Chapter 15

Tuesday morning, Morgan called three more people Fairchild had hunted with, one of whom he had known since childhood. All three backed up Leslie Fairchild's claim that her husband refused to hunt anything other than birds.

After having lunch with her client, Morgan called Mr. Rigel as a witness. She spent a good deal of time going over every detail of the day the gun had been found in the Fairchild's apartment, concentrating on the actions of the man posing as a workman. Finally, the copy of the workorder was admitted into evidence and Mr. Rigel gave a detailed description of the man who had presented it to him.

Handing him a piece of paper that had several pictures on it, Morgan said, "Please tell us if you recognize any of these as being a picture of the man you allowed into the Fairchild's apartment."

After looking the pictures over carefully, he pointed. "Yes, this one. He's the man I saw."

"Please let the record indicate that the witness identified a man the police have on file as Mr. Dirk Latham. Thank you, Mr. Rigel."

McCoy questioned the man, who agreed he had no idea what the workman had actually done while in the Fairchild's apartment.

When he had finished, Morgan addressed the judge. "Although I have no further questions for the witness at this time, I would like to request the right to recall him at a later date."

"Granted," Rivera responded.

The day ended with the handwriting expert's testimony that the workorder was a forgery. After McCoy was finished with his cross-examination, Morgan stood up.

"Your Honor, given the evidence presented this afternoon, I respectfully request that a bench warrant be issued for Mr. Latham, so that the police may pick him up for questioning. I believe his statements may be relevant to this case."

Rivera nodded. "I would be interested to hear what Mr. Latham has to say on this matter as well. Do the people have an objection?"

"No, Your Honor," McCoy responded.

"Then your request is granted." He quickly signed the warrant Morgan had given him, then handed it back to her and dismissed for the day.

After Fairchild left, McCoy turned to Morgan. "You're going to a lot of trouble to distract the jury from the facts, Counselor." He sounded a bit irritated.

"I have every right to present the jury with an alternate theory of the crime." She picked up her packed briefcase. "And since I think Mr. Latham is somehow involved in Carpelli's murder, I have an obligation to try and use him to clear my client." She handed the freshly signed warrant to someone behind McCoy.

He turned around and looked mildly surprised. "Detective?"

"Counselor," Briscoe nodded to McCoy. "Looks like we have some work to do." Green came to stand beside him.

"I'll give you my pager number," Morgan said to the detectives. "Let me know as soon as you pick him up, so I can call Mr. Rigel and Mr. Stevens and have them meet us at the precinct for the line-up."

"Will do," Green nodded.

"And you can give me a call as well," McCoy said. "I'd like to be there to hear for myself what Mr. Latham has to say, if anything." He looked pointedly at Morgan.

After the detectives left, McCoy still sounded annoyed. "How did you motivate the two of them to help you?"

"I just asked nicely," she answered with a smile.

The three attorneys walked out of the courtroom together. "So you're going to spend the evening at the police station?" Carmichael asked.

"Probably a good part of it," Morgan answered.

"I suppose this means our run is off."

"I didn't want to drive across town and have to come back later, so I threw my stuff in the car this morning. I'm going to run at a little park I saw not far from here, and then change at a gym near there. Did you bring your clothes today?"

"No, but that's okay. I've had a headache all day. I could use a break."

Once outside, Morgan said, "I hope you feel better, Abbie. And I guess I'll see you later at the station, Jack."

"Be careful when you run," he admonished.

***"McCoy," he said into the phone.

"Jack, it's Calea. I got your page. Have you heard anything yet?" She sounded a little breathless.

He sat back in his chair. "Not yet."

"So, what's up?"

"Are you finished with your run?"

"Yes." She sounded puzzled. "I was about to jump in the shower when I got your page. Why?"

"It could be a while before the detectives find their man. What had you planned on doing until then?"

"After I change, I guess I'll pick up something to eat and hang out at the station."

"Since we're both waiting for the same phone call, why don't you come to my office instead? It isn't as exciting as the police station, but it's a lot quieter. I was about to order take-out. I could order something for you and then we could go over to the precinct together, once we get the call."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "I hadn't really considered doing that."

"Well consider it." He added persuasively, "You have to admit it makes sense."

