Tomorrow Never Knows-Part 2

By Ayesha Haqqiqa

If they had been 22, they would have spent the night in bed, engulfed in carnal pleasures. But they were 52 and 55 respectively, and had learned long ago that you could make love in other ways. They’d stayed at the coffee shop until closing, talking and holding hands. When they were finally shooed out, Nora suggested they go to her place for more conversation, but Jack declined.

“You might say not to worry about tomorrow, but I have to consider the consequences,” he said. “You never know if there are spies about, never know when somebody might be watching. But I’ll take you home.”

Nora laughed. “I don’t believe it! Jack McCoy, the office Romeo, being very old-fashioned!”

“Not that I wouldn’t want it, Nora,” he said, coming closer. “I want it very much. But I care for you, Nora, and I will protect your interests.” He held her in his arms. “We’ve waited thirty years—can we wait a little bit longer?”

Nora looked into his eyes. “Now that you know my true feelings, I can wait a lifetime, if need be.”

He hailed a cab, and they sat close together in the back of the taxi, not saying a word. They looked at each other and smiled. When the taxi stopped at Nora’s brownstone, Jack ordered the cabbie to wait. He escorted Nora up the steps and in the front door. When they were safely inside, he kissed her, and then left.

Hogan Place seemed brighter to Nora after that. Even the most mundane task seemed easier, knowing Jack was down the hall, within walking distance if she needed him. The furor over Morgan had subsided; now the focus of attention was on the Garbage Scandal, as the tabloids called it. The newspapers were having a field day, using headlines like “Trash the Trash” and “There’s Gold in Them Thar Hills”, which captioned a mound of garbage heaped on a barge.

She had had to meet extensively with Simon Feldman, the EADA who specialized in fraud cases, as well as Roland Lincoln. “You two are going to be in charge of the cases that stem from this scandal,” she said.

“We’ll make sure that we nail them,” Lincoln said. “There will be no comments about ‘mad dogs’ when we get through with the cases.”

“I chose you to handle this caseload because of your expertise, not for political considerations,” Nora said, a slight edge to her voice. “I expect your best.”

“Of course,” Lincoln said. He got up and left.

Simon stood and watched him go. “If you want my two cents’ worth, Nora, I would watch my back around Roland there. Talk around the eighth floor is that he is very ambitious politically. I don’t give a flip; it’s well known that the only reason I vote is so I can gripe about the outcome of the election. You could take Saul Peters off drugs for a while—“

“Be glad this room isn’t bugged,” Nora said, “or your last statement would be used to accuse me of having set up a crack house at Hogan Place! I know Roland is a prima donna and will be hard to work with, but try, please. I know beneath that crusty exterior of yours—“

“—beats a heart of pure crust,” Simon said. “I’ll do my best with Roland, and will try to disarm him before he can stab you in the back.” He nodded as he left.

Nora sat at her desk, nodding her head. The garbage scandal hearings were in good hands. She picked up the McCoy file and looked at it. Jack was really busy, between prosecuting four young men who were accused of raping a hooker and taking on a doctor accused of mercy killings. These were his top-drawer cases; he also concluded five plea bargains and was supervising the gathering of evidence on another two cases. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, but Nora wondered. She called Jack into her office.

He came in, putting his jacket on as he came in the door. “There’s a problem, Nora?” he asked.

“Yes, Jack,” Nora said. “Please close the door.” She was looking at his file while Jack, puzzled, shut the door.

Nora looked up at him, studying his face for some minutes. “Just as I suspected,” she said finally. “You’re overworking again. Sit down in that chair.”

“What?” Jack asked.

Nora came over to him and led him to the chair. “Sit down. Please,” she said.

Jack sat down with a sigh. “Nora, this is not getting work done.”

“No, but all work and no rest will make Jack a dull prosecutor,” Nora said, standing behind him. She started massaging his neck and shoulders. “Don’t tell me that this doesn’t make you feel better.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Mmm,” he said softly. “You could keep doing that for an hour or so, if you want.”

“You mean I managed to get your mind off your cases?” Nora asked as she continued rubbing his neck.

“Yes,” Jack said, reaching behind and grabbing one of her hands. “Now my mind is on you.” He kissed her hand. Nora came around to the front of the chair as Jack got up. They embraced, then kissed.

“I just want to make sure you’re getting enough rest,” Nora said, looking into his eyes.

“Oh, when I can’t sleep at night, I think of you,” Jack grinned. “And then I really can’t get to sleep.”

A knock came at the door, and Jack and Nora quickly drew apart. Stacey, Nora’s secretary, came in. “I knew you’d want to know this,” she said, handing her the New York Times. “Wright has made it official. He’s running against you in the election next year.”

“And what will be his platform?” Jack asked as he took the paper and looked at it. “Raging stupidity?”

“No, he’s running on morality and fairness. And family values,” Stacey said. “The only thing he forgot to throw in was apple pie and baseball, but with the Subway Series last year, he was probably afraid of alienating half his constituency.”

“Yeah, the ones who like football,” Jack handed the paper to Nora. “I’ll be sure to keep a low profile on my cases. And if I forget, jerk hard on my leash.” He left the office.

Nora sat behind her desk, looking at the paper. Morgan was bankrolling Wright’s effort, she knew. She scoffed at Wright’s pronouncements on family values. Morgan sure had family values. When he got tired of his wife, he killed her. But if Wright had Morgan on his team, it was likely that he was also looking to enlist some other fat cats with big wallets. So far Nora had the support of the Women’s Bar Association, Manhattan Businesswomen’s Association, and the Hispanic Women’s Association. She would have to try and get some support from the other gender.

“Stacey!” she called. Her secretary came to the door. “What invitations have I had lately?”

“I beg your pardon?” Stacey asked.

“Invitations. To speak before groups. I need to broaden my political base. Getting out and meeting the people is one way to do it.”

“I’ll go check,” Stacey said. She came back in a few minutes. “We got some last week, when the Morgan case was still hot. There’s an invitation to speak before the Manhattan Knickerbacker Club. That’s a stuffy club for stuffy old men who have lots of very unstuffy money. They didn’t have any exact date in mind, and you told me to put it on hold.”

“That’s right,” Nora said. “Well, check my calendar and schedule me within the next two weeks, if possible. Any others?”

“An invitation to go on talk radio on any Thursday evening. You had that meeting last Thursday—“

“But I’m free this week,” Nora said. “Schedule it.” She looked at her secretary. “Get the times confirmed, and then come back and tell me.”

Nora sighed and looked at her desk. She had been happy and content in her academic world. And then the mayor asked her to step into Adam Schiff’s shoes. It had been stimulating, running the DA’s office, and it was always a challenge. She wasn’t sure she really liked it, yet. Of course, Jack was here, which was definitely tipping the balance. She looked out the window. Soon it would be evening, and Jack would be going home. In her mind, she watched him get on his Yamaha and drive away. He lived somewhere in the west thirties, and she liked to imagine what his apartment looked like. Jumbled, yet organized, she guessed. That’s the way he’d been when they worked on the Review, and that was the way his office looked now. She pictured him going in his door, taking off his coat, unbuttoning his shirt—

No, she wouldn’t go there. That was foolish, and dangerous. She didn’t want to even think of Jack in intimate sexual terms. Not now. It was ridiculous, anyway. She was too old to have the feelings of a schoolgirl. But she felt young again as she stared out the window, thinking of Jack’s strong arms around her.

