Chapter 2

"People versus Peter Fairchild. The charge is murder in the first degree," the bailiff called loudly over the usual din of arraignment court.

"How do you plead, Mr. Fairchild?" the judge asked, looking at the paperwork in front of her.

"Not guilty, Your Honor," Fairchild answered.

The judge glanced to her right. "Bail, Ms. Carmichael?"

"The People ask for $500,000 given the nature of the crime and the fact that Mr. Fairchild has the means to flee jurisdiction."

"Objections?" the judge asked.

"None, Your Honor," Morgan said simply.

Carmichael gave her an annoyed look as the judge banged the gavel and said, "Bail set at $500,000. Next case."

"You could’ve asked for a lower bail," she suggested, as the two turned toward the door.

"True. But why tie up the court's valuable time arguing?" Morgan smiled. "Bail isn't going to be a problem for my client, Ms. Carmichael."

She was irritated at Morgan's attitude. And she was still feeling irritated when she arrived back at One Hogan Place.

After seeing that McCoy was not at his desk, she walked to the door of Adam Schiff's office. The door was open, but she knocked anyway, hearing the two men talking.

Schiff looked at her. "Yes?"

"I just got back from Peter Fairchild's arraignment," she said, standing in front of his desk, arms crossed. She turned to McCoy, who was seated on the sofa. "You met his attorney last night, Jack. What did you think of her?"

"I think she has beautiful blue eyes," he answered teasingly.

Giving him a "you've-got-to-be-kidding" look, Carmichael said deliberately, "You know what I mean."

"She seems a little inexperienced in criminal law," he shrugged.

"A little inexperienced? I asked for $500,000 bail and she didn't even bat an eye. When I mentioned to her that she could've objected, she said she didn't want to tie up the court's time arguing. Someone should tell this guy to get a decent lawyer."

McCoy shook his head. "I think you're overreacting."

"Blue eyes aside," Schiff said, "is this attorney competent or is she providing her client with grounds for an automatic appeal?"

They were interrupted by a clerk, who came in and handed McCoy a folded blue paper. "I didn't see anything that would warrant a charge of incompetence," he replied, unfolding the paper. Scanning it, he added slowly, "In fact, I'd say she's doing just fine." He looked up at the two of them. "This is her motion to declare the search warrant invalid. The hearing is in Judge Rivera's chambers at 2:00 today."

"I have another arraignment at 2:00 but I can send someone else if you need my help," Carmichael offered.

"Oh, I think I can handle it," McCoy said with a smile.

***When he walked into Judge Rivera's outer office, Morgan was standing at the secretary's desk, obviously just arriving as well. Upon recognizing him, the secretary picked up the phone and announced both of them.

"Ms. Morgan," he nodded to her.

"Mr. McCoy." Her hair was fastened back from her face with a barrette at the top of her head, although wisps of it had escaped. Her blue sweater matched her eyes.

"You may go in," the secretary announced, motioning to the door of the inner office.

McCoy opened and held it as Morgan walked through, thanking him as she did.

Judge Rivera stood as they entered. "Jack," he nodded, "good to see you." Then turning his attention to the woman standing in front of his desk, he said, "And you must be Calea Morgan." He smiled at her warmly as he took her offered hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I've heard a great deal about you. I'm looking forward to trying my case in your court." McCoy glanced at her in mild surprise as she sat down in front of the desk and he took a chair a few feet to her right.

"So, tell me about this search warrant, Ms. Morgan," the judge suggested, settling back in his chair and focusing on the paper in his hand.

"The warrant was obtained due to an anonymous phone tip received by Detective Lennie Briscoe. Before receiving this so-called tip, the police had no substantial evidence to proceed on."

"I hardly consider motive and opportunity as insubstantial evidence," McCoy countered.

"And I hardly consider 'circumstantial' and 'substantial' as interchangeable, Mr. McCoy," Morgan retorted, giving him a sideways look. "The fact is, Your Honor, this phone call lasted a minute or less, by Detective Briscoe's own admission. It could have come from anyone, anywhere, including some disgruntled former employee of my client, or an over-zealous fellow police officer, intent on making a case where none existed. Given these circumstances I feel the uninvestigated tip, and the subsequent warrant, are invalid."

