Fic: All That's Left You (3/?)
Title: All That’s Left You
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Olivia/Alex
Summary: When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t sue.
Spoilers: If you’re aware of events up until the advent of “Conviction”, you’ll be fine.
Status: On-going
Archive: Ask and ye shall (probably) receive.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
A/N:Um, so I know this is a little later than previously stated, but if anyone's still interested, here's the next chapter of "All That's Left You". Real-life has been a tad busy lately, and will likely stay that way until the new year, but I'm hoping to have posted at least another three chapters between now and then. Thanks to everyone who's read and taken the time to comment on the first two chapters. All feedback is welcomed. And finally a big thank you to the wonderful beurre_blanc for taking the time to plough through the lazy first draft of this chapter and making me try harder! I may not be completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out but it's definitely better as a result of her input! Enjoy.
All That’s Left You
“Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they’re all that’s left you.”
Chapter 3
Monday 3rd July 2006, Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.
“The detective on the Walker case just told Christina they got a hit on her guy’s accomplice.”
Not wishing to take the chance, after her earlier encounter, that Arthur Branch was still roaming the corridors of her bureau, Alex lifted her head slowly at the sound of her visitor, forcing her features into a tranquil smile.
“Excellent, Jim. Thank you for keeping me informed. Has she been brought in for questioning yet?”
Jim Steele surveyed his new boss with a wary curiosity. When it had first been announced by the D.A. that the title of successor to the role of Bureau Chief was not going to be bestowed upon himself, he had felt, if he was honest, a rather swift blow to his professional vanity. He was, after all, a damn good trial attorney, and this had always been his bureau. However, he had reasoned with himself, he was still a good deal younger than the average Chief or E.A.D.A., he had no real desire to try and solve the problems of a bunch of whiny still wet-behind-the-ears A.D.A.s, and let’s face it, no matter which of his politically inclined colleagues slunk into the position, it would always remain his show.
That was, of course, until the resurrection of Alexandra Cabot.
However, what had possibly surprised him the most was that since Cabot had taken up her new position within his bureau, he was still somehow the person to whom their younger colleagues selected to whine.
Not that any of them had really known what to expect when Bureau Chief Alexandra Cabot had first swept commandingly into their department, somehow over-shadowing the presence of the District Attorney himself, who had accompanied her if only to make formal introductions. Since her expected arrival had first been announced, only days previously, her soon-to-be employees had been speaking about her in tones of hushed reverence. Not that any of them had actually known her, or probably even been practising law, when she had first graced the halls of justice, but that did nothing, it seemed, to impact the scope of her legend.
Yet after three weeks, the initial ‘celebrity’ had almost faded, and the A.D.A.s had quickly realised that legend though Alexandra Cabot may be, approachable, as a general principle, she was not.
Christ, he had to admit, the woman could scare even him. She was so damned controlled all the time, it was almost inhuman.
And God help the victims unfortunate enough to cross her path; a lesson he’d had the unintentional experience of observing first hand two weeks previously when he’d walked in on Cabot and Peluso preparing the testimony of a teenage boy due to testify against his step father the following day. Steele didn’t need to have worked on the case to see the kid was going through hell. And while Peruso was clearly trying, if not succeeding, to coax him, Cabot appeared no more affected by the situation than if she were asking him to recite the phone book. Jim had watched from the doorway for several minutes before finally making a well-timed interruption. At his presence, the Bureau Chief had merely excused herself from the room and swiftly returned to her office where she had then spent the remainder of the day.
In fact, he was pretty sure that day was the first and only occasion since her arrival in the Bureau that Alex Cabot had seen fit, outside of the court room, to interact with either victim or witness.
And really, after three years selling insurance in Iowa, or whatever the hell it was the marshals had her doing, how qualified did someone need to be to hand out ‘smoke-and-mirrors’ trial strategy to a bunch of over-eager kids. It’s not like it was going to be her ass on the line in front of a judge.
Or so he’d thought.
~~~
“You’re going to try the case yourself?”
The question had reverberated through the silent office.
Door handle still in his grip, Steele made little effort to quell the incredulity in his voice.
His boss looked up casually from her desk at the untimely intrusion to her sanctuary so late on a Friday evening. As she peered over the top of her glasses, the Deputy Bureau Chief could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile in her eyes as she politely ushered him in.
