"Ed, I didn't bring my crystal ball today," Lennie grumbled.

"Yeah ok, ok... I think this is what Roscocat wanted us to see," Ed began to read from the paper:

" The trial of Elaine Ruskin took an unexpected turn yesterday when Judge Gary Feldman placed Executive Assistant Jack McCoy in contempt and had the prosecutor removed from the proceedings in handcuffs. Judge Feldman had denied Mr. McCoy's request to allow eyewitness testimony and the attorney had choice words with the Judge over the ruling. McCoy was taken into custody and spent 4 hours in a common cell, and this reporter has learned that he was released after his office posted bail. The trial is set to resume at 10 A.M. this morning and it remains to be seen what fireworks may be in store for the attendees today."

The room became silent. Ed looked down towards Roscocat, but the cat had made his quiet exit. Briscoe and Van Buren locked eyes.

CHA CHING
Scene III
Offices of the Medical Examiner
2 P.M. Nov 13, 2002


Ed Green could not help but notice that his partner had been abnormally quiet
on the ride over. Too quiet. And if something was bothering Lennie, then it
was bound to become Ed's problem soon enough. Sharing the blue threads eventually does that to partners.

Walking slowly down the hallway towards a cutting room at the M.E. offices, Ed
carefully broached the subject. "Look, Lennie, I know what you're thinking but
don't get ahead of this. For all we know, McCoy was still in the slammer when
Feldman was killed. And that hat, well, I saw at least a half dozen homeless guys in the park last night. Any one of them or any of another dozen could have dropped that thing."

Lennie suddenly stopped and turned towards the younger man. " You're right Ed. But the hat, and that article, I dunno, it just feels bad, you know?"

" I know. Lennie, you mind telling me something? I know you and McCoy go back a long way, but I've seen you two go jaw to jaw a half dozen times the last couple of years. I don't get the impression he's your best friend," Ed said.

Lennie considered his reply carefully, " You're right, Jack and I aren't best friends. But that jaw to jaw business, well that's just part of the job, Ed. Jack and I both know it's nothing personal and back when we were both drinking a bit too much, we'd knock off and have a couple of beers after we'd gone a few rounds. Besides, he stood by me during that idiotic Hellman Commission joke, when a few guys in my own precinct wouldn't even make eye contact. And he tried to pull strings with the Brooklyn DA when my Kathy got ..." his voice cracked as he strained at the memory of his dead daughter.

An embarrassed Ed patted Lennie's shoulder, "Ok, I get the picture."

" Yeah, well, it's just that Jack's a pretty d... good guy beneath all that bluster. Unlike a few others over there at Hogan Place, I can always count on him to fight like crazy with my cases. I just hope he doesn't BECOME one of my cases," Lennie began a slow walk towards the cutting room.

"And if the signs point to him, Len?" Ed matched Lennie stride for stride.

"Then I'll do my job," Lennie's voice was flat.

The Detectives pushed open the door and saw an all too familiar sight. M.E Rodgers was bent over a table, hands moving meticulously over the body of some
poor schnook.

"Ah gentlemen, " She looked up at her guests. "I bet I know why you're here and it's not to brighten my day is it?" she smiled that smile that any other day would have melted Lennie Briscoe's heart. But not today.

"Yeah, you're getting heat too, I presume?" Ed found a stool and sat down.

She picked up a folder and whirled around, "There's an understatement. I was not pleased to be called at 4 in the morning to slice and dice, I can assure you
Detective. But I like my job, so I jump through the same hoops you do." She waited for the usual pithy response from Briscoe and when it didn't come, she moved on. " Looks like your Judge Feldman was poisoned all right."

"Time?" Ed asked.

"Oh, I'd say only about an hour before he died. If it makes you feel better, and only because I know his reputation, it was probably pretty painful," she handed Ed the folder.

"Damn. An hour before," Lennie slammed a fist on a nearby table.

"What's wrong detective? That have some special meaning?" She was puzzled by his reaction. But Ed wasn't and he moved in quickly. " Just means we haven't gotten much sleep and Len's a little grumpy when he doesn't get his beauty sleep you know."

Rodgers was not convinced but let the matter drop. "Oh, and about that hat?"

Ed and Lennie exchanged glances.

"Nothing special, kind of ratty actually, but there are some good hair samples stuck to it."

"Um, can you tell us anything more?" Ed was almost afraid to ask.

She walked back to the table and put on a new set of gloves, "Well, it appears
to be mostly gray, if that helps."

At that news Lennie was out the door in a flash and Ed was left to make apologies before catching up with his partner.

"Len ...", Ed ran by the other man's side and saw a look of determination on Briscoe's face.

"Don't Len me. If that sob makes me have to arrest him for this, so help me I'll kill him. Makin' me arrest a friend," Lennie's jaw was set.

Ed tried to lighten the situation, " Well, partner, you kill HIM, then I have to arrest YOU and well, you can see this could go on forever."

Lennie punched an elevator button as he thought to himself -- Jack, please have an alibi, please have witnesses who saw you with a glass of Scotch in the wee hours of the morning, please, pal have something better than 'I was at home asleep' or some other half arse story.

The elevator door opened and one small cat got off as the two men got on.

CHA CHING

Uh, Ed, helloooo, this isn't the way to Hogan Place. You shoulda turned back there," Lennie Briscoe drummed nervous fingers on the side door panel.

Ed glanced in his rear view mirror and changed lanes, "We're not going to Hogan Place just yet."

Lennie's sarcastic tone was unmistakable, " You gonna share?"

Ed knew better than to mess with Briscoe when he was in this mood so he spoke as calmly as possible, " Well, before we go bustin' Jack's chops, I think we ought to do some investigating, Lennie. Find out what Feldman was up to last night, that sort of thing."

There was a long pause before Briscoe spoke again, this time with a softer tone, " Ok, Ed, you're right of course. I'm sorry I'm being such a pain. Guess it wouldn't hurt us to actually play detectives before jumping to wild conclusions," he smiled. Ed caught the look and gave a chuckle as well and added, "And Lennie, they are pretty wild aren't they?"

Lennie turned to stare out the side window, "Yesterday they'd have been wild. Today they scare me to death."

SCENE: Judge Feldman's Office
Clerk Johnny Morton

"So Morton, you're sure Feldman wasn't acting strange or anything yesterday?" Ed Green stood next to the young man's desk.

Morton snorted, " You mean any more than usual?"

Lennie spoke calmly, " Explain that please."

The young man looked nervously around the office before speaking, " Look, I don't wanna get in trouble. If the Judge finds out I've been..."

"Son, you'll hear soon enough I guess. Judge Feldman died last night. My partner and I just have to ask a few routine questions, that's all. You won't get in any trouble," Lennie took a nearby seat.

Morton's jaw dropped, "Dead! Really?"

"You happy about that?"

"Yeah," the young man smiled, then thought better of it, "Um, no, I didn't mean that, I'm sorry, I just ... it's just that ..."

"Slow down, Mr. Morton and just tell us what you can about Judge Feldman yesterday. The truth won't hurt anyone." Ed said.

Ironically, Lennie wasn't so sure about that.

"Ok, ok," Johnny Morton gathered himself, " First of all, you gotta understand that Judge Feldman has, er, had, a temper like I've never seen before and hope to never see again. But yesterday I thought he was gonna explode. He came storming in here late yesterday afternoon and he was cursing at anyone in his path. I kept my distance as best I could. But he called me into his office and he was beet red and cursing the name of that district attorney Jack McCoy, up one side and down the other."

The detectives exchanged glances.

" Said he wished McCoy would wrap himself and his bike around a tree some time soon."

"Charming fellow," Lennie murmured. "What else?"

"Well nothing really. It's not the first time I've heard him on the rampage about an attorney, but I guess it's the last. Thankfully," Morton got that look again, "Oh, no I didn't mean..."

"It's ok, Mr. Morton. We get the picture. Your boss was a royal jerk. And on that note, he yell about anyone besides McCoy yesterday?"

"Well, before he went to court yesterday he was yelling at somebody on the phone, but I don't know who. But, he does that all the time, even heard him scream at his 90-year-old mother once. Made me sick."

Ed spoke, " So, after his little tirade against McCoy, what next?"

"Well, yesterday was Tuesday evening and every Tuesday since I've worked for him he does the same thing. He has standing reservations at Antoine’s at 8 P.M. Then I know he goes to The Magistrate's Club for drinks. He hasn't veered from course, that I know of, in the two and half years I've clerked for him. Doubt he switched yesterday."

"Alright Mr. Morton, you've been a big help, you remember anything else, you give us a call, here's my card, ok?" Green produced one from his pocket.

"Ok, will do. Um, detectives, I don't know what to do today, with the Judge being, um, dead and all."

Lennie smiled at the young man, "Son, take the rest of the day off. Anybody asks where you were, just tell 'em you had to spend time with a couple of Detectives."


SCENE: Magistrate's Club

"You Gentlemen cannot come in without a reservation," the white haired man admonished.

"Sir, we're police, and we're here on police business," Ed flashed his badge.

"Allright. I always cooperate with the police," the man answered stiffly.

"You on duty last night? If so, you see Judge Gary Feldman here?" Lennie scoured the dark paneled club as he spoke.

The man stood erect, " Yes sir. Last night was Tuesday and Judge Feldman never misses a Tuesday."

"Uh huh," Lennie's mind raced, "So did he meet anybody, talk to anybody, what was his demeanor?"

"His demeanor sir? Well, let's just say that Judge Feldman was his usual ebullient self," the elderly man's face revealed nothing.

Ed leaned close to the man, " Sir, it's ok, you can speak more freely. Judge Feldman can't hear you. He's dead?"

The man barely registered surprise. "In that case Detective, Judge Feldman was his usual arrogant self, bullying the staff , acting the fool and generally making his usual nuisance of himself."

Lennie actually laughed out loud.

"Well, don't hold back, Squire. Tell us how you really feel. Uh, especially as it relates to last night," Lennie unwrapped a nearby peppermint and popped it in his mouth.

"I shall be frank. Judge Feldman was here every Tuesday evening like clockwork. And every Tuesday evening he managed to berate one of my staff, if not more. He was an unpleasant fellow and I believe even his fellow Magistrates felt as I do."

"Why is that?" Ed coughed loudly.

The old man motioned for a passing waiter, grabbed a pitcher of water and poured two glasses, handing one to each detective. Ed nodded appreciation and drank deeply.

"Well, it was very rare indeed for Judge Feldman to share the company of other Judges. He always sat at that back table by the fireplace and buried himself in books. Most of the other men and women who frequent this establishment seem to come to unwind from the day's troubles. But Feldman was the opposite. And he expected my staff to wait on him hand and foot and he rewarded them with a pittance. Of course "I" expect my staff to perform at peak efficiency as well, but accidents do happen."

"Go on, " Lennie sipped his water.

"Several weeks ago one of my servers slipped and accidentally spilled cognac on the Judge. Of course we offered to have his suit cleaned, but the Judge demanded that I fire the boy as well."

"And?" Lennie asked.

"And I did no such thing. The boy does a fine job and he is human after all," the man's chin was poised in the air.

"Ok, ok, so about last night, anything unusual about last night?" Lennie asked.

The man eyed the Detective so somberly it sent shivers up Lennie's spine. "Indeed sir. Last evening we had a scene involving the Judge. A real donnybrook."

Ed and Lennie stood straighter now.

" Around midnight or perhaps just before, a chap stormed into the club and forced his way past two of my staff and spotted the Judge and made a beeline towards him. Judge Feldman stood up as the man approached and words were exchanged. I attempted to throw the man out, but Judge Feldman waved me off. I could not hear what they were saying, but after a few minutes, I did hear Feldman bellow something at the man and then, in a total lack of taste, he threw his cognac in the man's face. Naturally the man retaliated, landing a blow and knocking the Judge backwards, but several of my men manhandled the stranger and dragged him out before more harm could be done," the old man added helpfully with a hint of a smile, "Not that Judge Feldman didn't have one coming ... sirs."

"Ok, so this stranger ... Can you describe him?" Ed asked.

" I don't need to describe him, sir. I know his name. Judge Wright, who was playing cards with a group of others, told me. Irish lad. The name was Jack McCoy."

Lennie sagged and Ed bit his lip. "Allright, thanks for the information. You'll hear from us if we need anything else." The man shook Ed's hand and walked behind the bar.

" Oh wait, one more question. Was McCoy wearing a gray skull cap by any chance?" Ed asked.

The man wrinkled his nose. "Well that would seem to fit that lovely ensemble of blue jeans and a hideous army jacket, but no sir, I didn't see one. Of course he could have had it stuck in the pocket of that jacket. Perhaps he was just being polite and removed it before storming in here?" The man smirked at his own little joke and Ed rolled his eyes.

Ed watched the man disappear behind the counter and arise with an orange object in his hands. "Merciful heavens, how did THIS get in here?" The old man held the object at arms length, as if holding it any closer might somehow contaminate him. His old blue eyes met inquisitive eyes green eyes staring back.

"Mr. Hawkins, I need a word with you ... NOW, Mr. Hawkins..." The old man began.

"Oh wait, no need for that. He's with us." Ed reached for the offending object and gently stroked its furry tan belly. "You do get around don't you Rosco?" The cat buried his head on Ed's chest as Ed turned attention to his somber partner.

"Now can we go to Hogan Place?" Lennie asked.

"Now we HAVE to go, "Ed said with an equal degree of sadness.


CHA CHING

: Hogan Place
Time: 6:15pm

Ed and Lennie have talked to everyone in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, grill Jack. The proverbial 'blood trail' was leading to him. The time had come to ask if he had an alibi that didn't include a bottle of Scotch and a picture of Claire, or Diana, or Sally, or History professors, or, well any dame at all. Ed and Lennie looked in the direction of Jack's office. He was sitting, apparently by himself on the couch. He was speaking, but to whom? Had he, in fact, fallen victim to an imaginary friend? It was heartbreaking, but Lennie and Ed knew what they had to do. Ask Jack outright, what involvement he may have had with Judge Feldman, and did that involvement include murder.

Just as they approach his door, it was evident Jack was unaware of their presence. They heard the utterances of an obviously broken man. "Yes, a good boy. Never did anything, that wasn't for the greater good. Always there to help in time of crisis. Know a friend, and know how to treat them".
Lennie looked at Ed, tears glistening in the eyes of both men, as both realized Jack was bordering on the edge of 'loosing his grip on reality'. The time had come for both men to let Jack know that, regardless of Jack's participation in Feldman's demise, they had to let him know they were there for him.

Just as both detectives drew near to Jack's door, Jack looked up, a big grin lighting up a formerly somber face. "Gentlemen, come in!! I want you to meet my good friend".

Lennie and Ed gasped in horror!! "Roscoman, what are YOU doing here?” Lennie whispered frantically!!
"You all have met, I see", mused Jack. Roscocat raised his now sleepy head and stared at the two startled detectives with one open eye. Ed and Lennie knew that look. Roscoman, however subtle, had made his move. All they could do was retreat.

CHA CHING

Hogan Place

Ed pulled the car into a reserved space and gently shook his dozing partner.
Lennie had given in to the weariness that threatened his body with total shutdown. A quick CATnap and he'd be refreshed by the time they reached Hogan Place. Though, instead of rest, all he got for his troubles was a bizarre dream of Jack and someone, or was it something, named Roscoman. Briscoe shook the image of that dream out of his head as he opened his car door and got out.

"Lennie, you know this could wait until tomorrow morning," Ed dropped keys in his pocket as they walked towards the garage elevator.

"No, I need answers now, Ed."


EADA Jack McCoy's office:

Jack McCoy was sitting in his chair, legs casually raised on the top of his desk, head buried in the sports page of The Times. He grimaced as he read the score of the latest Jordan-less Chicago Bulls team. They were on a 4 game losing streak and things looked to get even bleaker for Jack's home town team.

"Counselor," Lennie Briscoe's unmistakable voice cut through the room and Jack dropped his paper in his lap.

Pulling long legs off his desk, Jack replied, " Detectives, what brings you here? We have a meeting scheduled?"

Ed got that feeling in his gut, the one he always got when he felt things were about to progress from bad to worse. He knew Lennie was on edge and didn't want this meeting to become a free for all, and if Ed had learned anything in his years at the 2-7, it was that THIS meeting could become the mother of all free-for-alls is it wasn't handled perfectly.

" No, Jack, no meeting, we're really here to talk to you about something else," Ed sat on the arm of McCoy's leather couch as Lennie stood nearer the desk and the attorney.

Jack folded his arms across his chest and shrugged, "I'm all ears."

Ed proceeded with caution. "Has word filtered down to you yet about Judge Gary Feldman?"

Jack snorted, "You mean that he's an sob? Yeah, seems to me I've heard that somewhere."

Ed smiled and shook his head, " No, I mean have you heard that Feldman was found dead in Central Park last night?"

Lennie studied Jack's face for any clues ... clues that might reveal the truth. But Jack acted just the way Lennie thought he would, guilty or not.

" What? You're kidding me right?" It was clear this was no joke and Jack looked from Ed to Lennie. " Feldman is dead? Why? Who?" The questions came fast and furiously.

Ed waited for Lennie to jump in, and when he didn't, a somewhat relieved Ed continued. " You were supposed to see him in court this morning weren't you?"

Jack had not yet made the connection that the conversation was subtly changing from informational to inquisitive. " We were set to go. Feldman's bailiff told us there'd been some family emergency and we'd set a later date to continue. It's happened before with other Judges, I didn't think anything of it." Suddenly Jack's hair stood on the back of his neck and all of the switches, the ones that had been clicked on a thousand times in the past 25 years as a prosecutor, clicked on and threatened an overload.

"Wait a minute ... why are you here telling me this? I would have found out soon enough..." Jack cocked his head slightly.

"Well, you see, last night at the crime scene we found something that looked like it might belong to you," Ed tried to watch his partner and the attorney at the same time, waiting for the storm to arrive. It didn't, at least for the moment.

" Crime scene? You mean Feldman's death was a homicide?" Jack clasped the arms of his chair tightly.

"Yes," Ed said as he waited for the next inevitable question.

Jack looked and felt suddenly confused, "And, and you found something of MINE at the scene? What? "

Finally Lennie Briscoe made his presence known. Ed knew it was inevitable and let Lennie have his turn. Briscoe turned his body towards the clothes rack that stood just behind him. "Mind if I have a look for something Counselor?"

Every bell and whistle told Jack that something was very wrong and that he was making the same kind of blunder he'd seen countless stupid criminals make before. Yet, he nodded his head and let the Detective proceed to rummage through his jacket pockets.

"Red! Dammit, it's RED!"

Ed strained to see what Lennie had found. He knew soon enough when the red object was hurled towards the attorney's chest. Jack picked up a red woolen hat and squeezed it. Those bells were beginning to give him a headache. "Yeah, it's my red hat. So what?" he confusedly asked.

" Where's the gray one, Jack? Where's that gawdawful gray cap that looks like something even the Salvation Army would reject," Lennie asked with great exasperation.

Jack stood now and Ed was ready to move if need be. " Thank you Detective Armani. You just renew your subscription to GQ?" Jack stared at Lennie while the Detective waited for Jack to make the inevitable connection. Suddenly, Jack's eyes grew larger as his voice rose, " MY gray hat! You're telling me you found MY gray hat at Feldman's crime scene?"

Ed studied the seemingly incredulous look on McCoy's face. If the man were guilty, he was doing an act worthy of an Emmy. " We're not certain it's yours Jack. But a hair sample will clear it up," Ed tried to sound helpful but knew he was failing miserably.

Jack's raised his palms towards his old friend, "Wait a minute ... wait a minute ... you're telling me you found a gray hat in Central park in the vicinity of a dead body and you naturally think of ME? Lennie, what's wrong with you two?"

