Law
& Order Story: Secrets
Chapter
1
As Jack McCoy climbed the steps of the 27th
precinct, he pulled his coat tighter to keep out the wind. Typical late fall
weather. He should have been on his way home by now. This should have been
Abbie Carmichael's call. But he had offered to take it, knowing she had an
early arraignment the next morning. So here he was, 7 PM, on his way to hear
some sad story or declaration of innocence from yet another upstanding citizen
accused of murder. The man had already been brought in once for questioning
regarding the death of his business partner. He smiled to himself when he
recalled
As he entered the interrogation area, he heard
Briscoe's gruff voice.
"Counselor. To what do we owe the
honor of being graced with your presence tonight?"
He smiled at the good-natured crack. "Just
lucky, I guess. And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get out of
here and let you get back to your poker game or whatever else I'm keeping you
from." He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it and his briefcase onto a
table.
"As much as I'd love to oblige you, we're
still waiting for Fairchild's lawyer. And we hope to shortly have the
ballistics report back on the gun, as well. Found it in his sock drawer, if you
can believe that. We've already read him his rights. Ed has been trying to
sweet-talk a confession out of him."
"So where are you hiding him?" McCoy
asked.
"Right this way," Briscoe replied,
leading the way to the small observation area of an interrogation room.
The two men stood at the one way glass. Inside
was a blond-haired man sitting at the far end of a table, looking very uncomfortable. Sitting on
the table a couple of feet from him was Briscoe's partner, Ed Green. Briscoe
tapped on the glass. After a few more seconds of conversation, Green got up and came out, closing the door behind him.
The man inside sat back in his chair and looked only slightly more comfortable.
"Says he won't give me the time of day until
his attorney gets here," Green said, shaking his head.
"Umm. Can't wait,"
Briscoe commented. Noticing the sideways glance McCoy gave him, he added,
"Blue eyes, long brown hair. Looks great in a pair of
jeans."
His partner shook his head as the three left the
small room. "Right about the jeans, wrong about the eyes," he said
with a smile. "They're green, not blue."
"Can I get you some coffee, Counselor?"
Briscoe asked.
"Not right now, thanks," McCoy
answered, settling on the edge of a near-by desk.
"Wonder what's keeping the ballistics
report?" Green asked. "I told them to put a rush on it."
"Their idea of rushing is sometime before
the turn of the next century," Briscoe grumbled.
"Well looks like we don't have to wait for
Fairchild's attorney any longer," Green said, nodding toward the door.
"And it looks like we disturbed her gym
time," Briscoe quipped. "She doesn't look too happy about it,
either."
McCoy looked over his shoulder to see a petite woman coming toward them. She was wearing close fitting
black exercise pants, a blue fleece jacket, and running shoes. She walked past him
quickly, eyes intent on the two detectives, oblivious to McCoy. As she
passed, he glimpsed an attractive face framed with dark hair held back with
a simple hairband. She stopped in front of the two men with her back to him,
revealing long, wispy curls falling to the middle of her back.
Planting her feet slightly apart and crossing her
arms she began icily, "Detectives. Is it not true that my client and I
have cooperated fully with you up until now?"
Briscoe and Green exchanged glances. "Sure,"
Briscoe shrugged, sounding a little confused.
"Do you think it was really necessary to
arrest my client at his place of business, handcuffing him in front of his
employees, to drag him down here? A simple phone call would have yielded the
same results, avoiding a trip to his office for you, and a great deal of
embarrassment for him."
"We were just following procedure, Ms.
Morgan. We routinely handcuff all suspects," Green answered tactfully.
"All suspects, Detective? Or are you allowed
to use your own discretion?" she asked coldly.
"He's a murder suspect, Counselor,"
Briscoe chimed in. "In our opinion, that warrants
more than a phone call."
"And when my client is cleared of all
pending charges, do you intend to return to his place of business and apologize
to him in front of his employees?"
Briscoe and Green exchanged disbelieving looks.
"I didn't think so," she continued.
"Maybe next time you will consider a suspect's willingness to cooperate
and his good standing in the community before you humiliate him."
"We'll keep that in mind, Counselor,"
Green answered quickly, heading off any less tactful remark on the tip of
Briscoe's tongue.
"Thank you," she said,
her tone softer. "May I please see my client now?"
"Of course. He's waiting right in
here." Green motioned the way to the interrogation room, allowing her to
precede him.
