Chapter 20
The line
of people at the security check-point outside of the criminal courts building
was much longer than usual. McCoy tapped his briefcase against his leg
impatiently, but it continued to crawl at a snail’s pace. It seemed to take an
eternity to finally reach the front so that despite having arrived early, he
and Southerlyn walked into the courtroom at exactly
At
precisely
Once the
preliminaries were over, Ianello requested that Fisher stand and he addressed
him solemnly.
“Mr.
Fisher, having been found guilty of the rape and murder of a fifteen year old
girl, a jury of your peers has determined that your crimes warrant death. At
the request of your attorney, I have reviewed their decision. I carefully
weighed every piece of evidence presented at your trial including your lack of
prior arrests for criminal activity. I also took into consideration the
testimony presented during the sentencing hearing regarding your claims of
childhood abuse and other mitigating factors. Frankly, Sir, as with the jury, I
do not believe you. You seem to have the ability to lie without compunction.
You have shown yourself to be both devious and cunning. That you almost
succeeded in deceiving the police and this court in regards to your guilt is a
chilling testimony to your criminal ingenuity.
“When it
comes to a capital case, deciding a defendant’s fate is a daunting task that I
approach with great loathing. However, upon searching for any redeemable
qualities you might possess or circumstances that would warrant leniency, I can
find none. Your utter lack of regard for the sanctity of human life is
appalling. I have seen no true signs of remorse from you for the horrendous
crimes you have committed. For these reasons, I am upholding the jury’s
decision and remanding you to the Department of Corrections to await scheduling
of the sentence handed down by the jury.”
Once he
had finished, Morgan quickly walked forward and addressed him angrily. “Your
Honor, your decision clearly goes against the facts presented during the
sentencing hearing concerning my client’s mental state!”
“Your
exception to my ruling is noted, Counselor,” Ianello responded brusquely.
Moving
closer to the bench, she continued, “As with the jury, you are allowing emotion
and public outrage over the recent crimes against children to sway your opinion
in this case and cause you to act in a prejudicial manner!”
Ianello
snatched up his gavel and pointed it at her. “Ms. Morgan, I allowed you some
leeway yesterday regarding your plea for leniency. And I will overlook your
outburst today only because I understand the emotional impact of a capital
case. But you are dangerously close to a contempt charge at this moment and I
suggest you quit while you have the opportunity. If you feel there are grounds,
you may file an appeal on behalf of your client. Otherwise, you have no
recourse in this court. Now step back.”
From the
prosecution’s table, McCoy held his breath, willing her to back down. He had
personal knowledge of one unfortunate attorney who had challenged Ianello and
suffered the consequences – he had no desire to see Morgan carted off to jail.
To his relief, after several anxious seconds she turned around and rejoined a
clearly shaken Fisher.
Ianello
brought the gavel down. “This court is adjourned.”
A crowd
of reporters immediately swarmed to the rail separating the galley from the
rest of the courtroom. As a cacophony of questions flooded from them, the guard
quickly escorted Fisher from the room by the side door. Although most of the
press focused on the Bradens and Morgan, several directed their questions to
Southerlyn and McCoy, trying to engage them in conversation.
Out of
the corner of his eye, McCoy saw Morgan grab her briefcase and begin to plow
with some difficulty through the sea of people, offering no answer to the
myriad of queries. Turning to Southerlyn, he leaned close so that only she
could hear him say, “I’ll meet you back at the office. There’s something I have
to do.”
Once he
started for the door, it took him several minutes to fight his way through the
crowd and finally emerge from the room. He scanned the hallway and quickly
headed toward the elevators upon seeing no one in the direction of the stairs.
On his way he dodged several reporters who were returning from the direction
he was headed. He rounded the corner just in time to see Morgan standing alone,
punching the elevator’s call button.
“Calea,”
he called as he approached.
“Stay
away from me, Jack!” Morgan warned angrily, reaching to give the button
another frustrated jab.
He came
to a stop beside her. “I want to talk to you.”
“I’ll
save you the trouble,” she snapped, glaring up at him. “You won. I lost. End of
conversation.”
The
elevator doors slid open and McCoy stepped in front of them, preventing her
from entering. “What I have to say to you is important. Just hear me out.”
Morgan
regarded him coolly. “I’m not the least bit interested in anything you have to
say, and I have a client waiting to discuss his appeal.”
As she
tried to go around him, he moved to block her. “I know you’re upset and you
have every right to be. All I’m asking for is a few minutes of your time.
Please?”
A couple
of the people in the elevator behind McCoy made sounds of impatience as Morgan
stood contemplating. After several seconds she held up her arm and checked her
watch. “You have exactly five minutes – starting now.”
McCoy
stepped out from the elevator entrance and the doors thumped to a close behind
him. “We can talk in one of the consultation rooms,” he suggested, then led the
way a few yards down the hallway and opened the door to an unoccupied room.
Once
Morgan had entered, he closed the door and leaned back against it, setting his
briefcase on the floor beside him. “I tried to get in touch with you yesterday.
I left several messages. Did you not get them?”
Morgan
placed her own briefcase on a chair and faced him, acknowledging icily, “I got
them. But since none made mention of anything pertaining to my client, I chose
to ignore them.”
He looked
at the floor, mostly to avoid the contempt he saw in her eyes. “I also came by
your apartment last night to see you.”
She
frowned slightly. “You were at my place?”
Nodding,
he conceded, “I waited until after
Folding her
arms, she stated, “Your concern was unwarranted. I spent the evening at the law
library searching for some obscure statute that might save my client.” Checking
her watch, she noted, “You have three minutes left.”
The
entire evening prior he had rehearsed what he wanted to say. But with her
standing there, glaring at him, he could only think of one thing. “I know what
you did, Calea.”
With a
confused look she asked, “What do you mean?”
“Yesterday after court Lennie told me you asked him for Fisher’s keys.