Lennie would give up back-to-back winning trifecta tickets if he could walk out of this room right now and drop the whole mess. But that, he could not do. Instead he swallowed hard as he spoke to the suddenly ill looking attorney, " Listen Jack, just tell me this. Where is that gray hat anyway?"

Jack shook his head, " I don't know. I wanted to wear it this morning, but couldn't find it. So I wore the red one." He knew that didn't sound very convincing. "And even if you did find MY hat at the scene, that doesn't prove anything." Jack suddenly realized he sounded like every guy he'd ever questioned at Rikers who SWEARS the evidence 'don't prove I done nothing', and it sickened him to sound so pathetic.

"Look Jack, there's more, "Lennie pressed forward.

Jack mouthed the word 'more' as he felt his heart begin to beat a little faster.

"Jack, of course we know about the contempt citation yesterday, but we also know about the little scene in the Magistrate's Club last night," Ed explained.

Jack walked to the couch and lowered his suddenly tired body onto it. " Oh no. Last night, " he slapped his forehead in dismay. Lennie wasn't sure if they were about to get a full blown confession, but he reached for the desk to steady himself just in case.

" I spent 4 hours in jail yesterday, courtesy of Feldman. I get back here in the early evening and order take out because I'm famished. About 8 o'clock I get a phone call telling me that Feldman wants to see me around 11 or so at his Club. So I went, thinking maybe we'd be able to straighten things out, at least long enough to get through the trial."

"And? Lennie asked quietly.

"And I approach the table and Feldman acts like he doesn't even know why I'm there and one thing leads to another and before you know it, I have cognac in my face and he has my fist in his eye." Jack pounded his own fist into his palm. " Some guys hauled me out of there before I could land another punch, and that was the last I saw of Feldman."

There was dead silence in the room and jack was sure he could hear his own heart beating.

"You believe me?" Jack asked at last eyes staring at the ground.

Lennie studied the man for a long moment. " Yeah, I do Jack."

Relief swamped the graying man. "But, you gotta do your job. I understand that Detective."

Now it was Lennie who felt relief. A sudden purring caught his attention and he turned to see the crime-fighting feline on top of the clothes rack, batting Jack's green jacket. Lennie knew Roscocat had better instincts than most detectives in all of NYC and he knew she'd found something. And Detective Briscoe definitely didn't want to find anything more that pointed to Jack McCoy's guilt, even if he did believe his old drinking buddy was telling the truth.

"Um, Jack, any objections to me taking another run through that jacket?"

Jack's dark brown eyes stared into the cat's green eyes and in an almost trancelike state, Jack shook his head.

Briscoe took the jacket off the rack and began fishing through Jack's pockets feeling both guilty and silly at having to do so. Roscocat jumped from the rack onto the desk and watched carefully. Briscoe dug into the pockets and produced a package of gum, $1.45 in change, a Snickers, and a set of keys. Lennie sighed audibly in relief. But the orange cat pulled at the jacket and flipped the coat over, revealing an inner zipper. Lennie gave Rosco a pained look as he began unzipping. He felt something in the pocket and pulled out a pair of dark glasses. Jack smiled, knowing that there was nothing more to be found. But a scowl suddenly crossed Lennie's face as his fingers emerged from the pocket clasping a small clear bottle. Inside the bottle, a clear liquid swished. Ed took it from Lennie to examine it more closely as Lennie turned sadly towards Jack.

"I have NO idea how that got there or even what that is?" Again Jack felt like a common prisoner with his hand caught in the cookie jar of lies.

"Ed?" Briscoe's eyes never left McCoy's.

"Dunno Lennie. Could be."

Jack decided to keep his mouth shut.


CHA CHING

Nov 15, 2002

Office of District Attorney Nora Lewin:

Jack McCoy sat on the couch in Nora Lewin's office, remarkably composed for one whose fate hung in the balance. A day had passed since McCoy had spoken to Briscoe and Green and he knew he'd hear something this day. November 15th. His birthday. -- Happy Birthday to me -- Jack thought as he turned to look at his boss. She'd been staring silently out the window for a full 5 minutes now.

"Still snowing?" Jack asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. It was a blizzard outside and most offices had closed for the day and the city was near complete standstill. But, most had reported for work at One Hogan Place, no sense in letting work pile up if you could brave the storm. And Jack McCoy knew that the offices at the 27th would be filled as well. He was just as glad, he'd rather get on with it. IT, being his possible arrest, arraignment and trial.

Nora finally tired of looking into a field of white and took a seat in a chair opposite her EADA. She faced the toughest day she'd had since taking over for DA Adam Schiff.

"Alright Jack, let's go over this again. I know I'm in an awkward position as your boss and as the DA of the county that's very likely to prosecute you, should it come to that ... but off the record ... as a friend ... tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Why did you let the Detectives take that vial of liquid for testing and why did you give them a sample of your hair?"

Jack placed an arm across the back of the couch and crossed his legs. Very calmly he said, "Nora, if I didn't give it to them, it was only a matter of time before they got a search warrant and got that stuff."

"You don't know that for certain, Jack."

Jack smiled at his boss. She was still new enough in her position to search for silver linings where there were none to find. "Nora, trust me on this. There's more than 1 Judge who'd jump at the opportunity to sign the warrant. I've made a few enemies of the men and women in the black robes, you know. Stalling would just buy me time, and I can't sit here waiting and wondering, I need to know what I'm up against so I can prepare my defense, if need be."

"YOU prepare your defense? Jack, if it comes to that, you've got to get yourself a lawyer."

Jack shook his head and grinned, " I'M my lawyer Nora. And a pretty fair one at that, at least I like to think."

Nora couldn't believe her ears, " You'll be making a big mistake. Look, your reputation as an attorney is about the best in the business. But defending yourself is a whole other ballgame. I know you know that."

Jack didn't want to discuss this and waved a dismissive hand. He changed the subject slightly. "Nora, I do want you to know one thing. I am innocent."

Truth be told, Nora Lewin hadn't known Jack McCoy all that long. But she had seen his temper up close and personal and knew he wasn't afraid to make enemies if the situation called for it. She knew that only too well when she'd had to send her new ADA Serena Sutherland down to bail him out of jail the other day. She figured he was capable of a lot of things she might not approve of, yet she didn't think murder was one of them.
Still, Nora found herself between a rock and a hard place. She served the citizens of Manhattan and she could not be seen playing favorites if her right hand man stood accused of murdering a Justice of the Court. Oh, how she wanted to tell Jack McCoy she believed him, yet her sense of duty didn't allow her to say too much.

Nora pulled at a button on her sweater. She chose her words carefully. " If this comes down as you seem to think it might, I'll have no choice but to ask for Special Prosecutors from another district. And as much as I might want to, I cannot pull any strings for you. I hate it, but as long as I occupy this office, friendships come second. I hope you understand." Nora was surprised her voice had remained calm and steady. She waited for a reply.

Jack leaned forward resting his forearms on his knees and said, " I'd have been disappointed if you'd said anything else. I've had to put my job before friendship a time or two myself." His thoughts turned to his old law school companion, Paul Koppel, who now enjoyed life behind bars courtesy of yours truly.

They sat in silence for a few moments and then Lewin's assistant rapped on the door. Upon acknowledgment, she popped her head inside and announced that Detectives Briscoe and Green were outside. Jack drew a deep breath and stood up.
The two men wore heavy overcoats dusted with snow from head to foot. But no one even noticed.

"So?" Jack broke the deafening silence.

Lennie had rarely looked so sad. "Sorry Jack. The hair matched and the liquid in that bottle
matched the poison in Feldman's stomach."

The attorney had been expecting this, yet the news still was a blow. He turned to Nora and could only shrug his shoulders. She was struck mute as well.

Jack started for the door and Ed Green lightly grabbed his elbow. "Just like to get my coat and hat Detective." -- That stupid red hat -- thought the newly accused.

Ed nodded and the men followed McCoy across the hallway into his office. Nora retreated behind the desk, she did not desire to see Jack handcuffed. (OK lady readers, DOWN DOWN!;-))
As she sat down, she noticed a card from her Rolodex had been placed in the middle of her desk. Nora saw a familiar name on it and wasted no time picking up the phone. As she dialed, she was certain she saw a small flash of orange streaking out of her office. She rubbed tired eyes and waited as the phone began to ring.


Jack slipped on his coat and took a long look around his office, wondering if he'd ever set foot in the place again. Lennie knew what Jack was thinking and stood back to give the man a few solitary moments. Finally John James McCoy, Executive Assistant District Attorney held out his wrists awaiting the inevitable cuffs.

Lennie Briscoe was motionless for a second then said gently, "No need for that. But Ed should read you your rights, Counselor."

Jack's eyes caught the sadness in the older man's eyes and he patted Briscoe on the shoulder. "You're a good man detective. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise." Briscoe felt his throat tighten and he was thankful when Ed began the needed speech. Lennie was having a hard time wrapping his head around the concept that this man had committed murder, but evidence did not lie. Lennie only wanted to get his part in this nightmare over with, though he knew some sleepless nights were ahead.

As they walked quietly towards the elevators Ed could swear he heard McCoy humming 'Happy Birthday.'


Arraignment Hearing:
November 17th

Judge Torledsky's room had rarely been this packed or noisy. But it wasn't every day that a leading Manhattan prosecutor was charged with the murder of a fellow Judge. Though like most, Torledsky wasn't really sorry that the humorless Feldman wouldn't be spreading his special brand of unpleasantness around the courthouse.

The balding Judge banged his gavel for order ad the room grew somewhat quieter. He stared at the defendant for a moment and clicked his tongue. Across the way from McCoy stood a man and woman, two pit bulls who'd been hand chosen by the DA in Queens to prosecute the Manhattan prosecutor. Jack smirked to himself -- Guess I'm the political hot potato for a few weeks. These two from Queens send me up the river and their careers are made. Probably be regulars on Court TV. ---

The bailiff read aloud: People V John James McCoy in the murder of Judge Gary Henry Feldman.

"How do you plead?" Torledsky asked.

All of his adult life Jack McCoy had loathed the very words he was about to say. But say them he did. "Not Guilty, your Honor."

Before Torledsky could speak again, one of the all too eager pit bulls practically bellowed, "The People request bail set at 2 million dollars Your Honor."

Jack's jaw actually dropped and he stared hard at the pious prosecutor, Robert Cook. He started to respond angrily but was cut off by the presiding Judge.

"Mr., uh...," Tordelsky looked over the top of his glasses.

"Cook sir. And this is Ms. Ellis," The man said proudly and loudly.

"Mr. Cook, Ms. Ellis, I realize this is your chance to play in the big leagues, but consider the defendant."

Ellis spoke quickly and passionately, " But we are Judge. Are we to send a message that Officers of the Court are given special treatment?"

Torledsky looked at the defendant and saw a man he'd respected for many years. "Ms. ... Ellis was it? I think the fact that this Officer of The Court is about to stand trial is a good indication that special treatment has not been granted. Your request for that bail is denied."

"But your honor! He killed a Judge!" Ellis tried to muster all the outrage she could, thinking she could appeal to Torledsky's sense of brotherhood at the loss of a fellow jurist. Little did she know Torledsky thought the profession was better off without the weasly Feldman, and if McCoy really had killed the sucker, he was doing most in the black robes a favor.

The Judge saw that McCoy was about to explode and wasn't letting his courtroom turn into a circus.
"Mr. McCoy, my records show that you have cooperated fully with all presiding officials including the Detectives from the 27th precinct. Can I trust this is correct?"

"Yes Your Honor. I've cooperated fully and I'm no flight risk."

Cook and Ellis started to respond in unison but Torledsky waved them off. " This isn't Queens ... thankfully. Bail is set at $150,000. Next case." Torledsky banged his gavel loudly. A murmur ran through the room as everyone realized that round one had gone to the defendant. McCoy caught Torledsky's gaze for a brief second and was certain the Judge had given him a wink.

Scene:
November 18th
Jack McCoy's Apartment

Jack McCoy sat on the wingback in his living room, fingers making small circles on his temples.
How had he gotten into this mess and how the heck was he going to get out? And it wasn't just enough to get an acquittal, he needed to be proven innocent so he could face his peers again with head held high. But the deck seemed fully stacked against him. The only break had been that an anonymous source had posted bail and Jack had been allowed to return home to prepare his defense. As Jack worked on his growing headache, the doorbell rang.

Jack closed his eyes tightly wondering who would be bothering him now. Slowly he got to his feet and ambled to the door. He looked through the peephole but a blown light on the outside of the door made the figure difficult to see. Jack flipped a few locks and cracked the door slightly. He straightened himself and opened the door as wide as it would go. He stared at the visitor and the visitor stared back.

At last Jack spoke joyously, "Adam! Come in, come in."

The old man quietly entered the home of his friend and former employee. Jack helped him off with his snow-covered coat and placed the trademark fedora on a nearby chair. The younger man then stared for a long moment at the older. Finally it was Adam who stretched out a hand in greeting and the men shook gratefully.

" You're looking good Adam. Your new job must agree with you. But what the heck are you doing here?" Jack motioned for Schiff to have a seat on the couch. Jack took a chair opposite him. "I thought you had work up to your elbows on the Reparations Committee."

Adam spoke in his usual short burst.
" Needed to check on a few things back at the house."

"Well any idea how long you'll be in town?" Of course Jack realized how ridiculous a question like that must seem coming from a man about to be sent upstate to the big house.

Adam took Jack McCoy in; the hair was grayer... if possible McCoy was even a little thinner ... certainly had worry written on his face ... but was still a good looking middle aged man.

" I don't know how long I'll be here. That depends on a few things."

"Oh," Jack wasn't putting two and two together. "Let's have a drink for old times sake. Now don't look at me like that, I only imbibe now and again and now seems like an appropriate time."

Adam nodded and watched the man pour Scotch into two glasses.

"To your good health," Jack smiled.

" Not mine, my boy. To yours," Adam held up his glass.

Jack was taken aback and lowered himself slowly onto the couch. "I guess you've heard all the gruesome details by now?"

"I have," Adam said.

Adam Schiff's respect meant more to Jack McCoy than anything else in the world. He wondered if he'd lost it. "Adam, I don't know what to say."

Adam took a sip of Scotch before saying, " You don't want to tell me that you're innocent?"

At that comment McCoy blanched. "Do I have to?"

Schiff gave a familiar grunt, " No, Jack. You don't. I don't know how you got into this, but I'll try to help you get out."

Jack almost dropped his glass. "Adam, I can't ..."

"You can't what? Let a friend help you?"

"That's not what I mean. You worked too many years to be tainted by an association with an alleged murderer of a Judge. No, I appreciate this more than you'll ever know, but I'll figure a way out of this on my own."

Adam said nothing and stared hard at McCoy. McCoy dropped his own eyes and felt just as he did the first time he'd screwed up a case more than 25 years ago. Adam's stare could bore a hole through a cement wall. But as he averted eyes to the coffee table, a thought occurred to Jack. "Adam, YOU'RE the anonymous donor of the bail money. You got me out of there."

"Jail's no place for a prosecutor," Adam replied.

"But you didn't have to do that. How'd you know?"

"I got a call from Nora Lewin a few days ago. She knew I'd want to know the trouble you were in."

"She shouldn't have done that. Involve you, I mean," Jack grimaced.

Adam took another sip of Scotch and noticed that Jack hadn't touched his. " If the shoe were on the other foot Jack, wouldn't you lend me a hand?"

"Well of course, but..."

Adam waved that dismissive hand as only he could, " Well then, I'd do no less for you. Now, I want you to tell me everything. And I mean everything."

An hour later the men munched on tuna sandwiches that Jack had whipped up in his kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table Adam waved a sandwich in McCoy's face. " All right, I know things look bad right now."

"Always a firm grasp of the obvious, Adam, "Jack smirked.

Schiff ignored the comment and continued. " The first thing you need to do is hire counsel.

Jack lowered his sandwich in dismay, " I can handle this Adam. I do know my way around a courtroom you know!"

" Put your pride away," Adam harrumphed, " You representing you, is a bad idea Jack, a very BAD idea."

"I can handle it. Besides I wouldn't trust half the hacks I've seen on the other side of the aisle."

At this comment the old man laughed then turned somber, "But there is someone out there besides this old man, you'd trust with your life, right?"

Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, "Yes, but I don't think I could ask."

"You can, son. You have to," Adam stood up and moved around to place an arm across the back of his beleaguered friend and gave Jack's shoulders a confident and compassionate squeeze.

In the living room, the old man's fedora moved slightly and toppled over and off the chair as a cat crawled out from underneath.


CHA CHING

November 18th
8 P.M.


He'd been standing on the sidewalk looking up at the building for almost a
half hour now. He was covered from head to foot in snow with chattering teeth
and shivering hands. For some reason, Jack McCoy could not work up the courage
to climb the steps and ring the bell. Yet, in his heart he knew the old man had been right.

McCoy began the climb, so deep in thought that he ignored the slick steps, lost his footing and fell hard on his right knee. He let out a massive curse as his knee hit cold cement and snow. So loud was the yelp that the person inside the brownstone was compelled to open the door and take a peak. It was several seconds before the woman inside recognized the form on her front porch. The blob on the porch suddenly took shape and the woman opened the door wider.

"Jack McCoy? Is that you? Are you ok? ... Get in here before you turn into an icicle." She beckoned with her arm and Jack could see her outlined by the lights behind her. With the help of the railing he pulled himself upwards and gingerly put weight on the knee. So far so good, and he climbed the last few steps until he stood opposite the woman. She pushed him inside and once in the foyer she closed the door on the nasty weather outside.

Jamie couldn't imagine what Jack was doing here, let alone on a night like this. " C'mon, take off that coat and that ridiculous hat. Hmmm, red, I see. What, you didn't think the gray one made you look silly enough?"

Jack slipped out of his coat and pulled the offending hat off. A crooked smile crossed his face and he said, " You know how I am, Jamie Ross. The more people tell me to do something..."

She gave him a peck on the cheek, which he returned in kind, and she turned to hang up the garments. " Uh huh. Tell me something I don't already know, Jack McCoy. If I realized THAT when I first joined the DAs office, I'd have been sure to compliment you on your choice of headwear. Then perhaps you'd have ditched those hats."

Jack chuckled at the comment, recalling the all too few years he'd worked with this woman. She was always ready to tell him to take a flying leap, and for his part, sometimes he actually jumped. So much had he trusted her judgment and respected her abilities; that they'd actually become friends seemed icing on the cake.

As Jack stamped snow onto the rug, he caught a glimpse of Jamie's husband and child coming down the nearby staircase.

"David, honey look, we have a visitor."

David hit the bottom step and already had hand extended. "Well, Jack McCoy, long time no see. When was it last? The Cubs / Mets doubleheader last summer?"

Jack shook hands with the man. "Don't remind me, David. Cubs drop both games with errors in the ninth. Some things never change," he looked at Jamie, " Like you. You look great as always."

"Thanks."

"Mommy, why's that man here?" the small girl on the steps piped up.

Jamie held out a hand to her daughter and Jack put on his best smile for the kid. " Katie honey, this is Mommy's friend Mr. McCoy. You've met him before."

" He's the man on TV. The one daddy said killed the Judge," she pointed at McCoy who suddenly felt sick. His case was quickly becoming topic number one on the news and no doubt Katie had seen his picture a dozen times if she'd seen it once.

"Katie!" her parents said in horrified unison.

"But I saw him on TV and daddy said..."

David quickly picked up the girl and started ascending the staircase calling over his shoulder, "I'm sorry , Jack, I don't know what's gotten into her."

Jamie turned to apologize as well but Jack held up a hand. " Jamie don't be mad at her. She's only repeating what she's heard and seen." It was at this moment that Jack saw several suitcases piled next to a hallway closet. "Wait, I'm interrupting something, I'm sorry, I better go." Jack reached for his coat.

"Calm down, Jack. David and I have been out in Seattle the last 10 days and Katie's been with Neil. Let's go into the den and you can tell me what the devil you're talking about."

