Fire and Ice

By Ayesha Haqqiqa

Jack McCoy had been an ADA for the Manhattan District Attorney for a year. In that time, he had been put through the meat grinder of apprenticeship. Although he was a member of the Bar, he had found actual litigation was a bit more complex, and a lot less idealistic, than classes at law school. He had gotten to know the bailiffs and the judges, who was friendly, who was not. He had learned the ins and outs of working with police on investigations, and how to read a jury. But, most of all, he had learned which EADAs to work for and which to avoid, if possible.

He had wanted to focus on murders, kidnappings, and the big felonies, right from the start. The problem was, so did most of the young ADAs with any ambition. One, a fellow named Ben Stone, reminded Jack of his high school algebra teacher, Father Benedict, a cold, analytical man. Jack and Ben had a common background in that both were raised Catholic and both espoused liberal causes. But, though they were polite enough to each other, there was an undercurrent of rivalry between them.

And Executive Assistant Carl Morton had taken full advantage of this fact. Morton, pushing 60, was renowned for his ability to read juries, size up potential witnesses--and assess the ambitions of the junior ADAs. Unlike the other executives, Morton never had a permanent assistant. And, since he had been there forever and had the best conviction record in his department, no one questioned his practice of using the new ADAs as assistants on a rotating basis. Most looked upon Morton as a mentor for the up and coming.

Jack hated Carl Morton. For, although he was a wizard in the courtroom himself, he never passed on any of his knowledge or insight. Instead, when Jack made a mistake, Morton had gone out of his way to berate him. And Morton never gave Jack credit for any of the work he did, either in investigation or preparation of a case.

And the worst of it was Carl Morton was apparently a totally different person with Ben Stone. More than once, Jack had seen Morton conferring with Ben, speaking to the younger man in low tones. He had even patted Stone on the back. Jack had gone back to his cubicle in silent rage when he'd seen that.

"I didn't know the weatherman predicted storms today," Shelley Kates, fellow lawyer and cubicle mate said. "What happened now, Jack?"

"Don't want to talk about it," Jack muttered, throwing himself down in his chair.

"You keep that up, you'll be charged for new furniture." Shelley came over and put her hand on Jack's shoulder. "It's Morton, isn't it?"

"And what do I do about it?" Jack asked, exasperated. "How do YOU deal with it, Shelley?"

Shelley smiled and went back to her desk. "I'm not worried about Ben Stone. I'm just concerned about me."

"But doesn't it bother you--?"

"That Ben seems to be teacher’s pet? No, because Morton is no teacher, he’s a leech. Hey, all through high school I dated boys who acted a lot like Carl Morton--take you for all you're worth, and then dump you. The secret is to realize this, get what you can from the relationship, and dump him first."

Jack ran his hands through his hair. "That may work for high school boyfriends," he said, "but this is my career on the line."

Shelley shrugged and smiled at him. "You'll get it, Jack. The brass ring. And the hard knocks you're taking now will make it all the sweeter."

Jack just shook his head. He turned to the sheaf of paperwork involving petty crimes. Well, petty crimes to Jack. They weren't the high profile cases he dreamed of prosecuting. Mostly they were first time offenders who had already confessed. It was a matter of going through the drill of allocution and sentencing.

He hurriedly read through the papers, making sure everything was there. Harris, Doug. Attempted murder. Confession there. Miranda there. Idly, Jack scanned the confession. Then he sat up straighter in his chair.

"Hey, see you later, Jack," Shelley said as she picked up her briefcase. "Gotta go work with Morton on the Duncan case."

Jack waved her out, eyes still glued on the paper. Something wasn't right here. He reached for the phone and dialed the number of the 2-7.

"Captain Lewis? ADA McCoy here. I need to talk with--" he glanced at the paper--"Sergeant Black and Officer Cragen about the Harris case."

"There a problem?" the genial head of the 2-7 asked.

"I hope not," Jack answered. "Will they be around when I get there?"

"Yeah, they'll be here. And remember to park that bike of yours on the street, not the sidewalk."

"That time was an emergency."

"It's always an emergency with you, McCoy," Lewis chuckled. Jack shook his head and cradled the phone. He went by Morton's office and stuck his head in the door. Morton, in conference with Shelley, looked up.

"Got to go to the 2-7," he said. "There's something wrong with the confession on the Harris case."

Morton frowned, but nodded his head. "Just be back by 5 to go over the Rupert case with me," he said.

Jack groaned as he left the office. Starting a new case at 5 meant he would be reading reports, doing research, and being a gofer to Morton until at least 10, if not later. And tonight was his night to be on call. He'd hoped to be able to go home and put his feet up for a few hours.

He gritted his teeth and rode down the elevator to the parking garage. The Yamaha, though a year old, still looked brand new. Jack smiled as he brushed his hand along the smooth body, then leaped aboard and roared off. He took care to park on the street in front of the 27.

"So, it's Evel Kneivel here to see us again," Sgt. Black said sarcastically as Jack strode into the station, helmet in hand. He thought Jack a wimp because he didn't drive bare headed.

Jack ignored the remark and sat down on a chair by the sergeant's desk. "Where's your partner?" he asked quietly, getting paper out of his briefcase.

"Right here,” Officer Cragen came in, drying his hands. His receding hairline had gotten to the point that you could call him bald. He came over and sat at his desk, which was opposite Black's. Jack moved so he could see them both.

"I don't like this, guys," he said, pointing to the confession. "It smells. Who took it?"

Cragen looked over at Black, who looked at McCoy. "I did, McCoy."

"How much coercion was involved, Sergeant?" Jack glared at the detective.

"Nothing was coerced. You know us, Counselor,” Black smiled mirthlessly.

"Yeah, I know you. I'm a cop's son, remember? What did Harris mean when he said, 'I did it. Leave Karen alone?’”

"Kid was high, out of his head. He might have thought we were gonna hurt his girlfriend, Karen."

Jack looked at Cragen. "What happened, Don?" he asked.

Cragen rubbed his hand over his shiny dome. "Will might have mentioned that we had Harris's girlfriend in custody," he said.

Jack looked him in the eye. "And did you?" he asked. The detective dropped his gaze. "Did you ever have her in custody?" Jack looked accusingly at both men. "No? Did you investigate the possibility that Karen was responsible for this attempted murder? According to your reports, the victim didn't see who shot him."

"McCoy, it's like this," Black tried to act fatherly. "We're pretty sure it was a drug deal gone bad. The victim is Carlos Martin, a known dealer. He says he was sitting on his porch steps when this painted VW minibus cruises by. The next thing he knows, bam, and he's on the floor. We find the bus, and there's Harris, needle tracks up and down his arms. No girl. He's high, talking about Karen, where's Karen. We bring him down to the station, read him his rights, and he starts talking."

Jack stood up, and leaned over Black. "You think I'm letting you get away with crap like this? Even an incompetent defense attorney will have the confession thrown out! You yourself said he was high. You can't use this--this is shit. You are just lucky that Legal Aid hasn't assigned someone as Harris's attorney yet, because they'd rip you apart, and I might just want to help them." He flung the papers down on the desk. "What are you holding him on?"

"Suspicion, right now. We were waiting for you."

"Well, I'm here, and I'm telling you you screwed up. Get your asses out there. Find more witnesses to the shooting. Find this Karen. Let's get some evidence rather than relying on a confession you get from a guy high on heroine."

Black got up slowly, frowning. "Ok, McCoy, ok," he grumbled.

"That's Mr. McCoy to you." Jack had had it with this arrogant sergeant and his attitude. Maybe it was because it reminded him of his father.

Black glared at him. "Oh sure, " he said sarcastically.

Cragen put out a restraining arm. "Come on, Will," he said. "Mr. McCoy is right--we screwed up. Let's make the case stick." The men walked from the room.

It was only when he began putting the papers back in his briefcase that Jack noticed Captain Lewis standing at his door.

"Got a little loud there, Counselor," he said.

Jack came over to him. "Sorry, Captain, but it had to be done. The case would have been blown out of the water as soon as Harris sobered up and got an attorney."

Lewis nodded. "I see your point," he said. "But next time, when you need to bawl out my men, kindly come into my office. I don't mind you doing it, but in public--hurts the morale of the precinct." Lewis nodded at Jack.

Jack got the message. "Sorry Captain, " he said. "You're right. I've still got a lot to learn."