Caught off guard, McCoy was openly staring at her.

Catching the look, Rivera looked amused. "What about this tip, Jack? Do you think it was enough to support a search warrant?"

McCoy nodded slowly. "The police get tips all the time. Some of them prove to be false. This one produced the murder weapon. I think the detectives acted in good faith."

"So you're arguing that the end justifies the means?" Morgan asked.

"A phone call that lasted less than a minute from an anonymous informant seems like slim grounds for a warrant to me," Rivera agreed.

"Your Honor," McCoy objected, "the police were already investigating Mr. Fairchild when they received the call. It was perfectly logical for them to proceed on it."

"Before invading the privacy of my client's home, the detectives had an obligation to investigate further and try to substantiate the tip, at the very least," Morgan stated.

McCoy was beginning to feel annoyed. "By getting a warrant and searching your client's apartment, they did substantiate it."

"There's that end justifying the means again." Rivera shook his head. "I tend to agree with Ms. Morgan. I think the detectives should have proceeded with a little more caution. I'm going to grant your motion and declare the search invalid and the gun it produced inadmissible."

"Thank you, Your Honor," she nodded.

Looking at McCoy he added, "But if you can link Mr. Fairchild to the gun in some other way and show me that a warrant would have been obtained as a result, I'll allow it back in, Jack."

"We'll find the link," McCoy said determinedly, looking at Morgan.

"Your Honor, given your ruling," she continued, "and in view of the remaining evidence, or rather the lack thereof, I request that the charges against my client be dropped."

"The People feel there is plenty of evidence remaining against your client, Counselor, and we intend to proceed with the case against him," McCoy said, allowing some of the annoyance he felt to be heard in his voice.

"If the prosecution feels they have enough to proceed on, I see no reason to drop the charges, Ms. Morgan," Rivera responded.

"Fine," she nodded. "However, I would like to request that you rescind the requested bail and release my client on his own recognizance. I have a request for the same from Deputy Mayor Fisk." She handed him a piece of paper. "My client is working closely with the mayor's office on a well-publicized renovation for the city. His presence on the project is vital. As you can see, Mr. Fisk is willing to vouch for his character."

"Deputy Mayor Fisk?" Rivera smiled as he looked at the paper.

"The Mayor was unavailable this morning," she shrugged, returning his smile.

"Your Honor, Mr. Fairchild is accused of murdering his business partner. Due to the violent nature of the crime, I think bail is warranted," McCoy argued.

"I don't see a flight risk here. He is working on a high-profile project. I'm inclined to grant the request," Rivera answered.

McCoy shook his head in disbelief.

"Thank you," Morgan said with a smile.

"Is that all, Ms. Morgan?" the judge asked.

"It is, Your Honor," she answered, reaching for her briefcase.

"You know, you have quite a reputation," he added. "When Judge Callahan heard you were trying this case, he tried to talk me into letting him take it. I'm glad I didn't let him persuade me."

"Thank you," she responded quietly. "I've read some of your case histories as well. I was pleased to hear of your appointment to this one." She stood up and shook Rivera's hand once again.

"Ms. Morgan," he nodded. "See you in court, Jack," he added.

"Your Honor," McCoy said dryly over his shoulder, as he opened the door and allowed Morgan to precede him.

They exited the outer office and headed toward the elevators, walking in silence for a moment. McCoy wasn't exactly sure why he felt so angry. Although it was a well-known fact that he hated to lose, it wasn't as if it were the first time that had happened. He looked at the woman walking beside him. Her face was expressionless.

"I underestimated you, Counselor," he said slowly.

She turned to look at him and smiled slightly, but her eyes were filled with amusement. "Yes, you did," she agreed.

McCoy looked at her for a moment, unsure of how to answer. After a few seconds he said, "You sound as if you expect that."