Jack followed her into a nice warm den and felt the instant warmth of a roaring fire. He crossed to the fireplace and warmed his hands. David soon emerged and began to offer more words of apology when Jamie put a hand on her husband's arm as a signal to be quiet. He took the hint as he began to get the vague impression that this was not a social call.

Jack took a seat near the fireplace and the couple sat across on a couch.

"Uh, I don't know quite where to begin, but needless to say you're wondering what the heck I'm doing here tonight. Katie was right, she has seen me on TV. In fact, I'm all over the media these days, but I guess you guys haven't been around to witness the bloodletting. My blood, incidentally, " he furrowed eyebrows at his little joke.

As Jack spoke, David excused himself and went into the kitchen to make some coffee to warm up the attorney. He listened through the open door as the saga unraveled. David spied an unread newspaper that he'd bought at the airport but had yet to read. Sure enough, there on Page 1 was a rather unflattering picture of the man who sat in his den.

David poured coffee then he handed Jack the paper. Jack took a quick glance at the headline then handed it to Jamie. "Ok, I've given you my version, here's what I'm up against."

David read the story over his wife's shoulder as McCoy gratefully drank some coffee and munched on lemon cookies. He watched their faces for signs of horror, for signs that he was about to unceremoniously be thrown out on his keister into the bitter night. But their faces revealed nothing until Jamie smacked the paper down on her knee and offered, "What a piece of junk."

Jack spoke carefully, "Then you're buying my version?"

David reached for a cookie. " Well, I have to admit that picture does make you look like a serial killer..."

"David!" Jamie smacked him with the paper.

"Sorry honey, but Jack knows I'm kidding. Of course we believe you Jack."

"Thanks. They make a convincing case, what with my past history with Judge Feldman and all. But some of the stuff they're saying about me ... I don't even recognize myself anymore," Jack picked up another cookie.

" Better you stay away from the papers and those stupid court TV shows and let me worry about that image stuff," Jamie took a sip of coffee.

Jack's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "What did you just say?"

Jamie was in the drivers seat now and she'd just turned the ignition
switch on. She knew it, David knew it and Jack knew it. But he still wasn't convinced Jamie should get involved. A wave a guilt washed over him.

"Jack, if I hadn't been out of town, we'd have had this conversation a LONG time ago. I just didn't know and I'm only sorry you probably wondered why you hadn't heard from me."

Jack shook his head, " I don't know what to say Jamie. I told Adam that I can do this myself. I hate dragging anyone else into the muck too."

Now it was Jamie's turn to register surprise. "Adam Schiff is here?" McCoy nodded. " Well he's right, Jack, and you know it," Jamie wagged a finger.

"Yep, he's right," David tossed in for good measure.

Jack began to grumble, " Why does everyone seem to forget that I'm not a half bad attorney myself?"

" No one's forgotten that, but we all know how you get when you're prosecuting somebody, imagine if you're defending yourself..." Jamie began.

"Just what the heck does that mean?" Jack felt a sudden sense of deja -vu as the easy banter with Jamie had bbegun. And he was already on the losing end.

David laughed, "It means, Jack McCoy, that this is your new lawyer. Better just give in now. I find that's usually easiest."

Jack stood and picked up some family photos on the mantle. "The thing is, this
thing is going to get real ugly before long. It was already a circus at the arraignment. And you know what happens to you and your family when word gets out the you're the attorney for public enemy #1? Your life and David's and worst of all Katie's will become a nightmare. You'll have reporters hanging on your stoop and photographers trying to catch you in your underwear and they'll print untruths about you too."

Jamie stood next to her old boss and squeezed his arm, " Listen to me, Jack. I've been on both sides of the aisle and I've been involved in my fair share of cases that have drawn notoriety. A lot of them with you. I know how this game is played and frankly, I'm not too worried about that aspect of it. My friends and family know what's true and what isn't and the rest of the people who are stupid enough to believe half that claptrap aren't worth my time. I won't speak for David, but as for Kaitie, I can assure you we're not raising her to be a hothouse flower. We'll protect her as best we can from anything too ugly. But I think one day she'll understand that I helped a friend."

David grinned, " I'm with her Jack. What can I say?"

" I don't know what to say except thanks?" Jack felt that tears might sprout at any moment so he quickly sat down and poured more coffee. "So, um, Jamie, what's first on the agenda?"

Jamie smiled and took her seat too. "Good Jack, glad to see you realize that from now on I'M calling the shots."

Behind her back David winked at Jack, but he knew the man's fate now rested in the hands of his wife. The next few months would indeed be stressful as well as eventful and David knew he'd be called on for the support when things look bleakest. He'd be ready.


CHA CHING

November 18th
11 P.M.


Jack McCoy climbed into bed, feeling that at least some of the weight of the world had been lifted off shoulders. Just knowing that Jamie Ross and Adam Schiff were watching over him, were on his side, brought a relief he hadn't found in days. He pulled a blanket up to his chin, closed his eyes and slept for the first time in days.

Jamie and David sat before the now dwindling fire, her back to his chest. He tried to massage growing tension from her neck. "You'll be great Jamie."

"Thanks, honey. But if I'm not..."

"Don't think like that babe. Jack knows what you're up against. And I know you. You couldn't just sit back and watch someone else do the job could you?" David gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Jamie closed her eyes. " You're right, I want to do this. But if I don't clear him David, do you have any idea what would happen to a prosecutor in prison?" David didn't answer, he could already guess.

Former DA Adam Schiff shuffled about his empty home, trying to find something to occupy his mind.
The old man poured a drink, fished through a bag of chips, and sat down in his easy chair to watch TV. He despaired at his choices, which seemed to be McCoy V the People, on every single station. Adam listened for 10 minutes to a particularly odious panel of experts weigh in on the guilt or innocence of his friend and the sheer volume of misinformation sickened him. He clicked off the TV and ate his chips in silence. A small noise caught his attention and he turned to search for it. He smiled at what he saw. Perched upon the mantle was an orange cat. Adam walked to the kitty, picked him up and gave him a good scratching. Roscocat was not a stranger in the Schiff household and had made many visits to soothe the old man following the death of his beloved wife.

Adam saw that his little friend had knocked a picture onto the ground and he bent to pick it up. The picture momentarily took Adam's breath away. He carried it and the cat back to his chair and gave the picture a close inspection. It was a picture that had been taken by his wife at a Christmas party. She had made her husband pose with two young gentlemen to whom she'd taken a sudden fancy. Adam laughed as he searched the faces. Could they have really ever been that young? All that hair, including his own! As Adam patted the cat and gazed into the picture, his thoughts drifted back to another era.


1972 found Executive Assistant DA Adam Schiff buried under an avalanche of paperwork and a growing caseload. Needing relief, he sought solace in the office of his boss, DA Frank Morgan.

"So, I here we lost Tony Cox to the Redword Firm," Morgan handed his young friend a drink.

"Yep," Adam affirmed as he took a swallow.

Morgan eyed his man, "Ok, Cox this week and Jorgenson last week. We're losing them faster than you're beloved Red Sox are losing games."

"Yep," Adam snorted.

An irritated Morgan pointed an index finger at his
assistant. "Adam, you know and I know that you want this job after I'm gone. How many times do I have tell you that you won't get the job without voters and you won't get their votes with your charming personality of 'yeps.' Don't you have something better than yep? And don't you dare say nope."

Adam gave a grunt, "I know Frank. When the time comes, I can turn on the charm with the best of them. I just don't want to waste it on you." Morgan was sure he saw a twinkle in Schiff's eye.

"Ok, Ok. But let me give you another piece of advice," Morgan moved to the edge of his seat. "Adam, when the time does come for you to take my place, you MUST have a few men or women you can trust. And I mean really trust. The way I trust you. You understand?"

Adam nodded his head as Morgan proceeded, "Because I'm here to tell you that this job cannot be done by yourself. And I don't just mean competent attorneys. Hell, I have lots of those. But I mean people who will live and die for this office, for YOU, when you're DA. Because as brilliant as you may think you are, you'll fail without them."

Adam stood slowly and said, "Just one question Frank. How will I know when I find them?"

"You'll know, trust me, you'll know," Morgan squeezed Schiff's shoulders.

There were few things Adam hated more than interviewing potential ADAs. He was a hard taskmaster and expected his assistants to work as hard as he did. So it was with little hope that he plowed through another batch of resumes. He'd just finished ten interviews and had come away with no prospects and was certain this batch would yield the same results.

Schiff sifted almost every resume to the discard pile. All, but two. Benjamin Stone and John McCoy were unlikely candidates. Both had placed impressively high in their graduating classes and both could have been, SHOULD have been working for virtually any law firm they wanted. Yet Stone worked for a small firm which was known for its pro bono work as much as anything else. And McCoy worked for a small firm which was barely a blip on the radar. Schiff couldn't help but wonder why these young men, who could be making fortunes in major firms had suddenly fallen into his lap. What could possibly motivate these two men with bright futures to work as grunts for less pay and little appreciation? Of course, Adam realized they were not unlike himself at their age, and he had the vaguest of hope that they'd be acceptable.

Adam conducted all initial interviews at lunch, having long ago realized that if things went south, as they almost always did, he'd at least be fed.

Ben Stone landed the first interview and Schiff was immediately impressed by the young man. As with all first meetings, physical impressions come first. Stone was nervously awaiting the arrival of the EADA when Schiff arrived. Standing tall, the young man thrust out his hand in greeting as Adam noted his appearance. Quite tall and a little thin, a boyish face with neatly trimmed, though thinning blond hair, and the bluest eyes Adam thought he'd ever seen. His voice was slightly pitched and didn't vary much, but it was WHAT he said that most impressed Adam.

After the barest of small talk, Adam got down to business. " So, Ben, and no need to be modest, but I can see you have your pick of places to practice law. Why here? Why now?"

Ben Stone spoke two words, "Bobby Kennedy."

Adam's fork stopped between his mouth and plate. "Explain."

"Well," Stone sounded sheepish, " I know this may sound silly to you, but his 68 campaign hit home with me." Stone figured he'd just blown the interview, Schiff was probably a Nixon supporter. But he was in too deep to back out now. " It's pretty simple really. Kennedy wanted to make a difference, and so do I. And I don't know that I can do that in my current job and I certainly can't do it working for corporate suits who just want to line their own pockets."

"You DO realize that that's not the first time I've heard that," Adam wanted to see the man's reaction.

Stone grew strength as he spoke, "Yes sir I realize that. But the one thing I learned from that 68 campaign is that the laws have to apply fairly to everybody, black, white, men, women. And I think if I can work as a prosecutor I have a better chance of seeing that happen."

"You know Mr. Stone, it doesn't always work that neatly in this business. There are times that you'll think you're applying the law fairly, but you have to get your hands dirty and make a deal and some guy gets a prison term of 8-12 while another man, just as guilty, gets 3-9. You think you can stomach that?"

Now Stone smiled, "No sir, I'm not." The honesty of the answer caught Schiff by surprise and he decided right then and there that Ben would get a second interview.

Two weeks later it was Adam Schiff who waited in the same restaurant at the designated table and impatiently checked his watch. John McCoy was 10 minutes late and nowhere in sight. Schiff stood to leave when he saw a lanky young man rushing towards him carrying a motorcycle helmet. Adam clicked his tongue in dismay.

The man clanged the helmet on a chair and extended a hand across the table. "Mr. Schiff, I'm Jack McCoy. Sorry I'm late but they've got about 20 streets blocked off out there. Traffic's a mess," McCoy pumped Adam's hand.

"Don't you read the papers?" Adam hated excuses more than just about anything. He motioned the man to a chair.

Jack McCoy flopped onto the seat in such a way as to immediately irritate the EADA. "Sure I do. But I think closing down 3/4 of Manhattan for the likes of Spiro Agnew is shameful, don't you?" Jack smiled as he dropped a napkin into his lap.

Adam couldn't help but grunt at the man's impudence, not to mention the fact that he happened to agree with him.

"You ride a motorcycle, John?" Adam motioned to the helmet.

"It's Jack, sir. And yes, I've been riding since I was a kid. It's efficient, it gets me in and out of traffic and the ladies seem to like it," a slightly crooked grin crossed Jack's darkly handsome face.

Every warning system in Adam Schiff's body started to buzz or beep. And yet Adam inexplicably found himself wanting to know more about the young man. Every other applicant had looked like he or she had just stepped out of a bandbox. Best suits, ties and dresses, fresh haircuts and spit and polished shoes. And here sat John James McCoy, NO make that JACK McCoy, who looked like he'd forgotten to shave in the shower that morning. Thick, black, unruly hair stuck out in all directions, thanks in part to the helmet. Though Adam doubted it ever saw a comb. Dark eyebrows sheltered dark brown eyes. Lean and rangy and obviously a favorite of the opposite sex, if the waitress was any indication Jack McCoy was clearly not one apt to get lost in a crowd. Adam watched as McCoy slipped a grin to the waitress while ordered a glass of iced tea. Whether he was charming or dangerous or both, Schiff wasn't sure. But he suspected, both.

"You may have a drink, Jack. I don't mind," Adam said as he ordered a Scotch.

Jack turned his gaze from the redhead back to Adam. "Thanks, but I have to be in court this afternoon. I'd better not, unless of course it's part of the interview process to see if Irish Jack McCoy can hold his liquor, " Jack raised his eyebrows in mock defiance. Adam suppressed a grin as he tried to size up this cowboy.

After ordering lunch, Adam began to probe deeper. "Where're you from?"

"Chicago. Southside," Jack answered.

"Sox fan then?" Adam continued.

Jack nodded," Yeah, can't grow up on the Southside of Chi-town without being a White Sox fan. How about you Mr. Schiff?"

"Sox fan too. Red not white."

Jack laughed, " Then you must be man with a lot of patience."

Adam snorted, "Hardly."

The intensity of the last remark caught McCoy off guard. He admonished himself for not being more serious. He forced himself to sit up straight, not easy for a guy who enjoyed slouching on whatever piece of furniture he found himself on. Jack decided to let Schiff make the next move.

"You a tough guy, Jack?" The question came out of nowhere.

Jack looked down at his food and murmured, "When I have to be."

"And when's that?"

"I don't understand the question," Jack was now boring a hole through his water glass.

"You don't huh? Ok, let me put it to you this way. I've discovered that tough guy ADAs get into scrapes in the courtroom and I have to waste my time soothing angry judges. And I don't like to waste my time Mr. McCoy. Do you understand now?"

There was an excruciating silence before McCoy raised his eyes to meet Schiff's. Adam saw a flash of anger in them.

"Mr. Schiff," McCoy chose his words carefully. " I don't know what you know or think you know about me. The truth is I have been known to get into scrapes in the courtroom. If the battle's worth the fight, I don't mind getting or giving a bloody lip, figuratively speaking. And if that's the wrong answer to your question, then so be it, I'm not the right man for the job." With that, Jack stood up and reached for his helmet. But Adam's hand got there first and he pinned the helmet to the chair. "Sit down. This interview isn't over yet young man."

Adam almost laughed at the look of astonishment on McCoy's face. But dutifully the man sat down.

"Ok, so we've established that you'd be happy to make my life with every Judge in this city, hell," Adam smirked. "Now, tell me WHY you want to work 90 hour weeks for pocket change in Frank Morgan's office.

"Charlie Powers," Jack answered decisively.

"Who?" Adam half expected the Bobby Kennedy response he'd often heard.

Jack began, " Charlie Powers. Friend of mine at NYU. Nicest guy you'd ever want to know. Give you the last dime in his pocket. Charlie's kid brother up and joins the Marines and comes home in a body bag two weeks after got there. So Charlie becomes active in the campus protest group. Mostly sit-ins and marches, never anything violent," Jack saw that the man was still listening so he continued.

" Well, we’d had a big rally one day when we'd learned the faculty had invited McNamara to a luncheon. We began a peaceful protest march when suddenly one of the cops shoots off a tear gas canister. All hell broke loose and I lost sight of Charlie for about 10 minutes. When I finally found him, he was on the ground and his face is covered in blood. One of the cops bashed him in the eye with a baton. Charlie lost eyesight in his right eye, Mr. Schiff. Charlie Powers wanted to be a painter. But now he has depth perception problems and his dream's over."

Adam drew a breath, "I'm sorry about your friend, but what does this have to do with wanting to be an ADA?"

"The cop who hit Charlie was never brought up on charges. There was a cover-up by the boys in blue, by the administration and by the DAs office, " Jack said with raw emotion.

Adam grew very somber, " Mr. McCoy those are very serious charges."

"Yes and Charlie Powers is very seriously blinded in one eye. He didn't provoke his attacker yet the man was never brought to justice. Not even simple assault. Everybody let Charlie down including the system that was supposed to protect his right to peaceful protest. The system that didn't have the guts to bring one of their own to justice," Jack index finger pounded the table.

"So, you want to be a part of that system? The one that you say turned its back on your friend?"

Jack didn't waste a moment responding," Yes, I do. I know there are a lot of Charlie's out there. Someone has to look out for them."

"So, you're going to launch a one man crusade from MY office?" Adam frowned.

"Gotta start somewhere. Might as well be your office," Jack answered.

Adam Schiff did something he rarely did. He laughed out loud, long and hard. Finally the EADA spoke, "Mr. McCoy against every muscle in my body telling me not to do this, I want to schedule you for a second interview."

"You do?"

"Yes. Oh and one more thing Mr. McCoy. Think you could remember to shave next time?"

Jack ran his hand along his jaw, felt stubble, and smiled at the other man.

The years passed quickly and the day Frank Morgan was set to leave and Adam Schiff was set to take his place, Morgan asked his successor, "You find the ones I was telling you about? The ones you can trust?"

Adam was watching ADAs Ben Stone and Jack McCoy standing together in deep conversation. "Yep."

Adam's thoughts returned to the present. He'd lost Ben Stone, but only in the physical sense. And even then, they’d managed to hook up a few times in Europe last year. But the fates seemed to have something much harsher in store for Jack McCoy. And it was more than Adam could bear to think about. He took another look at the picture and the two men, before setting it on a nearby table. With Roscocat in his lap, the old man closed his eyes and tried to think of better days.

December 22
Adam Schiff's Home


Law books were strewn from one end of the room to the other covering every
available surface. Legal pads, documents, pens, pencils, coffee mugs, a plate of stale Danishes, 3 cans of diet soda ... all were all signs that Jack McCoy's legal team, and he forbade the term Dream Team, were hard at work. The room was one of many in Adam Schiff's home, which had become the working offices for the last weeks and the next few months. Jack's place had been out the question, concern for Katie ruled out Jamie's home, and the offices from which she'd taken a leave of absence were loathe to become ground zero for every tree hanging photographer and two-bit reporter in the city. Besides, Adam had insisted, and the logic in the matter was all too evident.

Schiff had even hired a security team to keep the media and curious at bay.
The team was placed in the more than able hands of Harlan Kowalski, Schiff's former personal security guard. It was a perk of being the DA, if one could call semi-regular death threats, a perk. Kowalski had protected Schiff, as his Daddy before him had protected DA Frank Morgan. But fast reflexes and a muscular build were not all that Harlan possessed. He was smart too. Over the years, the man had used the countless hours of boredom and waiting and standing and sitting, to his advantage. An inveterate reader, he made the financial section his top priority. He began playing the market, small sums at first, then bigger and bolder until Harlan Kowalski had amassed a small fortune, at least by the standards of most. He could have retired 10 years earlier, but his loyalty to Adam Schiff was such that he didn't trust anyone else to do the job and do it right. But Schiff's decision to leave his job signaled Kowalski's retirement to Key West where he bought his dream boat and spent his days fishing and basking in the warm sun.