“Are you telling me you now have time to take the Davies case yourself, Jim? Or do you merely have a problem with the basic concept of my practicing law? Because, from what I’ve seen, New York statute hasn’t changed entirely in my absence.”
Despite retaining his offensive stance in the doorway, Jim Steele felt oddly off-guard. A sensation, he realised, he was definitely unused to. Releasing his grasp on the door handle, he forced himself further into the room. Leaning on a conveniently placed chair, he opted for what he hoped was the tone of a colleague offering some sage out-of-hours wisdom from a place of professional concern.
“I just thought you might wish to take some more time before taking a case to trial.”
Cabot paused for a second, her expression again unreadable.
“I appreciate your concern, Jim. But it would seem that Judge Bowen has other ideas about any further continuances in this particular case. And unless you can personally re-write the schedule for the entire Bureau before Monday morning, I fail to see a viable alternative.”
“I’m sure if she knew the circumstances….”
The Bureau Chief raised her head to look directly at him, adjusting her glasses in the process.
“I somehow doubt that Judge Bowen has escaped knowledge of the circumstances, particularly if she’s the avid reader of the Ledger that I’ve been led to believe.”
Steele fought the urge to shift under the calm stare accompanying the cool observation.
“I trust you’ve had time to read the case notes?”
Indicating several piles of neatly stacked papers before her, Cabot smiled wryly.
“I still have the weekend to familiarise myself with the finer details, but from what I’ve seen so far, the phrase, ‘guilty as hell’ springs to mind.”
Jim struggled to hide the genuine smirk he could feel rising.
“That explains the expensive defence attorney.”
Silence.
Again finding himself caught in her collected gaze, Steele attempted to put his professional mask back in place.
“Well, if I can be of any assistance…”
Cabot again surveyed him, her expression unchanged.
“Thank you. But I’m sure I can manage.”
Her eyes falling back down to her desk, Steele waited for a second, before realising he’d just been summarily dismissed.
His earlier incredulity returning, he made a show of moving toward the door.
“In that case, I won’t keep you any longer.”
Gaining no response from his boss, he hovered once more in front of the exit.
“Good luck on Monday, Alexandra. The District Attorney’s a fair man, at least, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked you to take the case if he weren’t confident in the outcome.”
As he reached the doorway, Jim turned for a final time, as an obvious question sprung suddenly to his mind.
“Davies’ lawyer still isn’t willing to cut a deal?”
At this, Cabot again raised her head.
“Oh, he offered. But I turned him down.” At her colleague’s expression, a brief smile crossed her lips. “If they had anything I should be worried about, they wouldn’t have had to ask.”
Steele was almost out the door as her last comment echoed out into the empty room.
“And, Jim? Arthur didn’t ask me to take this case. I offered.”
~~~
A week later, as Steele found himself slipping into Judge Bowen’s court room, he realised that this earlier conversation was evidently still on his mind. It was the fifth and final day of the trial, and as he discreetly took a seat at the back of the room, Cabot was apparently in the middle of her cross examination of the defendant, Robert Davies. The content of which, Steele found himself struggling to follow, as every question she asked was met with a swift “Objection” from the defence table, and an equally rapid “Sustained” from Bowen herself.
If this break in rhythm posed any difficulty to the prosecution’s case, standing casually in the centre of the room, Alexandra Cabot appeared unaffected. And Steele quickly found himself enthralled with the one woman legal suicide mission he was surely witnessing.
This feeling lasted all of three minutes.
“So, Mr. Davies, are you telling me that, in broad daylight, you mistook the officer of the law who was attempting to Mirandize you, for, in your words, I believe, “one of those teenagers who’s always hanging around causing trouble”?
Cabot took a nonchalant step closer to the witness box.
“I, um…”
At the lack of response she glanced briefly behind her at the suddenly less self-satisfied defence table. If Jim hadn’t known better, he’d almost say she was goading them.
“Judge?”
“Answer the question, Mr. Davies.”
“I…”
“Would you like me to re-phrase the question, Mr. Davies?” This time her glance fell briefly to the twelve men and women to her left. A genial smile on her face, she took another step closer, her tone conversational. “On the afternoon, in question, why were you, as your secretary and all your other colleagues have so kindly explained, such an avid observer of all law enforcement activity taking place on the street outside your office?”