I know you found the photographs and I know you’re the one who put the
newspaper with your client’s picture under the storage unit manager’s door.”
McCoy was
sure he saw a flicker of fear in Morgan’s eyes before she turned to pick up her
briefcase. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t
worry,” he assured her. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“There’s
nothing to tell. Whatever ridiculous assumptions you’ve made are of no concern
to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, my client is waiting.”
He stood
his ground, not moving from in front of the door, and quickly confessed, “I had
a lot of time to think while I was waiting at your apartment last night. What I
said to you yesterday after court was completely out of line. I was wrong to
have doubted you and I was wrong to be angry with you for taking this case. I
should’ve known...” He stopped mid-sentence at the sudden flash of anger in
Morgan’s eyes.
Taking a
step closer, her eyebrows arched. “Known what? That I would sell out my client?
That I would violate my oath to him?”
“That
isn’t what I was going to say. I was going to say that I should’ve known you’d
do the right thing.”
“Which in
your eyes was selling out my client.”
“I didn’t
say that,” he maintained.
“But it
is what you meant,” she insisted.
McCoy
studied her carefully before saying, “You kept a murderer from being set free.
It was the right thing to do.”
“I see.
And because you believe I did this, I’ve therefore redeemed myself in your
eyes.”
“Calea…”
“Time’s
up, Jack. I have to go,” she announced coldly.
He let
out an exasperated sigh. “I’m trying to apologize to you for the way I’ve
acted.”
Morgan
shrugged. “Fine. Now will you please move so I can leave?”
Shaking
his head he asked, “What do I have to do to make you see that I’m truly
sorry?”
“There’s
nothing you can do because I don’t believe you!” she declared. She walked a few
steps away from him, then stopped and turned back around. “You aren’t
apologizing because you think you’ve done anything wrong. You’re only
apologizing because you think I’ve done something right.”
“That
isn’t true. I know I behaved unfairly. I realize that.”
“Do you?
Do you ever really try to look at things from someone’s point of view other
than your own?”
He huffed
out a breath and gave her a look of wounded surprise, but before he could
answer she took a couple of steps closer and searched his face with intense
eyes. “You were angry with me for doing nothing more than my job. You wanted so
badly to beat me that you ignored the rules of the game. You broke a promise to
uphold justice by trying to hide the truth. And I don’t understand why.”
Without
looking into her eyes, he offered, “I was upset that you would take a case
involving the rape and murder of a young girl. I guess I was disappointed that
you would choose to associate yourself with someone like Eric Fisher.”
“So it’s
guilt by association? Doing my job as defense attorney made me a criminal,
too?”
“That
isn’t what I meant,” he corrected her, “and that isn’t how I felt.”
“Really?
You certainly had me fooled,” Morgan informed him, crossing her arms.
Taking
note of her defiant stance, McCoy shrugged. “It just didn’t seem like something
you would do. When you worked with us to put your ex-husband and his partners
away, I thought you saw things much the same way I do. I thought you were
different than the majority of defense attorneys I work with day in and day
out, that you cared about justice for everyone, not just getting a client off.”
Nodding,
Morgan replied, “I do care a great deal about justice. And in that particular
case, I took a certain course of action in order to win justice for a client
who was innocent. But I don’t sit at the same table as you and never have. You
and I see the world from two totally different perspectives. What you see as
justice may be a complete violation of rights to me. But that doesn’t make one
of us always right and the other always wrong.”
“I know
that,” McCoy agreed, taking a step toward her. “Look, I know some of the things
I did regarding this case crossed the line. Sometimes I convince myself that
doing something borderline is okay because I’m doing it for the right reasons.
And sometimes I get so caught up in my own personal view of what’s right that I
forget to look at things objectively. I’m sorry you were hurt by what I did. I
never intended for that to happen.”
She
scrutinized him carefully and he met her gaze unwaveringly, offering her every
chance to recognize his sincerity.
After several seconds she nodded slowly. “All right. Apology accepted.”
Without
another word, Morgan started for the door but McCoy stepped back to block her
exit once more. Stopping a couple of feet away, she looked at him
questioningly.
He shook
his head. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“You’ve
apologized and I’ve accepted. I believe you mean what you say. What more do you
want?”
He took a
deep breath. “I want things between us to be the way they were before. I want
us to be friends again.”
Shaking
her head, Morgan replied, “Time doesn’t go backwards. You can’t expect our
relationship to go back to the way it was. We can’t undo what’s been done.”
“Then
let’s start from here,” he suggested earnestly. “Let’s put all that’s happened
in the last few weeks behind us and begin again. I want us to get past this and
move on.”
“We’ll
both move on, Jack, but it will be in different directions,” she stated flatly.
“I’m not saying I can’t forgive what’s happened, but I can’t so easily forget.
You tried to punish me simply for doing something that displeased you
personally. And I don’t take that from any man anymore.”
He
swallowed hard. The words struck him more than any physical blow possibly could
have. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He took another deep breath and confessed,
“I’ve been miserable these few last weeks, Calea. I tried to tell myself it was
because of what you were doing, that I had a right to be angry with you for
taking on such a lousy client. But the truth is I was unhappy with myself. I knew
I was treating you unfairly and I was angry with myself for doing so. I should
never have allowed things to get so out of hand.” He paused and then shrugged,
adding quietly, “It took me longer than it should have, but I finally realized
how important you are to me. I want you to know that I care a great deal about
you.”
Morgan’s
expression instantly became wary as she slowly backed away from him. She then
turned around and walked to the small conference table, setting her briefcase
down.
When she turned
back to face him, she seemed completely flustered. “Why are you telling me this
now, of all times? I have a client waiting for me who was just sentenced to
death. How am I supposed to handle it all?”
McCoy
closed the gap between them, stopping only inches from her. Looking down into
her eyes he said, “I’m telling you now because I don’t want you to say ‘apology
accepted’ and walk out of this room and out of my life.”