"Expect it? Sometimes I count on it," she answered, giving him the same amused look.

"And encourage it?" he suggested pointedly.

She stopped so quickly he was two paces ahead of her before he turned to find her staring at him. "There are definite advantages to being unassuming, Mr. McCoy, but I don't consider keeping my mouth closed to be intentionally deceiving anyone. You drew your own conclusions about me. If your initial assessment was wrong, you can hardly blame me."

"I didn't say you deceived anyone," he said innocently. "But exactly what do you consider it to be when you pretend to be less knowledgeable than you really are?"

"I consider it to be not showing my hand to my opponent."

His eyebrows arched and for some reason he felt a lot less angry. He fell into step beside her again as she continued toward the elevators.

"Well I won't make the same mistake again," he said, beginning to sound amused as well.

"I hope not. I hope you live up to your reputation. Otherwise, this is going to be a very dull trial."

"My reputation? I hope you've been talking to the right people."

"I do my homework," she nodded, as they reached the elevators.

"Homework?" he asked as he pushed the call button.

As she stood facing him, she seemed to be enjoying his reactions. "I like to know something about the other players before I sit down to a game."

The elevator doors slid apart. There were enough people crowded into the car that the two of them had to stand fairly close once inside. McCoy glanced over at her, but all he could see was the top of her head as she looked at the floor. Her shoes were flat, so he judged her to be about 5'3". He was almost a foot taller. As the elevator descended, he thought about her last remark. When the door opened and they exited, he took up the conversation where they had left off.

"How is it that you know of my reputation, but although Judge Rivera has heard of yours, I haven't?" he asked as they walked across the lobby toward the exit.

"Do you know every attorney in New York?"

"No, but I know most of the ones with reputations that would impress Judge Rivera."

She turned to look at him and smiled a genuine smile, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to your question, Mr. McCoy."

"Call me Jack," he smiled, as they reached the doors. He opened one for her and held it back with his arm as she passed through and thanked him.

As they started down the steps, he said, "So why don't you tell me about this reputation of yours."

She shook her head. "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Well, not only would that be immodest, it might also give my opponent an edge," she answered, flagging down a cab as they reached the curb.

"Then how do you suggest I find out?" he asked, looking down at her.

Morgan met his dark eyes unwaveringly. "Looks like you have homework," she shrugged. He reached to open the cab door for her. "Have a nice day, Mr. McCoy," she said as she got in.

He closed the door and stood smiling to himself before hailing a cab of his own.

***"How did it go?" Schiff asked from behind his desk, as McCoy loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt.

Carmichael was already sitting on the couch as he plopped at the other end.

He shook his head. "The warrant's invalid, the gun is inadmissible, and Fairchild is R.O.R. It went great." He tried to sound gruff, but he didn't look all that unhappy.

Carmichael stared at him. "You're kidding."

He gave them a brief run-down of the events in Judge Rivera's office. "If none of us has ever heard of her, how do you suppose he has?"

"You said Judge Callahan had been talking to Rivera?" Schiff asked. At McCoy's nod, he continued, "Judge Callahan is from Chicago. Maybe he knows her from there."

"Fairchild and his partner moved their business from Chicago six years ago," Carmichael added. "That has to be the connection."

McCoy nodded. "It makes sense. She told me she's been his attorney for seventeen years. Well," he said, getting up, "we'd better call Briscoe and Green and have them start working on linking the gun to Fairchild. It would be nice to get our key piece of evidence readmitted before we go to trial."

"Wouldn't it though?" Schiff agreed as the two left his office.

When they were in the hallway, McCoy said, "I want you to see what you can find out about Calea Morgan. Search for any trials she's been a part of here in New York. Then see if the Chicago database has anything on her."

"Is this personal or professional curiosity?" Carmichael asked.

He gave her a disapproving look. Then with a smile creeping into his eyes he answered, "As someone once said, 'I like to know something about the other players before I sit down to a game'."

Stopping at the doorway of her office, Carmichael raised her eyebrows. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"I'm going to go call Briscoe," he said over his shoulder, as he continued to his office.