"I guess it does," she agreed slowly. "It will take me a little while to get there."

"That's okay; I'll wait for a bit before I call in our order. I was thinking of Chinese. Is that all right with you?"

"Sounds fine. I usually have something with a lot of vegetables, maybe with some shrimp tossed in."

"Anything else?"

"Iced tea would be nice."

"How long will it take you to change and get here?" he asked.

"An hour at least, longer if the traffic is heavy."

"That's fine. Drive carefully on the way over."

"I will."

***McCoy looked up from a file at the quiet knock on his open door.

"You made it," he smiled.

Morgan walked in, slipping her hands into the pockets of her slacks. Her hair looked as if it were still damp, the curls dark and thick. Her waist-length sweater clung to her slim figure. And she seemed to be more than a little uncomfortable.

"I hope it's okay that I came back unannounced. There wasn't anyone at the receptionist's desk, but someone pointed me in the right direction."

"It's fine," he assured her, motioning to the couch across from him. "Most everyone has gone home for the evening." As she sat down, he closed the file he had been working on and began to clear his desk. "Did you have any trouble on the way over?"

"Not at all. The traffic wasn't as bad as I thought it might be." She glanced around the room as he picked up his discarded tie and got up to hang it with the jacket of his suit.

When he turned to face her, he still had the feeling she was ill at ease. "So exactly what do you hope to get out of Mr. Latham's arrest?" he asked as he sat back down at his desk.

"A positive identification by both Mr. Rigel and Mr. Stevens would be helpful. Beyond that, I'll take anything that might shed some light on what he was really doing in the Fairchild's apartment, although I'm pretty sure I already know."

"Let's see," he said thoughtfully. "You think he was there to plant the gun that killed Carpelli, right?" His voice held a hint of disbelief.

"As far as I'm concerned, it's the only logical explanation as to how it got there." She was looking at him challengingly.

"Well there is one more logical explanation, but you refuse to acknowledge it."

"That's because I'm only interested in the truth, not in unfounded and unproven accusations." Her little smile was back.

He knew he had been right to ask her about the case; she seemed to relax a little. As he was about to respond to her statement, his phone rang.

"McCoy."

After a few seconds he nodded, "Thanks, send him up." After hanging up the phone, he said, "Our food is on the way up. We can eat in here or go down to one of the conference rooms. Which would you prefer?"

She shrugged. "Either is fine with me."

He moved a stapler to the opposite side of his desk, clearing an area next to a chair. "We'll eat in here. I'd better go meet the delivery man at the elevator though, or he might get lost with our food."

McCoy returned with a large bag and a tray containing two drinks. Morgan took the drinks out of his hand so he could set the bag down.

Once everything was sorted, Morgan sat down next to the desk.

"I hope I ordered what you like," he said.

"It looks great, thanks." Tasting her food, she nodded, "Just what I would have chosen."

McCoy chewed thoughtfully. "I'm curious: I know you worked for Fairchild for a long time, but you've never mentioned your relationship with Carpelli. Did you know him well?"

"Well enough."

"What kind of person was he?"

"Business-wise, he was gifted. He could convince almost anyone to give him money."

"And outside of the office?"

She took the lid off of her tea to stir in sweetener. "Outside of the office, he was a jerk. But then, so are a lot of men," she answered matter-of-factly. Noticing his warning look, she added with smile, "And women."

Letting her comment slide, he noted, "I haven't heard anything derogatory about him at the trial."

"And as far as I'm concerned, you won't. My personal opinion of him is irrelevant to the case."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Off the record, what makes you say he was a jerk?"

Morgan looked at him a minute. "Off the record, besides his business skills, Evan had two main assets: his charm and his good looks. He used both indiscriminately to get what he wanted."

"And what did he want?"

"As many different women as he could possibly get."

McCoy shrugged. "Sounds like a regular guy to me."

She rolled her eyes. "I have no doubt."

He shook his head. "All kidding aside, like a lot of men, I have my share of bad habits. But I don't think pursuing quantity is one of them." He gave her a smile. "I prefer quality."

Avoiding his eyes, she asked, "And what are some of these bad habits of yours?"

He regarded her for a moment. "I'll answer that question on one condition: I get to ask the same thing of you afterwards."