She
closed her eyes and shook her head, stepping back from him again. “It isn’t fair
for you to do this to me right now. I can’t deal with it!”
“That’s
all right, I understand. I realize this isn’t the time or place to discuss it,”
he quickly agreed. “Look, why don’t you come to my office later after you
see your client? We can talk then.”
“I can’t.
I don’t have any idea how long it will take…”
“I’ll
wait,” he interrupted. “I’ll wait there until I hear from you, one way or the
other. I know you have a lot on your mind right now. All I’m asking is that you
come if you can. And if you don’t, I’ll understand,” he assured her.
Morgan
studied him intently again, searching his eyes, then turned away and picked up
her briefcase. “I need time to think. I can’t promise you anything.”
Without
waiting for a reply, she quickly ducked around him and headed for the door.
McCoy
heaved a deep sigh and stood where he was long after the door had closed behind
her.
***“I know you wanted me to finish drafting the
motion for the Monsey case this evening, but I just got a call from Lieutenant
Van Buren. Briscoe and Green have a suspect in custody who seems to be in the
mood to confess to an arson where a couple of people were found in the ashes.
They need me to meet them at the 27th,” Southerlyn informed McCoy
upon entering his office.
Closing a
file, he noted, “We have to present the motion to Judge Stein first thing
Monday morning. Keep working on that and I’ll catch the call at the precinct.”
“Are you
sure?” she asked as he stood and began to put on his jacket. “I can come in
early Monday and finish up.”
He shook
his head. “That’s okay. I need some air anyway. It’ll do me good to get out of
here for a while.”
As they
both exited his office, McCoy paused at the door. “If I get any calls, take a
message for me, okay? I’m sort of expecting one. If you can’t get in touch with
me at the precinct, you can leave it in my box or on my desk. I’ll be back to
check in before going home.”
Southerlyn nodded. “Sure. And thanks, Jack. I owe you one.”
“See you
on Monday, Serena,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the hallway.
***Southerlyn placed the finished file on McCoy’s
desk and returned to her cubicle just in time to hear her intercom buzz
annoyingly. She quickly rounded her desk and touched the lighted button. “Yes?”
“There’s
an attorney here to see Jack. Do you know if he’s left for the day?” the
receptionist’s voice queried from the box.
“Who’s
the attorney?” Southerlyn asked.
“Calea
Morgan.”
“Why
don’t you send her back, Susan? Maybe I can help her,” Southerlyn decided.
Seconds
later Morgan appeared around the corner from Southerlyn’s cubicle.
“Hi,”
Southerlyn greeted her as she finished straightening her desk. “Jack is out
right now. Is there something I can help you with?”
Stuffing
her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Morgan replied, “Not really. He asked
me to meet him here. Do you know if he’ll be returning?”
Southerlyn regarded her curiously, surprised at her response. “Yes, he
will be. He left to take a call over at the 27th about thirty minutes
ago and said he was going to return to check in before going home. I know he
rode his motorcycle to work this morning so he also has to come back to trade
vehicles. I can call him and tell him you’re here if you’d like.”
“Oh, no,
that’s all right. I don’t want to disturb him while he’s working.”
“Well,
would you like to wait for him here?”
Morgan
looked undecided for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I can hang around for
a few minutes.”
“Why don’t
you wait in his office?” Southerlyn suggested. “I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Are you
sure? I could just as easily wait in the reception area.”
“I’m
sure,” Southerlyn nodded, getting up and leading the way to McCoy’s office.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she offered, indicating the sofa. “Can I get you
something to drink before I leave? Coffee or maybe a soda?”
“No,
thank you. I’m fine.”
“Jack
should be here shortly. If you get tired of waiting, you can leave a message on
his desk.”
“I’ll do
that,” Morgan agreed.
“Well,
good-night,” Southerlyn said. “Have a good evening.”
“You,
too. And thanks again.”
Southerlyn made her way to her desk, took her purse out of a drawer, and
turned off the lamp. On her way to the elevator she thought about the last few turbulent
encounters she had witnessed between Morgan and McCoy. And she wondered what could possibly have transpired
in the short time since then to cause Morgan to show up after
hours, at McCoy’s apparent request.
***McCoy trudged down the hallway toward his
office feeling bone-weary. The visit to the precinct had taken much longer than
he had anticipated, and despite the fact that it had ended in a confession and
arrest, he felt none of the usual satisfaction that went along with knowing
another criminal was safely behind bars. Instead, he had spent the drive there
and back thinking about his conversation with Morgan earlier in the day and
chastising himself over the things he had said. Knowing what he did about her
past, he felt he should have handled things differently. He was convinced that
revealing any personal feelings towards her so abruptly had been a mistake. And
when he had found no message from her in his box behind the abandoned
receptionist’s desk, he was sure his suspicions were correct.
He
noticed as he approached his office that the main lights were off, as they were
in all the others he had passed, but the room was softly lit by the lamp on his
credenza. As he grew closer, he did a double take when he also noticed that
someone familiar was sitting on his sofa.
Stopping
short in the doorway, he stared in astonishment. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“Serena
said it was okay to wait in your office,” Morgan assured him. “I promise I
didn’t go through any files.”
Giving
her a slow smile, he walked towards the sofa. “That isn’t what I meant.” He
stopped in front of her and shrugged. “I’m just surprised to see you. I didn’t
think you’d come.”
“Neither
did I,” she admitted. “But, here I am.”
He
reached behind him and laid his briefcase on the desk, then set to work
unbuttoning his collar and removing his tie, all the while keeping his eyes
fixed on Morgan. Taking note of her blue jeans and bright red sweater, he
asked, “Do you mind if I change clothes?”
She
glanced up at him somewhat suspiciously, but after a second acknowledged, “It’s
your office.”