“I…”
“Was it possibly because you were expecting them to show up, because your ‘partner’ here -”, Cabot tilted her head to indicate a suddenly nervous man who had been sitting in the bench directly behind Davies and his legal team for the entirety of the trial, “- had called them earlier that day with certain privileged information about a fraud scheme that could only have come from someone on the inside.”
At the lack of response, Cabot’s features formed an almost comical expression of curiosity.
“Tell me, Mr. Davies, did it ever occur to you while you were threatening the life of your wife for her betrayal, that she was perhaps not the only person who could have supplied the police with this particular piece of information?”
Ignoring the prosecutor in front of him, Davies’ attention was now fixed solely on his business partner, who could slink no lower into his seat. A look of pure rage on his face, he started to his feet as the bailiffs quickly scrambled to theirs.
A surreal casualness in her movements, Cabot took one last look at the jury, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Steele thought he’d seen her shrug.
Ignoring the commotion around her, she smiled offhandedly at Bowen. “No further questions, your Honour.”
Realising, once the chaos had died down, that he had missed his opportunity to sneak out unseen, Steele found himself reluctantly enthralled with the scene before him.
Again Cabot stood before the judge, however this time her attention was fixed on the civilians beside her.
For a moment Jim thought that she’d noticed him sitting inconspicuously in the back row. Her eyes strayed briefly into the gallery, almost as if she were seeking out someone in particular, but in a moment she restored the intense focus directed solely at the twelve men and women whom she was so vehemently addressing.
As she focused on each of the individuals, Steele watched as they responded to her instinctively - a solemn nod here, a smile there. After several minutes, he gave up attempting to follow the content of her argument; watching her with the jury, he could almost believe she was actually human. Almost.
A flurry of movement around him, Steele came to the sudden, and unwelcome awareness, that closing arguments had ended, and he was seconds away from being caught openly spying on his boss. With few available options, he found himself on his feet approaching the woman in question who was studiously slipping rafts of papers back into her brief case. As he called to her, he thought he saw her start slightly, but as she turned to face him, her features took on the familiar expression of indifferent professionalism, speaking before he had opportunity to collect his thoughts.
“If you’ve come to offer moral support to a new colleague, Jim, I fear you’re a little late.”
Instead of admitting he’d witnessed at least some of the proceedings, Steele found himself nodding mutely.
A question seemed to flicker across her eyes, or maybe a recognition. But instead of voicing it, she gracefully gathered up her remaining belongings and indicated to the door in front of them.
“I don’t know about you, but I could definitely use a cup of coffee.”
As Jim followed, he couldn’t quite decide whether the tiredness he heard in her voice was yet another figment of his potentially over-active imagination.
~~~
“… either way, he’s looking at twenty-five, max.”
Idly sipping his stale coffee, Steele again found himself watching the Bureau Chief.
Her own cup now empty, she appeared more interested in the steady bustle of the court house cafeteria than in the status of his current case.
Noting her distraction, Jim allowed himself a brief wave of satisfaction at the idea that Cabot, for all her professional arrogance, at least had the grace to be anxious over the impending verdict. It was only as he followed his boss back into the courtroom at the summons of the clerk that he realised this distraction was not in the least affected by the news that the jury was in.
~~~
As the unsurprising ‘guilty on all counts’ echoed around the room, out of habit Jim found himself turning to convey his best wishes to the people whom he assumed to be the family of Mr. Davies’ unfortunate wife. In doing so, he was only now realising, he had barely even registered the unusual reaction, or non-reaction, to the successful verdict, of the attorney who had obtained it.
Indeed, his own acknowledgement of this had probably been hampered by the words he had disbelievingly heard spilling from his own lips.
Yet Cabot had, in her unflappable manner, accepted his dinner invitation. Whether it had been purely a reflex based more on a society upbringing than any genuine desire to share a meal with him, he was still uncertain. But once the invitation was out there, he’d quickly come to the conclusion that even if they only spent the night making civil, perfunctory conversation, there were worse people he could dine with than Alexandra Cabot.
But, just in case, instead of a fancy up-town restaurant which she may somehow determine as a date, he opted for the restaurant-bar a short distance away. An establishment which was perennially frequented by lawyers and cops who failed to make it more than a couple of blocks from the court house before the need to celebrate or drown their sorrows en masse kicked in. Better that than the risk of an awkward Monday morning encounter with his boss.