McCoy had watched the entire exchange with
amusement. As he slid off of the desk, he smiled at the eye-rolling look Briscoe
gave him. He followed slowly, entering the small room as the door closed behind
the woman.
"I guess we were supposed to send out
engraved invitations," Briscoe smirked.
"But you gotta
admit, Lennie, she talks to us a lot nicer than most attorneys," Green
said, giving McCoy a pointed look. "Even when she's
angry."
"Yeah, and she does look good when she's
angry," Briscoe agreed.
McCoy grinned at their conversation, but his eyes
were on the room beyond the glass. Morgan was standing in front of the blond
man in much the same way she had stood in front of the detectives: feet apart,
arms crossed. Her back was to him, but he had a clear view of her client's
face. And he looked like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"She doesn't look any happier with him than
she did with the two of you," he commented, his eyes never leaving the
scene in front of him. She had started to pace, eyes on the floor as she
listened, obviously intent on her clients' words.
"Well, I'm going to go get that coffee
now," Briscoe said, turning toward the door. "Sure I can't bring you
some, Counselor?"
"Maybe later," he replied as Briscoe
left the room.
"And I'm going to go see if I can light a
fire under the lab and get that ballistics report," Green added, following
him out.
McCoy watched as the woman stopped pacing and sat
in a chair facing the man, with her back toward the door. She leaned forward in
the chair as he continued talking. After another moment, he stopped and looked
at her apprehensively. She sat back and propped an elbow on the table, fingers
rubbing her temple. Then she nodded slowly and a look of relief flooded his
face.
Briscoe returned with his coffee. It smelled
good.
"Did I miss anything?" he asked,
joining McCoy at the window.
"Hard to tell from here," he noted.
The suspect seemed to be listening to his attorney
intently. After a moment, she stood up and placed her hand on his shoulder. He
nodded and she turned toward the door.
She came out slowly as Green returned. Looking at the detectives, she asked a bit hesitantly, "Would it be
possible for me to take a look at the search warrant?"
"Sure. I'll get it," Green volunteered.
As he left, her eyes settled on McCoy. Noting the
look, Briscoe motioned to him and said, "Counselor, I don't believe you've
met the Executive A.D.A. assigned to this case. Calea Morgan, this is Jack
McCoy."
He clearly saw a flicker of surprise cross her
face as he took a couple of steps toward her. She moved forward to meet him and
held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. McCoy."
"Same here," he said as he took her
hand. It felt small inside of his, but her grip was firm and steady. He found
himself looking down into her eyes: definitely blue. But it was their intensity
that held his. She looked at him the way his mother always had, as if she could
see right through him and read his thoughts. He found it a bit unsettling
coming from someone he had just met.
Green came back into the room and her attention
turned to him.
"Here is a copy for your records," he
said, handing her the paper.
"Thank you," she replied, taking it
from him and beginning to study it carefully. After a moment she said slowly,
"If I understand this correctly, you obtained the warrant due to a phone
tip from an informant? Which of you took the call?"
"I did," Briscoe answered.
She was biting the inside of her lip. "Is it
normal for you to obtain a search warrant on a tip from an anonymous
source?"
"Happens all the time," Briscoe assured
her. "Some of our tips come from informants we've worked with in the past,
but not all of them."
"You didn't recognize the voice as someone
you have worked with before?"
"There really wasn't time to identify it.
The caller was very specific with the information and very brief." He
didn't like where the conversation was going.
"How brief?"
she asked as she continued to study the paper.
"Maybe a minute or so," he shrugged,
adding sarcastically, "just long enough to give us what we needed to nail
your client."
She glanced up at him before returning to the
paper. After another second she said, "Well, it looks like everything is
in order." She looked at the three men. "I suppose you would like to
question my client now."
"That would be helpful," Green agreed.
She turned to the door, but then paused, looking
from Briscoe to Green. "About what I said when I came in: I apologize if I
seemed rude. It's been a long day." She gave them a slight smile.
"No problem," Green said. "We know
the feeling."
Nodding, she opened the door and preceded them
into the room. "These gentlemen would like to ask you some questions,
Peter." Indicating McCoy, she said. "This is Mr. McCoy, from the
District Attorney's office." She stood behind her client and, motioning to
the chairs, said, "Please sit down," as if she were inviting them to
tea. The detectives took a chair on either side of Fairchild. Although he would
have preferred to stand in the background and observe, McCoy did as she said,
sitting at the far end of the table.