"Hey," Lewis said, patting Jack's back, "there are many men that never admit that. I'll keep an eye on those two and have them phone in as soon as they've found anything."

"I'm on duty tonight," Jack sighed. "I'll be here as soon as they do."

He walked back to his bike. Great, he'd screwed up again. And he knew how important it was to maintain good relations with the police. Sighing, he drove back to Hogan Place.

"On time," Carl Morton admitted when Jack knocked on his door. "Get your errand run?"

Jack gritted his teeth before he said, "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then we'll get going on the case. You'll find the police reports over there, and my notes there." Morton pointed to piles of paper on the table. "I've skimmed through the reports, but I want you to read them in detail. See what you think the police might have missed. I have my opinions written down in my notes." Leave it to Morton to make the chore sound like a test. Can you pick out the flaws in the case? Check with the answers from On High when you're done.

Morton went over to the leather couch and sat down. Jack pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. Morton tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Precedents. Precedents. Look up what the library has on legal custody of invalids. Trusts. You know the drill."

Jack paused. "I know the drill, sir, but I don't know the case."

Morton opened his eyes and looked at his assistant. "That would help," he said dryly. "Read the reports, Jack. Get yourself up to speed. Have those precedents on my desk before you leave tonight." He leaned back and closed his eyes once more.

Jack gathered the papers, controlling his temper with an effort. 'That would help.' It would help if Morton took the time to go over a case, to explain his slant on it, to show Jack the finer points of law. But no, it was read the police file, and go for it on your own. As usual. Jack swore under his breath, promising himself that if he ever had an assistant, he'd be treated differently.

He came back to his cubicle just as Shelley was packing up for the day. "Duncan case is arraigned tomorrow, and then we go to trial," she said brightly. "Morton even said I could help with cross! You stuck here all night?" Shelley's natural exuberance had changed as she saw Jack's downcast face and the pile of papers he was carrying.

Jack put the papers down. "Yeah," he said, "looks like another all-nighter."

"Well, buck up, pal," Shelley said, coming over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. She smiled at his surprised reaction. "That ought to put some adrenaline back in your system. Toodles!" She was gone before Jack could react.

Jack couldn't help but smiling as he sat down at his desk. Shelley was fun, no doubt about it. Fun, and surprising. Like when she propositioned him the first week they worked together.

"Hey, no harm in trying," she smiled when she saw Jack's shocked face. "Hey, mister, this is the seventies. Women are liberated now. Sex is out of the closet, and we're out to have fun."

"I like the idea of having fun, but when will we ever have the time? " Jack had said as he looked at the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

Shelley's natural exuberance didn’t change. “You’ll get used it in a day or two," she said, “And then, if you ever feel the need--I'm here, ready, willing, and able.”

Jack had found himself too busy and too interested in his career to feel the need, though there were times he looked at Shelley, remembered her words, and smiled.

Jack sighed as he began reading the police reports. Idly, he began jotting down notes. After the run-in he'd had at the 2-7 earlier, he was especially critical of the police and their methods.

At least the case was shaping up in his mind. The victim was Iris Rupert, a 36-year-old woman with physical and emotional problems. She had been found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs at the family home. The police first suspected accident until forensics said that marks found on the body were not consistent with a fall. Then detectives started looking into the matter. They found that Andrew Rupert, 45, Iris’ brother, had been taking care of her for several years. He and she were the sole heirs of a large fortune. Iris was being attended by a Mrs. Margaret Olson. Jack made a note--did she have medical credentials? How long had she been working there?

Mrs. Olson and Rupert had both been at home, and were watching television in the den. They said they had both come into the hall when they heard a crash and had found Iris in a heap on the floor. They had called for an ambulance. Jack made another note--when was the ambulance called? Had anyone checked the television to see if it was warm, or asked them what program they had been watching? Jack read on. When the ambulance came, they called the police. The policemen had interviewed the couple, who had told them that Iris was prone to vertigo and had probably had a dizzy spell while standing at the top of the stairs. They hadn’t gone into any more details about her mental and emotional problems. He looked down the report--Iris's doctor's name was Jones, but there was no indication of an interview with him. Jack made another note. He was so busy, he didn't hear Carl Morton come to his door.

"Found all the flaws in the police report yet?" The sound of Morton's voice made Jack jump.

He looked at his boss. "I've found some," he admitted.

"Good." Morton came into the cubicle and sat on the corner of Jack’s desk. "Then you should be able to persuade the police to be more vigorous in their investigation. I just got a call from Capt. Lewis."

"Hey, those guys deserved it--" Jack began.

Morton put up a hand. "I have no doubt. Lewis filled me in on what they did--and what you said." He raised his eyebrows. "Your language is a bit salty, Jack, but it got results. The detectives will have a full report ready for you--as soon as you finish this work." He got up and left.

Jack sighed. At least Morton hadn't bawled him out for yelling at the detectives in the squad room. Probably Capt. Lewis hadn't told him that part. He buried himself in his work, hoping to get done before the detectives went off duty.

At nine thirty, he was back in Morton's office, precedents typed out. "Here's my notes on the police report," he said. Morton took up the paper and read it.

"Glad you see you agree with my opinion, Jack," he said dryly. "But don’t count on getting much out of the doctor, other than a confirmation that Iris did have vertigo. These medicos with rich clients usually don’t want to do anything to upset the family."

"Then I’ll have to remind him that his Hippocratic oath is about his duty to his patient, not his pocketbook," Jack said.

Morton chuckled. "You mean you're going to ask him to put principle before profit? Good luck." He looked over the precedents. "Satisfactory," he admitted. "Now, get down to the 2-7 and see what the detectives have found out about your case."

Jack was halfway down to the garage before he realized what Morton had said. His case. He drove extra fast to the 2-7.

"What did you find?" he asked as he walked into Captain Lewis's office, where the detectives were waiting for him.

"Karen Stravinski." Cragen got out his notebook. "Booked herself into rehab this morning. We have her statement, and the statement she gave to the counselor there--she waved privilege." Cragen looked up at Jack, who nodded. "Seems she and Doug Harris had a falling out yesterday morning. She pulled a gun on him, and left. The rehab center had custody of the gun. The bullets from the shooting don't match—aren’t even the right caliber."

"That explains why Doug thought Karen was involved in the incident," Jack said. "Did you check for more witnesses at the scene? Did anyone see the bus there?"

"No," Cragen said. "No bus. There was a witness, though. An old lady across the street. She heard the shot, and looked out her window. She saw a woman running away from the scene. Wrong size, wrong hair color for Karen. We confronted Martin at the hospital, and he admitted that his girlfriend shot him. He was mad at Harris, and decided to give him the grief."

"I hope you've let Mr. Harris go," Jack said. Capt. Lewis nodded. "Good. Have you found Martin’s girlfriend?"

"We're working on it," Cragen said.

"Good job, Detective," Jack said, patting Cragen on the back. "When you find her, we'll be ready to indict." He got up to go. The detectives nodded at their captain and left.

Lewis looked at Jack. "I'm glad you caught that, Counselor. Sometimes Black needs a kick in the backside, but Cragen is diligent. Thanks for encouraging him." He held out a hand.

Jack took it. "Sure," he said. "Hey, I like encouragement myself." He looked at Lewis meaningfully. "I appreciate the call to Morton."

Jack went back to Hogan Place, and worked on pleadings. When his eyes grew heavy, he switched over to the Rupert case. He wondered what would happen the next time he talked with Cragen and Black. He closed his eyes, just for a minute….

The ringing phone made Jack start, and he nearly fell off his chair. "Hello?" he yawned into the phone.

"Mr. McCoy? This is Bradley over at the 2-7." Lt. Bradley was on the swing shift, taking over for the captain. "We've got a potential situation over here, and we need your advice."

"Be right there. Have coffee ready." Jack picked up his briefcase and was gone. He was still yawning and rubbing his eyes when he went into the green room.

The green room was an interrogation room with two doors and a one-way mirror. Two detectives--Fleming and Gordon, flanked a tall, scraggly looking white man.

“Here’s the deal, Counselor,” Fleming said. He was a big, beefy man with a jovial demeanor. “This is Fred. He’s a small-time drug dealer we picked up tonight-on possession with intent to sell. Part of our undercover operation.”