"Deal," she said simply, meeting his eyes.

Although he was eager to get to her part, he concentrated on his end of the bargain for a minute, sitting back in his chair thoughtfully. "Well, my apartment is always a mess. I'm not very good about picking up after myself at home. When I read a book, sometimes halfway through, I skip to the back and read the last chapter to find out how it ends. And I can be pretty single-minded when I think I'm right about something. But I think I would have to list that, along with my dislike of losing, as being both on my list of good and bad habits." He shrugged a little self-consciously. "As a kid, my curiosity got me into some trouble. My mother used to tell me that and the fact that I don't like being told I can't have something I want were the causes of my biggest problems."

Morgan was studying him intently, as if she could see right through him. Under her scrutiny, he shifted in his chair and gave her a little smile.

"Your turn."

She looked at her watch. "I wonder what's taking the detectives so long."

He sat forward abruptly, huffing out a breath. "We had a deal, Counselor. Changing the subject is not going to work this time."

"There's one," she said pointedly, smiling at his irritation. At his quick smile, she continued, "Drew Compton used to gripe about the way I change subjects, constantly. He also said I was the most stubborn person he had ever met. I blame that on my hardheaded German ancestors. And like you, I'd have to list my not liking to lose as a plus and a minus. Unlike you, I'm sort of a neat freak. I can't leave home without having everything in its place. I drive myself and other people crazy with that one." She paused, contemplating. "I have to constantly fight being shy. I'm uncomfortable in new situations and with people I don't know very well. And my mom used to tell me that always wanting to do everything myself, without help, was a bad habit. But I think I'd list that quality in both columns too. The other bad habit she used to give me fits over was picking up strays. I was always bringing home some animal I thought was an orphan. She used to say she hoped I outgrew that habit before I started dating, because I couldn't do the same thing with men."

McCoy was leaning on his elbow, watching her closely. He caught the hint of sadness in her eyes when she mentioned her mother. "And did you outgrow it?"

She smiled slightly. "Not entirely."

He sat up straighter. "Have you picked up any recently?"

"I may have fed one or two lately." She gave him a teasing smile. "But I don't keep them. I just feed them and send them home."

He wasn't sure he had ever been referred to as a stray before, but strangely enough, he didn't mind in the least. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes intense. "You know what they say about strays, Calea: once you feed them, they keep coming back."

She shook her head slowly. "You would think I could remember that by now."

As he finished a bite, he said, "Tell me how you and Drew Compton became such good friends. Most defense attorneys see D.A.'s as the enemy."

"True. My ex-husband tried to teach me that lesson. He never understood our relationship for that very reason. But Drew was different from the other D.A.'s I worked with. The first time we met, I was representing a client we all knew was guilty. Drew offered what he felt was a fair deal, but I strongly disagreed. We had a huge argument. When we finally came to terms and my client left, Drew asked me to stay for a minute. He started asking me all sorts of questions, trying to get acquainted. I thought he had some sort of an angle. It took a while, but he taught me that business and friendship are separate. He showed me it was possible to disagree about a case and still maintain a friendly personal relationship."

"I knew I liked the guy for a good reason," McCoy smiled. "There are a lot of attorneys on both sides of the courtroom who never learn that lesson."

"You're kidding," she said in mock disbelief.

"Did you see any other defense attorneys waiting to have dinner with me?" His voice held a hint of good-natured sarcasm.

"No, but I just thought you chased them all away for a charity case this evening."

He sounded confused. "Charity case?"

"Sure. I assumed you asked me here because you felt sorry for me - alone in an unfamiliar part of town, nowhere to go but the police station." She sounded as if she was teasing, but her eyes were questioning.

McCoy grew a bit serious. "This isn't exactly the first time I've asked you to have dinner with me, Calea."

"No, I guess it isn't," she agreed, picking at her food.

"But you're still reluctant to do so. Why?"

She shrugged. "I'm here."

He shook his head slightly. "This is different. It's business. I'm talking about dinner where two friends get together simply to enjoy each other's company."

Morgan was beginning to look uncomfortable again. "I suppose it's because I don't want to give you the wrong impression. Some men see women in only one way and some women are the same with men. But as I said before, I've always related to males, and I've always had male friends." She finally looked at him with serious eyes. "I'm not looking for anything more than friendship, and I guess I'm just waiting until I know you're convinced of that as well."