"So Mr. Fairchild," Green started,
"what can you tell us about the gun we found in
your apartment?"
Fairchild sat with his hands folded on the table
in front of him. "Neither my wife nor I own a gun, and
I have no idea how the one you found got into my home." He looked at the
men earnestly.
"Is that the best you can do?" Briscoe
asked incredulously. "We found it underneath your socks. If you didn't put
it there, who did?"
"I don't know," Fairchild answered
simply.
Green leaned forward and smiled,
his eyes warm. "Surely you must see our problem with that answer. Evan Carpelli is dead. Some of your employees overheard the two
of you quarrel. Money was tight. And now we find a gun just like the one used
to kill your partner, in your apartment. It's hard to believe you don't know
something about it."
Fairchild shook his head. "I know how it
looks, but I didn't kill Evan. The business was financially sound. And like I
told you before, we were partners for ten years. We didn't always agree on
everything. Sometimes we fought. But we always worked things out. It's how we
built such a successful business in the first place. I certainly had no reason
to kill him."
"Then explain to us how the gun got into
your apartment," Briscoe advised, sounding irritated.
"I can't," Fairchild replied, spreading
his hands out. "I don't understand that myself. We have two small
children. We would never keep a gun in our home. It's too dangerous. My wife
and I agreed that the risks of gun ownership outweighed the benefits, before we
ever had kids. It isn't my gun."
"You say it isn't your gun," Briscoe
stated intensely. "So maybe you borrowed it from someone. And you say you
wouldn't keep a gun in your home for the safety of the little tykes. So maybe
you just put it in with your socks to keep it warm until you could get rid of
it. However you look at it, the fact is we found it in your home. And I'll bet
you that as soon as we get the lab report, not only will it say it's the same
gun that killed Evan Carpelli, but it will also say
that your fingerprints were all over it."
McCoy had been watching Fairchild carefully. Not
that he believed his claim about the gun, but the guy seemed pretty calm about
it. He glanced up to find Fairchild's attorney studying him with those intense
eyes. She had moved back to lean against the wall directly behind her client.
And
"Mr. Fairchild, if you or your wife didn't
put the gun there, can you offer any other explanation as to how it did get
into your apartment?"
He sighed. "Someone must have put it there
to make it look like I killed Evan. But I don't know how they could have done
that. And I don't have any idea who would have."
"So you're trying to convince us you're
being framed for killing your partner, even though we have all this evidence
convincing us that you're the one who did it?" Briscoe asked
sarcastically. "Do you think we just started doing this yesterday?
Evidence doesn't lie, Fairchild. And our evidence says
you're guilty."
Green leaned forward and said sympathetically,
"Look, if the two of you had a fight and things got out of hand, we can
understand that. Your business is very important to you. If your partner was falling down on his end of the job, you'd have every right to be angry with
him. You're the one who started the business. Maybe it meant more to you than
it did to him. You had a right to protect what you worked so hard to build."
"The business was fine," Fairchild
answered steadily.
"Then why don't you help us out?" Green
suggested. "You can start by telling us what happened last Monday
night."
"I already told you: I left the office at
"And no one saw you drive into the parking
garage, no one saw you go into your apartment, and your wife and kids were at grandma's." Briscoe was becoming irate. "We call
that 'no alibi'."
Morgan's movement caught McCoy's eye as she left
her spot to move unobtrusively along the wall, stopping at a point behind
Green. With her hands behind her, she leaned back again and continued watching
the interrogation.
"I've told you the truth. I don't know what
else you want me to say." Fairchild was beginning to sound tired.
Green sat back, letting his partner take over.
Briscoe got up to sit on the edge of the table, leaning forward into
Fairchild's face. Raising his voice he offered, "The truth is, you went
back to your office after your meeting at the mayor's office and finished the
fight you started earlier with your partner. Only this time, you made sure you
got in the last word. Then you went home, hid the gun and got a good night's
sleep so you could act properly surprised when you got to your office the next
morning and received the shocking news of your partner's death."
"I went straight home after I left the
mayor's office. I didn't go back to my office." Under the intensity of
Briscoe's questioning, Fairchild was beginning to look shaken. He glanced at
his attorney.
