Chapter 8

The next few days were busy and passed quickly. McCoy divided his time between several cases, leaving little time to think of anything but plea agreements and further evidence, or lack thereof, against Peter Fairchild. Briscoe or Green checked in almost every day with an update of their investigation into the murder weapon. Even though the gun had been readmitted, McCoy encouraged them to continue trying to tie it to Fairchild, knowing the position the defense was going to take on it. But they were running into one dead end after another.

On Thursday morning, the day jury selection was to begin, Green called Carmichael to let her know they had finally tracked down a former employee of Fairchild and Carpelli, for whom they had been searching. Carmichael set up a meeting with the woman for Friday morning. She briefed McCoy on the way to court.

"She seems credible enough. She says she heard the two argue. I'll know more when I sit down with her tomorrow," she explained as they made their way down the hallway toward the courtroom. "Should we tell Calea we want to add her to our witness list?"

McCoy shook his head. "Not yet. Let's wait and see what the woman has to say first. I'd like to know why she isn’t with them anymore before we make a decision. Any statements she makes against Fairchild might only be sour grapes. I don't think we should mention anything about it until we're sure."

Carmichael nodded her agreement as they entered the courtroom.

Morgan was already there, sitting at the table and studying the list of perspective jurors. She looked up as the two came to the table across the aisle from her.

"Good afternoon."

"Hi, Calea," Carmichael smiled.

"Counselor, are you ready to choose twelve unbiased citizens?" McCoy asked, placing his briefcase on the table.

"As far as that's possible," she answered. "And you?"

"I'm ready," he said convincingly as he and Carmichael sat down and began preparing for their task. "Actually, I don't think we'll have much trouble. There's been a lot less press on this case than I anticipated, given your client's link with the mayor's office, and their love of the press."

"You're welcome," Morgan said, continuing to study the paper in her hands. "It's certainly not from their lack of trying."

"Are you saying you had something to do with that?" Carmichael asked, leaning forward to see past McCoy.

She looked up and shrugged. "Peter introduced me to the mayor, and in the course of our conversation, I may have mentioned something about the situation."

"You talked the mayor into keeping a lid on this?" McCoy asked.

"Of course not, he's the mayor. He makes his own decisions. I simply said I may have mentioned it." She flashed a bright smile, then added a little more seriously, "But fair warning: once the trial starts, all bets are off."

"So can we expect to see your picture on the society page, attending the mayor's next charity event?" Carmichael asked.

She turned back to the paper. "Right. I'll be easy to spot in my jeans and sweatshirt."

McCoy grinned and shook his head at Carmichael's questioning look.

The prospective jurors began to file in and they turned their attention to the business at hand. Each was well prepared, asking precise questions. Things went quickly and smoothly until they got to a man in his mid-forties with what seemed to be a perpetual smirk. After a couple of brief questions, Morgan seemed to take a deeper interest in him and asked more detailed questions, spending longer with him than she had with the others. When she had finished and thanked him, she turned to walk back to her table. With her back to the others, she looked directly at Carmichael, arching her brows.

McCoy caught the look and glanced at Carmichael, who was already getting to her feet.

"I'll take this one," she said to McCoy.

He watched with interest as Carmichael interviewed the man. She asked the usual questions about his views and opinions, then a couple more detailed ones. McCoy heard nothing out of the ordinary in his answers. When she finished and was returning to her chair, she looked at Morgan and rolled her eyes. McCoy turned to look at her as well, but her face was expressionless. Carmichael sat down and reached for her pen. She made a brief note and pushed it slightly in his direction. He looked down and saw, "Forget juror #7", written on the pad. McCoy gave her a puzzled look but she was looking at Morgan, who had gotten up to start with the next juror, leaving him wondering what he had missed.

The rest of the proceedings went without incident and they finished early. As they were collecting their things, Carmichael turned to Morgan.

"We were going to walk to a place a couple of blocks from here and get a drink. Would you like to join us?"

"I should go to my office and try to get some work done," Morgan replied as she looked at her watch. "But since we did finish earlier than I expected, I suppose I could take a break."

The two women headed for the door with McCoy close behind. They talked about the jurors in general, and once outside of the building, the nice fall weather. McCoy noticed that the two chatted as if they were old friends. Since Carmichael had told him Morgan was from Texas, her attitude regarding the other woman had changed. That fact pleased him, although he wasn't sure why.

When they reached their destination, they found a small round table in one corner. After seating themselves, a waitress came to take their orders. When she left, McCoy could wait no longer.

He looked from one to the other. "Which of you wants to explain to me what went on with ex-juror number seven, Mr. Tate?"

The other two looked at each other.

"He was a creep," Carmichael started.

"Never trust a guy who doesn't look you in the eye when you talk to him," Morgan added.