"You made yourself very clear on that point the first time I asked you out, Counselor, and I respect your position. Have I done or said anything to make you think otherwise?"

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "No, I guess you haven't."

He let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. "And I'll try very hard not to," he assured her with a smile. "I happen to have quite a few friends that are women. My sister and I were very close, growing up. I spent a lot of time with her and her friends. And although I don't claim to understand them, I like to think I get along fairly well with women. I certainly don't have a problem with you and I maintaining a plutonic relationship."

After a few seconds of consideration, she nodded. "Okay."

McCoy sat back in his chair, taking a drink of his tea. "So does this mean that the next time I ask you to dinner, you might actually say 'yes'?"

"I'll consider it." Her eyes were teasing again, but he had the distinct feeling that she had come to some sort of resolve and actually would consider it.

His phone rang and when he answered, a familiar voice said, "Counselor, this is Briscoe. We've picked Latham up and we're heading back to the precinct now."

"Did you have any trouble?"

"Not once we found him. It did take a little time to track him down."

"Good. We'll be at the station soon."

"I'm going to call Ms. Morgan and we'll meet you there in about twenty minutes."

McCoy looked up. "You don't have to call. She's here."

"Oh?" Briscoe sounded very interested.

"We'll see you in a few minutes."

Morgan stood up and threw her trash away. "Did everything go all right?" she asked when he had hung up.

"Yes. Briscoe said it just took a little time to find Latham." McCoy stood up and gathered his trash. After throwing it away, he rolled his white shirtsleeves down, buttoning the cuff. Then he pulled his suit jacket off of a hanger and put it on.

Morgan took a small pager out of her pocket and examined it. "Well, I guess we know where the detectives' priorities are." McCoy looked at her curiously as he began to put his conservatively striped tie back on. "I may have handed them the warrant," she explained, "but they called you first."

He smiled as he loosely retied his tie. "Exactly as it should be."

"Mind if I use your phone to call Mr. Rigel? He said he would bring Mr. Stevens down to the station with him when we were ready. I'd like to get them on their way."

"Not at all."

After making the phone call from behind his desk, Morgan didn't immediately turn to go. Instead, she picked up a picture from his credenza.

McCoy slid his hands into his pants pockets, watching her face carefully as she studied the photo.

She glanced up at him. "Your daughter?"

"Yes."

She looked at the photo for another second. "She's very pretty. She has your eyes."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Morgan carefully replaced the frame to its original place and turned to him. "Ready?"

He smiled warmly. "I'm ready."

***McCoy watched with amusement as Morgan walked the length of the small observation area for the fourth time.

"Do you always pace when you're nervous?" he asked.

She stopped and looked at him. "Who says I'm nervous?"

"You don't exactly looked relaxed," he observed.

She let out a sigh and walked to the window, arms crossed. Latham and his attorney were still conferring inside the interrogation room. "I hate waiting," she said unhappily.

McCoy moved from leaning against the wall to join her.

"Now you know what it feels like to be on this side of the glass."

She looked at him sharply, then realizing he was teasing, she seemed to relax a little. "I guess I've never thought much about that. One more reason I wouldn't care to have your job."

Before he could respond, Briscoe came in.

"Mr. Rigel and Mr. Stevens are here, Counselor," he said, addressing Morgan. "Ed is getting the line-up ready. He should be coming for Latham in a minute."

"Thank you, Detective. I'll go talk with them, if you will excuse me."

At Briscoe's nod, she left the room.

Turning to McCoy, he said, "So. Have the two of you been hanging out together much?"

"Only in the courtroom."

"She spent some time here when Rigel and Stevens were looking at mug books. Nice lady. Did you know she used to work in a police station?"

"I think I heard something to that effect," McCoy answered vaguely as Green came into the room.

"We're ready for Latham," Green said.

"Let's do it." Briscoe headed for the interrogation room door, stopping only long enough to rap his knuckles against it twice, before opening it.

When they brought Latham out, his lawyer was close behind. He stopped short when he saw McCoy.

"Since when is the E.A.D.A. interested in a minor charge like forgery?"