Thursday was stormy and gloomy, and Nora cursed herself for not bringing an umbrella. The day was trying; Roland Lincoln had hit a snag on one of his cases, and refused to delegate responsibility to his subordinates. Nora had had to use all her powers of persuasion to finally get him to reluctantly agree that some help was required. Saul Peters had a drug case that had turned tricky; the FBI wanted the Feds to take over the case, and was becoming reluctant to share information. Nora straightened it out, but it took her past five, and she flew out of the building to be able to get over to the radio station for the call-in show.

It was pouring rain. She sent her limo driver home; the show would last three hours, and surely the weather would clear up by then. She went into the studio, and met Cal Mitchell, the host of Talk of the Town. He was pleasant and supportive, and Nora found she was able to field most of the questions with no problems. The only time she raised her voice was when a caller asked about ‘Mad Dog McCoy’.

“I don’t have nicknames for my assistants,” she said, “and I certainly would never call someone as professional as John James McCoy ‘Mad Dog’.”

“Very good, Ms. Lewin,” Cal Mitchell said at the end of the show. “Thanks so much for coming up here and taking on the listening public. You can tell you have a lot of support.”

“Thank you,” Nora said. “I had a good time.”

“Sorry about the ‘Mad Dog’ remark,” Mitchell continued. “I could tell that bothered you. But you never can tell what callers will say.”

“I just don’t want my prosecutors defamed,” Nora said. “I hope the weather has let up a bit.”

“No, it’s gotten worse,” the engineer said. “But there’s always a cab cruising around this time of night.”

“Want me to call a cab, Ms. Lewin?” Mitchell asked.

“No, I’ll go out and try my luck first,” Nora said. She put on her coat and turned the collar up. It was indeed a wild night, but there was a cab right in front of the building. Nora climbed in and gave the cabbie her address, and then leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. She didn’t open them until she heard the crunch of metal against metal.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Heart—“ the cabbie said, clutching his chest. Mercifully, the cab had been going slow when it crashed into the parked car. Nora struggled to reach up to the front seat and turn off the ignition. But the cabbie was in the way. Nora opened her door and stepped out into the storm. She opened the driver’s door, and turned off the ignition. Then she felt for a pulse. There was none. She reached over the body and got to his radio.

“Dispatch?” She called over the wind and rain. “This is car—8133. The driver has had a heart attack. Alert 911. We’re near the corner of—Archer and 35th. Yes, I’ll stay with him. But hurry!”

She wondered if she could get the driver down so she could try to administer CPR. She should have done that first, she realized with a shock. The whole affair had rattled her. Furiously, she pulled at the cabbie. But he was a big man, and it was quite a struggle. Then she thought to move the seat back. With the driver in a semi-prone position, Nora climbed into the cab and tried to administer breaths. But it was difficult. She was doing CPR compressions when she heard the siren. Soon she was surrounded by paramedics, who took over for her. She was getting her purse when she saw Jack standing there, his face lined with concern.

“I heard a rather garbled report from the police,” he said. “Something about you being involved in an accident and something about a heart attack.”

“It was the driver, not me,” Nora said. “The only thing that I suffered was a complete meltdown of my hairdo.” She shivered, and Jack offered her his helmet.

“Not the most glamorous thing to wear, but it will keep you dry,” he said, “or, in your case, keep you from getting more wet.”

Nora looked at Jack. “If I take this, you’ll get soaked,” she said.

“No I won’t. I gave you my extra helmet. I came to take you home.”

“But I don’t want to leave yet—not until I know how the driver is.”

“But Nora, you’re soaking wet,” Jack objected.

“If you’ve got a ride, take it,” the paramedic advised. You nearly wore yourself out doing CPR. We’re heading for St. Vincent’s now. Call there when you get home and they’ll tell you his status.” As he shut the doors of the ambulance, Nora saw two EMTs continuing CPR. It was then that she realized she was shaking from head to foot.

“I’m getting you home—now,” Jack said firmly. He took her hand and led her across the street, where his Yamaha was parked. “Get on your helmet, climb on behind, and hold on tight,” he said.

Nora did as she was told. She laid her head against Jack’s back, drawing comfort from his nearness. In no time at all, Jack was pulling up to Nora’s brownstone. He helped her up the steps, then moved to go.

“Please, Jack, no,” Nora said. “Come in and stay for awhile. I think I’ll need the company.”

Jack followed her inside. “You really are soaked,” he said with concern in his voice. “You need to get out of those clothes and take a hot bath.”

“Yes, I know,” Nora said through chattering teeth. She pulled off her dripping coat and held it in her hands, at a loss where to put it.

“I’ll take it,” Jack said. “Direct me to your kitchen and I’ll drape it over the back of a chair. I’ve had experience getting soaked before. You go take your bath, and I’ll have some hot tea fixed up for you by the time you get out.”

“All right,” Nora said. “If you’ll call St. Vincent’s and find out about that cabbie.”

A half hour later, Nora emerged from the bathroom, drier and a whole lot warmer than she was before. She’d used the blow dryer on her hair, which was now wispy and flyaway. She had put on a tailored robe over her nightgown, and wore woolen socks and slippers on her feet.

“Don’t laugh too hard,” she said as she entered the kitchen. “The rain did a number on my hair, and the socks are to help keep my feet warm.”

Jack, who had risen from his seat when she entered, smiled. “You look one hundred percent better, now that you’re not wet and shivering,” he said softly. “I’ve got tea made. Sit down and I’ll pour you a cup.”

“Did you call St. Vincent’s?” Nora made no move to sit down.

Jack filled two teacups and set them on the table. “Yes,” he said quietly. “The cabbie didn’t make it.”

“Oh.” Nora grasped the back of the chair. Jack was there in an instant, and she nestled in his arms. “I was hoping against hope,” she said, and then the tears came. Jack held her in his arms, making soothing noises as he stroked her back.

“Sit down, drink some tea,” he said finally.

“I don’t know if I can,” Nora said, holding him. “I killed the cabbie, you know. I didn’t start CPR right away. I turned off the ignition first. And then it took forever to get the seat laid back—“

“Nora, the doctor told me it was a massive heart attack. The aorta just blew apart. There was nothing, really, that you could have done.”

“Nothing?” Nora asked in a small voice.

“Nothing,” Jack assured her. “Now, sit right down here and drink your tea.”

Nora felt it comforting, having Jack there. She drank her tea as Jack watched her.

“You’ll be a hero, you know,” he said as he sipped tea from his cup. “Even though the cabbie died, that was a brave and gutsy thing you did. In fact, I’m surprised we haven’t heard from the press yet.”