He walked
to the clothes rack in the corner and hung his jacket and tie, then removed a
pair of jeans from a hanger. Ducking behind the door that led into the hallway
outside of Branch’s office, he queried as he began to change, “How long have
you been here?”
From the
sofa Morgan replied, “I don’t know. What time is it?”
“Nearly
8:00.”
“Then I
guess I’ve been here for a little over two hours.”
He came
out from behind the door, still buckling the belt on his jeans, and looked at
her in surprise. “Two hours? What have you been doing all this time?”
“Waiting,” she responded pointedly.
“I’m
sorry,” he offered with a smile, removing his keys from the pocket of his
slacks and transferring them to his jeans. “I got tied up at the precinct,” he
added as he draped his slacks over a hanger and stepped back into his shoes.
When he
moved to lean back against his desk in front of her, Morgan shifted on the sofa
and tucked one leg under the other. It was then that he noticed the glass in
her hand.
Taking
note of the direction of his gaze, she lifted it slightly. “I hope you don’t
mind. I helped myself to something I found in the bottom drawer of your desk.”
McCoy
stared at her in disbelief, completely taken aback. He shook his head once, as
if to clear it, then stammered, “Uh, no… no, I don’t mind.” After staring for
several seconds more, he asked, “What is it?”
“I’m not
sure. I didn’t bother looking at the label.” She held up the glass and studied
it closely. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to tell by the color?”
He
reached forward and took the glass from her hand. With one gulp, he finished
what little was left and announced, “Scotch.”
“I’ll have
to take your word for it. As you know, my expertise with liquor is somewhat
lacking. One thing I do know is that the entire first glass burned like fire
all the way down,” she informed him casually.
He
scrutinized her again. “The first one? Can I take that to mean you’ve had more
than one?”
She
nodded. “That was number three.” Frowning slightly, she muttered, “Or was it
four?”
McCoy’s
eyebrows arched in surprise and amusement. “And how do you feel?”
Morgan’s
gaze dropped to the floor for a moment. When she looked back up at him, her
eyes were solemn. “I thought the whole point of drinking the stuff was to not feel.”
He turned
away and set the glass on the desk beside him, saying quietly, “It doesn’t
work. Trust me.”
With a
deep sigh, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Now you tell me.”
After
studying her for a moment, he moved to take a seat a short distance from her on
the sofa, turning slightly so that he was facing her. “Do you want to tell me
what has possessed you to suddenly take up drinking?”
“Not
really,” she responded without moving.
“I think
I have a pretty good idea,” he suggested, watching her carefully. “I think
you’re feeling guilty for the small role you played in helping to put your
client where he can no longer harm anyone.”
She
opened her eyes and sat up straighter. Studying her hands in her lap, she
amended, “It wasn’t a small role. We both know that if I hadn’t done what I
did, he would’ve walked.”
“You did
the right thing,” he insisted.
“The end
justifies the means, right?”
“Sometimes,” he acknowledged. “Look, the person you feel you sold out
committed several murders. All you did was make sure he got what he deserved.”
“I know
very well what I did,” she agreed, still looking down. “It isn’t as if this is
the first time it’s happened.”
He gave
her a puzzled look. “Are you saying you’ve done something like this before?”
Morgan
nodded. “In
“What
happened?”
Keeping
her eyes focused on her hands, she explained, “I was representing a man accused
of rape. Drew Compton prosecuted but the evidence was pretty thin. My client
swore all along he was innocent and I believed him. But when the trial was
almost over and he knew he was going to be acquitted, he bragged to me that not
only had he raped the girl in question, he had gotten away with it once before,
too – and could easily do so again. I was so angry at his arrogant attitude and
at having been lied to that I went to Drew, off the record, and told him
everything. I suggested that he interview my client’s ex-girlfriend since she
knew about the first rape. He did and was able to use the ensuing evidence to
convict my client.” Glancing at him, she added, “That conviction is what Drew
and I celebrated when he was here last spring.”
“It
sounds to me like you followed your conscience and did the right thing then,
also,” McCoy observed. “I know a lot defense attorneys would disagree, but
working for the greater good should be what’s most important, not just getting
a client off. It does everyone a disservice to allow a criminal to roam the
streets. It puts us all at risk.”
“Spoken
like a true prosecutor.”
“Spoken
like a father who still worries over the safety of his daughter,” he retorted
pointedly.
“Well I
think the disciplinary committee would strongly disagree with your assessment
of my actions. I have no doubt they would feel I should forfeit my license as a
result.”
“And
they’d be wrong,” he maintained. “Fortunately, they’ll never know.” Leaning an
elbow on the back of the sofa, he propped up his head. “You know, Eric Fisher
isn’t worth how bad those three or four Scotches are going to make you feel in
the morning. In all probability he’s responsible for the deaths of six young
girls. If there’s ever been a case where the punishment fits the crime, this is
it.”
“I don’t
necessarily disagree,” Morgan admitted. At his look of surprise, she explained,
“As you said, he did murder six girls. And I know he’d commit the same crime
again in a heartbeat given the opportunity. It’s like an obsession with him. He
told me this afternoon what he would do differently next time to avoid getting
caught.”
“Then
what’s the problem? You now know, without a doubt, that he belongs where we put
him.”
Morgan
turned to face him and responded intently, “The problem is he doesn’t have a
clue what I’ve done. The client I sold out in
McCoy was
silent for a moment before suggesting quietly, “There’s always the chance that
you’ll win his appeal. You might be able to get his sentence reduced to life in
prison.”
Shaking
her head, she turned away. “He isn’t going to let me file. I spent almost the
entire day trying to convince him.”
His eyebrows
arched. “He isn’t going to appeal a death sentence? Why not?”
“Because
he’s given up. He knows it’s pointless,” she replied dejectedly. “He knows this
trial and conviction are only the tip of the iceberg. He’s facing the same
probable outcome five more times. And he says he’d rather die soon than spend
years on death row waiting for what he knows is going to happen anyway.” She
pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “It wasn’t
supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to take my advice and accept life
in prison in exchange for confessing to all the murders and telling you where
he left the bodies. Why couldn’t he just have listened to me?”