***"I can't find much of anything on Calea Morgan, here or in Chicago," Carmichael said, coming into McCoy's office as he looked up from a file. Reading from her notepad, she continued, "She received her license to practice law in New York four years ago, but she hasn't been listed as the attorney of record on any criminal case since then. And there have been no complaints filed against her with the ethics board in that time. From Chicago," she added, turning the page, "I found out that she graduated at the top of her class at University of Chicago Law School when she was only 21. But there is no 'Calea Morgan' listed as attorney of record for any criminal cases there either." She sat down on the sofa.

McCoy leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. "So maybe she wasn't 'Calea Morgan' then. Maybe she was, or got married."

"Any idea what name I should look under?" Carmichael asked pointedly, as if she hadn't already thought of that.

"No," he answered slowly. "But don't you and I know a lot of the attorneys that try criminal cases within our jurisdiction? Maybe the Chicago D.A.'s office would know."

She got up. "I'll go give them a call."

***Carmichael had been gone for more than an hour when she finally returned. "I just got a call from the precinct. I have to go down for a line-up on the Allen case. I should be back in an hour or so. I'm expecting a call from the Chicago D.A.'s office. I talked to an assistant there and he said he doesn't remember Calea Morgan, but he's only been in the office for a few months. He said the man I need to talk to is your counterpart in Chicago, a man named Andrew Compton. He was in court, but the assistant said he would leave him a message. Do you want me to tell Susan to send it to you if he calls while I'm out?"

McCoy rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure. I'm not going anywhere for a while. Let me know how the line-up goes when you get back."

Carmichael nodded as she left.

***"Mr. McCoy, there’s a call for Abbie from a Mr. Andrew Compton on line two. She said you wanted to take it," the receptionist said through the intercom.

"I'll get it," he said absent-mindedly, still focused on his work. A few seconds later, he pushed the file aside and picked up the phone.

"McCoy."

"Mr. McCoy, Drew Compton. I have a message that says I'm supposed to call Abbie Carmichael at the New York D.A.'s office ASAP. But like all the other messages my new assistant took, it doesn't say why. Can you by any chance fill me in?"

McCoy smiled. He already liked the deep voice on the other end of the phone. "Call me Jack. It's nice to know those kind of problems aren't unique to my office."

"You have trouble finding good help too?" the man asked in mock disbelief.

"Don't get me started," McCoy warned. Then getting to business, he said, "Abbie is my associate. She was calling for me, so I'm actually the one who needs your help, Mr. Compton."

"I'll do what I can," he said pleasantly. "And my friends call me Drew."

"I'm trying to find some information on an attorney that I believe used to practice within your jurisdiction. This is her first criminal case in New York. We haven't been able to find anything on her from this end so we think she may have practiced under a different name when she worked there. The name she goes by now is 'Calea Morgan'. Do you know any other name she may have used?"

After a moment of silence from the other end of the phone, the voice finally said, "She's been there four years and this is her first criminal case? What has she been doing?"

A little puzzled, McCoy answered, "Her business card reads, 'Contract Attorney'."

He let out a little cough. "If I had known she had been wasting her time and talent on something as boring as contracts, I would have come up and dragged her into your courtroom myself. And you can tell her I said that!"

McCoy grinned into the phone. "I take it you know her?"

"Let me ask you, how strong is your case?"

"After she got the murder weapon thrown out today, it isn't as strong as it was yesterday," he offered a bit sarcastically.

Compton chuckled. "I'll give you a piece of hard-learned advice: if she even whispers the word 'plea', take whatever she suggests. If she's not interested in a plea, prepare well, although it will probably do you little good."

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. She once made an entire jury, including four men, cry." McCoy was sure the man on the other end of the phone was smiling. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of 'Tyler, Cole, and Shuman'?" Compton continued.

"Yes, actually, I have. They're one of the most reputable firms in your area."

"Well, Calea used to work there when it was 'Lockhardt, Tyler, Greenberg, and Ryan'. And Tyler," he added pointedly.