McCoy caught the look and quickly turned his
attention to the woman. Her eyes were locked with her client's and she was
standing up straight, no longer leaning against the wall. But she made no move
to rescue him.
Green was saying, "You can help yourself by
telling us the truth, Mr. Fairchild."
"And if you don't start helping yourself,
we're going to help you into a cell at Rikers,"
Briscoe countered.
Fairchild shook his head. "I've told you the
truth from the start. There is nothing more I can tell you. I didn't kill Evan
and I don't know who did."
McCoy glanced at the attorney again. She had
settled back against the wall, but was watching her client closely.
Briscoe leaned forward into Fairchild's face
again but was stopped short by a knock on the door. It was opened by Lieutenant Anita Van Buren.
"Briscoe," she motioned for him to
follow her.
He turned back to Fairchild. "Don't go anywhere," he smirked, and got up.
When he had left the room, Green asked him
kindly, "Would you like some coffee, Mr. Fairchild?"
The man nodded. "Yes, I would, thank
you."
Green got up and turned to the woman. "Can I
get you anything, Ms. Morgan?"
"No, thank you." As Green walked toward
the door, she looked at McCoy. "May I please have a moment with my
client?"
He nodded, getting up. As he closed the door
behind him, he heard Green say, "They told me they would send it down as
soon as it was finished."
"Well, the technician finished it and left,
instructing the person coming on duty to send it to us. But then they got
swamped and it didn't get sent," Van Buren was explaining. "The
person I talked to said she would fax it in a few minutes."
"Morons," Briscoe complained.
"Can't they just tell us over the phone if it's a match?"
"Evidently not," Van Buren continued.
"So take a break. You're not getting anywhere with Fairchild anyway."
"He's starting to tire," Green said.
"Maybe I could chat with him alone. Tell him how Lennie is waiting for the
evidence that's going to put him away. Who knows what he might say to keep you
out of his face?" he grinned at Briscoe. "I'll get him some
coffee," he said as Briscoe followed him out of the observation area.
McCoy had been listening to their conversation
while watching the two people inside the small room. Van Buren came to stand
quietly beside him.
"So what does Mrs. Fairchild have to say
about all of this?" he asked her.
"Pretty much the same thing he does. The
partners sometimes argued, but her husband had no reason to kill him. She can't
vouch for him the night of the murder because she was at his parent's in
Green returned with two coffees. "You have a
phone call, Lieutenant."
She excused herself and Green turned to McCoy.
"I could use a few minutes alone with Fairchild. Care to distract his
lawyer for a while?"
McCoy smiled. "I'll see what I can do."
After knocking on the door, he opened it for Green.
"Ms. Morgan, could I have a word with
you?" McCoy asked, holding the door open.
"Of course," she replied.
Green handed Fairchild his coffee, and then
perched on the table.
When she was through the door, McCoy closed it
behind them. She walked a few paces and turned, stopping at the far edge of the
glass window. He noticed she had a perfect view of her client's face.
Slipping her hands in her jacket pockets, she
asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. McCoy?"
He leaned against the opposite edge of the
window. "You can convince your client that unless he wants to tell his
feeble story at a trial and take his chances with twelve intelligent people, he
should tell us what really happened. Then maybe we can talk about a plea."
She turned her head to look into the room and
asked, "What makes you think he isn't telling you what really
happened?" When she looked back at him, her expression was serious.
"Your client had a motive. Detective Briscoe
is waiting for the lab report on what is most likely the murder weapon, which
was found in his home. He has no alibi for the time of the murder. You have to
admit his story isn't very convincing."
"And you think I can persuade him to tell
you a different story?"
He shrugged slightly. "You are his attorney.
It's in his best interest to cooperate."
She stared at him with that same
reading-his-mind-look, contemplating. Finally, she said quietly, "I have
already advised Peter to be truthful and cooperative. I've been his attorney
for almost seventeen years. I know him well. And I see no indication that he's
being anything other than truthful. I don't know what else I can do."
She seemed intelligent enough, just
inexperienced. "If he has anything to say, now is the time, before things
go any farther." His voice was kind and persuasive.
Morgan studied him for another moment before
turning her attention to the room. Green was still sitting on the table,
casually swinging one foot. Fairchild was listening closely to him.
Morgan and McCoy were both distracted by
Briscoe's enthusiastic, "Got it!" as he came back into the room,
accompanied by Van Buren. "No prints, but the lab says the gun is a definite
match to the murder weapon. I wonder if this is enough to make your client
change his tune, Counselor."