When he'd first heard of the troubles of Jack McCoy he'd found himself pumping his fist into his other hand. He liked McCoy. The two men had developed an easy camaraderie and enjoyed making small jokes at Adam's expense, always within earshot of their boss. For his part the old man pretended to ignore the jokes, but was secretly amused by them. And so it was with great irritation that Kowalski watched the news coverage the first few weeks. But it was the sight of his former boss Schiff, being hounded and jostled by screaming reporters, all yelling over each other in such a way that even if Schiff had wanted to respond, which he most assuredly did not, he couldn't have been heard above the mob. Within moments, Kowalski was on the phone, and within hours he was on a plane heading back to New York. He'd wasted no time in hiring a small team of men and women whose job was to protect the inhabitants inside Schiff's home and keep the riffraff at bay. Adam wasn't sure how he did it, but Kowalski was a master at sneaking the occupants in and out of the house without capturing the attention of the throngs outside. Kowalski took particular pleasure in sneaking Jamie Ross out so she could be with her daughter now and again. He'd become as valuable a member of Jack's legal team as anyone.

And so it was that Adam Schiff smiled as he watched Harlan Kowalski shove a nosy TV reporter into a large snow bank. The man laboriously climbed out of the snow and began to challenge Kowalski who merely said, "You trespass again, I'll call the police. Now you go back across the street and if you want to sit here for the next few months and freeze your rear end off, that's fine by me. But you get this close again, and you'll wish you'd been assigned to cover the Queens Ladies Tea club." With that the man scrambled back to his perch on top of TV truck #14. Kowalski watched him for a moment then looked at the gray sky and smiled. He knew the second major storm of the season was about to arrive, and if taking endless pictures of the front of Adam Schiff's house weren't boring enough, taking endless pictures of snow falling in front of Adam Schiff's house, was sure to make a few news directors check their budgets and reconsider the cost of camping out in front of a place that seemed sealed tighter than Fort Knox.

Jack McCoy sat on the floor, his back to the wall, counting the number of stripes on a nearby chair. A sense of despair seemed to have settled over him these last few days and the others were at a loss as to how to cheer him up. The sad, cold, hard truth was that the case against Jack seemed ironclad. A hundred times they'd gone over the day of the murder, and a hundred times they'd come up empty handed. No matter how many times Jack repeated the story there were no details to remember.

Adam sat slowly in the striped chair and looked down at the man. "You remember that Garcia case in about 75?"

" How could I forget? First time you called me on the carpet," Jack smiled as the memories came flooding back, " Ben and I screwed it up so badly, I'm surprised you didn't fire both of us."

Adam grunted, "Don't think I didn't think about it. You two had all the evidence against Garcia you could possibly want, but you were both so intent upon impressing me that you took your eye off the prize."

"We sure did. Our egos knew no bounds back then," Jack grinned sheepishly.

" When I realized what was happening, I could have given the case to Thompson or Rydell, but I thought you two boys could learn a lesson, " Adam's eyes twinkled.

"What? So, you let us lose that case to teach us a lesson? " Jack was incredulous.

" Yes, and it was one of the smartest decisions I ever made and it was for the good of the office. Oh, don't look so surprised Jack. Garcia was small potatoes and he wasn't the violent type, so it was one time I was willing to count our losses. Of course, I had to listen to Frank read me the riot act for the next week, but in the long run he knew it worth it too. Frank saw the same potential in you and Ben that I saw."

Jack leaned his head against the wall. "Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

Adam nodded. " There's a point to this story you know? You and Ben had every piece of evidence. It was a slam dunk case."

" I know what you're trying to do, Adam. Thanks." Jack said. "But Ellis and Cook are a lot more experienced that Ben and I were. I doubt they'll make the same kind of mistakes we did. Besides, they have the entire legal profession giving them helpful tips on TV."

Adam could only harrumph.


An hour later, Jamie Ross returned from a trip to the 'outside' and Jack and Adam stood to greet her. She'd been to the courthouse and they were anxious to get her report. But there was nothing of her face to suggest that things had gone well.

She put down her briefcase and removed her hat and coat. She poured a cup of coffee as she was clearly wanting to avoid the next conversation.

"That bad?" Jack said finally.

She poured sugar in her drink and turned slowly towards the men. " Not good.
We didn't get Rivera or Schrieber or even Larkin." She'd named the Judges that had been on their list of hopefuls, as they were the fairest of the fair.

Adam grunted, " Who Jamie?"

There was a long pause as she looked into Jack's face. It was a mixture of fear and anticipation and it reminded her of the look he'd had as she'd exited that Disciplinary Hearing, years ago. But this was so much worse than that. Then, they'd been talking about his career. Now, it was his life.

"William Wright."

For a moment no one moved. Then Jack ran a hand through his already ruffled hair and said, "Well, it's over. Case closed. Might as well confess and be done with it."

"Jack, don't talk like that, "Jamie put her cup down.

"Oh c'mon Jamie! Of all the Judges we could have HAD to hear my trial, Wright is the absolute worst. He hates me!" Jack sat down in the striped chair and put his head in his hands. "I cannot catch a break can I?"

Jamie and Adam exchanged sorrowful glances because there was little they could say to make him feel better. The problem was, he was right. Every break had gone against them.

"There's more," Jamie said at last.

Jack raised his head and cocked it slightly to one side, " Oh, do go on."

"Wright's assigned a trial date to begin 2 days after Christmas."

"What?" Now it was Adam's turn to be surprised.

"I fought tooth and nail with him on this, Adam. He told me if I have a problem I could take it up on appeal but that it was entirely within his discretion to set the date."

Jack simply closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. Could this day possibly get any worse?

Of course it could. And it did.

A knock on the door brought the voice of Harlan Kowalski. "Excuse me folks, but Mr. Stanton just arrived." Kowalski made way for a small beady eyed man to enter the room.

"Amazing," the man said as he looked around the room. " I don't think any of those reporters even caught a glimpse of me. Nice system you have here."

"So, Mr. Stanton, have you anything to report?" Adam asked. Daniel Stanton was a private investigator, one of the best in the business. Over Jack's objections, Schiff had hired him. Jack was mentally keeping track of the money he owed Adam for all of this, while Adam was mentally keeping track of the number days that his money could keep Jack out of prison.

"Mr. Schiff, I wish I had some good news. But the truth is, this case is so big, everyone and no one wants to talk. The guys with nothing to tell want to bend my ear off, and the big players who MIGHT have information are keeping their mouths shut. I mean, Judges and lawyers really can't be scared into talking. It's not like some accountant who's scared his wife's gonna find out he's been bonking the next door neighbor. HIM , I can scare into talking. But not these others."

Jamie said, "So there's NOTHING?"

"No ma'am. Listen, I'd be happy to continue trying, but I think you're just throwing good money after bad." he said honestly.

"Keep trying," was all Adam said. Adam knew they had to try, if for no other reason than to give Jack a sense that all was not lost.

"Ok, I'll check in in a few days folks." The man was gone.

Jack was now standing at the window watching fresh snow begin to fall.
"Well this day just keeps getting better and better."

Jamie took her seat behind a desk and pulled out a legal pad. "One more time Jack. Let's just do this one more time."

"Ok, Jamie one more time," he continued staring out the window. " I do not know when I lost my hat... WHO could have found it ... or WHERE they could have found it. And NO ONE saw me after I got thrown out of the Magistrate's club. I didn't take a cab and I didn't ride the subway. And YES, even though it was cold and it started to snow that night, I stupidly rode my bike. And NOOO, I didn't stop for a drink ... now THERE'S an irony isn't there.... So for the millionth time, I have NO alibi witnesses. I went straight home after the incident at the Club and no one, not even my next door neighbor heard or saw me."

"Ok, Jack, ok," Jamie hadn't written anything on the pad. "Why don't you go get some rest."

Jack walked with hands in his jeans pocket and head held down. He stopped by the desk and looked into Jamie's eyes. "I'm sorry, Jamie. I shouldn't have used that tone. I guess I'm just scared."

Jamie felt something catch in her throat and she couldn't find her voice. Instead she reached to pull a hand out his pocket and squeezed it. Jack smiled at her and squeezed back. He then exited the room leaving his defense team behind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jamie saw Adam wipe his eye. She couldn't imagine things being any bleaker than the news this day had brought.


CHA CHING

December 22
9 P.M
A Secluded Park


"Ma'am, I'll be parked over here if you need me," one of Kowalski's men told Jamie Ross as she exited into a cold, snowy night.

Jamie trudged through the gathering snow and made her way towards a small gazebo. She saw no one around but recognized the silhouette of the man she had come to see.

Wordlessly she climbed a few stairs and sat next to him.

"Thanks for coming," she said.

" I wouldn't have come here on a night like this for anyone but you. But you should know, I still can't help you," he said as he pulled his collar up as a brace against the wind.

" And you should know that we need your help. Badly." Neither made eye contact.

"I don't see what I can do. I've seen cases won on a lot less evidence than this," he said.

Jamie nodded her head, "So have I. That's why we need your help."

He didn't respond.

"Just tell me this. Do you really think McCoy committed this crime? Despite the evidence, what does your gut tell you," she watched the cold white air come out of her mouth in a long stream.

Again he didn't speak.

She stood now and turned to face him, staring down with cold eyes, " You may not know this. But during that Hellmann Commission nonsense, Adam asked him why we were helping you. And Jack told him - Because I don't like to see good cops lose their careers while bad ones go free." With that she turned on her heels and walked back to the car. He sat for a long time and watched the snow come down. He then arose to make the long walk across the cold park. Lennie Briscoe's steps were measured and his heart was beating heavily.

Sleep eluded him as Lennie tossed and turned while replaying the words Jamie had said. He wanted to help Jack, he really did. And his gut had told him that he wouldn't have poisoned Feldman anymore than Lennie would have poisoned that stupid Hellmann. He flipped on the TV trying to push his guilt to the back of his mind and he landed on a late night variety show. It wasn't long before the idiot host was making idiotic remarks about Jack McCoy, but the straw that broke the camel's back was a joke about how delightful prosecutor McCoy would doubtlessly find his cellmates. Briscoe clicked off the set in anger and flipped on a light. He found the number he wanted, dialed it quickly and when the voice on the other end answered said quietly, "I'm in."

The next morning he called Van Buren and requested some time off, which she granted, as he'd built up quite a reserve. She wasn't stupid and she had a pretty good idea why he needed the time NOW, but all she had said was, "Be careful."

December 23rd

Jamie had gathered all of the players for a meeting. She'd include PI Daniel Stanton as well as Schiff, McCoy and the newest team member, Briscoe. The small orange cat was resting comfortably in Jack's arms.

"Let's go in here, might be a change of scenery," Adam motioned the group into a game room and Briscoe immediately eyed a beautiful pool table.

"Um, Mr. Kowalski, why don't you join us today. It might be good to have a fresh mind, someone who's got a fresh perspective."

Kowalski jumped at the opportunity, he'd always fancied himself a good problem solver. Jack and Jamie didn't mind, as they knew Harlan was as trustworthy as they come and who knows, maybe Adam was right and at worst he could be the eyes and ears of a what a jury might hear.

"Nice table, Adam," Lennie ran his hand appreciatively down the side.

" Be my guest Detective," Adam, " I don't play as much as I used to."

Lennie carefully selected a stick and motioned for Kowalski to join him. As the two men proceeded to play, Jamie started to talk.

"Ok, now let's go over everything we know and everything we don't know. The two main ingredients of the evidence are the cap and the bottle of poison. And then there's motive. Let's take motive first."

"Why'd you kill him, Jack?" she smiled a she said it, and the others all laughed as the tension was broken.

"Because he was a sniveling jerk who hated dogs, small children and his own mother," Jack smiled in return.

"Ok, ok, but really, what will the prosecution say is your motive?"

Jack began to list the obvious run-ins he and Feldman had had, up to and including the latest contempt charge.

" Well, we're stuck with those facts, but I don't see why a jury leaps to the conclusion that any or all of these is anything you'd actually kill over," Jamie bit the end of her pen. "In any case, it's something I can address in the closing statement if need be, and I can somehow make it clear that your runs-ins with Feldman were no reason to murder any more than a jury member who had a run in with the cable guy. I think they can all relate to that scenario."

"So everybody in THIS room dismisses your having any real motive Jack. The next question is, who DOES have motive?" she asked.

Briscoe laughed loudest, "From what I gathered, EVERYBODY hated this guy. Who DIDN'T have motive might be a better place to start." He calmly dropped the #5 ball in a side pocket.

"There really is a world of possibilities," Adam offered.

Briscoe straightened again, "I'd start with the obvious. Who recently got out of prison, in say the last 6 months, who'd been on Feldman's docket?"

"Can we get that?" Stanton asked in innocence.

"Leave it to me," Briscoe said as he walked to a phone. They all watched as Briscoe conducted the lengthy call. Then they heard him say, "Allright Margie, I'll call you... yeah ... I promise."

Lennie saw the anticipation on the assembled faces. "She owed me a favor. Margie works at the 27th and she's a whiz at getting and assembling information like this. She's got contacts like you wouldn't believe in places you wouldn't believe ... like your very own courthouse, Counselors. Shouldn't take too long, and she'll beep me when she's ready to fax."

Jack smiled at the man's resourcefulness.

"Ok, along with motive comes opportunity. Now the ME report says that Feldman probably lived about an hour after he ingested the stuff, but I spoke to Rodgers and she said that there is the possibility of a two hour window. So that puts us at this point. He was poisoned sometime after he arrived at Antoine’s and/or sometime after he arrived at the Magistrate's Club."

Daniel Stanton spoke up now, "Ms. Ross, I did exhaustive interviews at Antoine’s and unless I am totally off the mark, they're all clean. I know exactly who waited on him, who the chef was, who filled water glasses ... I did background checks on everyone and they all checked out clean. The only time I can place any of them in Feldman's presence, is at that restaurant, and unless he really ticked someone off, I just don't think there's anything there. But I'll certainly take another crack at it."

" Couldn't hurt," Adam mumbled and Stanton nodded.

"Allrightt so assuming everyone at Antoine’s is clean, where did he go from there?" Jamie continued as she watched Kowalski miss an easy shot.

Briscoe spoke, "His routine every week was to walk from the restaurant straight to the Club. It was too close to take a cab. And I highly doubt he'd have taken a drink or bought a bagel on the street between there and the Club, especially since he'd just eaten."

Jack sat as an almost interested bystander. He was sick of talking and thinking about the case, and the details had begun to merge together in his head. So he was more than glad to let the others plot and do the heavy thinking. Jamie seemed to have things well in hand, as usual.

Jamie wrote the word 'Club' on her notepad and began circling it in ink. " Then it's reasonable to assume the deed was done here." She turned and looked at Stanton. The small man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not much help there, I'm afraid. I couldn't get a word out of anyone there. They're as tight lipped as any I've ever seen and I couldn't even begin to talk to any of the Judges."

Lennie banked the 10 ball into the 6th pocket.
"I'll take the Club. This should still carry some weight." He flashed his badge.

Adam stood to stretch his legs, " IF the murder occurred in that Club, then our number of suspects becomes more manageable."

Jack's eyes were closed but he'd heard Adam's comment. It wasn't like they hadn't made that observation a dozen times before. But it seemed to make everyone feel better to say it aloud and Jack let the opportunity for a sarcastic response go. After all, these were his friends and they were trying to help him, even as hopeless as he knew his situation was. He knew they needed to feel they'd done everything and he didn't want them awakening in the middle of the night years from now wondering why they didn't question the waiter at Antoine’s, just one more time.

" Good," Jamie continued her circling. "Stanton takes another run through Antoine’s and Lennie shakes down the Club. Now let's get back to our other problem. The hat and the poison. Somehow, whoever killed Feldman got hold of the hat and planted the vial of poison in Jack's pocket. My biggest question is how the vial got into the pocket without Jack knowing it?"

"It's a duplicate, " Harlan leaned over to take a shot and the words spilled out. Everyone turned to look at him.

"Go on, " Jamie said.

Kowalski straightened, "Well, it seems to me that someone planted the vial on Mr. McCoy earlier in the day and they used another one for the actual murder."

Adam Schiff snorted. It was so obvious, how in the world had all these trained professionals missed it? "Yes, the vial wasn't planted on McCoy AFTER the crime, it was planted BEFORE. And the one in Jack's pocket isn't even the murder weapon! But how do we prove that?" Jamie had rarely seen the old man so excited. Even Jack opened his eyes.

"Ok, let's think this out..." Jamie rubbed her temples. "Let's talk this out."

Briscoe missed an open shot and smirked, " Let's go back the beginning. Jack, that morning, did you have your hat?"

God how he'd come to loathe that hat, that stupid, stupid hat. Why hadn't he burned it as everyone had suggested? Eyes still closed, Jack said," I can't remember, Detective. It's all become a blur."

At this Jamie became angry, " Hey JACK, snap out of it. We need your full attention here!"

Jack opened his eyes and sat up straighter, "Ok, you're the boss. What was the question? Oh yeah the infamous hat. Honestly I don't know if I had it or ... no, wait, wait ... YES, I did have it that morning at the courthouse. I remember because I was trying to get Karen Preston to go out with me and she had laughed and said - not as long as I was still wearing that awful hat. So yeah, I did have it that morning."

"And that night?" Adam was glad to see Jack a little more enthusiastic.

"Well, Nora sent the new ADA, Serena Southerland to bail me out and I had to go back to the courthouse for my things. I ... I dunno Adam. I just can't remember. I THINK I had it?"

"Where do they keep your coats during trial?" Kowalski asked.

"The courtrooms have a rack in them and that's where we hang them," Jamie said.

Jack stood up now, the juices seemed to be flowing again and the skills of reason and deduction were kick started. " Wait a minute. No Jamie... no ... we were in that small courtroom on the 5th floor. You know ... the one at the end ... for Part 47?"

"So?" Briscoe asked for the rest of them.

Jamie stood too, "Sooo, that courtroom doesn't have any amenities, not even a special rack, all the attorneys use a small room in the hallway near the bailiffs' offices to store their stuff."

"Wouldn't the ADA have picked up your coat, Mr. McCoy?" Kowalski asked.

Jack looked at Harlan, " She should have, but she didn't. Look, she’s a good kid but she just joined the office. When I got hauled out on contempt she was left to pick up the trial and I'm sure she was scared stiff. My personal belongings were the last thing on her mind."

Adam stood and everyone quieted to hear the old man, " And you're in jail for 4 hours, your assistant forgets to pick up your things, and your coat sits unattended all that time and ANYONE can walk up and steal the hat and plant evidence. The second vial." The old man's heart was beating faster.

Everyone just looked at each other. Suddenly, there was light, it might just have been a sliver, but it was THERE!

"Ok, but back to that hat," Jamie said persistently, as Jack gave her a dirty scowl.

"Damn hat, " Jack murmured. "Look, I honestly don't remember if I has it that evening or not."

"But we need to be sure, Jack. We can't assume anything. That hat is going to play prominently in your trial and we need to follow it every step of the way. "

Jack sat down and tried to make his brain recall that evening so many weeks ago. They all watched him thinking.

Suddenly, Roscocat batted an orange and a black ball the length of the table. The two balls rested directly in front of Jack. Everyone thought the cat was just playing and ignored him and the balls. Jack stared at the numbers, 5 & 8... 58 ... Five eight ... FIFTY-EIGHT ... "That's IT!" he jumped to his feet and reached for the cat.

"That's what?" Kowalski wondered if Jack had gone round the bend.

"Fifty-Eight! That's Karen Preston's extension!"
He said excitedly.

"Yeah so? You wanna call her for a date NOW?" Briscoe joked.

"No detective, I don't. Don't you see? That evening I returned to get my things and I saw the light on in Karen's small office. She was working late and I dropped in to say goodnight. I jokingly asked her again about a date, and she pointed to my head and said that as long as I didn't have the hat, to give her a call. Extension 58! And then I distinctly remember searching myself for the hat and not finding it. So I DID have it that morning and somebody took it, probably while I was in jail or maybe even while I was in court."