He looked
at her thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “This may not be the best time
to bring it up, but what are the chances that he’ll tell us about the other
girls anyway? I’ve already taken phone calls from a couple of the parents. They
would really like to know where their daughters are.”
Morgan
nodded slightly. “I talked to him about that today. Given the outcome of the
trial, he wasn’t exactly in a cooperative mood at first but I convinced him it
was the right thing to do for the families. I think he’ll tell you what you
want to know.”
“Then I
want to set up a meeting with him on Monday. I’d like to be able to call the
parents as soon as possible.” He paused for a second, then asked curiously,
“How did you find out? About the storage unit, I mean.”
“When the
trial was almost over and it looked like he was going to be acquitted, Eric
decided he’d better start paying his bills again. Because his
apartment was considered as a possible crime scene, the landlord wasn't able to rent it out during Eric's incarceration and agreed to allow him to resume living there once he was out. So he needed to have the utilities turned back on, and since he said he didn’t
have anyone else he could trust with his affairs, he signed a power of
attorney and asked if I would take care of things for him. When I stopped by to pick up some mail the landlord was holding for him, I found a bill from
the storage facility among the other letters. It wasn’t something he had told
me about and I had a really bad feeling when I saw it. That’s when I asked
Lennie to get the keys for me to check it out.” Shaking her head, she was
silent a moment before noting, “I couldn’t believe what I found. It made me
physically sick. I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think of was
to get his picture in the paper and hope the manager would recognize him and
come forward since she was the one who had signed his original lease agreement,
which I found inside the storage unit. It was a long shot, but I couldn’t think
of anything else to do with so little time left.” Turning to look at him, she
added, “I’m sorry for some of the things I said in the newspaper interview. I
didn’t really mean them. I only said what I did to make the story so the
newspaper would print the picture. And I should’ve realized Eric was lying to
me a lot sooner. The signs were there, I just ignored them. Maybe I was too
busy trying to prove you wrong to see what was right in front of me all along.”
McCoy
studied her quietly, then admitted, “So we both made some mistakes. It’s all
water under the bridge now.” Taking note of her dejection, he decided it was
time to steer the conversation to a less depressing subject. “How long has it
been since you had something to eat?”
Leaning
her head back, she answered, “I seem to remember having a few bites of yogurt
for breakfast this morning.”
“Nothing
since then?”
“I had
other things on my mind today besides food,” she pointed out.
Shaking his head, he mused, “At least three
Scotches on an empty stomach. I think we’d better do something about that
soon.” He stood up and looked down at her. “Come on. Let’s go get you something
to eat.”
She
regarded him thoughtfully. “The only problem I can see with that plan is that I
also haven’t slept in about three days. I’m so tired I don’t think I can even
stand up, let alone walk.”
With a
smile he noted, “The Scotch might have something to do with that, too. Where
did you park?”
“At home.
I took a cab here. Considering the frame of mind I was in, I figured driving
during rush-hour traffic wasn’t such a good idea.”
He
reached for his phone and quickly dialed a number from memory. After waiting
briefly he queried, “This is Jack McCoy. Would you please have a cab waiting
in front of the building for me? Thanks.”
When he
had replaced the receiver, he turned to Morgan, his eyes twinkling. “It looks
like there’s only one solution to our problem.” He sat on the edge of the sofa
right beside her. “Put your arm around my neck.”
At
Morgan’s blank look, he slid his hand between the cushion and her back and
repeated deliberately, “Put your arm around my neck.”
She sat
motionless, contemplating his command. After a few seconds, she reached tentatively
and did as he had said.
McCoy
quickly slipped his other arm under her knees and stood up with her.
Morgan’s
breath caught in surprise and her free arm also flew around his neck.
“Jack!”
she exclaimed. “You can’t carry me! You’ll kill yourself!”
Looking
into her eyes, only inches from his, he bounced her slightly in his arms as he
started out of the office. He smiled with satisfaction when her arms tightened.
“I think I can manage. You weigh, what? All of ninety-eight pounds soaking
wet?”
“More,”
she admitted as he headed for elevator. “But thanks for what I think was a compliment.”
He pushed
the elevator call button with the hand under her knees and then stood back to
wait, acutely aware that Morgan was silently studying him. The elevator car
arrived within only seconds and he stepped inside with her. Once he had
selected the button for the lobby, he leaned back against the handrail and met her gaze. With her arms locked tightly around his neck,
she didn’t feel the least bit heavy as he held her.
After a
few seconds she asked, “Why is it that on one of the worst days of my life, I
felt the need to come to you?”
The
question caught him completely off-guard and it took a moment before he could
think of anything to say. Finally he responded, “Maybe it’s because you know
you can come to me, even on one of
the worst days of your life.”
Morgan
remained silent as she contemplated his answer, then said, “You can put me down
now. I can walk.”
“I could,”
he agreed with a mischievous grin, without making the slightest effort to do
so.
When the
doors opened, McCoy exited the elevator and walked across the lobby toward the
building entrance, amid the confounded looks of the two security guards stationed
at the front desk.
“Is
everything okay, Mr. McCoy?” one questioned.
“Everything’s fine, Harry,” he answered as he continued walking. “Have a
good weekend.”
Once
outside, he found the cab waiting as requested. With a little maneuvering, he ducked
into the back seat still holding Morgan. He scooted slightly toward the middle
and lowered her until her backside was resting on the seat between his knees.
Leaning forward, he gave the driver their destination then sat back to find
Morgan staring at him warily.
“I
thought we were going to get something to eat.”
“We are,”
he acknowledged.
“Then why
did you give the driver your address?”