"Your client was in the vicinity of a murder weapon, Mr. Duncan. That always interests the D.A." McCoy walked in the same direction the others had gone.

Joining him, Duncan said, "The way I hear it, you're already prosecuting someone else for that murder. What does all this have to do with Mr. Latham?"

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe nothing. But if your client has any knowledge he would like to share with us about the gun or the murder, I'm all ears."

"In exchange for dropping a forgery charge? That's not much of a bargaining chip, McCoy."

They were almost to the door of the line-up room. McCoy stopped and glowered at Duncan. "If your client is withholding information pertaining to a murder trial and investigation, he'll soon have a lot more charges to try and bargain with."

"You don't even have proof he knows anything about the forgery. He knows nothing about a gun and certainly not about a murder." Duncan continued walking, entering the observation area behind Mr. Rigel.

McCoy stepped in after them, noting that Briscoe and Morgan were already there. Latham was filing into the room beyond the window with five other men, dressed similarly.

Mr. Rigel looked closely at each man, taking time to study them carefully.

Briscoe stood next to him. "Take your time, Mr. Rigel. Then tell us if any of these men looks familiar."

"Number four, maybe," Rigel said, bending his head to try and get a better look.

Briscoe hit a button on the wall. "Number four, step forward."

When the man had done so, Rigel nodded. "That's the man who gave me the workorder. He's the one I let into the Fairchild's apartment." He turned to look first at Briscoe and then at Morgan, who was standing against the wall.

"Thanks, Mr. Rigel," Briscoe said. "If you'll come with me, I'll show you where you can wait."

As they walked out of the room, Duncan looked at McCoy. "This doesn't prove anything. It's just a waste of time."

Before McCoy could answer, Briscoe returned with Mr. Stevens.

"All you have to do is point out the man you saw," Briscoe was explaining.

Stevens stopped at the window and quickly scanned the faces. "Number four."

"Are you sure?" Briscoe asked. "You didn't look at them very long."

Stevens smiled at him. "It's my job to recognize faces. I'm sure."

Briscoe nodded. "Good enough. If you don't mind, you can join Mr. Rigel outside."

As he was leaving, McCoy glanced over at Morgan. She met his look and raised her eyebrows slightly.

"So what now?" Briscoe asked. "Are we going to charge Latham?"

McCoy turned to Duncan. "Two out of two. Are you sure your client doesn't have anything to get off his chest."

Duncan gave him a smirk. "He'll take his chances with the forgery charge. He doesn't have anything to say."

As he was turning to leave the room, Morgan stepped toward him. "Could I have a word with you, Counselor?"

Duncan looked her up and down. "Who are you?"

Morgan took a couple more steps, holding out her hand. "I'm Calea Morgan, Peter Fairchild's attorney."

He shook her hand, eyeing her cautiously. "So you're the one I have to thank for having my client dragged down here."

She smiled slightly. "Judge Rivera had a hand in that as well." She looked at McCoy. "Could we have a moment alone, Mr. McCoy?"

He had forgotten how much he disliked hearing her refer to him so formally. "Of course," he responded, looking at Briscoe, who took his cue and followed McCoy out of the small room. Duncan closed the door behind them.

Green joined them when they emerged. "Are we finished with Rigel and Stevens? They're kind of anxious to go home."

Briscoe glanced at McCoy then nodded. "They've done their good deed for the day. I'll go tell them they can leave."

Green looked at McCoy. "So what are we going to do with Mr. Latham? Even if we charge him with forgery, he'll be out in a couple of hours."

"Calea is serving him with a subpoena. That should be enough to keep him where we can find him for a day or two." Briscoe returned to stand beside Green. "What kind of feeling did the two of you get about Latham?"

"He's jumpy," Green offered. "He wouldn't say anything, but I definitely think he knows something."

"I agree," Briscoe added. "I think we should take a closer look at him."

McCoy nodded. "It can't hurt. Clear it with Van Buren tomorrow. If she has any questions, she can call me. And I want to know anything you find out."

The door to the line-up room had opened as McCoy was speaking and he turned to see Duncan stalking out, his face red. He glared at the three as he walked past, toward the interrogation room where his client had been returned.

Morgan came out slowly, looking angry as well. Noticing them she walked over.