Jamie threw her arms around Jack excitedly. Some progress had indeed been made. They'd established that the likelihood was that a duplicate vial of poison had been placed in Jack's pocket, and his hat had been stolen at the same time by the same person, hours before the murder. Feldman's killer, no doubt.

"Somebody went to a lot of trouble to set you up," Stanton offered as he stood to stretch.

Adam was thinking furiously now, "So my next question is, how does the murderer make sure that YOU show up at the Club? He or she obviously wants you to be seen in Feldman's presence that evening. The scenario is perfect. Jack McCoy is seen with Feldman during the appropriate time period during which the poison is administered. Then McCoy waits and follows Feldman out of the Club, no doubt wanting to relish in the man's painful death. It's a very dark night so McCoy doesn't fear being seen in the park as he follows Feldman from a distance. Then the poison does its work and Feldman falls and rolls down an embankment to his death. McCoy ventures a look at the man he's murdered but unwittingly drops his hat in the process," Adam sounds like he's trying to convince a jury. "Yep, my boy, somebody set you up but good." Adam grins at the younger man.

Jack smiled weakly while scratching the top of the little cat's head.

CHA CHING

The holidays had come at a terrible time. Briscoe and Stanton met dead ends wherever they turned. The Club was closed for the holidays and most of the staff at Antoine’s were out of town. At least Briscoe had kept himself occupied by checking the list of suspects on the fax that his friend Margie had sent. Only 4 men and 1 woman, who'd been sentenced to prison by Gary Feldman, had been released in the past 6 months. In a couple of days, Lennie had been able to track them all down, had talked to their parole officers and had determined that all had feasible alibis. So, it did seem to narrow the field and place things squarely back at the Club.

At Jack's insistence, and despite a nagging feeling that she should be working on the case every hour of every day, Jamie spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day with her family. She soon realized how much she'd needed the break and her guilt lifted somewhat as she saw the delight in her daughter's eyes on Christmas morning. Jamie told herself she was just revving her engines for the upcoming trial, which had been dubbed the 'Trial of the Century' by some fool who thought it was cute, given that it was only the year 2001.

Of course, Adam Schiff didn't celebrate Christmas himself, but given that he wanted to do something for Jack and Kowalski's hard working security team, he arranged for a nice meal complete with turkey and dressing to be brought in on Christmas Eve. Jack shook his head, Adam's hospitality had been far too much.

"Adam, how am I ever going to repay you?" Jack finally asked.

Adam stoked a fire and tried to brush off the suggestion. " It all comes out in the wash."

Jack picked up a poker and began digging at the flames too. " I just mean, you've done too much already. I want to repay you and I mean to, once I get this damn trial over with."

Schiff smiled, "Glad to see you're thinking positively."

"Well, maybe not so much." Jack felt an errant spark singe his cheek and he recoiled. "Adam, I hate to ask you this, I know I have no right, but I don't think I can ask Jamie...," his voice halted.

"What is it?" Adam continued to push at the fire.

"This." Jack handed Adam a piece of paper. Adam read it closely and his face showed a small frown. "I used your computer the other day, didn't think you'd mind."

Adam took his eyes off the paper and looked at the other man. "A codicil to your will?"

"Yes."

"I've tried to make it clear that I want you and Jamie and Briscoe to be paid properly out of my estate, then everything else goes to Kelly. She can keep what she wants from my place and sell what she doesn't. It won't be a fortune, but I think she'll have a nice nest egg," he stared into the flames as he thought of his daughter. " My personal attorney, Sarah Wylie, has my will on file, so if the time comes, would you see that she gets that as well?"

Adam fought the urge to throw the paper in the fire. " This ... this won't be needed. And even if it ever is, you don't owe me a thing, you understand?"

" I owe you everything," Jack said quietly.

"I don't know where you get that silly idea, McCoy," Adam played with the paper in his hands as he walked across the room.

Jack laughed softly, "Adam, you took a raw kid with a big mouth and a bigger ego and helped him grow up. At least a little."

Adam was pretty good at concealing emotions but this discussion dug deep at his heart. "I was repaid."

Jack snorted, "Yeah, right."

Adam poured himself a much needed drink, "You think I didn't notice you standing by my side when the Governor stole that Coburn case a few years ago?"

"But, " Jack began to protest.

"But nothing, Jack. Like I said, it all comes out in the wash," Adam raised a glass to his old friend.

Jack knew that Adam didn't want this conversation to continue, so he changed the subject slightly. "Adam, when this trial starts, I want to go back to my own place."

Adam raised his eyebrows but said nothing. " I want to sleep in my own bed and I think you could use a break from all of this too," Jack explained.

"Whatever you think is best," was all the older man said.

" Well, that's what I want to do," Jack poked harder at the fire and watched as flames shot up through the chimney.


Scene:
Courthouse
December 29th

Adam Schiff shifted nervously in the front row on the defendant's side of the room. He grunted to himself as he saw camera operators checking their equipment. Adam hated the idea that this or ANY trial be shown on TV for he thought, despite the blathering of its proponents, that it did make a difference in the proceedings. And he knew Judge William Wright would try to use it to his own advantage and perhaps to McCoy's disadvantage. Schiff had suggested that Wright recuse himself from the case, as he'd been at the Club the night of the murder, but Wright refused with the rebuttal being that there were plenty of other eyewitnesses besides himself. Schiff filed this away in the back of head in case they needed to appeal.

Jack McCoy and Jamie Ross stood in a small waiting room. Jack saw Jamie nervously flicking her pen. He put steadying hands on her shoulders. "Jamie, you'll be fine. And no matter what happens in there, I know I made the right decision in asking you to defend me." She smiled back at him, "Thanks, That means a lot."

A bailiff entered the room, "Mr. McCoy, there are a few people here to see you."

Jack expected to see Schiff or maybe some other attorney friends from the office, but who he saw caused him to begin to shake.

2 men about Jack's height and with unmistakable McCoy features entered the room.

"Well, are you gonna just stand there and look stupid or you gonna say hello?" the darker haired man said.

"Billy," Jack reached to place his brother in a bear hug. Then he turned to the other man, who, like Jack, was salt and pepper gray. Jack hugged him too. " Patrick, you're getting grayer every day."

"Just, like you big brother," Patrick McCoy responded.

Jack stared at his kid brothers and shook his head. "I told you guys not to come. I didn't want ..."

"Doesn't matter what you want, Jack. We're grown men now, like it or not, and if we want to come to support you, we will," Billy stood with folded arms. "You can't tell us what to do anymore," he smiled.

"But it might get rough in there," Jack protested. He'd already had this discussion about a dozen times with his daughter, Kelly, who'd wanted to come down from Boston to be with him. But he'd won that battle and felt better knowing that his kid didn't have to witness this mess firsthand and be victimized by the throng of pushy reporters. But clearly, his brothers had other ideas.

"Well, we're McCoys aren't we boys? They wanna get rough with one of us, they'll answer to the rest," Billy said defiantly. Billy McCoy had a lot of his father in him, but the best part of the old man, Jack and Patrick had always noted. Billy had followed the old man into a blue uniform and it had made their late father proud as a peacock. Patrick was the quietest boy and had become a math teacher at the University of Chicago. But if push came to shove, and one of the McCoys was in trouble, Patrick's fists could fly with the best of them.

They all stood looking at each until Jamie Ross finally cleared her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry Jamie," Jack made introductions.

"Ms. Ross, we owe you a lot for helping him out," Billy punched his brother's arm. "I don't know what to say except, thanks."

"You're welcome, I just hope you're still be thanking me when this is over."

After a few more minutes of small talk, a bailiff came to get them. Dressed in dark suits, the McCoys and Jamie made their way into the courtroom. A seeming hush fell over the onlookers. Adam made room for the brothers, both of whom he'd met years before. The prosecution team of Ellis and Cook sat smartly at their table. All rose as Judge William Wright came into the room. he motioned for them to sit and banged his gavel on the desk.

"Showtime," Billy whispered to Patrick. Patrick leaned forward to give his elder brother's shoulder a squeeze.

Jamie perused the jury, a panel that had been picked in record time, or so it seemed to her. Judge Wright had allowed only 2 days to pick them and Jamie found that outrageous and filed it away in the ever-growing 'appeals' folder. But there was no doubt about it, this was Judge Wright's show and he was going to make the best of. -- At my expense -- Jack had thought.

Judge William Wright wasted no time in preening for the television audience. He spent at least a full 2 hours addressing the courtroom on the do's and don'ts of HIS trial and on and on he droned until Billy McCoy thought he was going to have to stand up and scream obscenities at the man. Finally, Wright wound down his speech and started the proceeding. Robert Cook and Jamie Ross were each allowed opening statements and Cook turned out to be quite the showman. Adam Schiff groaned audibly at his antics. But Cook seemed to have all the facts that would turn the heads of any jury, on his side. For Jamie's part, she'd had to do a little fancy footwork because her case was far from ready. She could only pray that Briscoe would come up with anything. And she knew she needed to buy as much time as possible. Adam thought Jamie's opening had been rather effective considering she had one hand tied behind her back.

After a break for lunch, the minutia that marks every trial began in earnest. ME Rodgers was called by the prosecution and tried to answer as stiffly as possible. She knew Briscoe was on McCoy's side and that was good enough for her. While Cook had tried to pin Rodgers down to an exact time of actual poisoning, she'd managed to leave enough of an opening for Ross' liking. It was better for Jack if reasonable doubt could put the poisoning at the time Feldman ate at Antoine’s and before their little scene at the Club. Jamie thought Rodgers testimony had gone well enough.

The prosecution was about to call another witness, when a cameraman motioned to Judge Wright that something was wrong with her equipment. Not wanting to miss a minute in the spotlight, Wright called it a day, though it was only 2 in the afternoon. Jamie was relieved, for it bought them precious time.


Magistrate's Club
December 29th


"Sir if you don't have reservations ... oh ... Detective, how nice to see you again," the white haired man had said. "More questions I presume?"

"Yeah, more questions. Listen, Mister??"

" Mr. Palm, sir ... Harold Palm."

"Ok, Mr. Palm. I need some very important information," Briscoe tried not to draw too much attention to himself.

"About the Feldman murder? I thought they had that McCoy chap on trial," the old man kept his voice low too.

"Yeah, well they do. But these things aren't always what they seem Mr. Palm."

"I see. Well what do you need to know Detective?" Palm asked.

" I need to know who waited on Feldman that night," Briscoe said.

Palm walked to a small podium and retrieved a book. As he began flipping pages he remarked, "Shouldn't this have been looked into weeks ago?'

Feeling the sting of the comment, Briscoe could only grunt, "Yeah, well, nobody's perfect." The truth was, Briscoe was kicking himself for not doing this earlier, but the swiftness with which the evidence had pointed to McCoy made this unnecessary at the time. But now it was paramount that Briscoe check this out.

"Here we go. Yes, young Mr. Ricky Poalo was in that night," Palm said.

"Uh-huh..." Lennie grunted. "How can I get in touch with this Poalo?"

" He's here right now. Come, follow me." Palm led Briscoe through a doorway and into a brightly lit hallway. Palm stepped into a locker room of sorts and spoke to a young man, about 22 years of age. "Mr. Poalo, this gentlemen is a Detective and he needs to ask you some questions. I suggest you cooperate."
With that Mr. Palm left the room.

Lennie saw Poalo begin to shake slightly. " So, Poalo. Tell me about the night Judge Feldman was killed."

"I don't know. He was reading some books and I served him a few drinks and then that man came in, the one on all the TV stations, and they had an argument and after a few minutes Feldman left," the boy was beginning to sweat.

"So, what kind of drinks did you serve him?" Lennie asked as another young man entered the locker area to change.

"Uh, I think it was a couple of cognacs. One of them he threw at that other man," Poalo said with rapidly blinking eyes.

" Who poured the drinks?" Briscoe asked.

"Um, Mr. Harris, the bartender."

"Ok, and did you WATCH Harris pour the drinks himself?"

"Uh-huh I think so?" Poalo wanted to be anywhere but here.

"You think so? So maybe someone else poured the drinks?" Briscoe continued the inquisition using a tone of voice much lighter than what he usually used. He wasn't ready to completely frighten his prey just yet.

The boy shifted nervously, " No, it was Mr. Harris, I'm sure of it."

"And did you see Mr. Harris put anything into the drinks? Like something from another bottle?"

Poalo shook his head from side to side.

"Did YOU put anything into Judge Feldman's drink?" Briscoe asked.

"NO! I did not!" the answer was too obvious for Briscoe's taste.

"Ok, then how do you think that poison got in the drink? It must have been you or Harris."

"No! It was that man, the one from TV," Poalo said loudly.

"Did you see the man from TV put something in the drink?" Briscoe's voice rose.

"Yeah ... yeah ... I gave Feldman his drink and then I saw the man screaming at Feldman and he put something in the drink."

The other young man spoke now, "What're you talking about Ricky? I was the one who took the drinks to Feldman's table. Remember?"

Lennie wheeled around, "Who are you?"

"Tony Madio, at your service."

"Ok, Mr. Madio, tell me what you know about that night." Briscoe thought Poalo was going to cry.

"Well, this one here hands me a tray and asks me if I'll serve Feldman," Madio explained.

"Why?"

Madio shrugged, "Because Feldman scared the pants off half the guys in here."

"But not you?"

"Naw," Madio said proudly, "Nobody scares me in this lousy joint. They all think they're better than everybody else, but they ain't better than Tony Madio. I don't have to go beggin' for help from any one of 'em, like Ricky here."

Briscoe's hair stood on the back of his neck. "Help? Tell me about that".

Poalo tried to signal Madio to shut up, but Madio enjoyed hearing himself talk and didn't realize it was such a big thing anyway. " Ricky got this job through his brother Frederick. See, Frederick got caught breaking and entering and doing some other stuff and instead of jail time or community service, the Judge uses Frederick as his personal errand boy. You know, getting his laundry, picking up food, washing his car, that kind of thing. And Frederick must be doing a good job because the Judge got Ricky this job here."

"When? When did Ricky get the job?

"Maybe two, three months ago ... right Ricky?"

Ricky looked ill but he meekly said, "Yes."

"And you Ricky. You do favors for this Judge too?" Briscoe asked.

"No, I only do what Frederick tells me to do. I don't even know the name of the Judge. Frederick won't even tell me his name."

Briscoe stood close to the boy. "Ricky? Did Frederick tell YOU to put something in Judge Feldman's drink that night?"

Ricky began to cry and soiled his pants, "Yes, Frederick gave me a bottle. He said to put it in the drink and everything would be ok. Frederick said it would just make Feldman a little sick, that's all. Just a little sick."

"And did your brother get this bottle from the Judge?" Lennie's eyes squinted.

"I don't know. Maybe."



CHA CHING

Lennie Briscoe's heart was pounding like a sledgehammer. He'd just been told the information that he'd known all along was the truth. But he needed to hear it spoken by someone other than a friend of Jack's. Jack McCoy did NOT poison Judge Gary Feldman. And now, if he could only locate the Judge who Frederick Poalo had been working for, Briscoe would know who did. Then this nightmare would end.

"Listen to me Ricky, this is very important," Briscoe placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and wagged an index finger in his face.

"Am I ... I.... going to jail?" Tears feel down Ricky's cheek.

Briscoe spoke more softly, "Ricky, if you tell me where Frederick is, if you do that, I will do what I can to keep you from jail. I have friends in the DAs office and I can help. You understand?"

Ricky nodded, " Ok, but I don't know where Frederick is."

Now Briscoe squeezed the boy's shoulder in a less than friendly way.

"I'm telling the truth, " Ricky cried, " I haven't seen Frederick in a couple of weeks. My Mom's really worried and so am I. I don't know where he is or I'd tell you. I swear I SWEAR!."

Briscoe had been in the business long enough to know when he was dealing with a scared kid who was telling the truth. And he sensed this kid was. He eased up on the shoulder. "Ok, Ricky, I need to know where your Mom lives. I need to talk to her."

Ricky wiped his eyes with his sleeves and gave Briscoe the number.

Lennie Briscoe jumped in his car, determined to find Frederick. As he drove, he phoned Jamie Ross and gave her the all-important news concerning Ricky's statement, which for all intents and purposes would seem to clear McCoy. Lennie had to chuckle as he actually heard a very excited, though normally reserved Jamie Ross, let out a whoop. This was the first break they'd had in this case, the first time the noose around Jack's neck had seemed to loosen. And Jamie relayed the news that Ricky Poalo and Tony Madio were both likely to be called as witnesses for the prosecution tomorrow. She smiled as she relished the looks on the faces of Cook and Ellis when they heard THIS unexpected testimony. She could almost hear the roar of surprise rumble through the courtroom now. But she'd agreed with Briscoe that it was of utmost important that they find this unknown Judge.

Briscoe found the address with only a little difficulty. He climbed the snow-covered steps of the modest home. Lennie was already sick of winter and he knew it'd really just started and another blast was supposed to roar through any day now.

He rang the doorbell and an attractive woman answered the bell. Briscoe introduced himself, flashed his badge and the woman let him in. He told her that he'd spoken to her other son that evening, though he didn't reveal details.

"Do you know where Frederick is, Mrs. Poalo?"

Her forehead was lined with worry, " No and I want you to find him. Please Detective. He's a good boy, just a little trouble, but that's behind him now and he's even working for a Judge."

At that statement, Briscoe's neck muscles tightened. "Do you know the name of this Judge?"

"No, Frederick didn't say and I don't pry. I'm just happy that he's out of trouble."

--Lady if you only knew --- thought thee tired detective.

"Ok, so do you think any of Frederick's friends would know? Where can I find them?" Briscoe asked as sweetly as he could, realizing that the woman had no idea of the heartache that was soon to be hers as her son was linked to a murder.

" Yes, they hang out at a pool hall about 5 blocks over. But I've already asked and none of them have seen Frederick either," She wrung her hands. "Please find my boy. Please bring him home."

Lennie Briscoe was cold, tired and hungry as he sat down at the bar of, Pete's, a small dive with a couple of pool tables in the back.

"Hello mister, what can I get you?" The man behind the counter asked as he wiped a glass. Despite outside appearances, the inside of the place actually looked clean and almost reputable so Lennie thought he could risk it. " Uh, lemme have a cheeseburger, fries and maybe a club soda."

"Comin' up," the man said as he slipped an order sheet through a small hole behind the bar.

"I've never seen you in here before," the man said pleasantly enough.

"Well I'm here on business actually," Lennie said as he munched on some peanuts.

"Yeah? Something I should worry about?" the man asked.

"Don't worry friend, it's got nothing to do with this joint," Lennie responded. " You can tell me something though. Have you seen Frederick Poalo around?"

"Freddy? No, not in a couple of weeks come to think about it. And I'm not gonna ask why because whatever he's done I don't want to know about," the man held up the dishrag as he spoke.

"You think he's done something?" Lennie asked casually.

"Mister, every guy who comes in here has 'done' something. As long as they pay their tabs, they can come and go as they please."

Lennie grunted, " You see any of Poalo's friends around here?

The man nodded in a sideways direction. "Yeah, that kid back there nursing a beer, I've seen him with Poalo."

"Thanks," Lennie said as he walked towards the pool table. Briscoe racked the balls and chose a stick and began instantly making impressive shot after impressive shot.

It wasn't long before the boy and his beer ambled over and struck up a conversation.

"You're good, man. Where'd you learn to do all those tricks?" the 20-ish young man asked admiringly.

Briscoe sent a shot the length of the table and watched as the ball slammed into the back pocket.
"Aw, I picked up a thing or two over the years. It's all about practice, practice, practice."

Lennie and George Dawson, as he'd identified himself, chatted until Briscoe's burger arrived. Lennie bought the kid another beer and they sat together while Lennie ate. Finally he worked the subject around to Frederick Poalo.