In truth, the evening had been slightly more enjoyable than he had initially envisaged. They’d made it through dinner and drinks with only minimal lulls in conversation. Alexandra, as he had now taken to calling her, had been charming and witty, and everything to be expected of the well-educated product of New York society he knew her to be. Yet if he had asked himself whether, after two hours of this conversation, he in fact knew anything more about his colleague than he had the day she had first walked back into the D.A.’s office after her three years missing-in-action, the answer would be by all accounts, a resounding, no.
It was only as they had been preparing to leave that he had again been struck by the odd sensation that there was something else behind the unblemished façade of the woman beside him. Whereas every other generic enquiry he had made throughout the evening, no matter how banal, had been met with polite interest, she had suddenly appeared again to be momentarily distracted. Curiously seeking the source of this distraction, he had been puzzled to see only the backs of what appeared to be a small but rowdy group of cops, probably detectives, making their way noisily across to the bar. Turning his attention back to his companion for the evening, he could have sworn he saw a hint of sadness flicker across her features. But the next second it was gone, and the only suggestion that she had anything on her mind other than the conversation at hand was the almost imperceptible slump of her previously finishing-school straight shoulders.
The same slump, he now realised, that he had witnessed as the jury foreman had read out the “guilty” verdict.
~~~
“Jim?”
At his boss’ expectant look, Steele brought his impromptu reverie to an end, forging his features into an expression of what he hoped was consummate professionalism and re-considering the current topic of interest - their latest Jane Doe.
“Sorry, but I don’t think questioning her is going to be an option, somehow.”
On seeing his boss’ expectant look, he quickly continued.
“She’s now the subject of an open homicide.”
If she had any reaction to the facts which could potentially have a less than positive impact on her division’s case, there was again no outward reaction. Feeling the need at least to elicit a response, one of any nature, Jim continued.
“She was found in Battery Park early this morning. Provisional M.E.’s report says she’d been there a couple of days at least. Still no I.D. on her but the prints are a match. The new detectives on the case have been made aware of the connection to our guy.”
At this information, Alex once again raised her eyes from the mound of paperwork which had again garnered her attention. Slowly removing her glasses, she looked directly at her Deputy.
“Well, they’d better work fast. Finn goes to trial in less than a week. And this is not one that we want to lose, if only for the sake of our dignity.”
Caught off guard by the unexpected hint of humour in his colleague’s response, Jim Steele could do nothing but nod his head in agreement. Realising this was his cue to leave he turned, pausing briefly as he reached the door, gathering his thoughts.
“I’ll give their Captain a call today. But I think there’s going to be some unlucky detectives spending a couple of hours at Riker’s this afternoon in the company of New York’s dumbest criminal.”
Content that he’d at least put in an acceptable parting shot, he pulled the door closed behind him leaving the Bureau Chief to whatever unreadable thoughts he had just interrupted.
TBC...
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Olivia/Alex
Summary: When the body of an unidentified woman is discovered, Alex finds herself thrown back into a familiar world. But can anyone really go home again?
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me etc. etc. They are the creation of Dick Wolf and Co. and I use them without permission for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t sue.
Spoilers: If you’re aware of events up until the advent of “Conviction”, you’ll be fine.
Status: On-going
Archive: Ask and ye shall (probably) receive.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
A/N:Um, so I know this is a little later than previously stated, but if anyone's still interested, here's the next chapter of "All That's Left You". Real-life has been a tad busy lately, and will likely stay that way until the new year, but I'm hoping to have posted at least another three chapters between now and then. Thanks to everyone who's read and taken the time to comment on the first two chapters. All feedback is welcomed. And finally a big thank you to the wonderful beurre_blanc for taking the time to plough through the lazy first draft of this chapter and making me try harder! I may not be completely satisfied with how this chapter turned out but it's definitely better as a result of her input! Enjoy.
All That’s Left You
“Long ago, it must be; I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they’re all that’s left you.”
Chapter 3
Monday 3rd July 2006, Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.
“The detective on the Walker case just told Christina they got a hit on her guy’s accomplice.”
Not wishing to take the chance, after her earlier encounter, that Arthur Branch was still roaming the corridors of her bureau, Alex lifted her head slowly at the sound of her visitor, forcing her features into a tranquil smile.
“Excellent, Jim. Thank you for keeping me informed. Has she been brought in for questioning yet?”