He handed the report to the woman. She took
it from him, then studied it with a frown.
"Would you like a moment alone with your
client?" McCoy prompted.
She looked up at him, nodding slowly. "Yes,
I would." Indicating the report, she asked, "May I show this to
him?"
McCoy nodded and she walked to the door. He
opened it for her and said, "Detective..."
Green turned and got up, smiling at Morgan as he
passed her. But her eyes were fixed on her client.
"So what's the report say?" Green asked
as McCoy closed the door.
"It says Fairchild is going to sleep in a
cell tonight," Briscoe answered.
"So are we going to lock him up now and let
him think it over, Counselor, or are we going to try to get to the bottom of
this tonight?" Van Buren asked.
"Let's see what he has to say after his
lawyer talks to him." McCoy added with a shrug, "Maybe she can
convince him to fess up."
"I told him what a wild man you are,
Lennie," Green smiled. "He's shaking in his shoes."
"Oh, goody," Briscoe cracked. "I
love playing 'wild man'."
Morgan had turned and was walking to the door.
"Show time," Green said to Briscoe as she opened the door.
"Please come in," she said, holding the
door for the two detectives. McCoy and Van Buren opted to observe from the
window, turning on the speaker so they could hear the conversation. Morgan left
the door open, moving to stand just inside of it.
"So, Fairchild," Briscoe said calmly.
"What do you have to say now?"
"The same thing I've said all along: I
didn't kill my business partner." Fairchild looked Briscoe in the eye. He
seemed concerned, but calm.
"Do you understand that this means you're
going to jail?" Briscoe asked, leaning into his face.
"I have nothing else to say," Fairchild
answered resolutely.
Making a decision to end the interrogation that
was obviously not going to be productive, Van Buren appeared at the door.
"Take him downstairs."
Morgan stepped forward. "Before you do, I
have a small favor to ask." She looked earnestly at Van Buren. "Peter
has been away from his children only four nights since they were born, and even
on those occasions, he made it a point to call them every night. He'd like a
chance to do that now. He's willing to allow you to remain in the room to
monitor the conversation." Seeing the hesitation on the other woman's
face, she added softly, "It's a small thing, but it means a lot to his
children."
To the detectives' surprise, Van Buren said,
looking at them, "Get a phone."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Morgan said,
sounding genuinely grateful.
"Five minutes, Counselor, and then he goes," Van Buren said, turning toward the door.
Green came back with a phone, placing it on the
table in front of Fairchild, who began to dial with a shaky hand. Morgan stood
behind him.
McCoy raised his eyebrows in a silent question as
Van Buren took a place between him and Briscoe at the window. "She asked
nicely," she shrugged, noting the look. "And if I was going to have
to spend the night in jail, I'd want to talk to my kids first, too."
"I'll have to remember to appeal to your
maternal nature next time I want the day off," Briscoe observed. Van Buren
gave him a warning look.
When Fairchild's brief conversation was over he
slowly replaced the receiver. He looked apprehensively at Green, who had gotten
up as Briscoe came into the room. Green asked Fairchild to stand as well, and
began to put handcuffs on him. Fairchild locked eyes with his attorney. She
nodded once, trying to look reassuring, as the detectives led him away.
When she came out of the room, McCoy was waiting.
"I take it your client decided not to cooperate. Maybe a night in jail
will change his mind."
She looked and sounded dejected. "When will he be
arraigned?"
"Probably tomorrow
before
Morgan nodded. When they reached the door leading
into the hallway, she stopped and held out her hand. "Thank you for your
help, Mr. McCoy. It was a pleasure to meet you. I'll be in touch with you
tomorrow," she said, shaking his hand.
He smiled at her. "I'll look forward to
it."
She opened the door to leave, then
turned back. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a business card.
Handing to him, she said, "If you need to get in touch with me, this is my
number. My office or service can reach me day or night."
The card was warm when he took it from her.
"Thank you." He slipped it into his suitcoat
pocket as she turned and left.
McCoy retrieved his coat and briefcase. Van Buren walked up as he was putting on the coat.
"Thanks for dropping by, Counselor. Sorry
things didn't go the way you hoped."
"Can't win them all
on the first try." He smiled. "But tomorrow, who knows?"
"Good-night."
"Good-night," he called over his
shoulder as he pushed open the door.