When the boy started to clam up Briscoe played it casually, " Need him for a job." At this his dinner companion's eyes lit up.

"Are YOU the MAN?"

"Uh, could be," Lennie said as he ate a fry.

"No kidding ... Frederick's always talking about having to meet 'The Man' and I always wanted to meet you too. But Frederick said I couldn't because I didn't owe you like he did," the young man eagerly said as he added, "You know, I mighta seen you once before."

"Really? Where?" Lennie asked trying to contain his growing excitement.

"I followed Frederick once. He said he had to meet "The Man" and I wanted to see you for myself."

"And do I look the same?" Lennie grinned.

" It's kinda hard to tell. I couldn't get real close because I was hiding in some weeds so Frederick wouldn't see me, or you wouldn't see me either. And you had a scarf pulled around your face so I didn't get a real good look. But I did see Frederick and you talking. And I saw that blue box he gave you."

Lennie knew this kid wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was just chocked full of interesting information.

"Oh, you saw the blue box, did you? Did Frederick tell you what was inside?" Lennie took another bite of burger.

"Naw, that was the first time I'd seen it. And I couldn't ask him about it because then he'd know I'd followed him and he'd be angry," the boy brazenly began to munch Lennie's fries.

"Uh, George, do you know where Frederick is?"

"No. The last time I saw him he said he was going to meet "The Man”, which I guess is you," he smiled dopily.

"When was that?"

"Maybe two, three weeks ago. I thought maybe you'd had him do some special spy work or something and that's why he'd been gone so long. But since you're here, I guess not, huh? " George's face fell.

Seizing the moment, Lennie said, "George, I want you to help me out ok?" George's face lit up. " I want you to take me to the spot where you saw Frederick give me the blue box."

"But don't you know where it is?"

"Um, the thing is I have several spots where I meet Frederick and I can't remember where I met him that day. And I know that that very day I lost my favorite watch and I thought maybe I lost it when I went to meet Frederick," Lennie cringed at the lameness of that story, but George bought it, and that was all that mattered.

They drove a few miles to a deserted dock. From the looks of things, this place hadn't been used in years and years. A dilapidated warehouse appeared ready to heave-ho at the slightest breeze, and it was clear that the City's beautification plan hadn't extended to this wretched area.

George and Briscoe got out of the car as a cold wind sliced through them. But there was little to see and Briscoe's flashlight was in desperate need of a new battery. As George searched for the non-existent watch, Briscoe shined a weak light on snow and tall weeds. He knew he wouldn't find anything this night. He'd come back at dawn by himself and take a better look around.

CHA CHING

December 30th
Courthouse


Jack McCoy's supporters were anxiously awaiting today's testimony. Two of the
witnesses scheduled to testify, Tony Madio and Ricky Poalo, were going to set this trial on its ear when they told the court what they'd told Briscoe the night before. Ricky Poalo had put poison in Feldman's drink as directed by his brother Frederick, who was carrying out the orders of the real murderer. A JUDGE, no less.

But it would be some time before the young men took the stand, as prosecutors Cook and Ellis had a lengthy list of witnesses to call, all of whom would put McCoy in the Club the evening of the murder. -- Talk about overkill -- Jamie had thought, yet she knew perfectly well that Cook and Ellis wouldn't pass up the grand opportunity to parade upstanding Judge after upstanding Judge in front of the jury. There'd be no question whatsoever that Jack McCoy had indeed been present that night and had been angrily foaming at the mouth. Jamie was irritated, yet she knew from her years on the other side of the aisle, that she'd do the exact same thing.

Court began sharply at 8 A.M. and true to form the Judges started testifying. None looked too thrilled with having to do so, yet the opportunity to look dignified in front of a nationwide TV audience did have its upside.

4 Judges testified, as well as stately Mr. Palm. The bartender Mr. Harris had to make an appearance as did a busboy whose native tongue was Russian and spoke in a broken accent. All had accomplished what the prosecution had intended and there was little Jamie could do on cross. Yet, SHE knew something the prosecution didn’t, and the fun was about to begin.

"Next witness, " Wright called out.

"Your honor, The People call Anthony Madio," Ellis said.

Tony Madio made his way to the front of room and was quickly sworn in and stated his name and occupation.

Ms. Ellis wasted no time, " Mr. Madio, the evening of Judge Feldman's death, what were you doing in the Club?"

Madio responded while leaning close to the microphone, " I was serving drinks."

"And did you serve Judge Feldman drinks?" Ellis posed for the jury.

"Yes I did," he answered.

"And did you see the defendant?" Ellis pointed to Jack for at least the 6th time that day."

"Yes."

"And what did you see the defendant do?" Ellis asked dramatically.

"Well," Madio shifted nervously, "He came running into the place and he came straight at Judge Feldman and they first started talking, then they started yelling and Feldman threw a drink in his face and he took a swing at the Judge," Madio nodded towards Jack.

"No more questions, your Honor," Ellis took her seat and accepted congratulations from Cook.

Now it was Jamie's turn and she, Jack, and Adam knew that the trial was about to turn in their favor on the very next question and answer.



The Docks
Same Morning

Lennie Briscoe had grabbed a needed bit of breakfast before he returned to the docks in the morning. He had no idea what, if anything, he'd find there, but his years on the force had taught him to leave nothing to chance. He pulled his car to a halt along the edge of the docks. A freezing wind blew across the water and slapped the Detective in the face. -- That'll wake you up. -- he'd thought as he pulled his coat tighter. Lennie wanted to find some sign of the mysterious Judge or of the missing Frederick Poalo. This was the only known location that placed Frederick and the Judge together, so it was Briscoe's best hope. It also looked like a lousy place to find any clues, even if he DID know what he was looking for.

For a half an hour Lennie roamed through the old warehouse but found nothing but a bunch of rats and a pile of assorted junk. Next he walked around the docks looking and looking and finding nothing. It didn't help that there was still a lot of snow piled high. He absently kicked at a clump of the white stuff and his eye caught a glimpse of the color blue. He cleared away the rest of the snow with his foot and was left staring at a Mets baseball cap. Briscoe pulled out a handkerchief and bent to pick the cap up. He almost dropped it when he saw that the side of it was covered in a dark substance. Briscoe knew it was blood.

It didn't take him long to locate the owner of the hat. Wedged between the dock and an abandoned 1975 Gremlin was a body. It was badly decomposed though Briscoe could see that the man had been shot in the head. Briscoe squatted for a better look. The man looked to be about 25 years old. Lennie slowly stood up and he said aloud to the wind, " Bet your name is Frederick. And you were killed by 'The Man', weren't you?" Just a few hours ago things had been looking up and now they'd gone south again. He flipped open a cell phone and called 911 and Anita Van Buren at the 27th. At least Briscoe was satisfied that things were going better in the courtroom than here.


Courtroom

"Your witness, Ms. Ross," Wright scratched the back of his head. Every nerve in Jack's body was tingling and Adam Schiff was working tense jaw muscles. The brothers McCoy were leaning against each other for support and Lennie Briscoe, who'd snuck into the back of the room, didn't move a muscle.

Jamie was a study in contrast with her absurdly showy counterparts from Queens. She ignored the camera and focused solely on the task at hand.

"Mr. Madio, we've established that you saw Mr. McCoy in the Club that night. Tell me sir, did you SEE Mr. McCoy put anything in Judge Feldman's drink?"

"No," Madio said, "I didn't see him do that."

Jamie continued, " But you do know who DID put something in Feldman's drink, don't you?"

Ellis and Cook were caught entirely off guard, as was everyone else in the courtroom, save McCoy's group. Jamie could feel gasps behind her back.

"No, I do not," he replied.

Jamie felt a dagger in her heart. Jack turned to look at Adam who seemed to have aged 5 years in the last 5 seconds.

" I'll ask the question again, Mr. Madio," Jamie began, but Cook was on his feet.

"Objection! Asked and answered your honor," Cook had been sickened by the thought that Jamie Ross knew something about his witness that he did. He wasn't about to let Madio have a second run at that question.

"Sustained," Wright said.

"Your Honor, I need a little leeway here, I need to ask the question again in case Mr. Madio didn't understand it," she replied.

Judge Wright turned to Madio and with sarcasm in his voice said, "Mr. Madio, do you speak English?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Tony Madio snorted.

"Then move it along, Ms. Ross. The question was answered," Wright waved at Ross with his hand.

McCoy knew Jamie wouldn't give up that easily. She would be tenacious even if it brought down the wrath of the almighty Judge Wright.

"Mr. Madio, do you know what perjury is?" She asked firmly.

"Objection!" Cook was on his feet with Ellis right beside him. "She's badger..."

"Sustained! Ms. Ross, find another line of questioning," Wright's suggested loudly and strongly.

Jamie wasn't about to back down now. The entire case, Jack McCoy's LIFE might be riding on the next few minutes. It was now or never.

"Mr. Madio, did you or did you not hear a fellow waiter named Ricky Poalo tell Detective Leonard Briscoe that, HE, that RICKY had put poison in Judge Feldman's drink?" Jamie's voice was firm and decisive.

The voices from Queens yelled "Objection!!" in tandem as the courtroom came alive with whispers. Jack's eyes were riveted on Madio.

"Objection!" Cook continued to yell. The crowd noise continued to grow and Judge Wright banged his gavel repeatedly yelling, " Order, Order!"

Finally the noise subsided as Cook remained standing. "Your Honor, I don't think..."

"Sit DOWN, Mr. Cook," Wright called out. He turned his attention to Jamie Ross and said acidly, "The witness will answer the question. Please repeat it Ms. Ross."

Jack couldn't believe that Wright was actually ruling in his favor on this important question, but he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth either.

Jamie asked the question again in a clear and concise tone for all to hear.
"Mr. Madio, did you or did you not hear a fellow waiter named Ricky Poalo tell Detective Leonard Briscoe that, HE, that Ricky had put poison in Judge Feldman's drink?"

Tension built and all eyes and ears were on Tony Madio. His answer could be the difference between a death sentence and freedom for Jack McCoy. McCoy could hardly breathe.

"No, ma’am, I did not hear Ricky say anything like that," Madio said at last.

The response sent another ripple of noise through the room. Lennie Briscoe thought about going up and wringing the boy's neck. Why would he lie? Jamie could hardly think straight and Jack McCoy closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest, looking as defeated as any man ever had.

"Are you sure Mr. Madio?" she asked again. Before Cook or Ellis could object, the boy affirmed his previous statement.

"Anything else, Ms. Ross?" Wright asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"No, no, Your Honor, not at this time." The walk back to her chair was the longest in her life. She sat down and looked over at Jack. He looked stricken.

"I'd like to see counsel at the bar," Wright unexpectedly said. Jamie, Cook and Ellis all took their places in front of the Judge. He covered the microphone as he spoke.

"I'm looking at your witness list Counselors," he turned to Ellis and Cook, "And I see that you have several more names from the Magistrate's Club.
I'm assuming that all of these witnesses are just going to reaffirm that the defendant was in Feldman's presence that night and they had words?"

Ellis spoke, "Yes, your honor."

" Do we really need to call all of them to restate the obvious?" Wright sighed.

Jamie shook her head in disgust as she looked at the names on the list. Ricky Poalo was on it, and she wanted nothing more than to sink her teeth into him. She'd make him tell the truth if it was the last thing she did. But she knew there was no way the Queens duo would ever risk putting him on the stand after the near disaster of Tony Madio. Jamie would have to be satisfied to call him when her time came, even of she had to subpoena him.

"Allright then, we'll take our usual lunch recess," Wright banged his gavel then stood and disappeared out a back door. The crowd rose and quite a clatter accompanied them as they scrambled about. Briscoe could already hear a TV crew whirring into action, ready to breathlessly discuss this morning's exciting event. He made his way to the front of the room like a salmon swimming upstream.

He reached the defendant's table and looked down at Jack. " Jack I can't believe that little punk lied. I'm sorry," Briscoe knew his apology would help nothing.

" Nothing you could do about it, Detective. Kid committed perjury. Happens sometimes, " Jack's voice sounded as if it came from a very hollow place inside him.

"Jamie, put me on the stand. I'll tell them what Ricky said," Briscoe tried to salvage the situation.

" You'll get a chance, Lennie. But I have to warn you that they'll do their best to make YOU sound like the liar. You're Jack's friend, you have every reason to lie, at least that's how it'll come across," Jamie angrily shoved papers in her briefcase.

Patrick McCoy had a hand on Jack McCoy's shoulder and was massaging it. Billy McCoy was glowering at the ground. It was Adam who spoke next. "Detective, I take it you didn't find Frederick Poalo?"

Lennie looked like he might be sick. " I found him allright."

"And?" Jamie knew better than to get her hopes up.

"He's dead."

There were groans all around.

Lennie continued," I found him at the docks. Shot in the head. CSU estimates it happened a couple of weeks ago."

"Well then, that's the ballgame," Jack said quietly.

"Not if I can find the Judge," Lennie said, though he knew that was an almost hopeless task.

" How're you gonna do that with Frederick dead?" Patrick asked. It was a question Lennie Briscoe could not answer.



CHA CHING

Lennie Briscoe walked onto the front steps of the aging courthouse. He was disgusted by the sight of dozens of reporters, all breathlessly telling their audiences about the fiasco that had occurred moments ago. He overhead one particularly irritating woman blasting Jamie Ross for her unsuccessful questioning of Tony Madio. Lennie resisted the urge to toss her unceremoniously down the staircase. The Detective was trying to clear his head so he could think. As long as the trial continued, and Jamie was trying to give him as much time as she could to search for SOMETHING, ANYTHING ... he'd continue to work non-stop. A reporter from a major cable network approached Briscoe and shoved a microphone in his face and the cop pushed past the man as if he didn't even see him. The last thing Briscoe needed right now was to become a sound bite on the 6 o'clock news.

He was halfway down the massive steps when he spied Tony Madio taking the steps two at a time in an effort to outrun a pack of microphone wielding hyenas. He'd finally escaped them and headed towards a nearby subway station. Lennie Briscoe was in hot pursuit.

Madio walked down the steps and deep into the station. He paid his fare and proceeded down a long platform towards his train. Briscoe had him in sight. Madio checked his watch, looked down the tracks, then disappeared into the men's room. Briscoe followed him in.

Madio was splashing water on his face and as he reached for a paper towel, his wrist was grabbed and painfully twisted.

"Hey!" the young man cried out in pain.

Another man had been washing his hands and stared dumbfounded at the two men. Briscoe saw the man's reflection in the mirror and yelled, "Get out!" His feet seemingly glued to the floor, the man didn't move. Lennie reached into his jacket and flashed his badge, yelling again, " Beat it!" The man stumbled as he made a hasty retreat.

Lennie turned his full attention to young Mr. Tony Madio. "Allright, punk! Why'd you DO that? Why'd you lie?"

Madio wasn't as full of bravado as he'd been the night before, but he held his own. "Listen man, after you left, Ricky and I talked some more last night. And Ricky told me that there was no way he was gonna testify that he and Frederick were involved. And if Ricky ain't testifying, no way am I saying ANYTHING."

Lennie saw resolve in Madio's eyes and decided to appeal to his better half. "Tony, don't you understand that a man's life is at stake? An INNOCENT man!"

"Look mister, I wish I could help, but I can't. If Ricky won't tell the truth, then I just can't either," Tony grimaced as Briscoe pinched his wrist. Finally Briscoe threw Madio's wrist down and said disgustedly, " Kid, you're making a terrible mistake."

Tony Madio rubbed his sore wrist as he watched the cop turn on his heels and march out. Madio took a long look at himself in the mirror and wasn't certain he liked the face that stared back. -- I did what I had to do -- he told himself.

Lennie made his way back to the 27th precinct and ran down two flights of stairs, then down a long hallway until he came to office 101A. He entered the large room and walked towards a cubicle nestled in the corner of the room. He prayed she'd be there. She was.

Margie Cox was munching an apple when Lennie rounded the corner. She turned to look at the visitor.

"Well hey, handsome, I was wondering when you'd stop by," she teased. Margie and Lennie were old friends, and though the last thing she wanted was another marriage, they did enjoy an occasional Saturday at the races or the ballgame. They were good company for each other.

" Listen, Margie, I know I owe you already but I really need your help again," Briscoe sat on the edge of her desk.

"It's the McCoy case isn't it?" she said sympathetically.

He nodded.

"We watched some of the testimony this morning on that TV in the break room. Bad day for the defense," she patted Lennie's arm.

"Yeah, real bad," Lennie replied.

Margie Cox thought that Lennie could use about a week of sleep and she was eager to help out her friend. "Whadya need, hon?"

Lennie closed his eyes to think. "Margie, if I need to find the name of a Judge who presided over a specific case, what do I do?" Briscoe thought it was a long shot but he had to try everything.

Margie thought for a second then turned to her computer and typed in a few words and clicked on a few screens. "Ok, what's the name of the defendant?"

"Frederick Poalo." He rummaged through a dish of candy on her desk.

As she typed she raised her eyebrows. She certainly knew the name Poalo from that morning's trial.

" Nope, nothing here," she said.

"But there should be right?" He snacked on some jelly beans.

"Yeah, if he had any kind of action in front of the bench, there should be something. Are you sure he did?"

"Oooh yeah, I'm sure," Lennie replied. He watched as Margie tried several spelling variations of the name Poalo. Still no luck.

"Lennie, if it's not here, and you're sure that this guy should have some kind of record, it must have been deleted. Expunged." She drank a sip of soda and studied his face.

"Yeah, I figured that was probably the case."

An idea suddenly came to Margie. "You have any idea who this Poalo guy's lawyer was?"

The light bulb went off for Lennie too, " No, I don't. Can you cross reference that or something?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. "Sorry, but the system doesn't work that way. You mind telling me what's going on in that head of yours?"

He knew she deserved an explanation, and besides, it would be nice to have someone else to commiserate with.

He explained the whole thing about Ricky, his murdered brother Frederick, and the mysterious Judge connection. She listened intently.

"See Margie. If I can find Frederick's attorney, he or she can tell me who the presiding Judge was. The guy who killed Feldman."

Margie considered everything she'd heard. "Lennie, have you asked Frederick's family who the attorney was?"

"No, and I doubt they'd tell me even if they remembered. Ricky's clammed up and the mother is probably a basket case over Frederick's death. I'm sure she's heard by now."

" Well, she might not talk to you, but she might talk to a sympathetic woman," Margie raised her eyebrows.

"Who? You?" He sounded shocked.

"No, the Queen of England," her answer dripping in sarcasm. "Of course me. At least I can try? What've you got to lose?"

Lennie picked up Margie's purse and handed it to her. "Doll, you pull this off and I'm taking you out for an evening of dinner and dancing."

" And a Broadway musical," she poked him in the chest. He rolled his eyes. He hated musicals.
But he shook his head yes.

They pulled to a stop in front of the Poalo home. Margie could see through the front window that a few friends had already gathered to offer condolences. Briscoe and Cox knocked on the door and were let in by a very old man. Cox handed him a coffee cake as a small gesture, hoping to ease the awkwardness of the visit. Mrs. Poalo saw Briscoe and came over and grabbed his hand.

"You ... you found my Frederick, didn't you?" She had red-rimmed eyes.

"Yes ma'am, I did. I'm very sorry," Lennie said quietly.

For the next few minutes Lennie listened to the woman cry as she told them over and over what a good boy her Frederick had been. When Lennie decided that Margie had begun bonding with the woman, he excused himself and began to search the house for Ricky. He found him in his room playing solitaire on a computer.

Ricky glanced at the man then looked back at his game. " You think the Judge killed him?"

Lennie studied Ricky's face. "Yes, I do."

"Fredrick was so stupid. He trusted that Judge. And he was double crossed," Ricky said bitterly.

Lennie saw his chance. " Ricky, if you help me, if you testify about what you told me last night, I swear we'll find the man who killed your brother."