With one
hand around her waist and the other on her knees where they were draped over
his leg, he turned partly sideways so that Morgan was positioned in the cook of
his other knee, allowing her to lean a shoulder against the back of the seat.
“I didn’t think you’d appreciate my carrying you into a restaurant. When we get
to my place we can order take out or I can make you something. I thought that
would be a little more practical.”
He could
see the hesitation in her eyes. “Maybe you should drop me at my place instead.
I can manage for myself.”
Stretching his arm out across the back of the seat behind her head, he
asked teasingly, “So what’s wrong with my place? Was the food so terrible last
time you ate there? Or is it that you think I’m going to take advantage of the
fact that you’ve had too much to drink?”
With a
quick sigh she gave him an apologetic half-smile. “I’m sorry. Here you are
going out of your way for me, being a true friend, and instead of thanking you
I’m being suspicious.”
He
reached to carefully brush a few strands of hair from her cheek. “And what
would you say if I told you I wanted to be more than just a friend?”
It was
Morgan’s turn to be caught off-guard. She stared at him in astonishment for
several seconds, then replied slowly, “I would say that you’re wasting your
time. No matter how much I may wish otherwise, that kind of relationship is
impossible for me. I don’t have the ability to feel those kinds of emotions
anymore. There’s nothing left inside, no…” she paused, searching for the right
word, then concluded, “…passion. It’s all gone. Over the years of being married
to Frank, it just went away.”
McCoy
leaned toward her abruptly, with every intention of kissing her, to prove to
her how mistaken he knew her to be. Only centimeters away he stopped himself,
realizing it wasn’t the time, the place, or under what he felt were the right
circumstances. Instead he shook his head. “You’re wrong, Calea. You do feel
passion. I hear it in your voice every time you’re in the courtroom and when
you talk about doing the things you love, like running. And I’ve seen it in the
lengths to which you’re willing to go for your friends…”
Huffing
out a breath, she shook her head impatiently. “That’s different. It isn’t the
same thing.”
“It is
the same thing,” he insisted. “Those are things you feel very strongly about.
That’s the definition of passion. And I know you’re capable of feeling it for
another person. You just have to be willing to take the risk. It may not be
easy, but it’s worth it when you find someone who makes you happy.”
She
leaned her head against the back of the seat and his arm. “I wish I could
believe that. But I don’t. I gave up on the
happily-ever-after-with-Prince-Charming fairy tale a long time ago.”
“Well
then maybe you should set your sights a little lower – on a kindly frog like
me for instance,” he suggested. At Morgan’s slight smile he continued, “That
way the worst that can happen is that you’ll get a couple of warts.”
With
another sigh, Morgan closed her eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,
Jack. Any woman would have to be crazy to turn you down.”
Had her
eyes been open, she would’ve seen the stunned look on his face.
When her
eyes remained closed for several seconds, he gently squeezed her shoulder.
“Hey, don’t go to sleep. You have to stay awake long enough to eat something.
Otherwise, you’re going to feel like hell later on.”
Propping
her head up, she blinked sleepily. “I’m awake. But you had better keep talking
if you want me to stay that way.”
***When the cab came to a stop in front of his
building, McCoy paid the driver and fished his keys out of his pocket, then
scooted with Morgan to the door. Ignoring her protests, he carried her into the
building and even managed to unlock the door to his apartment without having to
put her down. Once inside he kicked the door closed behind them and deposited
her on the sofa.
“What
would you like to eat?” he asked as he turned on lights.
Morgan
yawned, curling up against the cushions. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t
think you’re going to last long enough to order take out. How about some soup?
I have chicken noodle and beef with rice or vegetables.”
“Chicken
noodle sounds good.”
Before he
started for the kitchen he admonished, “Promise you won’t go to sleep while
I’m getting it.”
She
nodded. “I’ll try.”
As he
went to work, he called from the kitchen, “Abbie came to see me the other day
for the first time since she moved across the street. She said she’s enjoying
her work.”
“She does
seem happy,” Morgan agreed. “I know she misses working in the D.A.’s office, though.
Why did she stop by?”
McCoy
hesitated, recalling their conversation. “It was mostly just to say hello.”
He was
quiet for a few minutes while he finished heating the soup and found crackers,
then a tray to put everything on. He added a napkin and spoon before carrying
it from the kitchen.
“What
would you like to…” He stopped and huffed out a breath. “I thought I told you
not to go to sleep!”
Morgan’s
arms were crossed on the back of the sofa and her head was resting on them,
eyes closed.
After
setting the tray on the coffee table, he sat beside her on the edge of the
cushions and put his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair back. “Come on,
Calea. You have to wake up and eat something.”
After
attempting for several minutes to wake her, he finally decided it was a lost
cause. Getting up, he went to the bedroom and folded back the covers on his
bed, then returned to gather her into his arms. Morgan did nothing more than
sigh peacefully against his shoulder as he carried her to the bedroom. When he
had carefully laid her down, he removed her shoes and pulled the blanket up to
cover her, smoothing her hair from her face once more. Before he left the room
he picked up a shirt and pair of slacks from the floor and tossed them onto a
chair, then turned on the bathroom light and pulled the door to it partially
closed. He had a feeling she was going to need to be able to find it fairly
quickly at some point.
***McCoy shifted on the sofa, trying hard to
ignore whatever it was that had crept into his subconscious to awaken him.
Although he kept his eyes firmly closed, he gradually became aware of a
familiar but somehow out-of-place noise. After several seconds more, his eyes
popped open as he recognized the sound of water running through the pipes on the
other side of the living room wall.
He sat
up, picked up the sweat pants he had left on the floor beside the sofa, and
quickly pulled them on. Tugging his t-shirt down over them, he headed across
the room and turned on the desk lamp before continuing to the bedroom. Upon
listening at the partially opened door and hearing no further sound, he
carefully pushed it open and peered inside. The covers were thrown back and the
bed was empty. With a glance at the bathroom, he saw that the door was ajar and
the light still on. He had taken several steps toward it when his bare foot
encountered a piece of clothing on the floor. Frowning, he bent to retrieve it
and came up with a pair of jeans much too small to be his own. Two steps more
and he bent to pick up a red sweater, then, much to his astonishment, a dark
lacy bra. He placed them on the chair and continued to the bathroom door.