“What did you seize?” Jack asked as he tried to figure out why he had been hauled down there to take a look at a pothead.

“That’s the interesting part,” Gordon said. He was a short, thin fellow, the exact opposite of his partner. “With Fred here, it’s usually a pound or so of Mary Jane, but not tonight. Our undercover man was offered some prescription drugs—Darvon, to be exact. And quite a lot of it, too.”

“We told Fred here that selling prescription drugs on the street wasn’t a great career move,” Fleming said, putting a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “So he’s offered us a deal. But we can’t make it without the approval of the DA.”

Jack folded his arms and glared at Fred. “What do you want?” he asked.

Fred held his hands up in the air. “I want out of this mess. I only tried to sell the pills as a favor for my step-mother.” He looked Jack straight in the eye. “You drop the charges, and I’ll tell you what she did to Iris Rupert.”

It was an effort, but Jack kept a poker face. “So you’re Fred Olson,” he said. He made no move to sit down, “I don’t know that we’ll really need your cooperation to get a conviction in the Rupert case.” He looked at the detectives. “Where are the pills?”

“Down at the lab, being analyzed,” Fleming answered.

“Good,” Jack said. “As soon as we know they are Darvon, we’ll have enough evidence to arrest Maggie Olson for the murder of Iris Rupert.”

“Wait a minute,” Fred said nervously. “Maggie ain’t no murderer. Besides, without my cooperation, you can’t link her to the pills.”

“Oh, but we can, Mr. Olson,” Jack said smoothly. “You already cooperated. You freely stated that you’d gotten them from your stepmother, who wanted you to sell them for her.”

“Oh man!” Olson was agitated now. “I didn’t say that!”

Jack turned to the detectives. “You heard what he said, didn’t you?” They looked at Jack, grinned, and then slowly nodded their heads. “And you read him his rights?”

“Sure did, as soon as the cuffs were on him,” Fleming said. “He waived his right to counsel.”

“Good.” Jack smiled at the young man and leaned across the table. “You see, Mr. Olson, I don’t know that we’ll need you. Your step-mother is as good as convicted.”

“But she didn’t kill Iris!” Fred shouted. “Give me a deal, and I’ll tell you who did! I’ll tell you the whole stinkin’ story!”

Jack sat down opposite Olson. “We might consider a deal then,” he said.

Carl Morton strode down the corridor to Jack’s cubicle early the next morning. He looked in and saw the young ADA asleep with his head on his desk. “Better get up, Jack, it’s another day,” he said loudly.

Jack sat up slowly, trying to focus. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “There’s a report on your desk—“

“I read it as soon as I came in,” Morton said shortly. “Looks like you got a real break in the Rupert case. I’m surprised, though, that you didn’t call me about it before you made the deal.”

“It was two in the morning,” Jack yawned.

“I don’t keep banker’s hours,” Morton shot back. “I like to be kept up to speed on important developments like this.”

“Why?” Jack’s Irish was up. “You couldn’t have done anything more last night. We got Andrew Rupert tagged as the murderer, but I didn’t think he needed to be arrested right away.”

“And a good thing, too,” Morton said. “What you got, Jack, was a self-serving statement from a relative of one of the only two people who could have killed the girl. According to his statement, they had been giving her Darvon illegally for over two years, in an attempt to make her go crazy so she could be committed and Andrew could get control of her money. She was apparently allergic to the drug, and had fits of anger and aggressiveness. It was during one of those fits that Andrew had a fight with her and threw her downstairs, killing her. He ordered Maggie Olson to straighten things up, and then call the ambulance. But Fred Olson wasn’t there, Jack. He was just told this by his step-mother when she gave him the pills!”

“We know Iris had Darvon in her system from the autopsy report,” Jack said stubbornly.

“True. But we don’t know that it was illegally administered,” Morton said. “Ben will find out if Dr. Jones was prescribing the medication when he goes to see him this morning.”

“Ben? I thought I was supposed to interview the doctor today!” Jack cried.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Morton said, turning to go. “You’ve done enough with getting the Fred Olson deal. Work on your plea bargains and allocutions today.”

When Shelley Kates got to work at nine, she found Jack in a smoldering fury.

“I’ve had it, Shelley, I’ve had it!” he cried. “This man is busted for selling and rolls on the Iris Rupert murder! I stayed up most of the night, making the deal, taking the deposition, and typing it up so it’s on Morton’s desk bright and early this morning. So what happens? He comes in here, bawls me out, and sticks me back with the losers who take pleas and make allocutions!” He sighed. “I guess that’s where I belong, with the losers.”

“Hold up there,” Shelley objected. “First of all, if Morton came all the way down here to talk to you about something you did, you didn’t screw up—he was impressed with you. Second of all, he probably wanted you back here because you look a mess! Do you have a razor here, at least? I keep telling you, you need to bring a change of clothes and keep it on the rack. And get permanent press—fewer wrinkles.”

Jack blinked. Maybe Shelley was right. He thought about it as he made his way to the washroom, his electric shaver in hand.

“Ben, go after Jones like a hunter.” Jack heard Morton’s voice and glanced over towards Ben Stone’s cubicle. The two were standing with their backs to Jack. “We don’t know what he knows, but he’s physician to the rich and expects to be treated with kid gloves. Be polite at first—but if it looks as if he’s holding out on you, take the gloves off.” Both men turned and saw Jack standing there.

“I see you’ve decided not to emulate Lincoln and shave off the beard,” Morton said dryly while Ben smirked.

Jack glared at both of them and walked on to the men’s room, where he looked at himself in the mirror. Shelley did have a point. His hair was uncombed and he had the good beginnings of a beard. Almost as ugly looking as Lincoln, he thought glumly as he plugged in his shaver.

Fifteen minutes later, looking better but feeling worse, Jack emerged from the washroom to start the day’s drudgery. He found it hard to stay awake during the allocutions, and did drop off to sleep while waiting for a defendant and his attorney to appear. Luckily, a bailiff had come in and wakened him before the conference, so Jack was awake and reasonably coherent when they did arrive.

He was glad when the day was done and he could pack his briefcase and go home. He was dismayed when the elevator doors opened and he saw he got to share the slow ride down to the parking garage with Carl Morton. He got in and stood beside the EADA in the car. They were the only ones there, which made Jack feel more awkward and uncomfortable. He fidgeted in silence until he could stand it no longer.

“Well, did Dr. Jones confess?” he asked sarcastically.

Morton looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Not everyone gets results as dramatic as yours, Jack. No, Dr. Jones is not involved He had not been prescribing Darvon for Iris Rupert. When Ben explained the importance of his cooperation, he opened the files. Iris Rupert had been in an automobile accident ten years ago. She suffered spinal cord damage, and had a long recuperation. She suffered from depression, but not psychosis. Darvon is a pain killer, and Jones had Iris try it once, but she had a severe reaction.” He looked at Jack. “Yes, Ben asked him. Darvon made her extremely angry and aggressive.”

“How nice that Ben verified what I found out last night,” Jack said sarcastically.

Morton looked at him. “That means, of course, that Andrew obtained the drug illegally. I’d like you to look into that tomorrow, Jack, since you work so well with police. Ride herd on the detectives, and get to the bottom of this!” Morton nodded as he marched off to his black sedan, leaving Jack gaping.

“He gave me a compliment! He really did!” Jack told Shelley the next morning. “I thought I was off the case, but instead, I’m on it again!”

“I told you, keep plugging away, and you’ll get the brass ring!” Shelley came over and gave him a kiss.

Jack went to the 2-7, where Cragen and Black were waiting for him. “I know, I know, Fleming and Gordon filled me in,” Sgt. Black said. “They brought Maggie Olson in yesterday on Morton’s orders. She hasn’t rolled on Rupert, though, and we can’t hold her much longer.”

“We’ll just think up a way to increase the pressure,” Jack said. “If all else fails, we charge her with possession of a controlled substance with intent to sell. We have a witness on that, which will make her want to deal. Meanwhile, have you found out about the Darvon?”

“Hey, we just got the conformation it wasn’t legit yesterday morning,” Black said. “Fleming and Gordon checked their sources, and we checked ours. Nothing so far.”

“Then dig further,” Jack said. “Check into Mr. Rupert’s activities. Does he go to a gym? Sometimes trainers have a way of finding a little something to ease the pain of sports injuries.” He turned to Cragen. “I think another thing we need to tie down is motive. Have you the probate record for Andrew Rupert, Sr?”