"So the two of you made the decision to reject him based on what? Lack of eye contact?" he asked.

"I could understand if I looked like Pamela Anderson, but I don't," Carmichael said.

"He showed a condescending attitude toward women in general," Morgan agreed.

Looking at her, Carmichael said, "Can you imagine what it would be like to look like Pamela Anderson and have every man you meet act like Mr. Tate?"

Morgan shook her head, "No, and I wouldn't want to find out, even if someone bought them for me. Still, it would be nice to look a little more like a girl when I put on a sweater."

Carmichael smiled. "I know what you mean."

McCoy looked from one to the other again. Deciding to keep any more personal observations to himself, he said, "Well I didn't hear anything in Mr. Tate's answers to your questions that would have disqualified him."

"It isn't always what you hear, Jack; sometimes it's more what you feel," Carmichael explained.

"Oh," he nodded, "now I understand. Your decision wasn't based on what you observed as attorneys. It was based on something more tangible: feminine intuition." He knew he was stepping onto thin ice, but he couldn't help himself.

"It serves us well," Morgan said emphatically. "There are a lot of Mr. Tates in this world."

"And worse," Carmichael added.

"If the two of you would like to have a little male-bashing session, I can go sit over there until your finished," he said, nodding to an empty table.

"I don't have anything against men," Morgan replied.

"You’re in the wrong place to say something like that, Counselor," McCoy warned. "If someone from The Women's Bar Association overhears that, you could lose your membership."

"What membership? I have better things to do than sit around with a bunch of women griping about how difficult it is to make a living in a man's world. I'm too busy trying to make a living in a man's world. And besides that, I don't think I relate to women very well."

"What do you mean?" Carmichael asked.

"I grew up in a male-dominated household. I've always related to men better than to women. Maybe it's partly because I noticed at an early age that boys got to do all the fun things. Not that I ever wanted to be a boy, but no one ever told my brother, 'Come down out of that tree; you're going to get your dress dirty.' "

McCoy shook his head, smiling. "The price you have to pay to be a girl. I spent a lot of time with my sister and her female friends growing up. But we didn't climb trees."

Noting the twinkle in his eye, Morgan knowingly took the bait. "And what did you do?"

"My sister's friends used me to practice kissing."

Morgan shook her head and smiled at Carmichael’s eye-rolling look.

The drinks arrived and after sipping her tea, Morgan looked around the room. "So this is 'the' bar, where all the lawyers hang out after court, drinking to console themselves."

"This is it," McCoy agreed.

"At any given moment, probably two-thirds of the people in here are attorneys," Carmichael added.

"I think every city has a place like this," Morgan nodded. "In Chicago, it was a little hole-in-the-wall called Quinn’s. On Friday afternoons, it looked like a bar association meeting."

"Sounds like this place," Carmichael agreed.

"Did you spend much time there?" McCoy asked.

Morgan shrugged. "Some. But I prefer to run my frustrations away rather than drown them."

Carmichael sat forward. "You run? How much?"

"Minimum, five miles, four times a week. More if I need to, and I usually need to."

"Really? That's great," Carmichael commented. "I wish I was that consistent. I do three miles, two or three times a week when I can, and try to put in a long run on the weekend. Although I hate to, I guess I should start running on the indoor track at the gym. My work keeps me too late to run outdoors a lot of days," she added, giving McCoy a sideways glance.

"Since I refuse to run indoors and have the same problem with late nights, I found a place to run day or night." Morgan said.

"Where?"

"There are some townhouses, about a mile from where I live, that are built around a nice sized park area. I found out about it when I had to take some contracts to a client who lived there. It's a great place to run. The complex has security gates, and I rarely see anyone in the park, other than an occasional weekend dog walker. I bribe the guards with alcohol and they let me in."

"Sounds perfect," Carmichael said wistfully.

"I'm sure I could talk them into letting you in too, and I could use a running partner."

"Maybe when the trial starts we could make some plans," Carmichael suggested.

"I usually run on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, but I'm flexible. Just let me know what works for you."

Looking at them, McCoy asked, "What I'd like to know is where the two of you get the energy to run after the kind of hours you put in?"

"Running gives me energy," Carmichael answered. "When I haven't run for a while, I get lazy and don't want to do anything. But if I keep at it, my energy level stays high."

"And it's necessary to my sanity," Morgan added. "If I didn't run, I'd need a standing prescription for Valium."

McCoy smiled. "Or a good bottle of Scotch."

Morgan wrinkled her nose. "Pass."

They had talked for about forty-five minutes when Morgan checked her watch. Taking a last drink of tea, she said, "I should be getting to the office. I'd like to finish up and get my run in before dark, if possible."