Just as the words escaped his mouth, the phone rang. Nora took it. “Yes, this is Nora Lewin. Yes, that’s what happened; your informant was right. How do I feel? Regretful that my efforts and those of the EMTs were not enough to revive him. No, I’m not granting interviews tonight. Clear it with my secretary—“ Nora covered the mouthpiece. “Is this going to go on all night?” she whispered to Jack.

“Unless you unplug your phone,” he whispered back.

The doorbell rang.

“Go get it, Jack,” Nora said. “I’m in no fit state to see reporters.”

Jack opened the door and blinked in the glare of the television lights. “Nelson Burgoff, Channel 11 News,” a tall man said, thrusting the microphone into Jack’s face. “We’ve had reports that Nora Lewin played hero tonight, and we want to ask her some questions. But first, I have one for you. What are you, Jack McCoy, doing at the house of your boss this late in the evening?”

“Thank you, Nelson, for remembering my name,” Jack said sarcastically. Of all the reporters in the city, he hated Nelson Burgoff the worst, and he knew the feeling was mutual. “I brought Ms. Lewin home.”

“Oh, did she call you?”

“No, I heard about the incident from the police dispatcher. The message was unclear. Since I live in the neighborhood, I decided to go out and investigate.”

“And what was Nora Lewin doing in your neighborhood?”

“A call-in talk show on WNYC,” Nora said, coming to the door. She had put on a winter coat and a hat. “I’m surprised you weren’t listening to it, Nelson, since I know how—interested you are in my administration.”

Burgoff laughed. “Ms. Lewin,” he said, leaning closer, “do you mind telling us what really happened tonight? What are you hiding beneath that winter coat of yours? Isn’t it a bit late in the season to be wearing it?”

Nora looked at him calmly. “I’ll be glad to relate the events of the evening,” she said. “After completing a very satisfying three hours answering the questions of the citizens of New York, I hailed a cab, which started to take me home. The driver had a heart attack and crashed into a parked vehicle. I got out of the back seat and moved the cabbie so I could call the emergency into dispatch. Then I began CPR. I kept it up until the paramedics came. About that time, Mr. McCoy showed up and offered me a ride home. Since the ambulance was going in the opposite direction, I took Mr. McCoy up on his offer. I came home and changed out of some very wet clothes while Mr. McCoy fixed tea. We were just finishing when you came. I still feel quite chilled, and would like to close this interview at this time.”

Burgoff turned to the camera. “Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Our very own District Attorney telling you her Good Samaritan tale in her own words.” He made a chopping motion with his hand, and the cameraman killed the lights and started putting the equipment back in the van.

But Burgoff stayed where he was. “Tell me true, Nora,” he said. “Factual and off the record. What’s under the coat, pajamas?”

“What I have on is a coat and hat,” Nora said sweetly. “What I have on under the coat is really none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back inside.” She turned, and Jack followed, shutting the door behind him.

“Wright is going to have a field day with this,” Jack said, going over to the hall tree and getting his coat. “This plays right into his family values platform. Of all the reporters in New York, why was Burgoff the one who parked himself on your doorstep?”

Nora sighed. “We’ll never know.” She looked up at him thoughtfully. “Jack, why are you so worried? We didn’t do anything. There was no evidence of impropriety. And even if we were sleeping together, who could call our relationship inappropriate? You’re divorced and I’m a widow. Our children are grown. Most New Yorkers would see this as a privacy issue, and not care.”

Jack put on his coat. “There’s more to it than that,” he said. “Wright could say that you are biased in my favor at work. Your reputation will be linked to mine, and frankly, my reputation is less than sterling when it comes to my private life. And then there’s the issue of our relationship. Burgoff has already drawn the wrong conclusions, and I resent it.” He put his arms on Nora’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I don’t care how liberal minded New Yorkers are. I don’t want your reputation sullied. I care for you too much. If it were a different time and place—but it isn’t. You never have had an affair, have you, Nora?”

She looked in his eyes. “I really wanted to have one with you thirty years ago,” she said, “but then Dan came along with a promise and a ring, and I became Mrs. Lewin. Since his death five years ago, I’ve dated, but never slept around.”

“I have,” Jack said. “You know about my affairs, but you don’t know the details. Sex without commitment never turns into love. After the initial excitement, it almost becomes a chore. You and your lover drift apart, and soon you are left with nothing. If you’re lucky, your ex-lover will wave to you when you pass her on the street. If not, you’ll be met with frosty silence whenever you have the misfortune to run across her again.” Jack sighed, and turned away. “I’m tired of affairs, Nora. I want love and commitment. And I feel I have that with you, and with our friendship.”

“You do,” Nora said, coming over to him and putting her arms around his waist. “And somehow, I know it will all work out.”

“For your sake and mine, I hope so,” Jack said, kissing her goodnight.

Hogan Place was abuzz with reporters the next day. Taking Jack’s advice, Nora had turned off her phone and refused to answer the door. What that meant was that she was swamped by reporters the next day. They started knocking on her door before she got up, and by the time she was ready to go to work, the street by her house was jammed with news vans. The reporters came at her like sharks at a feeding frenzy, and it was all she could do to keep her cool. She realized from the reporter’s tones that she had made a major error the night before; by refusing to see any more TV crews, she had given Nelson Burgoff an exclusive, and the other newsmen resented it. She soothed ruffled feathers by promising interviews to the other stations, and instructed the reporters to schedule them through her secretary. She made her way through the mob to the end of the street, where Ron, her driver, was waiting with the car.

“Get me the hell out of here,” she said to him as she smiled and waved to the reporters before climbing in the back. She sighed and closed her eyes as Ron eased the car from the curb and speeded away.

“I heard about what happened this morning when I turned on the news,” Ron said as he made a left. “You were really brave, Ma’am. I don’t think I could have done that CPR stuff, even though I’ve had training. In the excitement, I would have forgotten everything.”

“It comes back to you,” Nora said, keeping her eyes closed. “So I’m all over the radio, huh?”

“Well, you’re coming in just after the latest on Mideast Peace Talks, so I’d say you’re rating pretty high.”

“Anything—negative being said?” Nora asked cautiously.

“Negative? Well, the guy died, but that wasn’t your fault.” Ron made another left and eased the car to the curb in front of Hogan Place. He got out and opened the door for her. “Have a nice day.”

Good, Nora thought to herself. At least the radio stations hadn’t decided to make an issue of Jack McCoy.

“Have you seen the papers?” Stacey asked as Nora walked by her desk. “You’re a hero! You couldn’t ask for better press than this.”

“Hang onto them, then,” Nora said, “and show them to me when I’m getting hammered by some controversial case a month from now. Have the news stations been calling in?”

“Yes, and I scheduled the appointments as you instructed. An hour for each station, spaced throughout the day. It will really cut into your meeting time with the Executives, though.”

Nora sighed. “I know, but it can’t be helped. I pulled a boner last night when I only let one station interview me. But frankly, I was getting cold and wanted to go to bed.”

“Channel 11? I saw that interview. You did a good job.”

Nora looked at Stacey, who looked away. “I detect a less than enthusiastic response,” she said. “Stacey, out with it. What was wrong with the interview?”

“Well, it just looked funny, you standing there in that coat and hat!”