Jim Steele surveyed his new boss with a wary curiosity. When it had first been announced by the D.A. that the title of successor to the role of Bureau Chief was not going to be bestowed upon himself, he had felt, if he was honest, a rather swift blow to his professional vanity. He was, after all, a damn good trial attorney, and this had always been his bureau. However, he had reasoned with himself, he was still a good deal younger than the average Chief or E.A.D.A., he had no real desire to try and solve the problems of a bunch of whiny still wet-behind-the-ears A.D.A.s, and let’s face it, no matter which of his politically inclined colleagues slunk into the position, it would always remain his show.
That was, of course, until the resurrection of Alexandra Cabot.
However, what had possibly surprised him the most was that since Cabot had taken up her new position within his bureau, he was still somehow the person to whom their younger colleagues selected to whine.
Not that any of them had really known what to expect when Bureau Chief Alexandra Cabot had first swept commandingly into their department, somehow over-shadowing the presence of the District Attorney himself, who had accompanied her if only to make formal introductions. Since her expected arrival had first been announced, only days previously, her soon-to-be employees had been speaking about her in tones of hushed reverence. Not that any of them had actually known her, or probably even been practising law, when she had first graced the halls of justice, but that did nothing, it seemed, to impact the scope of her legend.
Yet after three weeks, the initial ‘celebrity’ had almost faded, and the A.D.A.s had quickly realised that legend though Alexandra Cabot may be, approachable, as a general principle, she was not.
Christ, he had to admit, the woman could scare even him. She was so damned controlled all the time, it was almost inhuman.
And God help the victims unfortunate enough to cross her path; a lesson he’d had the unintentional experience of observing first hand two weeks previously when he’d walked in on Cabot and Peluso preparing the testimony of a teenage boy due to testify against his step father the following day. Steele didn’t need to have worked on the case to see the kid was going through hell. And while Peruso was clearly trying, if not succeeding, to coax him, Cabot appeared no more affected by the situation than if she were asking him to recite the phone book. Jim had watched from the doorway for several minutes before finally making a well-timed interruption. At his presence, the Bureau Chief had merely excused herself from the room and swiftly returned to her office where she had then spent the remainder of the day.
In fact, he was pretty sure that day was the first and only occasion since her arrival in the Bureau that Alex Cabot had seen fit, outside of the court room, to interact with either victim or witness.
And really, after three years selling insurance in Iowa, or whatever the hell it was the marshals had her doing, how qualified did someone need to be to hand out ‘smoke-and-mirrors’ trial strategy to a bunch of over-eager kids. It’s not like it was going to be her ass on the line in front of a judge.
Or so he’d thought.
~~~
“You’re going to try the case yourself?”
The question had reverberated through the silent office.
Door handle still in his grip, Steele made little effort to quell the incredulity in his voice.
His boss looked up casually from her desk at the untimely intrusion to her sanctuary so late on a Friday evening. As she peered over the top of her glasses, the Deputy Bureau Chief could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile in her eyes as she politely ushered him in.
“Are you telling me you now have time to take the Davies case yourself, Jim? Or do you merely have a problem with the basic concept of my practicing law? Because, from what I’ve seen, New York statute hasn’t changed entirely in my absence.”
Despite retaining his offensive stance in the doorway, Jim Steele felt oddly off-guard. A sensation, he realised, he was definitely unused to. Releasing his grasp on the door handle, he forced himself further into the room. Leaning on a conveniently placed chair, he opted for what he hoped was the tone of a colleague offering some sage out-of-hours wisdom from a place of professional concern.
“I just thought you might wish to take some more time before taking a case to trial.”
Cabot paused for a second, her expression again unreadable.
“I appreciate your concern, Jim. But it would seem that Judge Bowen has other ideas about any further continuances in this particular case. And unless you can personally re-write the schedule for the entire Bureau before Monday morning, I fail to see a viable alternative.”
“I’m sure if she knew the circumstances….”
The Bureau Chief raised her head to look directly at him, adjusting her glasses in the process.
“I somehow doubt that Judge Bowen has escaped knowledge of the circumstances, particularly if she’s the avid reader of the Ledger that I’ve been led to believe.”
Steele fought the urge to shift under the calm stare accompanying the cool observation.
“I trust you’ve had time to read the case notes?”
Indicating several piles of neatly stacked papers before her, Cabot smiled wryly.