Ricky continued staring. " Forget it."

"But Ricky..." Lennie sputtered.

The boy stood to face Lennie Briscoe. "My brother may be stupid, but I'm not." Briscoe couldn't believe this was the same scared kid from the evening before. There was fierceness in his face that hadn't been there before. "Frederick got himself in trouble and now he's dead. I don't need my own trouble. I'm not testifying that I put poison in the drink."

"But Ricky, you want your brother's murderer to go free?"

" Nothing will bring Frederick back. And if I testify, I could be next. And if that lady lawyer puts me on the stand I'll lie. I swear to you, I'll lie."

Lennie knew it was a lost cause. He returned to the living room and he caught a knowing nod from Margie Cox. Within minutes they were back in the car.

"How'd you do?" she asked as they sped away.

"Struck out. You?"

Margie waved a small piece of paper in Lennie's face.

"You got it? You got the name of Frederick's lawyer? How'd you do that?"

She smiled like a Cheshire cat and purred, " I can be very persuasive, Lennie Briscoe."


Scene:
Office of
Dennis Beck, Attorney at Law

The office was very small and cluttered. Such was the life of a small time lawyer. Lennie and Margie took seats across from Dennis Beck.

"Poalo? Sure I remember the kid," Beck said as he pushed a stack of papers aside to get a better look at the twosome.

"You DO!" Lennie almost felt like crying.

Beck chuckled, " Hard to forget that case. Small time stuff, a B&E and I think he stole about 260 bucks, if I remember correctly."

"Uh, Mr. Beck, I don't see how that's very memorable," Lennie replied.

"Oh, it wasn't the crime itself that was so memorable, Detective. It was the sentencing process. See, I'm ready to plead the kid down to minimum time in a minimum-security jail, a few hundred hours of community service, the usual, you know? So I'm standing there telling the prosecutor what I want, and he's starting to agree, when all of a sudden the Judge tells us that he's wiping the kid's record clean. I mean, that's fine by me, but the prosecutor goes ballistic. 'Cause, you know, he has quotas to meet and we all understand how the game is played. So anyway, the Judge looks down at the prosecutor and tells him that if he ever hopes to win a trial in his courtroom again, he'll agree to this deal. What's the guy gonna do? Of course he agrees and, boom, the kid walks and I don't ask any questions either."

Lennie's throat grew tight. He held the golden goose in his hands.

"Mr. Beck, who was that Judge?"

Beck smiled widely. " Detective, that Judge was none other than our infamous and much lamented, Judge Gary Henry Feldman!"

Lennie's jaw dropped and he stood up as if shot from a cannon.

"FELDMAN? FELDMAN?!!! No that CANNOT be right!" Briscoe bellowed.

" What can I tell ya? Detective it WAS Gary Feldman. Don't believe me, you can check with the prosecutor ... guy named Ted Billings." Beck was amused at Briscoe's response.

"Mr. Beck, are you 100% sure that the Judge who let Frederick Poala walk on breaking and entering and charges of stealing was Judge Gary Feldman? THE dead Gary Feldman?"

"One and the same. Stake my reputation on it," Beck smiled.

Lennie and Margie walked to the car, Lennie in a daze. They climbed in the vehicle and he stared out the front window.

"Talk to me, Lennie," Margie said.

He spoke at last. "Don't you see Margie? This is so mixed up. Ricky Poalo said that the Judge Frederick was working for, the Judge who'd let Frederick walk away from B&E charges, is the Judge who murdered Feldman. You see the problem?"

Margie smirked as sleet began to fall on the window. " Yep, that makes no sense at all. Judge Feldman poisoned Judge Feldman."

Lennie pounded a fist on the steering wheel. "How are we ever gonna get Jack off now? No one will ever believe this ridiculous story. Hell, I'm not even sure I believe it."


CHA CHING

December 30th
Adam Schiff's Home
8 P.M.

Lennie Briscoe sat hunched in a wingback chair. Adam Schiff sat on a couch
opposite the Detective, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. Jamie Ross paced
the floor, staring down at the beige carpet. The attorneys were trying, with little success, to digest the information the cop had given them minutes before.

"This is nuts. This just doesn't make ANY sense at all," Jamie said as she stood in front of Briscoe waving her arms for emphasis.

Briscoe blew a deep breath, "Counselor, I'm as dumbfounded as you are."

Jamie continued her pacing and on the next trip back across the floor she stood and faced her old boss. "Adam, what in the hell are we gonna do? I can't very well tell the members of the jury that the deceased is responsible for
his own death while every shred of evidence they've heard tells them McCoy did it!"

Jamie and Lennie waited for words of wisdom to come spilling from the old DAs
mouth. But Adam simply looked up at Jamie and shrugged. The pacing began again in earnest. After a good 2 minutes, Schiff finally broke the silence.
"Just for the sake of argument, let's assume that Feldman really DID poison himself. Number 1, why would he do it? Number 2, why would he make such a spectacle out of it by going to the Magistrate's Club? And number 3, why did he go to such lengths to set Jack up?"

They all considered the questions.

" #1. Why? Ok, so he's a lunatic ... a nut ... he just found out he had a month to live and wanted to go out with a bang ... he hated the fact that he was short ... I think trying to figure out WHY he did it is impossible at this point, Adam," Jamie blurted out. Adam was rather amused by her outburst and actually managed a smile with his grunt.

Now Lennie weighed in, " #2? Maybe he really did want to make a spectacle of himself. That guy seemed to love the limelight, right? What better way to go out than in a room full of other Judges?"

Jamie finally sat on the couch next Adam. "You're forgetting one thing, Lennie.
He didn't die in that Club. He wandered into Central Park to do it." Lennie could only shake his head.

Now it was Adam's turn. " #3. Whatever Feldman's motives, perhaps he just enjoyed the thought of dragging Jack down with him. It's no secret that Feldman hated Jack, as well as me.

Another long silence before Jamie summed up the situation. "WE just don't have a clue what really happened that night, do we?"


December 30th
Jack McCoy's Apartment
West Side
8 P.M.

Jack McCoy stood on the back porch of his apartment and took a very deep breath of very cold air. Dressed in the same clothes he'd worn to trial that day, excluding his suit jacket, he let freezing sleet relentlessly sting his body. It was a night only fools dared be out. Even the TV trucks were gone from the street in front of his apartment, deciding that they'd not get a glimpse of anyone going or coming this miserable evening. Besides, it was as dark outside as Jack could ever remember. He could only see a few feet in front of himself. But this night, the beleaguered attorney wanted to feel the cold, feel the sharp frozen rain pelt his skin and take deep breaths of air that threatened to freeze his lungs. For Jack, it was a reassurance that he was still alive. That he was still capable of feeling at all. So disastrous had this day been in court that he'd thought his body had shut down as a necessity of self-preservation. Sufficiently drenched, he returned to the warmth of his apartment and the warmth of being surrounded by personal belongings, personal keepsakes. Soaked to the very core, icicles hanging off his hair and eyebrows, Jack took a slow walk around his home, looking at small and precious objects that reminded him of better moments in his life. Picking them up and touching them gave him pleasure and made him feel more alive than he'd felt at any time in that courthouse today. He grinned as he looked at pictures of those near and dear, and wondered if they'd soon forget him if he were sentenced for murder, a prospect which was now a certainty in his mind.

Jack went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He laughed to himself as he thought he'd better take advantage of this small reminder of freedom while he could. As the coffee perked, he peeled out of his wet clothes and took a short, but hot, shower. He slipped on a very worn pair of comfortable jeans, the ones with the rip in the knee. He pulled a lightweight, long sleeve, gray T-shirt over his head and left his feet bare. While performing the small ritual of dressing, he thought of his wretched day in court. First he had to endure the parade of Judges all singling him out ... then there were all those staff members of the Club who did the same, pouring salt in the wound. Next it was followed by the wrenching Tony Madio testimony, which had been followed up in the afternoon by the 3 hour testimony of an obviously reluctant Detective Ed Green, who had to give detail after detail of the discovery of Jack's gray hat at the crime scene, and the vial of poison in his pocket. Jack could not imagine himself in a deeper hole.

He walked down a narrow hallway leading from his back bedroom into the living room. As he walked, he towel dried his hair with a navy hand towel. As he entered the living area, he had the towel to his face. He lowered the towel, opened his eyes, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Jack's brain scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. When his brain finally connected to vocal chords, Jack said hoarsely, "You? What are YOU doing here? How'd you get in here?"

The familiar voice laughed slowly," You really shouldn't leave your extra keys in the kitchen drawer. Anybody who snooped around this place could find them quite easily."

Jack was startled. "You've been in my place before? When? Why?"

The man laughed again. "So many questions, Jack. Of course I haven't been in this ... this ... place ... you call a home. I had someone to do those messy kind of tasks for me. And why am I here? For a smart man, you sure are stupid, you know that?"

Jack felt his blood begin to stir, if not boil, at that last remark. He took a step towards the intruder but stopped short when the man brought a gun from behind his back and pointed it at the attorney's chest. Jack was almost speechless.

" Not so tough with this in your face are you?"

Jack decided it best to say nothing.

" McCoy, this just hasn't been your day, has it?

"Whadya want? Why are you here?" Jack asked again.

"You do have a one-track mind, don't you? Which I guess isn't such a bad thing when you're trying to nail some poor fool for murder, is it? Maybe not so much fun when you're on the other end though, huh, Counselor?" The man smirked.

The intruder continued, " But you so badly wanna know why Imp here? Ok, I guess it's time to tell you." An unreadable expression crossed the man's face as he said very simply, " I'm going to kill you."

But Jack's expression was quite clear. His jaw dropped and he blinked several times. "No ... why?"

"There's that damn 'why' question again. Because it's time, Jack. Because the game is over."

"Game? What game?" Jack felt his knees go weak as his mind raced trying to decide what evasive action to take.

" Your trial, Jack. That's the game. And you lose."

" But I ... look, it's going badly for me anyway... why do this? Why kill me now?"

The man reached up and scratched his chin. "Well now, THAT'S a very good question indeed. Yes indeed, that's the best one you've asked yet. You see Jack, the problem with trials, and you of all people know this, is that sometimes lawyers get too smart. And they try to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Your Ms. Ross tried that today with that Madio character. Oh, she didn't succeed of course. But tomorrow is another day and I can't take the chance that the next time she MIGHT pull that rabbit out. And your friend, Detective Briscoe, and his furry companion, have been snooping around too much for comfort. So the WHY of it Jack, is that after you're dead, after a week or two, you become just a footnote on Page 17, and the media moves on to the next sucker."

Jack felt sweat running down his back, " But they'll know I was murdered and they'll investigate."

The man's eyebrows raised as he said in a very scholarly voice, "Aaah, but THAT's the good part, Jack. Your murder won't look like a murder at all."

"What are you talking about?" Jack's voice raised.

"I'm talking about ... THAT." The man pointed at a small blue lockbox perched on an armchair. The box had gone unnoticed by McCoy. The EADA stared at the box and his eyes narrowed as he came to full recognition of the object. Then he took a long look at the gun in the man's hand.

" Dad ... That's my father's service revolver. How did you...” Jack's voice trailed off as his eyes remained glued to his old man's gun which was pointed straight at him.

"Jack, must I explain everything? Getting the box was easy. I know all about how you kept it stored behind an Ernie Banks baseball glove and some Rolling Stones albums in that closet in your bedroom."

"I still don't understand. If you murder me..." He was interrupted again by the intruder.

Exasperation in his voice, the man said, " Haven't you figured it out yet, Jack? I'm surprised that an attorney with your deft ability to think on his feet, hasn't figured this out."

"Enlighten me," Jack said sarcastically.

"Ok. You see, I AM going to shoot you. But you're going to shoot yourself. Are things clearer now?"

They really weren't ... for a few seconds. Then it slowly dawned on the attorney. " You can't be serious! No one will believe that!"

"You're boring me, McCoy. Of course EVERYONE will believe it. Everyone saw the stress you were under in that courtroom today. You looked beat Jack. Defeated and depressed. If you turn on that idiot box right now, I guarantee you there're pictures of you, the distraught defendant, on at least 5 channels. There's not a soul out there who won't believe that you killed yourself. Suicide seems like a perfectly reasonable way out for a man in your position, Jack. Don't you think?"

Jack's heart was pounding and sweat was running down the sides of his face.
"Suicide. No, this isn't right, please don’t..."

"And the beauty of it is , the deed will be done with your father's very own gun. The one he carried all those years on the force in Chicago. I can see the headlines now - Distraught Jack McCoy kills self with father's gun. - You'll die a murderer AND a coward, Jack."

Jack McCoy stared at the evil man. He took another look at the blue box and saw that the handwritten note that his father had written when he'd given Jack the keepsake all those years ago, was still in the box.

The man saw Jack looking at the note and whispered, "A very touching note from the old man, I must say." Then the man quoted from memory, " Dear son, I know we've had our differences in the past and you'd always held it against me that I didn't let you wear the blues. I know this can't make up for that, but I want you to have this..."

Before the man could finish mocking the deceased McCoy, a furious Jack lunged towards the man screaming, "Shut up, shut your damn mouth!"

The gun firmly in the man's right hand, Jack also grabbed it with his right hand. The gun was encased between their bodies and the two men spun in a circle, each trying to gain control of the weapon. The man shoved his left hand under McCoy's jaw, slamming his head against the wall. Jack desperately grasped at the man and raked his left hand across the man's coat, tearing a pocket. Two quarters spilled out and a piece of paper fluttered harmlessly through the air, coming to rest on the crowded bookshelf. The men pushed and grappled, both with hands wrapped around the weapon.

As the two men stood chest to chest, there was a small muffled explosion, followed by a deep groan. The pushing and shoving stopped and one of the men’s' foreheads dropped onto the shoulder of the other man. After what seemed an eternity, Jack McCoy took a step backwards and stared down at the gun. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered his chin and looked down his chest to just above his waist. It was with no small amount of disbelief that he watched a dark stain on his gray T-shirt begin to widen. He blinked repeatedly as if to confirm what he knew had happened.

The man held the gun tightly and watched with satisfaction as Jack's face was contorted by a sense of disbelief and pain. He watched the attorney stagger backwards, his left hand now clutching the wound. McCoy's knees gave way and he fell on his back on top of the coffee table. Two magazines fell to the floor.

Time seemed to stand still for Jack. He was dazed to find himself in this position. He'd prosecuted cases for 30 years now and never did he envision himself on the receiving end of a bullet. But here he was and he felt his life slowly leaking out of him.

The man watched as McCoy's breathing turned ragged. Left hand on the injury, his right arm was at a 90-degree angle from his body. His hand was trembling and his fingers twitched. He tried to focus on staying alive. But he saw a shadowy figure approaching. The man leaned down slowly and whispered in the attorney's ear, " A murderer and a coward."

With that, Jack's chest raised up in a last gasp effort to survive. Then it fell and final air escaped. His left hand slid to the floor and his right hand stopped trembling.

The man stared for a moment, then took the gun and carefully placed it in the attorney's outstretched right hand, making sure the index finger was placed over the trigger. Convinced he'd done everything properly, the man made a quick exit out the back door, too excited to notice a flash of orange enter as he exited. The man locked the door and hurried into the dark night, satisfied that his deed was complete.


Jack McCoy was dead.



CHA CHING

December 30th
8:52 P.M.


He crept quietly through the kitchen and into the living room. His whiskers twitched nervously as he sniffed the air for trouble. And he knew he smelled trouble. He jumped effortlessly to the bookshelves that lined the wall and climbed as high as he could to achieve an optimal vantage point. It was only then that he spied the man.

The attorney was lifeless, his body splayed across the coffee table. The small detective had seen his share of death and he knew it was what he was witnessing now. But he also knew what he must do this terrible evening, even at certain risk to himself.

Body tensing, with all his might, he leapt off the top shelf, his orange body sailing through the air. He landed with grace and precision, his four paws hitting the chest of the dead man. It took a moment, as he knew it might, until the feline felt it. First it was one thump, and then another, and then another. The man's heart had begun to beat again! But Roscocat knew his efforts would be all for naught if human help did not arrive. And so he proceeded to screech as loud as he could, hoping his voice could be heard above the din of the storm outside.

" I can't believe how badly things went today," Billy McCoy was shaking his umbrella in the outer hallway of Jack McCoy's apartment building.

"It was a nightmare, brother," Patrick said as he too tried to shake himself dry. " I doubt there's much we can do to cheer him up, but this is one time we should all be together."

As the men approached the door, they heard a loud noise, almost like a scream, and the closer they got to their brother's door, the louder it got.

"What the hell is that?" Billy asked.

Patrick didn't answer but knocked on the door instead. He called out Jack's name and still no answer, though the screaming began to get louder.

" C'mon Patrick, you've still got that key he gave you last time we visited don't you?" Billy put an ear to the door.

Patrick pulled out a set of keys and began fumbling for the right one. "C'mon, man, C'MON!" brother Billy demanded. Finally, the right key was found and the door unlocked.

Both men charged through the door shoulder to shoulder. They only made it a few feet into the room when they saw the source of the yelling. The cat sat on the couch now and watched the two men closely. Roscocat leaned back against a pillow, too tired to do more than watch. For he had given much this night, to try to save the attorney. He'd given one of his 9 lives to Jack McCoy, and he'd given it willingly. He knew that he had but 7 left, as he'd previously used one to save Detective Mike Logan, after the man had been fatally injured during a drug raid. Roscocat was indeed a cat among cats.


"No, no!" Patrick exclaimed as he saw the awful site. His older brother was unmoving, and blood covered his lower torso.

At the sight of the blood, Billy McCoy, the Chicago cop, jumped into action running from room to room searching for the person who'd obviously hurt his brother. After a thorough check, he raced from the bedroom through the hall and into the living area. He stood still, breathing hard as he watched the middle brother tend to the older. Patrick McCoy had a hand on Jack's neck, then turned his attention to the wound. Slowly he pulled up the bloody shirt and located the hole in Jack's abdomen.

At last Billy found his voice. "Pat, is he dead?"

Patrick glanced at his frightened kid brother and said calmly, " No Billy, we can hold off on those Last Rights for now. But I need towels and then you need to call 911."

Billy completed both tasks and sat down on the couch, watching as Patrick tried to stem Jack's blood loss. It took a few moments but Billy finally saw the gun dangling from his brother's right hand. And he saw the blue lockbox and knew that the gun was his father's. Slowly it all began to make sense to Billy.

He sputtered, "Patrick, did you see it?"

Without taking his eyes off the task at hand Patrick responded, "I saw it."

"But that means that Jack ... that he..." his voice gave way.

"Yes, I think it does," Patrick said solemnly.

Billy studied Jack's face and gently squeezed his shoulder as he whispered, "Awww Jack, why'd you do it?"


Scene: St. Francis Hospital
9:31 P.M.

It hadn't taken long for Jack's friends to gather at the hospital. And it hadn't taken long for the media to catch wind that Jack McCoy had been brought into the hospital with a serious injury. In an effort to break the news first, Station 4 had put out the report that McCoy was dead, and not wanting to be left behind, Stations 5, 14, and 23 had jumped on the bandwagon. Within a matter of minutes the speculation had turned to suicide and that became the catchword for every media outlet. All stations interrupted regular programming and ran scrolls at the bottom of the screen proclaiming - Death by Suicide. Even the weathermen were forced to put away their charts for the evening.

Adam Schiff was last to arrive. He found the group in a small room on the 3rd floor, all looking dazed. Jamie saw him first and went to him and took his hand in hers. "It's bad Adam. He was just taken from the ER to surgery, but it could be a long night."

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and asked," What happened?" The others filled him in as best they could. Adam took a seat next to Jamie and together with Jack's brothers, Lennie Briscoe and Roscocat, they watched the clock.
After about 30 minutes, Lennie could stand the waiting no more. "I'm gonna go check out Jack's apartment. Maybe I can find something." They all knew that that was hopeless, but understood the Detective's need to do something.