“I was chilled to the bone,” Nora said. “I’d changed into nightclothes and a robe, and I needed something on to keep me warm.”

“Well, it wasn’t that as much as—well, Jack was there.”

“He brought me home! I was lucky he was there. Otherwise, I’d have had to ride with the paramedics to St. Vincent’s.” Nora looked at her sharply. “You know Jack and I are old friends.”

“Yeah, sure.” Stacey looked at her desk. “But the way the cameras showed it, well, you were standing close together and it—well, looked like—But that’s none of my business.”

“You are correct, it is not,” Nora said. But she had a worried expression on her face as she went into her office. She pulled herself together and tried to concentrate on the morning mail. If Stacey got the wrong impression from the interview last night, what would other people think? And what questions would the interviewers ask today?

She braced herself for the first interview at ten. Tom Martin, anchor of Channel 5, was an ally. His editorial comments had always been favorable to the DA’s office, and had been particularly good when Nora had taken the post. He’d even backed her on the Morgan case, saying that the District Attorney’s office had gone to great lengths to show that no one was above the law. Now he was here. As his crew was setting up the lights around the couch, he talked to Nora in the far corner of the room.

“Frankly, I was hurt when you didn’t answer my call last night,” he said. “You know that Channel 5 has always been your friend.”

“If I had been in any shape to handle interviews, I would have,” Nora said, sneezing. “As you can tell, the experience has left me with a bad cold.”

“But you talked with Burgoff,” Martin was smiling, but there was no good will behind the smile. “Has he suddenly become your friend?”

“No, that was a mistake,” Nora said. “I’d just changed out of my wet clothes and was trying to get warm when WNYC called. I asked Jack to answer the door, not thinking about the consequences.”

“Nora, Nora, you should have thought. Having a boyfriend is fine. But having him answer the door for you—and you wearing only a coat—“

“I don’t know where you got that bit of information,” Nora said archly. “I was clothed underneath the coat. I was also chilled, and didn’t want to catch pneumonia.” She sneezed again. “As it is, I caught a bad cold.”

“You caught more than that,” Martin said. “Look, I know you’re new at politics, and I’ll let it slide. But next time, Nora, give first dibs to your friends, not your enemies. Burgoff will reward your largesse by painting you in the worst possible light.”

Nora sighed and nodded. It was only when she was being fitted for the mike that she realized Martin had described Jack as her boyfriend.

Martin was cordial during the interview, and kept to the facts. Nora was glad. She urged all people to get regular health checkups and to learn CPR. “It is the duty of all citizens to help one another in a crisis situation,” she concluded. Martin turned to the camera and gave his sign off, and the lights were shut off.

“Thanks again, Nora,” he said, “for making sure we were first this morning. Please make sure we’re first next time.”

She smiled until the crew left, and then slumped at her desk. She heard a soft knock at her door, and said, “Go away, please.”

The door opened and Jack came in. “I’m sorry, Nora, but this will only take a minute.” He was distant and formal. “Dr. Rollins wants to plea. We’ve got a good case proving that he intentionally gave Mrs. Harding an overdose of morphine, but she was dying of cancer, and the jury is being swayed by sympathy for the victim’s plight. Mr. Harding is going to come to the stand and say that his wife had expressed the wish to die many times during her last month.”

“We have no laws supporting euthanasia in New York,” Nora said.

“I know. But all we have on the indictment is Murder Two. And I don’t know if the jury will convict. But if I amend the indictment to include Man One—“

Nora sighed, and went to the door and shut it. As soon as she did, Jack was there, holding her in his arms. “I guess we should shout from time to time, so that Stacey will know we are arguing,” he whispered as he stroked her hair. “Your eyes are runny. Did you catch cold?”

“Yes, Jack, I did.” Nora turned her head and sneezed. “Sorry.”

He only held her closer. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who blundered into Nelson Burgoff’s microphone. Oh Nora, I’m so sorry!”

“No, it was me who played the blundering fool,” Nora said. “Instead of staying up and playing to the cameras after you left, I went to bed. I made my friends in the media mad, and left the impression that you were there to stay the night.”

“I wish I had,” Jack said. “As it is, I’ve given you a reputation without you having any of the fun that comes with getting a reputation.” He looked at her. “No, I wouldn’t have done that. I respect you too much.” He sighed. “Well, come to some decision on Dr. Rollins’ case, and I’ll get out of your hair.” He let his fingers glide softly over her golden tresses.

Nora smiled. “Keep doing that and I will never make a decision. See if he’ll take a plea for Murder Two, 15 to life. If not, add Man One to the indictment.”

Jack stepped back and kissed her hand. “Thank you for your decision,” he said in formal tones, though his eyes were twinkling. Then he went to the door and left.

The other interviews came in the afternoon, at one and three respectively. Dale Pennington of Eyewitness News12 was polite and kept to the facts, but Barbara Golden went right for the dirt.

“Tell me please, Nora, girl to girl, what was it like being swept off your feet by your Executive ADA?”

Nora smiled, but her eyes were wary. “Mr. McCoy is one of many Executive ADAs, Barbara, and he didn’t sweep me off my feet. He offered me a ride home.”

“A ride home.” Golden looked at the camera knowingly. “Rumor has it that Mr. McCoy rides a motorcycle. Don’t tell me that you thought him giving you a lift home on his Harley was going to keep you out of the rain!”

“First of all, Barbara, it was a Yamaha, not a Harley. Second of all, I basically had two options. I call a cab and then wait in the street until it came. Or I could be taken home. I think most people would have opted to be taken home.”

“But you’re the DA! Surely you could have called a police cruiser to take you home.”

“What, and waste the taxpayer’s money? The police are under orders to follow up on crime, not provide a free taxi service. They weren’t called because they weren’t needed.”

“Oh, I see,” Golden leered at the camera again. “And if Mr. McCoy hadn’t been handy?”

“I would have stood out in the rain and waited for the taxi,” Nora said.

“And just what kind of ride did Mr. McCoy give you?” Golden smiled.

“A safe one. We both wore helmets, and he escorted me into my house. He made tea and checked with the hospital on the condition of the cabbie while I changed.”

“You chose rather interesting clothes,” Golden observed.

Nora sneezed. “If you can’t tell, I’ve got a cold. When I realized I needed to go outside for an interview last night, I put on the warmest things at hand, which were my winter coat and hat. My hair was a wreck, and I didn’t want it to be seen.”

“Well, I take it you haven’t seen the film clip from our rival station, then,” Golden smirked. “The way you were dressed suggested—“

“I hope it suggested I was cold,” Nora said. If the camera had panned down to my feet, you would have seen my woolen socks and fuzzy slippers. I was bundled up because I was freezing. But I’d do it again if I thought I could help a fellow citizen. I’m just sorry that Mr. Mendoza, the cabbie, was not able to be revived.”

“Oh yes. The cabbie. The accident took place on West 35^th Street, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“And Jack McCoy lives on West 35^th Street, does he not?”

“I’m not sure,” Nora said. “I’ve never been to his home.”

“Didn’t it surprise you to see him there, then?”

“Yes, it did indeed.”