"Nice guy," she commented sarcastically.

"We've dealt with Mr. Duncan before," Briscoe noted. "He's a real peach."

"I take it he didn't agree to let you talk with his client?" McCoy asked.

Morgan shrugged. "It was a long shot, but I had to try." She looked quickly around the room. "Did Mr. Rigel and Mr. Stevens leave?"

"A few minutes ago," Green said.

Morgan sighed, reaching up to massage the back of her neck. "I wanted to thank them for coming down before they left."

"I did that," Briscoe assured her. "They both said to tell you they would be in court tomorrow."

McCoy glanced at his watch. "It almost is tomorrow." He looked at Morgan. "Are you ready to leave?"

She nodded, then held out her hand. "Thanks Ed. Thanks Lennie. I appreciate you coming down to court for the warrant and picking Mr. Latham up. I owe you both lunch." She shook each of their hands in turn.

"When can we collect on that?" Briscoe asked.

"Unless you want a very quick lunch somewhere near the criminal court building, I suggest you call me on that after the trial."

After saying 'good-night', McCoy followed Morgan out. When they stepped outside, a strong blast of wind hit them.

Walking toward the car, he noticed her shiver.

"Cold?"

"A little."

"You can have my jacket," he offered, slowing a bit and preparing to take it off.

"No, that's okay, you need it," she protested. "I have on a sweater and it's a short walk."

"It feels like a storm is coming," McCoy noted, easily matching her quick pace.

"By Thursday it's supposed to be really ugly, maybe even with freezing rain. Should make commuting interesting."

Reaching his car, he unlocked the door and held it open for her, then walked around and got in himself.

They drove for a time in silence. McCoy glanced over to find Morgan looking out of the window.

"You're awfully quiet, Counselor."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn her head toward him. "Sorry."

"Duncan didn't seem too happy after the two of you talked." He couldn't come right out and ask her what had been said, but he hoped she would volunteer the information.

"No, he wasn't." He could tell without looking that she was staring out of the window again. After a few seconds, she said, "He got pretty upset when I asked to speak with his client. The subpoena was the last straw."

"What did you expect Mr. Latham to tell you?"

"Nothing, really. Even if I had talked with him, his attorney would have seen to that."

"Then why did you serve him with the subpoena?"

She turned to look at him. "I'm still going to put Latham on the stand."

McCoy shook his head. "Why? You think he's going to tell a room full of people, including at least two from the D.A.'s office, that he committed a crime?"

"No, I don't. His attorney indicated that he would take the Fifth. But it won't really matter what he does or doesn't say. Mr. Latham is my walking reasonable doubt. Once the jury sees a face to go with the evidence I've presented, there is no way they will vote to convict."

"For someone who is so sure of winning the case, you don't sound all that happy."

He heard her sigh in the semi-darkness. "I had hoped Latham would say something, anything that might help me figure out what really happened."

"That isn't necessarily your job," he reminded her.

"It may not be my job, but that doesn't mean I don't feel an obligation. Peter helped me at a time in my life when I really needed help. I'd like to be able to go to him and say, 'Here it is: this is what happened to Evan.' " He could hear the frustration in her voice.

McCoy was silent for a minute. "I wish I could help," he finally said sincerely.

He looked over and found her regarding him in the dim light. "In order to help, you would have to believe my client is innocent." Her voice came from the opposite direction as she turned away and added softly, "And you don't."

Something in the way she said it almost made him wish he did.

When they reached his office, he pulled up behind her car and prepared to get out.

"That's okay," she said, stopping him. "It's cold out. I can manage." She pulled her keys out of her pocket. "Thanks for dinner, Jack. I'll see you in the morning."

"I enjoyed the evening, Calea. Be careful going home."

He waited to make sure her car started before leaving.

***He had a dream about her that night.

They were walking down the street with the sun shining warmly on them. Her hair was blowing in the soft breeze and he could smell her perfume. They were discussing a case, but he didn't want to talk about the case anymore. He had something to tell her, and he wanted her to stop walking and look at him. But she didn't. In the dream, he reached out to touch her, to make her stop. At one point, his fingers were so close to her arm he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. But no matter how hard he tried, how far he stretched his hand out, he couldn't quite make contact.

He woke up feeling alone.