“I still have the weekend to familiarise myself with the finer details, but from what I’ve seen so far, the phrase, ‘guilty as hell’ springs to mind.”
Jim struggled to hide the genuine smirk he could feel rising.
“That explains the expensive defence attorney.”
Silence.
Again finding himself caught in her collected gaze, Steele attempted to put his professional mask back in place.
“Well, if I can be of any assistance…”
Cabot again surveyed him, her expression unchanged.
“Thank you. But I’m sure I can manage.”
Her eyes falling back down to her desk, Steele waited for a second, before realising he’d just been summarily dismissed.
His earlier incredulity returning, he made a show of moving toward the door.
“In that case, I won’t keep you any longer.”
Gaining no response from his boss, he hovered once more in front of the exit.
“Good luck on Monday, Alexandra. The District Attorney’s a fair man, at least, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked you to take the case if he weren’t confident in the outcome.”
As he reached the doorway, Jim turned for a final time, as an obvious question sprung suddenly to his mind.
“Davies’ lawyer still isn’t willing to cut a deal?”
At this, Cabot again raised her head.
“Oh, he offered. But I turned him down.” At her colleague’s expression, a brief smile crossed her lips. “If they had anything I should be worried about, they wouldn’t have had to ask.”
Steele was almost out the door as her last comment echoed out into the empty room.
“And, Jim? Arthur didn’t ask me to take this case. I offered.”
~~~
A week later, as Steele found himself slipping into Judge Bowen’s court room, he realised that this earlier conversation was evidently still on his mind. It was the fifth and final day of the trial, and as he discreetly took a seat at the back of the room, Cabot was apparently in the middle of her cross examination of the defendant, Robert Davies. The content of which, Steele found himself struggling to follow, as every question she asked was met with a swift “Objection” from the defence table, and an equally rapid “Sustained” from Bowen herself.
If this break in rhythm posed any difficulty to the prosecution’s case, standing casually in the centre of the room, Alexandra Cabot appeared unaffected. And Steele quickly found himself enthralled with the one woman legal suicide mission he was surely witnessing.
This feeling lasted all of three minutes.
“So, Mr. Davies, are you telling me that, in broad daylight, you mistook the officer of the law who was attempting to Mirandize you, for, in your words, I believe, “one of those teenagers who’s always hanging around causing trouble”?
Cabot took a nonchalant step closer to the witness box.
“I, um…”
At the lack of response she glanced briefly behind her at the suddenly less self-satisfied defence table. If Jim hadn’t known better, he’d almost say she was goading them.
“Judge?”
“Answer the question, Mr. Davies.”
“I…”
“Would you like me to re-phrase the question, Mr. Davies?” This time her glance fell briefly to the twelve men and women to her left. A genial smile on her face, she took another step closer, her tone conversational. “On the afternoon, in question, why were you, as your secretary and all your other colleagues have so kindly explained, such an avid observer of all law enforcement activity taking place on the street outside your office?”
“I…”
“Was it possibly because you were expecting them to show up, because your ‘partner’ here -”, Cabot tilted her head to indicate a suddenly nervous man who had been sitting in the bench directly behind Davies and his legal team for the entirety of the trial, “- had called them earlier that day with certain privileged information about a fraud scheme that could only have come from someone on the inside.”
At the lack of response, Cabot’s features formed an almost comical expression of curiosity.
“Tell me, Mr. Davies, did it ever occur to you while you were threatening the life of your wife for her betrayal, that she was perhaps not the only person who could have supplied the police with this particular piece of information?”
Ignoring the prosecutor in front of him, Davies’ attention was now fixed solely on his business partner, who could slink no lower into his seat. A look of pure rage on his face, he started to his feet as the bailiffs quickly scrambled to theirs.
A surreal casualness in her movements, Cabot took one last look at the jury, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Steele thought he’d seen her shrug.
Ignoring the commotion around her, she smiled offhandedly at Bowen. “No further questions, your Honour.”
Realising, once the chaos had died down, that he had missed his opportunity to sneak out unseen, Steele found himself reluctantly enthralled with the scene before him.
Again Cabot stood before the judge, however this time her attention was fixed on the civilians beside her.
For a moment Jim thought that she’d noticed him sitting inconspicuously in the back row. Her eyes strayed briefly into the gallery, almost as if she were seeking out someone in particular, but in a moment she restored the intense focus directed solely at the twelve men and women whom she was so vehemently addressing.