“Don’t you think it sounds rather—implausible—that Mr. McCoy was notified by police dispatch, but no police cars were sent to the scene of the accident?”

“I don’t know whether it sounds implausible or not. That’s what he told me happened. Check with dispatch, and they should be able to give you the facts.”

“Oh, we will.” Golden leered at the camera again.

This is great, Nora thought to herself when the last of the camera crews had left. Barbara Golden is sleazy, but she’s TV sleazy. She didn’t want to think what the tabloids had to say.

She didn’t have to wait long. Stacey brought them in with the afternoon reports.

“Thought you’d rather get these from a friend than be confronted with them by a reporter waiting outside the building,” she said.

“Mad Dog McCoy’s Motorcycle Mama”, read one headline. There was a picture of a leather-clad biker and his girl astride a Harley, with Jack and Nora’s faces clumsily pasted in. “He whisked her away from the scene of the accident and took her to his love nest—details on page 3!” Nora shook her head and looked at the next paper. “DA Gives CPR to Cabbie After Crash”—this one wasn’t bad, Nora thought, nodding at the picture of her in her winter coat and hat, obviously taken from the Channel 11 news clip. She turned inside to look at the article “DA’s Heroic Efforts.” Not bad. Then she glanced at the photo that accompanied the article. It, again, was from Channel 11. It showed her and Jack, standing in the doorway of her home. From the angle, it looked as if they were touching. The caption read “DA Lewin and boyfriend Jack McCoy answer questions from the press.” Nora felt a chill. Jack was right. The world was assuming they were lovers. She glanced at the headlines of the other papers; they were implying the same thing. New Yorkers would take it in stride, she assured herself. And it didn’t matter what others thought. Nora kept telling herself this over and over, hoping that she could convince herself it was true.

“Simon and Roland to see you,” Stacey said, stepping into the office. She looked at the tabloids on Nora’s desk. “You want me to take these? She looked at Nora’s face. “Well, at least they didn’t say you were Elvis in disguise, or that you’d been abducted by aliens.”

“I almost wish they had,” Nora sighed.

She smiled at Feldman and Lincoln as they came into the office and sat down. “Thank you for putting up with the change in schedule. How are things coming?”

Roland leaned forward in his chair. “There’s been a complication. Simon seems to think it needs to be taken out of our hands, but I said—“

“Wait!” Nora held up a hand. “Bring me up to speed! Simon, you are prosecuting the contractors who bribed the men on the Sanitary Commission. Did you find that the contractors had links to organized crime or something?”

“No,” Simon said, “though we rubbed elbows with the Feds during the early part of our investigation. No, the problem has to do with one of the Commissioners. Eric Johnson, to be exact.”

“And Johnson is your case, Roland.” Nora turned to her other EADA. “How did he wind up getting connected to the FBI? Don’t tell me this whole thing was a sting operation!”

“No, no,” Roland said. “I didn’t make myself clear. We weren’t arguing over whether the Feds should take over the case, we were arguing over whether we need to add another EADA to the team. Johnson’s wife was murdered last night, execution style. My theory is that the murder is connected to our investigation, somehow. We have been leaning on Johnson pretty hard to roll on some higher-ups, and my theory is that somebody thought he was ready to talk. That’s why I think I should handle the homicide, as it is directly related to my case.”

“And that’s where I said hold on,” Simon put in. “Roland, you don’t know if the homicide is the result of the investigation or totally unrelated. For all we know, Miriam Johnson was playing the ponies and forgot to pay her bookie.”

Lincoln looked at the other EADA. “Sure, Simon. Are you ready to buy that bridge I’ve got for sale that goes over to Brooklyn?”

“Don’t be so hasty in you judgment, Roland,” Nora said. “Simon does have a point. How much to we know about this homicide?”

Roland shrugged. “Her body was found this morning in the alley behind her house. She had been shot in the back of the head. As soon as the police realized who she was, they contacted me. I suggested they look for a link between her death and the bribery.”

Nora thought for a moment. “There may be a link, but maybe not. I agree with Simon. We need to bring in another EADA to do an independent investigation. I’m getting some heat on the bribery scandal, and I need you to concentrate on getting all the bad apples out of the barrel. At best, this homicide is a side issue.”

“It could tie the whole sorry mess to the Mob,” Lincoln objected.

“Or it could be completely unrelated,” Nora said. “I want your time spent on the main issue. Let me assign the homicide. If anything is found to help your case, you’ll be immediately notified.”

“Who are you thinking of putting on the case?” Simon Feldman asked.

“Jack McCoy. His docket is relatively light, and he’s good with homicides,” Nora said.

“I was thinking of suggesting Eve Bender,” Simon said. “She’s just come up the ranks, and it would be good training for her.”

“True, but I feel in this case we have to be thorough. Jack knows the ropes, and will make sure the investigation is complete.”

“I still say I can do an adequate job—“ Roland put in.

“I know,” Nora said with steel in her voice. “But as I said before, I need you to focus on the bribery case. Jack will let you know what happens with the homicide.” She stood up. Lincoln nodded and left, but Feldman lingered behind.

“I tell you, Nora, I’m trying to guard your back, but you’re not making it easy. Lincoln is a hog for publicity, and sees Jack as a rival. So far he hasn’t turned against you, but he’s looking to make as much political hay for himself as he can. Just so you know, he’s been seen conferring with Judge Wright.”

“All prosecutors confer with the judges on cases they are handling,” Nora said.

“Yeah.” Simon smiled slightly. “But Wright isn’t handling any of Lincoln’s cases right now. Watch your back.” He walked out the door.

Nora sighed, then picked up the phone. “Jack? I have a case for you and Abbie,” she said.

Putting Jack on the homicide case seemed a good idea, at least at first. Abbie Carmichael was able, with the help of the detectives, to find out that the homicide was probably not related to the bribery case. Nora had her report this to Roland Lincoln, who was going through the bribery cases like a steamroller. When he realized the homicide was not related, and would be a tough one to prove, he lost interest.

The case interested Nora, however. It seemed that Eric Johnson was having an affair with his intern, Carrie Sayers. Coworkers said that Carrie was pregnant. Friends of Miriam Johnson said she was worried and upset because Eric had asked for a divorce, which she would not grant. There was the motive. Carrie Sayers was seen near the Johnson apartment building the night of the murder. There was opportunity. But the detectives hadn’t found the gun.

“Finding the gun will help,” Nora said when Jack and Abbie came in to make their report. “Right now, you have a so-so case, and Sayers knows it.”

“We’re getting the detectives to look everywhere,” Abbie said. “Her home, her car—“

“Tell them to get creative!” Nora said. “Check her friends, her relatives—do any of them own a registered firearm?”

“I’ll get right on it,” Abbie said. She and Jack got up to go.

“Stay for a minute, Jack,” Nora said. Abbie smiled and shut the door behind her.

Nora got up from behind her desk and Jack put his arms around her. “I’ve got to meet the fat cats at the Knickerbacker Club tonight,” she sighed. “I wish you could come with me.”

Jack stroked her hair. “We agreed not to meet in public, at least not for a while,” he said. “The visions of Motorcycle Mama are too fresh in the public’s mind.”