“Yeah,” Cragen pulled out a file. “The important thing is the codicil. It was written after Iris’s accident. It gives Andrew control over all the money until Iris is declared fit and able to handle her own business. But here’s the kicker. As long as this was the case, Andrew had to submit to an annual audit, ‘to insure the protection of Iris’s interests.’ The old man must have realized his son might try to pull a fast one. The audits are here in the file, and show that Andrew how to live well, if not too wisely. On the last one, there was a recommendation by the auditors that control of the money be taken out of Andrew’s hands if the financial situation didn’t improve, as is their right, according to the codicil.”

“Which provides Brother Andrew with ample incentive to do something about his sister,” Jack said. “When was the next audit due?”

Cragen looked at the file. “First of next month,” he said.

“We have a good motive, then,” Jack said, nodding to Cragen. “Now, we have to find evidence to back up Fred Olson’s claims about the pills. We get that, gentlemen, and we get our man.” He stood up. “Call me the minute you find out something. I’m going to take a visit to Riker’s to meet Maggie Olson.”

Jack went back to the office to report to Carl Morton. “The probate record will provide ample motive for Andrew Rupert,” he said. “I told the detectives to get on the ball tracing the pills. They hadn’t had any luck with their usual channels, so I suggested looking at Rupert’s gym.”

“Or the disco he frequents,” Morton said as he looked over a file. “Ben has seen him at The Happening a lot.”

“That’s nice,” Jack said, wondering how Stone ever had the time or inclination to go dancing. “I’ll call the detectives and tell them to put it on their list. My idea is to go see Maggie Olson in Riker’s. If we can make her roll on Rupert, then our case is made.”

“If Fred was telling the truth,” Morton cautioned. “Why are you taking his statement as gospel? Because he gave it to you?”

“No, because of the way he said things,” Jack said. “The panic in his voice when I accused his stepmother of murder. The look in his eyes.”

“The panic could have been trying to figure out how to get both him and his stepmother out of a scrape. The look in his eyes could have been fear of being caught in a lie.”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “For one thing, I’m certain that originally he was just going to tell us about the pill scam. When I mentioned murder, his face went white. You can’t fake that. And, with all due respect, Fred Olson isn’t all that bright.”

“That’s all well and good, but it’s still just theories,” Morton said. “You need evidence to back your intuition. So have the detectives investigate and come up with evidence before you go charging off to Riker’s.”

“Investigate what?” Jack said, irritated.

Carl Morton sighed. “Think, Jack. The woman has been brought in. She realizes she is facing a charge on drug possession that will probably stick, and, if she doesn’t do something quick, another charge with far more serious consequences. But she hasn’t said anything.”

“Maybe it’s because we haven’t charged her yet,” Jack said. “Maybe it’s because she’s following the advice of her lawyer.”

“Legal aid attorneys usually try to make deals,” Morton said. “They are not the crusading type. They learned long ago they’d never be Perry Mason.”

“I still say a talk with her might help,” Jack said stubbornly.

Morton got up from behind his desk. “Jack,” he said, “you don’t go to a poker game without money. Right now, even if you tried to bluff, you wouldn’t know how to do it, because you have no clue as to the dynamics of the relationship between Andrew Rupert and Maggie Olson. Play it wrong now, and she’ll probably decide we don’t have a clue and clam up—permanently. That’s why you don’t go to Riker’s. Instead, go see the neighbors. Talk to the friends of the family. Find out what you can, and report back here this afternoon.” He looked at Jack over the tops of his glasses in dismissal.

Jack went back to the 2-7, only to find both Cragen and Black out. Capt. Lewis came out of his office to speak with him.

“We’ve got four men on it,” he said, “with Black supervising. He said you wanted the pills traced, so that’s what he and Cragen are working on.”

“Well, we also need to check out a little bit about the family situation,” Jack said.

“Oh, I thought of that already, Counselor,” Capt. Lewis said. “As soon as Cragen told me about the probate record, I sent Fleming and Gordon out interviewing. They should be calling in any time—do you want to wait for them, or look over their reports?”

“Both, actually,” Jack said. The captain gave him the file, and he started reading. It seemed Andrew Rupert had a very active social life, with a party at his house at least once a week. At least once, the police had been called in on a complaint of loud noise. They had smelled marijuana, but hadn’t found any. “It must be nice, having a stepson who can supply you with goodies,” Jack said to himself. He read on. Friends said that Andrew was a party animal, but not a wild one; he enjoyed having friends over, and he enjoyed going to discos. Only one, Martin Freed, mentioned Maggie Olson at all. Jack was lost in thought when Capt. Lewis called to him, and handed him a phone.

“Fleming? Jack. What have you found? Sounds like a promising lead, I hope Black follows it up. What about this Martin Freed? What can you tell me about him?”

“Freed? A hanger-on with the party set,” Fleming said. “No priors, no arrests, though he has about twenty parking tickets to his credit. Likes fast cars and faster women.”

“I don’t get this reference to Maggie Olson,” Jack said. “You have down that Maggie was Andrew’s milk cow. What in the world did he mean?”

“I wondered about that myself,” Fleming answered. “But Freed was getting into his car, and I didn’t have time to ask him to clarify.”

“Well, maybe I will do it myself. Is this address correct?”

“Yeah, but call first. He kinda flits around.”

“Ok,” Jack said, hanging up. He turned to Capt. Lewis. “Looks like there’s a strong possibility Rupert obtained the Darvon through a trainer at his gym,” he said. “Fleming said Cragen and Black are working on that. I’m going to visit Martin Freed. The number is there, if anyone needs to find me.”

Freed’s apartment was in one of the newer high rises, the ones that looked like shining boxes made of silver and glass. Jack took the elevator to the eighteenth floor after the doorman had phoned Mr. Freed and obtained his permission.

Freed was waiting for Jack at his door. He was fidgety and jumpy, and full of good cheer. “Come in, come in!” he cried. “You’re lucky you caught me. I was about to tool out to my friend’s house on the Sound for some sport fishing.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” Jack said, sitting down in the soft leather chair. “I have a few questions about your statement.”

Freed, who had been pacing, stopped in his tracks. “Oh! You mean what I talked about to that other detective.” He looked at Jack. “I really don’t think I have anything to add.”

“But could you clarify something?” Jack asked. “You made a reference to Maggie Olson—“

“Oh, the milk cow! Yes, what did you want to know about her?”

“Well, for starters, what did you mean by ‘milk cow’?”

Freed started pacing the room again. “Oh, I can see you’re not up on the latest slang,” he said deprecatingly. He sighed. “Basically, I guess you’d say it means she’s there for him, in any capacity. If he needs food, she feeds him. If he needs a roll in the hay, she can provide that, too. Don’t look at me like that! People in their forties can have a good time, same as you people. And speaking of good times—“

“So Rupert and Maggie Olson were lovers, “ Jack cut in.

“Yes,” Freed said impatiently. “Only it was strictly one-way, as far as the devotion went. Andy always likes to play the field.” He cocked his head and looked at Jack. “Is that all? I have two blondes waiting for me dockside!”

Jack got up and left. When he got back to the station, he cornered Fleming. “I met with Freed. He was high on something, probably speed or cocaine. He couldn’t sit down, but he answered my questions. Maggie Olson is Andrew Rupert’s lover. That’s why she won’t roll on him.”

“She might if she knew how many other girlfriends he had,” Fleming flipped open his notebook. “Five I’ve found so far. He seems to do pretty nice by them. One sported a diamond necklace, another a fur coat.”

“And what finery did you discover when you picked up Maggie?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. Not even a dime store ring,” Fleming answered.

“Good work, Detective. We might have found a way to get to Maggie Olson,” Jack said. “Have you seen Black or Cragen? I’m wondering how they are coming along with tracking the Darvon.”

“Gordon talked with them a minute ago,” Fleming said. “I think they are in with Capt. Lewis right now.”

Jack knocked at the captain’s door, and went in. Black was lounging on a chair by Lewis’s desk, looking like a cat that had swallowed the canary. Cragen was standing, looking concerned. Jack nodded to both of them, and then addressed the captain.

“Thanks to Fleming’s good detective work, I think I have enough to crack Maggie Olson. But I thought I’d check on the Darvon situation before I left.” He turned to Black. “Fleming told me you found Rupert got it from a trainer at his gym?”