Pausing to knock softly, he wondered what exactly he was going to find beyond
it.
“Calea,”
he called quietly, “are you okay?”
When he
received no answer, he slowly opened the door all of the way. Past the sink and
bathtub, he could see a pair of bare legs and feet through the doorway that led
to the toilet.
Taking a
couple of steps toward her, he asked, “Calea? Can I come in?”
Still
receiving no answer, he peered around the doorway to find Morgan sitting on the
floor with her elbows propped on her knees, covering her eyes with her hands,
clad in the white dress shirt he had left on the bedroom chair.
“Hey,” he
said, kneeling beside her, “are you all right?”
Without
moving she replied, “Go away, Jack. Let me die in peace.”
He
chuckled quietly. “Trust me, you aren’t going to die. You may wish you would,
but you won’t.” He got up and retrieved two washcloths from the linen closet
and ran them under the tap, then rang them out. Returning to her side, he held
one out. “Put this on your forehead. It’ll help.”
She
cautiously removed her hands and did as he said, letting out a sigh as she did
so.
He folded
he other cloth long-ways. “I’m going to put this on the back of your neck.” He
carefully held her hair out of the way with one hand and pressed it into place
with the other.
Morgan
sucked in a breath and her body stiffened as the cold cloth touched her warm
skin. It took several seconds before she let the breath out and began to relax.
“Why
would anyone in their right mind drink something that makes them this sick?”
she groaned.
“Some
people make a career of it,” he noted.
“They
have to be crazy. Or suicidal.”
“Well not
all people start out drinking half a bottle of Scotch their first time. Next
time, how about trying just a drink or two to begin with?” he suggested
cheerfully.
“Next
time? There isn’t going to be a next time! I’m never drinking anything stronger
than iced tea with lemon again for the rest of my life,” she vowed.
He
chuckled again. “Famous last words.”
“It isn’t
funny. And it’s all your fault,” she informed him with annoyance. “If you
hadn’t left your liquor in such an obvious place, or had thought to put a lock
on the drawer, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Grinning,
he shook his head. “And miss out on seeing the usually calm and collected Calea
Morgan in something less than perfect control? Not on your life!”
Morgan
grew so still that he could hear her soft breathing. After a moment she asked
quietly, “Is that really what you think of me?”
Behind
her McCoy opened his mouth to protest, to tell her he hadn’t meant it to sound
the way it had. But he stopped himself. Knowing how much she valued honesty and
given the unusual circumstances, he decided to take advantage of the situation
and answer her question truthfully.
To give
himself time to think he stood up and rewetted the washcloth, then brought it back
to her. “Here. I’ll trade you,” he offered.
Without
looking up at him, Morgan exchanged her cloth for the one he was holding and
placed it against her forehead.
When he
had rewetted the other, he gently moved her hair again and replaced it, receiving
a less intense reaction the second time.
He
settled cross-legged on the floor beside her and finally responded, choosing
his words carefully. “I think you work hard at appearing as though you have
your life, and your emotions, under careful control. You put up a strong front
to try and make everyone believe you don’t need anyone and can take care of
yourself. But that’s all it is – a front. Inside, I know you’re afraid of being
hurt again. And given your past I can certainly understand why. It makes you
keep people at arm’s length, though, even when you don’t need to. You don’t let
anyone too close. I think you hold part of yourself back and keep your emotions
locked securely inside because you don’t want anyone to know what you really
feel.”
McCoy
practically held his breath, waiting for her reaction. After what seemed like
an eternity, Morgan removed the cloth from her head and leaned forward away
from his hand. Her soft hair slipped from his fingers as she said, “I’m feeling
a little better. I’d like to go back to bed now.”
Beside
her, he nodded and stood, then held out his hand to help her up. Although he
tried to read her expression, she kept her eyes focused on the floor as she
allowed him to pull her to her feet. When he began to lead the way out of the
bathroom, still holding her hand, she carefully tugged it from his.
“I’d like
to wash my face and get a drink first.”
“Okay,”
he agreed. “Only don’t drink the tap water. It’s pretty nasty. I’ll get you a
bottled water.”
At her
nod, he closed the bathroom door and made his way to the kitchen. When he
returned to the bedroom he could still hear water running so he turned on the
lamp and sat on the edge of the bed to wait. And he mentally kicked himself for
speaking his mind in response to her question.
Morgan
emerged from the bathroom several minutes later. McCoy couldn’t help but notice
how the light from behind her silhouetted her slim figure underneath his shirt
as she took a few halting steps toward him.
“Why
don’t I let you have your bed back?” she suggested. “I don’t mind sleeping on
the sofa.”
He shook
his head and stood up. “I’m perfectly comfortable out there. I sleep on the
sofa a lot, in fact. Besides, you might need to stick close to the bathroom for
a while until your stomach settles.” Indicating the bed he added, “Come and
lie down. You look a little shaky.”
After a
moment’s hesitation she moved to the bed and sat down, then slid toward the
middle and pulled the blankets up to her waist. He handed her a bottle of water
once she was situated.
“Do you
feel like you could keep down a couple of aspirin? You’ll feel better when you
wake up if you can.”
She took
a sip of water and shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
He took
the water from her and placed it on the nightstand. “I’ll leave the aspirin
bottle here with your water in case you change your mind.” He stood beside the
bed looking down at her, not wanting to leave and feeling as though he needed
to somehow explain or apologize for what he had said. But he wasn’t sure what
he should say. “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep. Call me if you need
anything.”
As he
reached to turn off the lamp, Morgan queried, “Jack?”