The streets had become slick and dangerous, but Briscoe didn't care. He parked his car and hid the orange ball of fluff safely under his coat as he carefully made his way past nosy reporters and inside Jack's apartment. Roscocat jumped from Lennie's arms as he began to take a look around.
Lennie had seen hundreds of crime scenes, yet seeing this place, seeing soaked towels and bloodstains on the carpet made his stomach turn. Then he spotted a familiar face from CSU.

"Darcy? What do you make of it?" Lennie asked the woman as she made a few notes on a pad.

"Oh, hi Detective. Well, I think it's a textbook case of suicide." She showed Briscoe the blue lockbox, the gun, as well as the note from McCoy's father. Even the grizzled Detective had to admit that it was probably likely that Jack tried to end his own life to avoid what was surely coming. And deep in his heart, Lennie knew that he could understand the action. He wandered aimlessly from room to room and walked slowly back into the living room. Suddenly he heard a small noise and looked towards the bookshelf where Roscocat sat perched, a piece of paper in his mouth.

"Whatdya have there?" Lennie removed the paper and read it, his eyes opening wide.

Darcy passed behind Lennie and peered at the paper over his shoulder. "What's that?" she asked.

Lennie grinned and turned the paper towards her so she could read it. "This my dear Darcy, is the golden goose! And we have it thanks to him." Lennie scratched under Roscocat's chin.

CHA CHING

Scene:
Magistrate's Club
December 30th
11:33 P.M.

Judge Joe Rivera took the elbow of Judge Grace Larkin as they climbed
the icy steps of the Club.

Rivera asked, " You get a mysterious call from Adam Schiff too?"

"Yes. There aren't many reasons I'd come out in this god forsaken
weather, but he managed to convince me," she replied to her colleague.

They were followed up the steps by a reporter for the New York Times.
They entered the foyer of the Club and found themselves in the company
of Adam Schiff, Jamie Ross, Lennie Briscoe and, of course, a small
cat.

"Adam, you mind filling us in?" Joe Rivera removed black gloves. "And
sorry about McCoy. I know he was a friend." Grace Larkin nodded
her sympathy.

" Thank you, Your Honors. Thanks for coming here tonight, I know it's
an imposition. I asked you here because I wanted 2 fair and impartial
witnesses from the Bench to vouch for what's about to happen. And, by
the way, Jack's in surgery, he's not dead as those idiots on TV have reported." Both Judges expressed appreciation at that bit of news.

"Uh, what about me, Mr. Schiff?" Carmen Jones asked. "My editor told
me to get over here ASAP."

Adam turned to face the woman. " Yes, I want to you to also be a
witness this evening. I've read your work and I like what I see."

Lennie was practically bursting at the seams he was so excited about
what he was about to do. It was only his worry for Jack that kept him
from smiling from ear to ear. Still, he managed a bit of his renowned
wit. " Ms Jones ... YOU are about to get an exclusive on the biggest
story in this flea bitten town. I hope you appreciate the moment!"

It was then that a familiar man entered the foyer from inside the Club.

"Detective, everything is ready. You'll find him sitting alone at the
North end of the Club. I think he suspects nothing," Mr. Palm said. Then with a sheepish grin the man asked, "Detective, would it be too much trouble if I listened?"

Lennie looked at Schiff who merely shrugged. Lennie patted the white
haired man on the shoulder and said, " Mr. Palm, come with us." With
that, the group entered the main room of the famed Magistrate’s Club.
Rivera looked around and noticed that, save for two Judges, the place was empty on this stormy night. He suddenly realized they were walking
towards one of the two Judges.

The man poured himself a Scotch as he watched the crowd approach. His
face revealed little and his demeanor wasn't threatening in the least.
But he was the first to speak.

"How'd you know?" He said with a calmness that sent a chill through
Jamie Ross.

"This," Briscoe threw a small piece of paper across the table at the
man. As he took a long drink, the man read the paper, shook his head, then sat it gently on table.

" You know how many times I reminded myself to throw this away? It's
always the little things that trip people up, isn't it Grace?" He
smiled at Judge Larkin. She was still trying to figure out what was
going on.

Finally Adam nodded and Detective Leonard Briscoe spoke loudly and
firmly, "Judge William Wright. You’re under the arrest for the murders of Judge Gary Feldman, Frederick Poalo, and the attempted murder of John McCoy. You have the right..." he finished the rest.

"Attempted murder?" Wright's eyebrows raised.

"Afraid so Judge. Jack's still alive. He's in surgery now," Jamie said icily as she watched Briscoe pull out handcuffs.

" Damn, I dunno if that sob has good luck or bad, " Wright shook his head. As Lennie came around the table with cuffs, Wright said, "Look, leave the cuffs off and I'll regale this distinguished group with the whole story. Every last rotten detail." He stood up as Briscoe checked him for weapons.

Joe Rivera spoke quietly, "Bill, I'd advise you to keep your mouth
shut."

" S'ok, Joe. It's all over anyway. I'm not putting myself through a
trial, I'm not about to walk the gauntlet of TV and newspaper
reporters the way McCoy did. I can't go through that. No, I want it to end now."

They all looked at one another and Larkin shrugged and Schiff told
Briscoe to forgo the cuffs. There was no way that Wright was escaping anyway.

"Where to begin ...?" Wright drank some more Scotch and looked up at
the crowd. "Ok, first of all, you have to understand my relationship
with Gary Feldman. We didn't like each other. Never did. But Gary
and I formed an alliance when we both caught each other with, how shall
I put this, our hands in the cookie jar? I knew he could bust me and
vice-versa. So we put up with each other. Gary was such a pain in the
rear end." At this remark, Schiff grunted knowingly.

"Gary was the kind of guy who knew everything about everything, at
least HE thought so, and it drove me crazy. I'd say it's hot outside
and he'd go into a 30-minute explanation about global warming. You
know the type. A real know-it-all without any radar to tell him when to shut-up. Anyway, what Gary wanted more than ANYTHING on this earth,
was to be DA of this county. He saw that as being his springboard to
bigger and better things. The man was not lacking for ego, I assure
you. So Feldman tells me his master plan for becoming DA and of course
it all hinges on beating YOU in the primary," Wright pointed to Adam, who was now sitting in a chair around the table, along with the others. Somehow they knew this wouldn't be a short version of events.

Wright continued, "So Gary's got grandiose plans about ousting you, when what up and bites him on the fanny, but that drunk driving case
that McCoy and Ross prosecuted. Dressler, I think it was." Jamie
nodded as she remembered that difficult trial.

" Feldman thinks that case will put him on the front pages as Mr.
tough-on-crime, and it might have, had McCoy not screwed it up for
him. Gary HATED your man for that. Then damned if McCoy doesn't
up and ruin things for him AGAIN, right before the primary. The
Castillo case, remember?" They all do, it was a horrendous crime.

Wright took a sip of Scotch before continuing. "Then Schiff, YOU go and defeat him in the primary, even after all the papers declare him the probable winner right up to the day of voting. He was so angry, I thought he might climb out on a ledge. So needless to say, Schiff and McCoy are on his enemy list, which is not a very good place to be. But he was STILL plotting how to become DA, when you up and announce your retirement, Schiff. He's busy telling me how he's gonna call the Mayor AND the Governor and arrange a meeting, when lo and behold, he picks up the TIMES one morning, and sees none other than Nora Lewin standing with the Mayor, and he's announcing her interim appointment as DA. And the paper makes it quite clear that YOU approved of Lewin." He nods to Schiff. "So now Gary's as livid as I've ever seen him. And he's spitting nails and having a real fit. And that's when this real mess began."

Carmen Jones is writing fast and furiously as she can't believe her
good fortune to have been chosen as the only reporter to hear this
confession.

Suddenly, Wright reached into his jacket pocket and Briscoe came to attention. "It's ok Detective, I just want a cigarette." No one bothers to complain. Wright lit his Marlboro and reached to put his lighter back in his pocket. As he put the lighter in, he slipped a small bottle out of the pocket and into his palm. So smooth was the motion that no one saw. Cigarette dangling, he poured another Scotch and then deftly poured the content of the hidden bottle into the drink. No one saw this neat maneuver either.

He begins to speak again, " So Gary decides that he's going to get back
at you, Schiff, and make it hurt. That's where your boy McCoy comes
in."

Jamie turned towards the aging man and saw that Adam's jaw muscles were beginning to grind.

"So Gary Feldman, the guy who knows everything, tells me that he has a
plan to get even. Feldman decides he's gonna poison himself, just
enough to make himself sick, but not enough to kill himself," Wright says as he watches for the reactions he knows are coming.

"What!?" Judge Grace Larkin can hardly believe her ears. The others sit too dumfounded to speak.

"I know it sounds absurd, but then we're talking about Gary. So he
began to read everything he could about poisons. And he began
experimenting on rats and mice. And after about 6 months, he tells me
he's calculated the exact, and I mean PRECISE amount of poison that a
man of his weight can take and still survive." Mr. Palm and Judge
Rivera thought this so absurd they both began to chuckle under their breath.

"So how does Jack fit in? " Briscoe asks impatiently.

"Detective, here's the beauty of his plan. Feldman's going to take
just enough poison to all but kill himself, and then he's going to pin it all on Jack McCoy. McCoy goes down for attempted murder of Feldman and he goes to a maximum security jail." Now Wright stares hard into the eyes of a sickened Adam Schiff. " Gary knew that prison would be hell on a prosecutor like McCoy. If he survived, well let's just say if he survived certain ASPECTS of prison life, he'd still probably find a knife in his gut at some point."

Jamie wanted to strangle someone and Wright seemed the obvious candidate. "This is sick!" Jamie blurted out, anger and hurt in her voice.

"Yes, it is twisted I have to admit." He took another swig of alcohol.

"So how did he know he could actually set Jack up?" The voice belongs to Judge Rivera.

" Well, Feldman had to bide his time and wait for just the right moment. And it presented itself when he found out Jack was going to try a case in his court last November. He knew, with the history he and McCoy had, that it wouldn't take much to get McCoy riled up so he could be accused of contempt. Gary pushed McCoy's buttons when he threw out eyewitness testimony, and right on cue McCoy starts flashing that Irish charm. So Gary hits him with contempt and the game is on. See, while McCoy's in jail, Gary was easily able to sneak into that room where the attorneys leave their coats. He stole that gray hat and he planted a half empty vial of poison in the jacket pocket of McCoy's coat. Gary told me it couldn't have been easier."

Judge Grace Larkin rubbed her temple in disbelief over what she was hearing.

Wright almost seemed amused by his situation as he picked up the story. " Gary has this whole thing planned down to a T. While he's at Antoine’s, he calls McCoy and tells him to meet him at the Club, tells him he wants to civilly discuss what happened in court that morning. So McCoy buys it as Gary figured he would. Now, I'm already at the Club when Gary arrives. And I watch him very closely and I see him check his watch and slip the vial of poison out of his pocket and into his Cognac. I saw him toss the vial into the fire too, destroying the REAL evidence. Next, he starts drinking his Cognac and the poison. As if on cue, McCoy comes in and he and Feldman get into it and I must say Gary gave quite a performance. Then McCoy was dragged out and Feldman finishes the rest of his drink."

Lennie Briscoe says sarcastically, "Yeah, and here's the part where you come in."

Wright holds his glass up in the direction of the detective. "Quite right, Detective. When Gary first told me his plan, I thought it was a joke. But then I realized he was serious. And that's when I began my own little plan. I was sick of listening to this know-it-all and I decided I could get rid of him and never again have to listen to him pontificate AND I'd be rid of the blackmail he had on me. Plus there was the added incentive of busting McCoy in the process."

Adam actually began a movement towards Wright but Jamie put a hand on his arm to calm him down.

"See, I'd managed to secure some poison from Feldman, convinced him I just wanted to have fun killing a few rats on my own." Wright laughed at his own joke. "I got the poison, but what I really needed was a way to get him to take the stuff after he'd already taken his carefully measured non-fatal dose."

"Frederick Poalo," Lennie smirked.

"Yes Detective, Frederick Poalo. I knew that Gary had cut him a deal on his B&E, and was using him to run errands and such. And I knew he had used him to sneak into McCoy's apartment to search for a trophy of some sort."

"A trophy?!" Grace Larkin exclaimed disgustedly, and thought she'd just about heard it all now.

"Yes. He wanted to have a trophy, something that belonged to McCoy. A kind of sick keepsake. So Frederick sneaks in and comes back with a blue lockbox containing the service revolver which belonged to McCoy's old man. It was perfect and Gary couldn't have been more thrilled."

Adam Schiff ran his hands down both sides of his face as if trying to erase this nightmare.

Wright took a swallow of liquor and continued. " I contacted Frederick Poalo and I told the young man that I knew what he'd done on behalf of Feldman, and if he didn't want to get in trouble, he'd do a few errands for me too."

"You double crossed Feldman!" Jamie snorted as Wright grinned.

"Sure did. So I made damn certain that Frederick's brother was working here the night of the murder, and I gave Frederick my vial of poison and told him when to have his brother sneak it into Feldman's drink ... and then I watched as that stupid Madio kid served it. And it all worked like a charm. It was Feldman's first drink that I'd given instructions to spike. And it's a good thing, because that second drink ended up in McCoy's face. Anyway, unbeknownst to Gary, he has now consumed a lethal amount of poison and he's about to become a dead man. I watch him drink, I watch him have the public fight with McCoy and I watch him follow McCoy out of the Club, not long afterwards. Gary had the whole thing planned down to the second, and he planned to get sick where he knew he'd be found in a reasonable amount of time, and no doubt someone would call 911. He'd planned to drop McCoy's hat in the vicinity of where he'd become ill. He figured, rightly as it turned out, that the police would find the cap and put two and two together and, voila, Jack McCoy is arrested for attempted murder. Of course Gary never got that far and with the extra dose of poison he ended up collapsing and dieing in the Park. And I guess when he fell he dropped the hat."


Joe Rivera shook a disbelieving head. "This is unbelievable."

" So why'd you kill Frederick Poalo?" Grace Larkin asked.

"Because he was the only one who could link me to the poison. I knew even his brother Ricky didn't know who I was. But Frederick became expendable."

"And how'd you get so lucky as to be the Judge for Jack's trial?" Jamie asked although she already knew the answer.

"Ms. Ross, really now..." Wright took another sip of Scotch.

"Ok, how'd you get the blue lockbox?" Lennie asked.

" Gary came into my office and told me that he'd planted the evidence in McCoy's pocket and that the plan was in action. I waited until he left for Antoine's and I snuck into his office and found it rather easily. I knew he'd been hiding it in the bottom of his desk drawer. So, I helped myself to it because "I" wanted it now. It hadn't occurred to me at that moment that I'd actually be using the gun."

It was Adam Schiff who posed the next question. Very gravely he asked, "Why'd you shoot Jack? His case wasn't going well anyway."

The coloring around Wright's mouth had begun to look odd. " As I told McCoy before I shot him, I couldn't risk that Ms. Ross would pull a rabbit out of a hat. I knew she was going to call Ricky Poalo to the witness stand and I wasn't 100% certain he'd lie like the Madio kid. Besides, I knew everyone would understand the despairing attorney at the end of his rope, taking his life with his own father's gun. McCoy committing suicide made all sorts of sense. I just can't believe he's still alive. I swear he was dead when I left him, I checked his pulse and I just knew he'd bled to death."

"You SOB!" The voice belonged to Adam Schiff who had heard just about all he could stand. "I've heard enough, I'm going back to the hospital."

Schiff stood and shoved his chair aside, but turned towards Wright when the Judge said, " Uh, Adam. I wouldn't go just yet. You'll miss the best part." At that moment, Wright tossed the empty vial on the table and it skittered across to Briscoe. Lennie stared at it and a look of disbelief crossed his face.

"Oh, don't look to surprised Detective. I'm not going to prison. No, I wouldn't last a day in prison. It's better all the way around to do it this way," Wright smiled sickly.

Everyone got to their feet in a state of shock. Judge Larkin pulled out her phone to call 911, but Wright held up a hand. "Don't bother Grace. It'll be over soon."

Larkin looked at the others who were as speechless as she was.

It was Adam who broke the silence. "You really are a coward, aren't you Wright?"

Wright grunted, "Funny Schiff, I told your boy, right before he took his last breath, that HE'D be remembered as a coward."


" No Judge. He'll be remembered for his years of service to the DA's office and loyalty to me!" Adam's eyes were on fire and the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

Wright just grinned as he sank a little lower in his chair.

"Just one more thing Briscoe. Where'd you find this?" Wright pointed to the white piece of paper.

Briscoe spoke solemnly, " Roscocat found it on McCoy's bookshelf. If he hadn't, and Jack had died, you'd have walked away scot-free. And even if Jack had lived, I doubt most would have believed his wild story about you trying to kill him. They'd have thought he was desperate."

Judge Wright picked up his glass and lifted it towards the small cat, who was perched between Briscoe and Ross. "Then here's to you Detective Roscocat! You solved the Crime of The Century and brought down 2 corrupt Judges in the process. They just might give you a ticker-tape parade down Broadway. Pity I won't be here to see it." Wright's last living gesture was to down the last drop of his poison laced Scotch. He slumped in his chair, and then he was dead.

They all stood and stared, minds buzzing at what they'd just heard and seen the last half hour. It was Mr. Palm who finally spoke with a hint of disgust, "Well, the man was never a good tipper anyway." They all turned to watch Mr. Palm slowly crossing the Club.

"Um, Detective, one thing puzzles me, " Joe Rivera said as he tried to recover his bearings.

"Just ONE thing Judge?" Briscoe grinned.

"Yeah, well ... what's on that paper that's so special?"

Briscoe picked the white paper up and showed it to Judges Rivera and Larkin. " First of all, it had his name printed on it, see, Judge William Wright. And then there's this F.P. notation and a phone number. Call the number and you'll reach the home of the now deceased Frederick Poalo. And see this address? Well, that's the address of the docks where Wright killed Frederick."

Larkin and Rivera looked at Briscoe, at Wright and then at each other in disbelief. Neither knew what to say.



February 15th
One Hogan Place


The elevator doors opened and EADA Jack McCoy took a bold step off and into the hallway. He started the walk towards his office, a certain sense of deja vu floating over and around him. He slowed his walk as he looked around for fellow office mates. The place was surprisingly empty save a few voices wafting through the air.

Jack took a deep breath and threw the door to his office open. He was met by a shower of yelps and laughter and backslaps. It seemed the whole floor was jammed into his office to welcome him back ... to the place that was as much a home to him as any. Jack graciously accepted being the man of the hour, but he was relieved when the crowd began filtering out, leaving him alone with his friends and family. His brothers had flown in for the big day, as had his daughter who'd already spent much time at his side, while he recovered from his injuries. Jamie was there, as was Lennie, and of course, Adam. Roscocat was perched majestically on the top of Jack's desk, enjoying the celebration. Jack thanked Jamie and Lennie profusely, and when he tried to thank the old man, Jack saw tears in Adam's eyes. Finally Jack walked behind his desk and plopped into his chair, throwing his long legs on the desk. He picked up Roscocat and thanked him too, scratching the little feline's tummy. The cat purred happily in return.

"Um, Jack? We have something for you. We all pitched in." Jamie handed a wrapped package to Jack and he held it gingerly.

"Oh, I can't ... this is just too much. You all have done..." He sputtered.

"Just open it, Jack," Adam harrumphed.

Roscocat helped Jack pull at the ribbon and soon the EADA lifted the top of the box. They all watched in anticipation.

A wide grin crossed his face as Jack McCoy exclaimed, "Aw, you really shouldn't have." With that he picked up the gift and slowly set the ugly gray cap on his head!



THE MERCIFUL END !!!!!


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