After each had contributed their share of the tab, they walked back the way they had come, stopping when they reached the sidewalk in front of the court building.

"Well, I guess I will see you both here on Monday," Morgan said.

"We'll be here," Carmichael assured her.

"Prepare well, Counselor," McCoy suggested with a smile.

Returning the smile, she replied, "Oh, I will."

Turning in the opposite direction Morgan had taken, Carmichael and McCoy walked toward his car.

"So are you really going to go running with her, or were you only making conversation?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? It sounds perfect. It has to beat where I've been going." She paused thoughtfully, then announced, "I like her. She has a great sense of humor." She looked at McCoy, waiting for a reply.

He nodded. "Yes she does. And I like her too."

They walked in silence for a few seconds.

"So are you going to ask her out?" Carmichael asked casually, looking straight ahead.

He stopped walking and stood staring at her. "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

"You're right," Carmichael nodded. As they continued walking, she pressed, "So, are you?"

He shook his head, amused at her persistence. "If you must know, I already have, and she said she isn't interested in dating right now."

Carmichael looked at him in surprise, more at the fact that he had actually given her an answer, than anything else. She walked along quietly for a moment. "Maybe she just needs some time to get to know you."

"Maybe," he agreed. He remembered the look in her eyes after she had told him.

"I've never known you to give up so easily, Jack," Carmichael said, noticing his quietness.

"Oh, really?"

Ignoring his tone, she said, "If she doesn't want to date, then don't ask her to dinner, or a movie, or something you would normally do on a date. Find out what her interests are and ask her to do something different."

"Why this sudden interest in my personal life, Counselor?"

She shrugged. "You seem happier when you've been around her. It's nice to see."

He was a little taken aback at her observation.

"Well, I don't know about the happier part," he said slowly, stopping at his car. "But you're probably right about the not giving up part."

"Maybe I should warn her," Carmichael suggested, noting his determined look.

"Don't you dare," he warned, unlocking the door for her.

***Carmichael walked into McCoy's office and before she could speak, he asked, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, and I'm starved," she answered.

He handed her a menu. "I'm ordering take-out. Chinese, okay?"

She nodded and scanned the paper. "Number ten, with an eggroll and a Pepsi."

She sat on the couch while he called in their order. When he had finished, he sat back in his chair.

"What did you find out?"

"Tina Ackerman had plenty to say about Fairchild. He and Carpelli hired her as their bookkeeper when they first came to New York. She said Fairchild fired her about six months ago because she was having an affair with Carpelli. She also said she overheard Fairchild threaten Carpelli when he found out, and that they almost had a fist-fight the day she left."

"Do you believe her?" McCoy asked.

"She's very convincing. She also filed a harassment suit against Fairchild, which he settled with her out of court."

He nodded. "Sounds good. I take it she's willing to testify?"

"Just say where and when, and she'll be there. I get the feeling she's eager for the opportunity."

He sighed. "Well I know one person who is probably not going to be happy about it, especially with the trial starting in only three days."

"I'll call her if you want," Carmichael offered.

"That's okay, I'll do it." He smiled. "After lunch."

***"This is Jack McCoy. May I speak to Ms. Morgan?"

"Let me see if she's in, Mr. McCoy. Please hold."

A moment later, Morgan's brisk voice came over the phone. "Jack. What can I do for you?"

"I'm fine, Counselor, and how are you?" he teased.

He was sure he heard a smile in her voice. "Sorry. It's been a hectic day and I'm a little frazzled. I didn't mean to be rude."

"You weren't. And I've been having a lot of those days myself lately. If I could only give up sleeping, I might be able to keep up with my case load."

"I know what you mean. My days need to be about four hours longer," she sighed. "So, what's up? Have you decided to drop the charges against my client?"

"Hardly." He paused for a second. "I have a witness to add to our list."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. When it had gone on a minute longer than a comfortable pause, she spoke, sounding more than a little annoyed. "Like you, Counselor, I don't much care for surprises. The last thing I need right now is to have to scrounge up time to go over another witness statement."

He bit his lip. "I know it's late in the game, and this isn't something I make a habit of, I assure you. But in this case it couldn't be helped. It took the detectives this long to track the person down. Look, why don't you let me make it up to you by taking you to lunch tomorrow? We can sit down together and I'll tell you everything we have."

She didn't sound any less annoyed. "I already have a lunch date and a commitment for tomorrow morning as well." She paused and then added, "I'll be in my office for a couple of hours after lunch. If you want to stop by, we can discuss it then."

"Okay. I'll be there around 2:00, if that's all right with you."

"Fine. I'll see you then."

He sat back after hanging up the phone. The conversation hadn't exactly gone as he would have liked. He hoped she would be less irritated with him by 2:00 the next day.