"She was married to one of the partners?"

"She was not only married to Frank Tyler, she was a full partner in the firm as well. She left when they divorced." After a pause, he added, "I'm glad she took back her own name."

McCoy's eyebrows arched. "Messy divorce?" he asked curiously.

Compton's voice was flat, as he answered simply, "No."

His answer did nothing to quell McCoy's curiosity, but when the other man offered no further explanation, he asked, "Anything else I should know about her?"

"Hmm. Let's see. She's a very private person. And she has this annoying way of changing the subject when she doesn't want to answer your questions, personal or professional. It's her polite way of saying, 'It's none of your business'. I doubt if she's lost any of those Southern manners in the last four years. She lived in Chicago for over eighteen, and we never cured her."

McCoy chuckled. "I have noticed that she thanks people for the little things."

"She's also hard-headed and hates to lose a case, so rarely does. Her attention to detail will drive you crazy, but makes her an outstanding attorney. She's one of the best I've ever had the pleasure to work with." He added sincerely, "I miss her."

McCoy could think of few attorneys he had ever worked with that he would say that about. "Well, good attorney or not, if I have anything to say about it, she's going to lose the Fairchild case."

"Fairchild? You don't mean Peter Fairchild by any chance?"

"You know him, too?" McCoy sat forward slightly, very interested in his response.

"I met him a few times, mostly at functions the Tylers were involved in. He and Calea were good friends. You mentioned a murder weapon? Surely he's not being accused of murder."

"I'm afraid so. We have evidence that he killed his business partner, Evan Carpelli."

Compton let out a low whistle. "And Calea hasn't suggested a plea?"

"Not yet. And I doubt if she's going to, now that the weapon is out."

"You have your work cut out for you, Jack. And with the work Fairchild does, this is probably a pretty newsworthy case, too."

"There's been minimal press so far, but I expect it to pick up once the trial starts."

"Well, the only other thing I will tell you about Calea is that she always plays fair and has no respect for anyone who doesn't."

"I'll remember that," McCoy nodded.

"Tell her I said 'hello'." He could hear Compton smiling again. "I'd tell you to give her a hug from me, but that would probably get you smacked. I wouldn't do that to a fellow D.A."

"I appreciate that," McCoy said enthusiastically. He added a little more seriously, "And I appreciate your help. If I can ever return the favor, you have my number."

"I'll keep it. But I have a feeling you're going to be busy for a while."

McCoy smiled. "Nice talking to you, Drew."

"You too, Jack."

After he had hung up, McCoy turned his chair to look out of the window. Everything he had learned only made him more curious.

Carmichael walked in, catching him staring out. "Do you work at all when I'm not around?" she teased.

He swung around to face her. "Not if I can help it," he lied. "How did the line-up go?"

She sat down. "Three women positively identified Mr. Allen as the man who attacked them. He'll be arraigned tomorrow," she said, obviously pleased. "Susan said the Chicago D.A. called. Did you find out what you wanted to know?"

Ignoring her smirk, McCoy answered, "Part of it. I was about to run her married name through the computer." He turned his chair and rolled it over to his computer. Carmichael got up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. When the information he had requested appeared on the screen, there was a lot of it.

"She was one busy lawyer in Chicago," Carmichael commented.

"She was a partner in a major firm there. Their reputation was made on handling controversial and well-publicized cases. Looks like she had her share of them," McCoy noted.

"Her track record is pretty impressive," Carmichael pointed out. "Acquittals, pleas; not many losses."

After scanning the material for a few more minutes, she straightened. "Well, I have some paperwork to do on the Allen case and then I'm going home. I feel like I ran a marathon today." As she reached the door, she asked, "Is there anything else I need to do on the Fairchild case before I go?"

He sat back, looking at her. "Not that I can think of. I have a little work to finish and then I'm going home myself. If I don't see you before you leave, have a good evening."

"You too," Carmichael nodded as she left for her office.

McCoy turned back to the screen.