“Yeah, an ex-boxer name of Thompson,” Black smiled. “Him and me go back a long ways, and I was able to persuade him to come clean.”

“You brought him in,” Jack said, “and he doesn’t want a deal?”

“He’s in holding. We’ll go get him and you can ask him yourself,” Black said. He and Cragen got up and left.

Jack turned and looked at Lewis. “Is Black on the up-and-up with this one, or do I have another bogus confession on my hands?”

“I think Black did a good job in this case,” Captain Lewis said defensively. “It’s unusual for a perp not to want a deal, but it’s been known to happen. I asked them both about it when they brought Thompson in, and Don backed up what Will said. So he didn’t want a deal. That’s not our concern. We got you the link to the drugs, which you needed. ”

“And I appreciate it,” Jack said. “But I’d like to talk to the prisoner alone, just to make sure there were no slip-ups. Could you maybe--?”

“Yeah, I could,” Lewis said. He glared at Jack. “And then I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind.”

Jack went down the hall to Interrogation Room One, where the two detectives were just bringing in the prisoner Thompson. Jack nodded to the prisoner, a burly man with a cauliflower ear. He sat down and looked Thompson in the eyes. “These detectives say you told them you sold Darvon to Andrew Rupert. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right,” he said in a husky voice. He lowered his face so Jack couldn’t see it.

“For how long have you been selling him Darvon?” Jack continued.

“I dunno. A year, year and a half.” He looked at Black. “Two, maybe.”

“You realize that selling a prescription drug like Darvon is a felony?” Jack watched carefully for a change in Thompson’s expression, but there was none. The ex-boxer just kept looking at Black.

“Yeah, sure,” he said finally.

Captain Lewis stuck his head in the door. “Black, Cragen, you’re needed down at forensics. I’ll sit in with McCoy.”

The two detectives got up and left. Black made a backward glance at Thompson as he shut the door.

Jack leaned across the table. “All right, Mr. Thompson. How about answering my questions truthfully for a change?”

“Who says I ain’t been telling you the truth?” Thompson looked at Capt. Lewis warily.

“Let’s just say that I watched you,” Jack said. “We aren’t interested in anything but the truth on this one. So let’s start over. Have you been selling Darvon to Andrew Rupert?”

Thompson looked him in the eyes. “No,” he said. “No, I haven’t.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “That’s better. Now, you’ve got to tell us who you are shielding. We need their testimony in a murder trial, and I’m willing to deal with anyone who can help me out.”

“Deal? Like maybe no jail time if it’s a first offence?” Thompson looked at him with hope.

“Yeah, that sort of deal,” Jack replied.

Thompson took a deep breath. “Ok, then. That bastard Black said there could be no deal, and I’d decided to take the fall. It’s my boy, James. He’s a trainer at the gym, too. He’s got a girlfriend who works at a pharmacy, and he saw a way to make a little money on the side. I told him it was wrong, but he said the money was too good to pass up.” He looked at Jack pleadingly. “He’s got his whole life ahead of him. I’m washed up. I wasn’t gonna let no cop—“

“That’s all right, Mr. Thompson,” Capt. Lewis said. His face was grim. “Those cops won’t bother you again. I’m assigning other officers to the case. Where can we pick up your son?”

“Eighty-ninth Street. Ace’s Gym. He’ll be there now.”

“Just one more thing,” Jack said. “Do you think you can stay here and help us persuade him to talk?”

Thompson nodded. “You played it straight with me. He’ll talk for you.”

“Good,” Jack said as he rose. He looked at Lewis. “I’ll be at Riker’s if you need me.”

He left the station and got on his Yamaha. Much as he’d have liked to ride right out to the Island, he knew he had to check in at Hogan Place first. He walked into Morton’s office, only to realize he was in conference with Ben Stone. He was about to step out again when Morton saw him and motioned him over.

“I got a call from Captain Lewis,” he said. Jack braced himself. “Seems you uncovered some corruption in the force. He wanted to have me extend his thanks for your efforts.” He looked at Jack oddly. “I thought you were supposed to be finding evidence that would cause Maggie Olson to talk.”

“Oh, I did that, too—or rather, Detective Fleming did,” Jack said. He was aware of Ben staring at him, and it made him a bit uncomfortable.

“I hope that Detective Fleming is not the corrupt officer,” Morton said.

“No, sir. It was another officer—Sgt. Black. He’d intimidated a person into confessing to a crime he didn’t commit.”

“That’s all well and good, but tell us what you found out about Maggie Olson.”

Jack stood and told the two men of his interview with Freed and his discussion with Fleming. He felt like he was reciting a lesson back in school, and he didn’t like the smirk on Ben’s face one bit. “So Andrew Rupert has a stable full of ladies, and treats Maggie like dirt,” he concluded. “She probably hopes he will send in a high-priced lawyer to defend her, but with his track record, I doubt it.”

Morton was thoughtful. “You may have enough there to persuade her to talk,” he conceded. “But it is going to take delicate handling. Tell you what, both of you meet me down in the motor pool. We’ll all go see her together.”

Jack and Ben walked back to the elevator. “I can’t believe what you did with the police,” Ben said.

“I’m a cop’s son,” Jack shrugged. “I won’t have them screwing up on my watch.”

They waited for the elevator in awkward silence. The doors finally opened and they stepped in. One floor down, just one floor, Jack kept saying to himself as he stared straight ahead. The doors finally opened and the two men went to their respective cubicles to get their coats. They met back at the elevator.

“I think that most police do the best job they can,” Ben ventured as they waited for the doors to open.

“Yeah, most do,” Jack looked at him angrily. “What is it, Ben? Do you want to chew me out for how I handled this investigation? If we rely on evidence the police have obtained illegally, or worse yet, manufactured, we are putting our case out on a very weak and rotten limb.”

“Well said.” The doors had opened and Morton was standing in the car. “There was nothing wrong in the way you handled the investigation, Jack. I think Ben is in awe of your capacity for work.” He smiled slightly as Jack looked at Ben, who quickly got into the elevator.

There was silence on the trip to Riker’s Island. Ben rode up front with Carl Morton while Jack sat in the back. He was surprised that Morton gave them no direction, and no indication how the three of them were going to handle the interview. The EADA simply turned the radio on and listened to classical music. His only comment came as they were getting out of the car.

“I think, gentlemen, this should be a team effort. Wait for my cues before presenting your arguments. And remember, we are here to make Maggie Olson a cooperative witness!”

Jack still got a thrill about signing into the jail. He was a part of it—a part of the criminal justice system of the County of New York. The fact that there were men and women incarcerated here who would gladly slit his throat, or that of any prosecutor, just added to the excitement and tension.

Maggie Olson was sitting alone in the meeting room. She was a fading beauty on the high side of forty, with wispy brown hair that straggled down below the collar of the prison dress she wore. Morton was all business, getting papers out of his briefcase and spreading them on the table. Jack and Ben sat on either side of him, nervous as cats.

“Where’s your attorney, Mrs. Olson?” Jack blurted out.

“Is there a problem with obtaining counsel?” Ben asked.

Morton looked at both of them and shook his head. “Have you waved your right to counsel, Mrs. Olson?” he asked her.

She looked at them, a bit confused. “You are all here because of a lousy drug charge? Who did Fred try to sell the stuff to, the Mayor?”

“I’m Executive District Attorney Carl Morton, and these are my assistants, Jack McCoy and Ben Stone,” Morton explained. “We are here to talk with you about something far more serious than a drug charge.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there’s nothing to the deal with Iris. She fell down the stairs. It was an accident.”

“That’s not what your stepson said,” Morton continued. “We have a sworn statement—“

“Uh-huh. He would lie on his father’s grave to get a deal,” Maggie smiled at Jack. “Hey, Ringo, don’t tell me you believe what he said!”

“How did you know I interrogated him?” Jack shot back. “There is no record of Fred coming to see you.”

“There’s phone calls, sweetie,” she replied.

Morton glared at Jack, who slumped back in his chair. “So you are denying what your stepson told the police?” he asked her.

“I don’t know exactly what he said, but yeah. He told me he got caught with the pills and got out of it by inventing some cock-and-bull story about murder.”