“Sometimes I want to say ‘hang the public,’” Nora said. “I like the job all right—like being near you. But the political side of it is getting me down! Oh, I’ve got to make sure that Channel 5 gets the exclusive interview after the meeting. I’m hoping to pick up some supporters with deep pockets.” She sighed.

“Don’t worry, Nora,” Jack said. “You’ve got more class in your little finger than William Wright has in his whole body. And we won’t even discuss the matter of intelligence. You’ll charm those old SOBs and the money will pour in.”

“I hope so,” Nora sighed, giving him a squeeze. Jack kissed her lightly on the lips and left.

The Knickerbacker Club was situated in a renovated brownstone in one of the better parts of the city. It was stuffy and formal, and Nora felt a bit awkward playing the part of a gracious lady who was also looking for support—and votes. Most of the men were involved in finance, and the only one she knew at all was Grey Williamson, who ran the Williamson Trust, which had granted scholarships to needy law students.

“It is so nice for you to grace us with your presence, Nora,” Grey had said when he saw her. Nora, glad to see a familiar face, had gravitated to his side as he talked of the latest news of his family and the Trust.

She listened politely for a while, and finally said, “You know, I don’t believe I ever told you how glad I was that the Trust gave scholarships to women. I feel that the Trust has really made an impact on our criminal justice system by allowing females to have a greater voice and a greater visibility in our courts of law.”

Grey smiled at her. “Oh, we try,” he said. “We believe in allowing women to slowly evolve to their rightful place in society. But slow change, Nora, slow change! On matters political, we are—more conservative in our approach.”

The smile froze on Nora’s face as she realized the implication of Williamson’s words. “Oh, so you believe that the District Attorney should always be of the male gender?”

Grey looked at her condescendingly. “Let us just say that, at this time, we feel that the office needs to be in firm hands.” He took his hand and patted Nora’s shoulder.

“I see,” Nora said. “Well, I believe I need to go and meet the other members of your fascinating Club.” She drifted away from Williamson, smiling so hard it hurt. She would not let him see her crumble. That’s what he wanted. With steely resolve, she went over and joined a small group of men who were talking in the corner.

“Ah, it is our guest of honor!” A tall, portly man with a beard smiled at her. “Ms Lewin, I am Stephen Rankin, This is Mr. Willis, Mr. Deacon, and Mr. George. We were talking about the upcoming election. What do you think of your opponent, Bill Wright?”

“I think Mr. Wright is sometimes wrong,” Nora said to appreciative chuckles. “Especially when he criticizes the District Attorney’s Office.”

“How so?” Mr. George asked. “Being a judge, I’d think he’d know a lot about it, seeing it first hand and all.”

“True,” Nora said. “But his criticism is not constructive. He tells the public what he thinks is wrong with the office, but never details plans for improvement or change. In my short tenure, I have made a survey of what the office has and what it needs. Over the next few months, I plan to make extensive revisions in the operations of the District Attorney’s office so that it will operate more efficiently and be more responsive to the people, whom we all represent. The details, in fact, are in my speech tonight.”

“Then this will be a speech to listen to!” Rankin said, impressed. He turned to George. “Solly, make sure you don’t fall asleep and snore!”

Undaunted by the men and their attitudes, Nora gave her speech with enthusiasm and vigor. She noted the thoughtful looks in the audience as she mentioned spreading the workload so that even junior ADAs would receive extensive experience in trial work. They nodded with approval when she talked of cross-cultural training for her staff so that they would better understand the changing ethnic face of the city. But they really sat up and took notice when she announced that she would be holding the line on new budget expenditures. After the address, she sat down to enthusiastic applause, grateful that she had won over some support. Channel 5 caught the glow of victory in her face when they interviewed her afterwards.

“Efficiency, experience, sensitivity, these will be the hallmarks of my administration,” Nora told the camera. “These will help us serve the people of New York County.”

She smiled, shook hands with the crew, and then went to her car, where she collapsed. “Take me home, Ron,” she said.

“Sure, Nora.”

She sat up and looked. It wasn’t Ron in the driver’s seat. It was Jack, wearing a dark suit and Ron’s cap. He grinned at her.

“Ron had a heavy date tonight, so I convinced him to let me drive you home.”

Nora looked at him. “Ron hasn’t had a date in seven years—he’s married! What made you do this? What if you had been seen?”

“That’s what these are for,” he said, putting on some wire frame glasses. “These and the uniform cap make a good disguise. Ron told me when you’d told him to come back, so we met at a coffee shop and shot the breeze for a while. When he left, he handed me the keys and told me where to park to wait for you. He said that you’d told him not to hold the door for you; you didn’t think it would look good for the cameras. So I knew I was safe.”

“But why Jack?” Nora asked. “Why did you do it?”

Jack turned a corner. “Maybe because I just wanted to talk with you for awhile. Alone, when I knew we wouldn’t be interrupted.” He looked at her through the rear view mirror. “I still think we need to watch our step, stay out of the way of cameras. But I had to know how it went tonight, and how you were feeling. You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Nora said. She reached down and took off her shoes. “I smiled until I thought my face would crack. And I listened politely while some of those toads informed me that they wouldn’t support a woman for the post of DA.” She sighed. “But after my speech, I found a few supporters. Solomon George has already pledged a thousand dollars, and Stephen Rankin has promised to hold a fundraiser for me next month.”

“That’s good, then,” Jack said as he drove slowly down the street. “Want to take a short cut across Central Park?”

Nora smiled. “That’s about a mile out of our way, Jack.”

“So I’m lousy at directions,” Jack grinned. “But that way, we can talk some more.”

“Sure,” Nora sighed, “Though I wish I were in the front seat with you.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Jack said, pulling over to the curb. Nora got out and slipped into the seat beside him. She smiled at him and touched his sleeve. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, and then straightened up and put the car in gear. “Just in case someone gets curious,” he said. They drove slowly through the park, talking about mundane things, enjoying each other’s company. Finally, Jack turned the car towards Nora’s brownstone.

“I enjoyed this Jack, I really did,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

“With a confession in the Johnson murder case, I hope,” Jack said.

But there would be no confession in the Johnson murder case. Even though the detectives were able to find the murder weapon hidden in Carrie Sayers’ father’s apartment, Carrie was holding firm. Her lawyer, Eve Vinson, was noted for presenting creative defenses.

“I don’t like the way things are going,” Jack told Nora when she stopped by his office on her way to lunch. “First of all, Eve Vinson is in the defense chair. Who knows what she’ll come up with to try and clear her client? Second, by the luck of the draw, the judge to hear the case is William Wright. There’s still time to reassign the case to another prosecutor if you want to.”

Nora shook her head. “We’re not going to show Wright that we’re afraid. This case isn’t directly connected to the scandal, but it will still be high profile, and I need my best man on the job.” She smiled. “I can stand any political heat that comes from this case. Mad Dog McCoy, consider yourself unleashed.”

After lunch, Nora met with Simon Feldman and Roland Lincoln. “We’ve got an air-tight case against Eric Johnson,” Roland said. “Opening arguments are tomorrow, and his attorney wants a deal.”