Pulling
back his hand, he smiled and nodded. “I know – leave it on.”
“That
isn’t what I was going to say.”
He looked
at her curiously as she began to nervously smooth the blanket while avoiding
his eyes. When she didn’t continue, he asked, “What is it?”
Glancing
up at him she shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing. I know you must be worn out and
I’ve kept you up long enough. I should let you go back to sleep.”
McCoy sat
back down on the edge of the bed. “That’s all right. I’m not sleepy. Tell me
what you were going to say.”
She
pulled her knees up under the covers and hugged them to her chest. “I was going
to say… I mean, I was going to ask if you wanted to talk for a few minutes.
Just until we’re both ready to go back to sleep.”
A quick
smile lit his face. “Sure.” Reaching for a pillow, he added, “Why don’t you lie
down and get comfortable? You’re going to have to share the blankets, though,
because my feet are cold.”
As she
settled back, he slid his legs under the covers and turned on his side facing
her, propping his torso up with the pillow. As an afterthought he rolled over
and switched the lamp off.
“Okay?”
he questioned.
In the
subdued light coming from the bathroom he saw her nod. Settling back down, he
studied her in the semi-darkness. “How do you feel?”
“All
right, I guess. My stomach is still a little queasy.”
“It probably
will be for a couple of hours yet. If you had eaten something, it would’ve
helped.” He paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to broach the subject
on his mind. “And how are you with everything else?” he finally asked.
“You mean,
how do I feel about helping to put someone on death row?” She turned her head
to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to feel about that?
You’ve had more experience with it than I have.”
Although
it wasn’t the subject he had hoped to discuss, and one he would rather have
completely avoided, he shook his head and admitted, “I’ve had less experience
than you might think.”
“Well,
you’ve certainly had more than I have. So you tell me, how am I supposed to
deal with it?”
“I don’t
have all the answers,” he confessed. “I don’t think anyone is ever comfortable with a capital case. It isn’t easy to see someone sentenced to
death. But sometimes you know it’s the only way to protect society. If Eric
Fisher’s punishment deters one other person from preying on an innocent victim,
then it was worth it.”
Morgan
was silent for a few seconds before saying quietly, “He asked me to be
there.”
He pushed
himself up a little farther and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Eric
asked me to be there when they… when the time comes,” she explained.
McCoy
huffed out an angry breath. “He doesn’t have any right to ask that of you!
Since he’s turned down your offer to appeal his case, technically he’s no
longer your client. And even if he were, that’s asking too much!” He peered at
her, wishing he had left the light on so he could read her expression. “You
told him you wouldn’t do it, didn’t you?” When she remained silent he
declared, “You can’t seriously be considering it!”
“I don’t
know!” she replied sharply, putting a hand to her head and closing her eyes. “I
told him I didn’t want to discuss it, that I wanted him to reconsider allowing
me to file an appeal.”
Rolling
onto his stomach closer to her, he said gently but insistently, “You don’t owe
him anything, Calea. Just tell him you can’t do it.”
Morgan
sat up abruptly… and promptly grabbed her head and groaned.
“Easy,”
he admonished, reaching to put his hand on her shoulder. “You need to lie back
down.”
Ignoring
his advice, she turned to look at him, shrugging his hand from her shoulder in
the process. “Haven’t you ever felt obligated to do something that you would
prefer not to? He’s accepted that he’s going to pay with his life for the
crimes he’s committed, but he doesn’t want to die feeling completely alone. Is
it so much for him to ask to see one familiar face as he’s about to take his
last breath?”
“Why does
it have to be you? You said he has family. Why can’t he ask them?”
“Because
they don’t want to have anything to do with him. He doesn’t have anyone but
me.”
He sat up
and insisted angrily, “Can’t you see that he’s playing on your sympathy? He’s
manipulating you, as he did the girls he killed. He gets off on control. It
gives him a sense of power.”
Looking
away, she pulled up her knees and leaned her arms on them, holding her head.
McCoy
felt a wave of sympathy and reached to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry. We don’t
need to talk about this right now. I didn’t mean to upset you. Come on, lie
back. You need to get some sleep.”
She did
as he said and he pulled the blanket up to cover her, then settled back down
beside her on his stomach, crunching the pillow beneath him so that he was
propped up again. As he watched her, he realized that her eyes were still open
and she was staring at the ceiling.
After
several seconds she announced, “I’m not going to accept any more criminal
cases. I just don’t have the heart to practice criminal law anymore.”
“You
can’t make that decision based on the outcome of a single case. Not every
criminal trial ends in the defendant being handed a death sentence,” he
reminded her.
“That
isn’t it.” She turned on her side to face him, tucking her hands between her
cheek and the pillow. “I almost got him off, Jack. I almost helped someone who
raped and murdered six young girls walk away a free man. That isn’t what I
became a lawyer to do. I wanted to help people who needed it, not be at least
partially responsible for further endangering the lives of those who are
innocent.”
He
regarded her silently for a moment, not trusting himself to respond. He knew he
should caution her against deciding something so important under the
circumstances, but part of him was secretly glad at her decision for purely
personal reasons. He didn’t want to
run the risk of finding himself on the opposite side of the courtroom from her and having their relationship turn adversarial again.
He
smoothed her hair back from her cheek. “Go to sleep,” he advised softly. “There
will be plenty of time to talk about this later.”
She
continued regarding him for a few seconds before asking, “Are you going back to
the sofa?”
“If you
want me to,” he answered, hoping fervently that she didn’t.
With a
deep sigh, Morgan blinked sleepily a couple of times and then closed her eyes.
“That’s okay,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can stay if
you’d like.”
Within
only minutes McCoy heard her breath become slow and steady as she fell asleep.
He watched her for a long while afterwards, thinking about the things she had
said. His only wish was that everything between them could remain as it was at that moment:
peaceful, with her curled up in his bed, sound asleep beside him.