“That part isn’t cock-and-bull,” Ben spoke up. “The Medical Examiner has concluded that Iris’s death was not the result of an accidental fall.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “And, since it was murder, I’m surprised that you scoff at your stepson’s attempt to let you off the hook.”

Morton looked at Maggie, whose face had gone white. “Fred’s testimony is hearsay, and inadmissible at trial,” he said in a businesslike tone. “We need to hear your version of what happened.”

“Why?’ Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “So you can arrest Andy, and charge me as an accessory?”

“We might not have to do that, if you cooperate,” Ben said.

But Maggie just sat there, shaking her head.

“He calls you his milk cow, you know,” Jack said, looking at her intently. Stunned, she looked at him. “I’ve been told that means you’d do anything for him. But what has he done for you? No cars, no jewelry—and now, not even a lawyer. Loyalty is fine, Mrs. Olson, but sometimes it is misplaced.”

“He doesn’t call me that,” she said slowly.

“Of course not—to your face. But sometimes actions speak louder than words,” Jack went on. “Has he treated you as a friend, or as a servant? What has he done for you to deserve such loyalty?” He leaned over the table. “What has he done, Mrs. Olson?”

“Nothing.” Maggie Olson whispered the word to herself. “Nothing at all.” She seemed to be in a trance for some moments. Then she shook her head and looked at Jack. Her eyes were hard. “He promised me the moon, and even told me over the phone that everything was going to be all right. All I had to do was sit tight and you’d let me go. Then we could go on with our life together.” She looked at Ben. “Now you tell me you know it was murder. Well, I can give you the murderer, if you give me a deal.”

Ben looked at Morton, and then said, “If you were merely a witness to the crime, you will not be charged with anything. If you helped—“

“Oh, I’ll tell you how I helped. I gave the poor woman the Darvon every day, telling her it was what the doctor ordered. It was Andrew’s idea. He’d seen what had happened when the doctor tried the stuff on her years ago. He hoped she’d become violently insane, so he could have control of all the money. That evening, I’d just given her her pills when Andrew decided to up the dosage. He went to her room to give her one more. She got out of bed, fighting. They moved to the hall, then to the head of the stairs. Then Andrew threw her down. He told me ‘Good riddance’ when he saw that she had broken her neck in the fall and was dead.” She looked at Morton. “Do I get my deal?”

The ride back from Riker’s Island was just the opposite of the ride there. Ben and Jack talked the whole way, congratulating each other on the way they had got Maggie Olson to agree to testify against Andrew Rupert. They were driving into the parking garage when Carl Morton finally spoke.

“I wish to thank you gentlemen for following my instructions and not talking before I gave the signal,” he said dryly. Both young men looked at him in stunned silence. But Morton grinned slowly. “I knew I couldn’t keep either of you quiet once we were there. I was making a joke, gentlemen.” Jack and Ben looked at each other, and laughed. “But don’t think this case is over just because we have an eye-witness. Her veracity may be impeached—and Rupert will probably get the most expensive attorney he can afford to try and do the job.” He parked the car and the men got out.

“You mean you think he will go for a trial?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Morton replied. “So we’d better make sure we have all our ducks in a row. Ben, make sure we have all the medical evidence ready, and Jack, check with the detectives about Rupert’s friends and the money angle. He’ll be wanting to paint Maggie Olson as a vindictive, scorned woman, so let’s have some evidence to refute it.”

“All right,” Jack said as he got into the elevator. “How long before we go to trial?”

“We get Rupert arrested, then indicted—say two, three weeks,” Morton said. “That gives you both plenty of time to prepare.”

“Prepare what?” Ben asked cautiously.

“Prepare for the trial,” Morton answered. “You’re prosecuting as a team on this one.”

The next three weeks found the two young prosecutors working overtime to obtain the evidence needed in the Rupert trial as well as doing their other jobs. Most nights they stayed late, going over witness lists and planning strategy.

“I think it would be best if you made the opening statement,” Jack told Ben. “I’ve watched you, and you’re good at presenting the points in a clear analytical manner.”

“In other words, you think I’m a cold fish,” Ben said, grinning slightly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve been called that all my life. Just my laid back style, I guess. Well, if I do the opening, you do the summation. You have enough Irish charm to win over the jury in case our case falls apart.”

“’In case our case’? Ben, you need to take a nap!”

“And you need a shave, unless you want Morton calling you Honest Abe again!”

The day of the trial finally arrived. Andrew Rupert had hired a high-priced lawyer named Harry Miller to represent him. Miller seemed disdainful of the young prosecutors, and had filed numerous pre-trial motions in an attempt to quash the evidence about the Darvon. But Ben and Jack and successfully argued that the illegal administration of the prescription drug went to motive, and Miller had gone away from the judge’s chambers a very angry man.

“Watch that anger, you can use it to your advantage,” Morton had told them. “But don’t let Miller get to you. He’s a seasoned attorney, and is likely to try every trick in the book to rattle you.”

Morton was right. It began when Miller got up to make his opening statement. Ben had just finished a clear accounting of the crime and what the prosecution intended to prove. Miller rose and nodded disdainfully at the young prosecutor, then turned to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it is the contention of the prosecution that my client murdered his sister in order to gain control of her portion of their father’s estate. However, what the prosecution neglected to tell you was that they must prove this beyond a reasonable doubt. How reasonable is it for a loving brother to kill his sister for control over money he already has control over? The defense will prove that Andrew Rupert has complied with the requirements of his father’s will when it has come to handling money. The defense also plans to show that witnesses brought in by the prosecution have their own motives for wanting Iris Rupert dead. We plan to show that these witnesses bring to their testimony a prejudice that far outweighs the value of their information.” He glanced at Ben and Jack. “These young men are enthusiastic in their prosecution, but I am not sure they are wise. It is up to you, the jury, to decide.”

“Don’t let him bait you, Jack,” Ben whispered. “We’ll show him that wisdom sometimes comes with youth.” He stood up and called the first witness, the paramedic who answered the 911 call.

“Yes, when we arrived at the scene we found that the victim, Miss Iris Rupert, was lying at the foot of a flight of stairs, and she was dead.” Ben nodded to the witness and sat down. Harry Miller stood up.

“Did you notice any marks on my client, Mr. Rupert?” he asked.

“No,” the paramedic said. Miller nodded and sat down.

“Redirect, Your Honor,” Jack said, getting up.

“I thought this was my witness,” Ben whispered.

“You can do the same with mine,” Jack whispered back as he got up. He addressed the paramedic. “You say you didn’t notice any marks on Mr. Rupert. Did you notice anything about the house or its occupants, other than Iris Rupert?”

“Well, yeah. Some pictures on the wall going up by the stairs were askew. And Mr. Rupert’s hair was messed up, and his shirt was torn. The other lady there, she was as pale as a ghost.”

“Thank you, that is all.” Jack walked back to the prosecution table. “Miller thought he’d won a point about refuting the fight theory. But we got it back.”

“Good save,” Ben whispered back.

“If you are done conferring with each other, we have a trial to run,” Judge Williams said sarcastically.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Ben said as he stood up. “I call as my next witness Dr. Frederick Harris, forensics expert.”

Dr. Harris, a balding man in his fifties, recounted the findings of the forensics team, including the discovery of Darvon in her system and bruises on her body.

“So, Dr. Harris, you are saying that the bruises on Iris Rupert’s forearms were not consistent with a fall down the stairs?” Ben asked.

“No, they were of the nature of defensive wounds, the kind people get while engaged in a struggle,” Dr. Harris said.

“Thank you,” Ben said, turning to Harry Miller. “Your witness.”

“Dr. Harris, is there any way you can tell us for sure that those bruises were obtained moments before Iris’s death? Couldn’t they have been made earlier on in the day?”

“Not very much earlier,” Dr. Harris said cautiously. “They appeared fresh.”

“But couldn’t they have been made, say, an hour before her death?”

“Perhaps, but it is not likely, due to the circumstances—“

“Ah, but Doctor, your testimony is based solely on what you discovered about the body, is it not? Is there anything about the bruises themselves that indicate that they were made right before death or an hour before death?”

“No, we can’t tell within that small a time frame,” the doctor admitted. Miller smiled as Dr. Harris left the witness box.

“The People now call Dr. Mortimer Jones to the stand,” Ben said. The physician to the rich and powerful looked a bit sick as he was administered the oath. “Getting the facts out of him will be like pulling teeth,” Ben whispered to Jack. He strode up to the witness box and asked, “Dr. Jones, have you ever prescribed Darvon for Iris Rupert?”