“Do you still think there are others involved in the scandal?” Nora asked him.

“Yes,” Simon interjected. “We know that from Barry Henderson. He’s the contractor I’m prosecuting. He said that Eric mentioned some higher ups that would need some of the money. But we don’t know the names, and anyway, it’s hearsay evidence.”

Nora looked at Roland. “Do you think Johnson will name names as a part of the plea bargain?”

Roland shook his head. “I don’t know, but so far he’s stayed locked up tight. It’s worth a shot.”

“Tell him then, that as part of any plea agreement, he has to name names. Sweeten the deal by reducing the charges to Bribery 2, if you have to, and drop the Corruption charge altogether. But only if he names names!”

“Gotcha,” Roland said. “You know I want to get them all as much as you do.”

As Feldman and Lincoln left, Jack and Abbie entered the office. Jack laid a paper on Nora’s desk, and then collapsed onto the couch. “Here’s one more complication,” he sighed.

Nora looked at the document. “It’s a witness list,” she said.

“But a very special witness list,” Abbie explained. “See all those psychologist’s names? Eve Vinson is mounting an insanity defense.”

“Insanity?” Nora put down the paper.

“Yes,” Abbie continued. “She concedes that Carrie Sayers pulled the trigger and killed Miriam Johnson. But she says the girl was under the overpowering influence of her lover/boss, Eric Johnson. She’s calling it the ‘Workplace Love Slave’ syndrome.”

“Sounds like a name made up by the tabloids,” Nora said, handing the paper back to the ADA. “Does this so-called syndrome have any standing with the American Psychiatric Association?”

“No,” Jack admitted. “But I know Eve Vinson. She’ll get her case presented in such a way that the jury will show only sympathy for her client. And she’ll have an ally in Judge Wright, who will be willing and eager to let her explain the dangers and pitfalls of office romance.” He looked at Nora significantly.

“We won’t back down,” Nora said. “If he allows such testimony in evidence, we’ll have grounds to appeal. Go ahead with the trial, Jack. Get your own list of experts. Let Skoda examine the defendant. Do a thorough background check—see if she is a subservient personality. If she’s not, then you have nothing to worry about, even if William Wright is on the bench.”

But Nora did not contend with the deviousness of Judge Wright. Throughout the trial, he ruled in favor of the defense on every issue. All of Eve Vinson’s witnesses were allowed to testify, and, on one occasion, Wright asked some questions himself.

The witness was Dr. Susan Davidson, a psychologist who had a radio talk show in Philadelphia. She was the one who had invented the term ‘Work Place Love Slave’, and Wright seemed to be fascinated. When the defense rested, he asked some questions.

“Dr. Davidson, let me get this clear. Your definition of ‘Work Place Love Slave’ is that of a younger, junior member of a firm who is totally under the control of someone in a more senior position?”

“That is usually the case,” Dr. Davidson said. “The person in the senior position, who is usually a man, exploits the admiration of the person in the junior position, who is usually a woman. He turns this admiration into love. Then he uses that strong emotion to cause her to do things she would not ordinarily do. There have been many documented cases.”

“Oh really?” Judge Wright leaned over.

“Objection! Your Honor, your examination of this witness is prejudicial!” Jack said as he rose to his feet.

Judge Wright looked at him disdainfully. “Objection overruled.” He turned back to the defendant. “Now, Dr. Davidson—“

“Your Honor, you are acting as an auxiliary defense attorney!” Jack said.

Wright turned to him angrily. “I said the objection was overruled, Counselor,” he said sternly. “One more word and I will hold you in contempt!”

“At least it’s on the transcript,” Jack said as he sat down.

“What was that?” Wright shouted.

“At least my objection is on the transcript, so the Appellate Court will see it,” Jack replied.

“That’s two hundred dollars you owe me before you leave this courtroom,” Judge Wright said. “You will sit down and allow me to examine this witness as I see fit!”

Jack sat down, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Dr. Davidson, you say that the love slave is usually a woman,” Judge Wright said.

“That is correct.”

“Have you ever come across a case where a woman in a senior position became a love slave to a man in a junior position?”

Dr. Davidson thought for a moment. “I don’t recollect seeing anything like that in any of my studies. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen, if the man were attractive enough and had a strong enough personality.”

Judge Wright smiled. “Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to Jack. “Your witness,” he said sternly.

Jack stood up. “Has this ‘Work Place Love Slave’ syndrome been recognized as a mental condition by the American Psychiatric Association?”

“No, not yet,” Dr. Davidson said coolly.

“Has it been recognized by any psychiatric association, national or international?” Jack asked.

“It has been recognized by the Council for Women’s Health in Philadelphia,” Dr. Davidson replied.

Jack raised his brows. “And who makes up this Council?” he asked.

“A group of women psychologists in the Philadelphia area,” Dr. Davidson said.

“And how large is this group?” Jack asked.

“Objection!”

“Goes to the credibility of the witness, Your Honor,” Jack said.

Wright shook his head. “I don’t see how the size of a group makes a difference.”

Jack looked into Wright’s eyes. “It does if there are only five members,” he said defiantly.

Wright looked down. “Objection sustained. Answer the question.”

Dr. Davidson cleared her throat. “There are six members.”

“And who is the Chair of this Council?” Jack asked.

Dr. Davidson looked at him defiantly. “I am,” she said.

“No more questions,” Jack said.

That afternoon, a weary Jack McCoy went to Nora’s office. “It cost me two hundred dollars, but it was worth it to try and let the jury know how biased he is on this case.” He sighed. “We’ll win on appeal, but I’m afraid the damage will be done by then. Wright has laid the groundwork for a press blitz about my history with my assistants. They can bring out all the lurid details about Diana Hawthorne’s trial, connecting it with the defense theory of the case.” He looked at Nora with tired eyes. “But that is not the worst of it. Wright was fishing today when he examined that psychologist. He asked if a woman in power could ever be seduced by a male subordinate. I knew this might get ugly, but I never dreamed it would get nasty.”

“You might be just paranoid,” Nora said. “Judge Wright—“

The door burst open and Roland Lincoln strode into the room. “McCoy, I will not have you jacking with my cases!”

Jack stood up and looked at Lincoln. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“That damned murder case of yours! You’re letting the defense run the show. Now Johnson thinks he’s going to be up for a murder rap, and he’s cut off negotiations with me entirely!”

Nora came over and stood between the two men. “Roland,” she said calmly. “Use that fear to play into his hands. There is no way we are going to prosecute him for the murder of his wife. But if he thinks so, use it to your advantage. Go back and make this offer; he names the higher ups in the scandal, and we pledge not to prosecute on the murder charge. That might get him to talk.”

“Might.” Roland looked disgusted. “McCoy, you just complicate things too much.” He strode out of the room.

Nora sighed. “Simon warned me to watch my back around him,” she said. “I suggest you do the same.”