Dr. Jones shifted uneasily in his chair. “Yes, once, ten years ago.”

“Why did you stop prescribing the drug?”

“It had a negative effect on the patient.”

“What was that effect?”

“She became overly aggressive and angry.”

“And you have not prescribed it for her since?”

“No sir.”

“Thank you.” Ben went back to his seat.

Harry Miller stood up and smiled at Dr. Jones sympathetically. “I know your time is valuable, Doctor, so I’ll just ask a few questions. How long was Iris Rupert your patient?”

“She was my patient for over twenty years. I’ve treated her since I started my practice.” Jones relaxed and leaned back in the chair.

“And why did you prescribe Darvon for her some ten years ago?”

“She had been in a bad car accident, and had suffered spinal damage. She was in severe pain. Darvon is an excellent pain killer for those who can handle it.”

“And you determined she couldn’t handle it—ten years ago, is that correct?” Miller asked.

“That is correct.”

“But people’s bodies can change, can’t they, Doctor?” Miller smiled at the witness. “Isn’t it possible that Iris could have taken the drug safely now, without the side effects?”

“I think anything is possible,” Jones looked at Andrew Rupert and smiled. “And if there were no negative side effects, Darvon would be excellent for alleviating pain.”

Miller nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Ben shot out of his chair so fast Jack nearly fell over. “Redirect, Your Honor,” he said. He glared at Dr. Jones. “You say it is possible that Iris had no side effects from Darvon. But is that probable?”

Dr. Jones looked at the fire in Ben’s eyes and shrank back in his chair. “No, it is merely possible,” he admitted.

“And did you at any time during the past two years prescribe Darvon for Iris?” Ben continued.

“No,” Jones was squirming under Ben’s gaze.

“And why is that?” Ben was pressing now.

“I-I didn’t think it wise to try it again,” Jones said in a low voice.

“And do you know of any other doctor who was seeing Iris Rupert? Any other doctor who might have prescribed the drug for her pain?” Ben persisted.

“No—no I do not.” Jones looked at him warily.

Ben looked at him carefully. “Do you know anything about the Darvon that was found in Iris’s body?”

“Objection!” Miller was on his feet. “Counsel is on a fishing expedition!”

“I’d hardly say that, Your Honor,” Ben Stone said dryly. “We’ve already caught the fish. We’re looking for the fishing pole and net.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Judge Williams’ face. “Objection overruled. Answer the question.”

Dr. Jones bit his lip. “I don’t know how the Darvon was administered,” he said finally.

“But you do know something about the Darvon,” Ben said. Jones said nothing. “Permission to treat as hostile, Your Honor.”

“Objection! Dr. Jones is your own witness!” Miller cried.

Judge Williams looked thoughtful. “That is true, but the witness has consistently been less than candid with the prosecution. I’ll allow it, Mr. Stone. Continue with your questioning.”

“Isn’t it true that Andrew Rupert asked you, sometime in the last two years, about prescribing Darvon for his sister?” Ben stood right by the witness box and looked down at the hapless doctor.

“Yes.” The doctor’s voice was tight. “He came to me two years ago to ask about putting Iris back on Darvon. I told him it wasn’t wise. He asked about lowering the dosage, but I told him that I had given her the lowest dosage I could eight years ago, and she had been seriously affected by it.”

“Did he ask you about Darvon in general any time after that?” Ben looked at Dr. Jones carefully.

“That may come under the scope of patient-physician privilege,” Dr. Jones replied.

“If he was asking about Darvon for himself,” Ben said, “that is correct. But if he were just asking about the drug in general—“

“Objection! It is the Court who decides on privilege, not the District Attorney!” Miller bellowed.

“You are quite right there, Counselor,” Judge Williams said. “However, in this case, I believe the prosecution is justified in asking the question.” He looked at Ben. “Ask the question again, but leave out the judicial interpretation.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Ben turned to the hapless doctor. “Did Andrew Rupert ask you anything about Darvon in general any time after he asked about it two years ago?”

Dr. Jones sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “Just recently, he asked me the effect of a large dose of Darvon on a sensitive patient.” He slumped in his chair, defeated.

“Thank you.” Ben strode back to his chair.

“Just one more question,” Harry Miller said. “Dr. Jones, did my client say he was asking about Darvon for his sister?”

“No, no he didn’t.” Jones looked hopeful again. “He was just asking in general.”

“All in all, not a bad opening day,” Carl Morton told his two ADAs after court was adjourned. “You are establishing the chain of evidence well, but you can see that Miller won’t allow for any slip-ups.” He looked at Ben over his glasses. “You saved yourself with your redirect on Dr. Jones, but next time you might not have the chance. Read the witness more carefully during preparation.” He turned to Jack. “And you need to let Ben handle his own witnesses. Next time, whisper in his ear and let him do redirect. I think he showed you today that he is capable.”

Two very subdued attorneys took the slow elevator ride down to their floor. Jack was seething. Ben might have done all right, but he wasn’t quick enough on the uptake. “I saved your ass, and he kicked mine for doing it,” he muttered to Ben as the elevator made its slow descent.

“Save my ass? I’m capable of handling myself, thank you,” Ben replied. “I just sat there and let you redirect because I didn’t want us to come off as squabbling youngsters. We don’t need that kind of image.”

“Oh, so that’s what you think of me? A squabbling child?” Jack’s eyes were blazing.

“No, I think of you as impetuous, and driven to win,” Ben said. “Your style is fire, mine is ice. But remember the poem by Robert Frost: ‘I think that ice is also great, and will suffice.’ “

“Oh yes, the great Ben Stone, quoting poetry to me!” Jack threw up his hands. “I don’t even know why Morton put us on this case together. I don’t know why he didn’t just give you second chair.”

Ben looked at Jack intently. “Maybe because he figured we are the best ADAs out there, and have a lot we can learn from each other. Or haven’t you figured that out yet, Jack? And how do you get off calling me Morton’s pet? I just got raked over the coals back there, if you didn’t notice. He’s always there, looking over my shoulder, criticizing me, or worse yet, patronizing me with a fatherly pat on the back. How I envy you your freedom from his attention! I still remember the day you came by just when Morton had told me how badly I’d done on the case, and how you stared at us. I wished I had been able to leave and go shave!”

Jack looked at Ben, shocked. “If Morton had treated me that way, I’d have shouted at him,” he said. “And any patronizing—well, I’d be in Riker’s for assault.”

Ben nodded. “I think he knows that, and has kept his distance. I don’t usually tell people my troubles, but I felt I needed to clear the air.”

“Clear it you did,” Jack said, feeling a new comradeship with his fellow ADA. “How about going out for a drink? I believe after today we both could use one.”

“Ok,” Ben said, “as long as we go to The Happening. My girlfriend works there, and I promised to come by and tell her about my first day.”

“I was wondering when you had time to go to discos!” Jack said.

Ben shook his head. “It’s about the only time I have when I can see Julie. She’s working her way through Columbia, going to be a social worker. She says that working a bar gives her good first hand experience with counseling.”

Jack laughed. The elevator doors opened, and the two men got out to get their coats.

The Happening was one of the second tier of trendy clubs. It wasn’t as exclusive as Studio 54, but it didn’t attract the riff-raff, either. Ben sidled up to the bar and gave the tall, willowy blonde behind it a kiss.

“Jack, Julie; Julie, Jack,” he said. “Scotch for me and my co-counsel, here.”

“So how’s the trial coming?” Julie asked as she served them both their drinks.

“Well, very well,” Jack said, sipping his Scotch. “Ben laid into one witness who was reluctant to divulge some important evidence. He had the defense attorney jumping up and down with objections, all of which were overruled.”

“That’s my Ben,” Julie smiled at him. “Cool on the outside, but a tiger underneath.” She leaned over and whispered in his ear. Ben’s face turned red, but he smiled and nodded his head.

Jack took the cue. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow,” he said, finishing his drink. “My turn at examination, and I want to be sharp and ready to go. I have a feeling Miller has a trick or two up his sleeve.”

Jack’s fears proved correct. It happened the next day, right in the middle of his examination of Maggie Olson. Jack had just established that Maggie had worked for the Ruperts for a number of years, and was about to launch into a series of questions about the Darvon when Miller rose to object.