Jack’s apprehension about Judge Wright’s ulterior motives was justified. The afternoon edition of the New York Standard carried a front page article headlined “Strange Parallels in the Trial of Carrie Sayers”. The article went into detail about the ‘Work Place Love Slave’ defense, and then stated, “The prosecutor in the case, Jack McCoy, may find the proceedings hitting a little too close to home. Some ten years ago, he had an assistant named Diana Hawthorne. She was tried for prosecutorial misconduct in a case involving a man accused of the murders of young black boys. On the stand, McCoy admitted that they had been lovers. In a shocking revelation, Ms Hawthorne told the jury that she had “lost” police reports in order to assure a conviction, which led to McCoy’s promotion to Executive Assistant District Attorney. Could this be an example of a work place love slave in action?”

Nora threw the paper down on her desk. She could take the heat, but she found it most unfair to drag Jack’s reputation through the mud. He came into the office a few minutes later, and nodded at the paper.

“It’s begun already,” he said. “I bet Wright had his minions gathering information as soon as he heard Eve’s plan for the defense.”

“Have you read it?” Nora asked.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. “No, and I don’t intend to. They want to inflame my Irish temper, and I’m not going to give them a chance. It’s lies, anyway. Or innuendo based on truth, which is the same as a lie.” He sighed. “I think we have a chance with the jury, once we put Skoda on the stand. He’ll testify that Carrie Sayers is an independent, strong person who doesn’t fit the profile of a love slave at all. And we still have a motive that is very compelling.”

Nora nodded. “If you don’t win, you have a clear case for appeal. Wright went way over the line when he examined that witness. But frankly, I think he felt the political considerations outweighed the judicial ones.” She went over and shut the door. “Sit down, Jack. You look awful.”

Jack smiled sadly. “Thanks so much for the compliment,” he said as he sat down on the couch with a sigh.

Nora sat down beside him and he put his arm around her. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “that they attacked you like this.”

“I knew the risks, but I’m willing to fall on my sword for my lady,” Jack said, running his hand over her hair. “Having his ruling overturned for judicial bias won’t play well with the press, and Wright will find himself hoist by his own petard.”

Nora sighed. “I hope so, Jack. I hate the thought of this hurting you.”

Jack kissed her cheek. “I’ve got a thick skin,” he said.

But in the following days, the newspapers got even more blatant. The Standard started a series on Jack’s loves and lovers, starting with his ex-wife, Barbara. Nora winced as she read lurid details of how he made lovers out of a series of assistants over the years. How he’d married Barbara, only to divorce her thirteen years later. How he’d moved into an affair with Sally Bell, and then Diana Hawthorne, and, finally, Claire Kincaid. They only gave specific details about Diana’s affair, and Nora thought back to Jack’s remarks about lovers. Apparently the others were still willing to wave at him if they met him on the street. The comments about the affair with Kincaid had made Nora wince; it was easy to decide motives and judge blame when the lady involved was dead. She hoped that Jack was keeping to his pledge not to read the papers, because she knew of one paragraph that would kill him.

“And so, Claire Kincaid followed one more order of her master. She drove to the bar where he waited in a drunken stupor. It was his order that caused her death; she was killed in a wreck. If she had not been a slave to this man, she would still be alive today.”

“They got it all wrong, you know,” Jack had come in quietly while Nora was reading. His face was white as a sheet, but his voice remained calm. “They only got the transcript from the disciplinary hearing and speculated from then on. She was killed after she left the bar. I had already gone home. What a master I was, I didn’t even wait for my slave to attend to me!” He tried to smile, but the look on his face nearly broke Nora’s heart. “If I had waited, she’d never been in the wreck at all.” He turned and sat down on the couch.

“No, I won’t let it get to me,” he said calmly. “I told you I have a tough skin. Well, it just got a little tougher, that’s all.”

Nora went over to the couch. “How many days until closing arguments?”

“They start tomorrow. I’ll have the appeal all ready to go if the jury renders a not guilty verdict.”

“Good,” Nora said, standing up. They hadn’t closed the door, and she didn’t want to give anyone more information for the tabloids. “Then that means this whole nightmare will be behind us.” She took Jack’s hand. “Thanks for seeing this through,” she said.

But instead of better, things got worse. The only good thing that happened was the verdict came in guilty, so Jack didn’t have to appeal.

“I almost wish that it had gone the other way,” he had said. “That way I could have shown the world what kind of judge William Wright really is!

The papers had tired of Jack’s love life, and had gone on to other things, such as criticizing Nora’s handling of staff appointments. But they soon were back on their favorite topic—with a variation.

“Who squires our lovely DA through Manhattan’s mean streets? None other than the Lothario of lawyers, Jack McCoy. Is he turning her into Love Slave Number Five? Rumors are that they do more than consult when he goes to her office at Hogan Place. That couch in the DA’s office is nice and long. “

Nora flung the paper on her desk. “Stacey!” she called. Her secretary ran into the room. “Stacey, there is a leak in this office. No, not a leak. A leak reports facts. This is pure innuendo.” She pointed to the article. “Know how they got this information?”

Stacey looked at the paper, then at Nora’s angry face. “No, I don’t know,” she said. “Though anyone would have known about the couch from your TV interviews.” She looked at Nora defensively. “If you think it’s me, Nora, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m on your side, remember?”

But Nora’s mood didn’t lighten as her paranoia grew deeper. She looked at everyone who came into the office that day, wondering if they were the ones who had seen Jack shut the office door and had put two and two together. When Jack came later that afternoon, Nora made a point of making sure the door was open.

“I have the case schedule right here,” he said, looking at her oddly. “If this is a bad time—“

“No, no, give it to me,” Nora said, keeping an eye on the hall.

Jack shifted in his chair uneasily. “Nora, is there something bothering you?”

“Yes,” Nora said. “I can take constructive criticism. I can even take nasty criticism, if it is based on fact. But innuendo—“

“Oh, the paper.” Jack looked at her. “Abbie brought it to my attention. She assured me that she knew of no one who would have drawn such conclusions from our actions.”

“And what conclusions could be drawn? We have done nothing wrong!” Nora cried.

“And protesting the fact will give the impression of guilt,” Jack said quietly. “No, we’ll just make sure the door is always open, or that there is a third party in the room.”

“Then Wright would accuse us of having a threesome!” Nora scoffed. “Look at what this—trash says. ‘McCoy uses all his charms and wiles on the DA, comparing himself to a knight, a sure way to a middle-aged woman’s heart!’”

Jack smiled. “And I thought it was my boyish good looks!”

“Oh, it goes on!” Nora said, ignoring him. “That you pledged to fall on your sword for me! How it is a hokey line, but that it works every time!”

“Let me see that,” Jack said, suddenly serious. He scanned the article, then stood up. “There’s only one way to stop this,” he said quietly. “Nora, I have four weeks’ vacation time coming. I’d like to take it now.”

Nora stood up and went over to him. “Jack, you can’t mean it! You’ve got a full docket of cases, and—“

“Abbie is fully capable of handling them all. You can use her as an example of the success of your innovative program to train ADAs to take on more responsibility.”

Nora looked at him, confused. “I thought we were in this together, Jack.”

He looked at her tenderly. “I don’t think it will work if we stay in it together, Nora. Good bye.”

He strode out the door, leaving Nora in shock.

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