“I renew my objection that questioning on this line is irrelevant and immaterial,” he said.

“Overruled,” the judge said.

“But the witness is biased!” Miller continued.

“You’ll have your chance to show that in your cross examination,” the judge said. “Go on, Mr. McCoy.”

Jack knew Miller was trying to rattle him, and kept his cool. “Mrs. Olson, when did you first start giving Iris Rupert Darvon?”

“Many years ago, when Dr. Jones prescribed it.”

“How long did you give her the drug at that time?”

“Oh, just one dose. She became very angry and hard to control—“

“Objection! This witness is no expert!” Miller said.

“But she can testify to what she observed,” Jack countered.

“Very true, Mr. McCoy. Objection sustained,” Judge Williams declared.

“Could you describe what you meant when you said she was angry and out of control?” Jack asked.

“Yes. She shouted at me, which was not her nature. Then she tried getting out of bed, pulling the covers to the floor. At the time, it was very difficult for her to walk without assistance, but when I went to help her, she pushed me away.”

“And the doctor discontinued the prescription at that time?”

“Yes. He prescribed another pain killer.”

“When did you start giving Iris Darvon again?”

“About two years ago. Andrew said that she wasn’t ever going to get any better, and that she’d become a burden to him. So he started giving her Darvon again.”

“Did he obtain the Darvon by prescription?”

“No. He got it somewhere else. Andrew instructed me to give it to her from then on.”

“And what was the result?”

“Iris was angry all the time. Andrew had me keep upping the dosage, but it never put her over the edge into insanity. Even though she was angry, she always kept a clear head.”

“What happened on the night of September 15?” Jack asked.

“I gave Iris her dose as usual. But Andrew came into the room, saying we needed to give her more. When Iris heard this, she got out of bed and started grappling with Andrew. They fought their way to the hall, and I followed them. I saw them at the head of the stairs, and Andrew push her down the stairs. Andrew watched as she fell. Then he turned and saw me, and told me to clean up the mess before calling the ambulance.”

“Thank you,” Jack said. He looked at Miller. “Your witness.”

Miller looked at Maggie Olson thoughtfully. “Did the Darvon help alleviate Iris’s pain?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Maggie admitted reluctantly. “But it also made her angry.”

Miller looked at the jury. “But it did make it easier for her to bear the pain of her condition,” he persisted.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Miller turned to her. “You know so, don’t you? What did Iris tell you not long after you started giving her the Darvon two years ago?”

“She told Andrew that her pain had subsided,” Maggie admitted. “But I think the side effects far outweighed the benefits.”

“Yes, but that’s just your opinion,” Miller said suavely. “You say that my client said his sister would never get better.”

“That’s right. She’d become a burden, and he—“

Miller raised a hand. “Just answer the question, please. But since you brought it up—was Iris Rupert a burden for you?”

“She was never a burden!” Maggie said indignantly. “She was almost noble in how she bore her suffering! It was only when the Darvon kicked in—“

“Yes, when the Darvon,” Miller looked at her. “When she became belligerent and combative, weren’t you the one who had to cope with it?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t her fault. Besides, it was my job to look after her.”

“And you resented that job more and more, didn’t you?” Miller was pressing now. “And that wasn’t the only thing you resented. You and my client were lovers, weren’t you?”

“Yes, we were,” Maggie admitted.

“But you resented the fact that my client never showered you with gifts, didn’t you?”

“Gifts would have been nice. He had the money,” Maggie said.

“So here you are, with burdensome work and an unappreciative lover. But it got worse, didn’t it? Didn’t you resent it when my client failed to provide you with counsel when you were being held at Riker’s Island?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Maggie said angrily. “I did it for him, and what did he do for me? Nothing!”

“Ah, but the District Attorney did something for you, didn’t he?” Miller asked. “Didn’t he make a deal with you on the drug possession charge in exchange for your testimony?”

“I didn’t get charged for any drug possession,” Maggie said. “I came and testified on my own, so the jury would know what a low-life scumbag Andrew Rupert is!”

Miller smiled. “Thank you. That will be all.”

Jack sighed. “Redirect, Your Honor,” he said. He stood up and looked at the witness. “Mrs. Olson, did the events of September 15 happen the way you said they happened?”

“Yes, every word I spoke was the truth,” Maggie replied.

“The problem was, she was too truthful,” Jack said morosely to Ben at the close of court that day. “She made it very obvious that she hates Andrew Rupert. Will the jury buy her testimony, or will they decide she colored events to get back at him?”

“We still have quite a few people on our witness list,” Ben said reassuringly. “We’ve got the money angle to cover, which will go strong towards motive. My guess is that by the time for summations, the jury will have forgotten about the vindictiveness of Maggie Olson.”

But if Jack hoped the jury would forget, Harry Miller was determined to make them remember when he gave his summation five days later.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard testimony from many witnesses about many side issues. But the main issue is this: did Andrew Rupert intentionally throw his sister down the stairs? Or was it an unfortunate accident? You have only two eyewitness accounts of the event. One is from a servant who has issues with her former employer and former lover. The other is from a loyal brother who had taken on the burden of caring for his sister for ten years. Which are you going to believe? Which is more reasonable? That my client threw his sister down the stairs, or that his sister slipped and fell of her own accord? Remember, please, that if you think that my client’s version of events is possible, you must acquit, because you have reasonable doubt as to his guilt.”

Jack stood up next. He looked down at his notes, then up at the jury. “It is true that we have two versions of what happened that September night. Which do you believe? To determine the truthfulness of testimony, it is helpful to look at corroborating evidence. Maggie Olson may have harsh feelings towards Andrew Rupert, but his bank doesn’t. And it is a fact, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he was in financial trouble. Maggie Olson may feel that Andrew Rupert scorned her, but Dr. Jones has no such feelings. He testified that Iris Rupert had a severe reaction to the drug Darvon and that he recommended she not take it. You have heard how it was Andrew Rupert who obtained the drug illegally.” He looked at the jury. “Take a close look at the testimony. Which is self-serving? Which is backed up by evidence? When you look closely, you will have no doubts about the guilt of Andrew Rupert.”

Ben and Jack spent a restless day and a half, waiting for the jury verdict.

“This isn’t long,” Carl Morton assured them. “With a case like this, you have to expect some disagreement among the jury members.”

“I just hope we don’t have a mistrial,” Jack said as he paced the floor.

“There won’t be,” Morton assured him. He went over and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “The jury asked for transcripts of the testimony. They listened to your summation. They’ll come out with the right verdict.”

The phone rang, and Ben answered it. “Well, we’ll know soon,” he said. “The jury is done with its deliberations. We have fifteen minutes before court reconvenes.”

Morton walked over with the two young men and sat behind them as the foreman read the verdict.

“We find Andrew Rupert guilty of murder in the second degree,” he said.

Ben and Jack smiled and shook hands, while Morton smiled.

“You did very well, for your first time,” Morton said as they walked back to Hogan Place. “I believe you will both be great EADAs, each with your own style.”

“I’ve learned a lot from the experience,” Ben Stone said. “I’ve learned to respect Jack’s fire, and how to be tenacious when the need arises.”

Jack grinned at him. “And Ben has taught me about grace under fire. How to cool my hotheadedness when it gets in the way.”

“I think I’m going to The Happening to celebrate,” Ben said. “Do you want to come along?”

“I’m too old for that sort of thing,” Morton chuckled. “But you two go ahead. You deserve to celebrate.”

“I’ll take a rain check,” Jack said, thinking back to Julie. She’d want to be alone with her tiger at the moment of his triumph.

He went back to his cubicle, whistling. Shelley Kates was there, grinning. “You don’t need to tell me—I see victory all over your face.”

“Murder Two, and no hung jury,” Jack admitted, hands in his pockets. “You know, it’s funny. Ben is ice, and I’m fire—yet we learned a lot from each other. I really respect him now. And you know what Morton said? That we’d both become great EADAs.”

“Didn’t I tell you you’d finally get the brass ring?” Shelly said. She put her arms around him. “Now, how about taking your cubicle mate out to celebrate?”

Jack thought back to their first meeting. “If this is another proposition, Shelly, I’m taking you up on it!”

“You and Ben—fire and ice. Well, Jack, come on and light my fire!” Shelly said as she kissed him.

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