As she focused on each of the individuals, Steele watched as they responded to her instinctively - a solemn nod here, a smile there. After several minutes, he gave up attempting to follow the content of her argument; watching her with the jury, he could almost believe she was actually human. Almost.
A flurry of movement around him, Steele came to the sudden, and unwelcome awareness, that closing arguments had ended, and he was seconds away from being caught openly spying on his boss. With few available options, he found himself on his feet approaching the woman in question who was studiously slipping rafts of papers back into her brief case. As he called to her, he thought he saw her start slightly, but as she turned to face him, her features took on the familiar expression of indifferent professionalism, speaking before he had opportunity to collect his thoughts.
“If you’ve come to offer moral support to a new colleague, Jim, I fear you’re a little late.”
Instead of admitting he’d witnessed at least some of the proceedings, Steele found himself nodding mutely.
A question seemed to flicker across her eyes, or maybe a recognition. But instead of voicing it, she gracefully gathered up her remaining belongings and indicated to the door in front of them.
“I don’t know about you, but I could definitely use a cup of coffee.”
As Jim followed, he couldn’t quite decide whether the tiredness he heard in her voice was yet another figment of his potentially over-active imagination.
~~~
“… either way, he’s looking at twenty-five, max.”
Idly sipping his stale coffee, Steele again found himself watching the Bureau Chief.
Her own cup now empty, she appeared more interested in the steady bustle of the court house cafeteria than in the status of his current case.
Noting her distraction, Jim allowed himself a brief wave of satisfaction at the idea that Cabot, for all her professional arrogance, at least had the grace to be anxious over the impending verdict. It was only as he followed his boss back into the courtroom at the summons of the clerk that he realised this distraction was not in the least affected by the news that the jury was in.
~~~
As the unsurprising ‘guilty on all counts’ echoed around the room, out of habit Jim found himself turning to convey his best wishes to the people whom he assumed to be the family of Mr. Davies’ unfortunate wife. In doing so, he was only now realising, he had barely even registered the unusual reaction, or non-reaction, to the successful verdict, of the attorney who had obtained it.
Indeed, his own acknowledgement of this had probably been hampered by the words he had disbelievingly heard spilling from his own lips.
Yet Cabot had, in her unflappable manner, accepted his dinner invitation. Whether it had been purely a reflex based more on a society upbringing than any genuine desire to share a meal with him, he was still uncertain. But once the invitation was out there, he’d quickly come to the conclusion that even if they only spent the night making civil, perfunctory conversation, there were worse people he could dine with than Alexandra Cabot.
But, just in case, instead of a fancy up-town restaurant which she may somehow determine as a date, he opted for the restaurant-bar a short distance away. An establishment which was perennially frequented by lawyers and cops who failed to make it more than a couple of blocks from the court house before the need to celebrate or drown their sorrows en masse kicked in. Better that than the risk of an awkward Monday morning encounter with his boss.
In truth, the evening had been slightly more enjoyable than he had initially envisaged. They’d made it through dinner and drinks with only minimal lulls in conversation. Alexandra, as he had now taken to calling her, had been charming and witty, and everything to be expected of the well-educated product of New York society he knew her to be. Yet if he had asked himself whether, after two hours of this conversation, he in fact knew anything more about his colleague than he had the day she had first walked back into the D.A.’s office after her three years missing-in-action, the answer would be by all accounts, a resounding, no.
It was only as they had been preparing to leave that he had again been struck by the odd sensation that there was something else behind the unblemished façade of the woman beside him. Whereas every other generic enquiry he had made throughout the evening, no matter how banal, had been met with polite interest, she had suddenly appeared again to be momentarily distracted. Curiously seeking the source of this distraction, he had been puzzled to see only the backs of what appeared to be a small but rowdy group of cops, probably detectives, making their way noisily across to the bar. Turning his attention back to his companion for the evening, he could have sworn he saw a hint of sadness flicker across her features. But the next second it was gone, and the only suggestion that she had anything on her mind other than the conversation at hand was the almost imperceptible slump of her previously finishing-school straight shoulders.
The same slump, he now realised, that he had witnessed as the jury foreman had read out the “guilty” verdict.
~~~
“Jim?”
At his boss’ expectant look, Steele brought his impromptu reverie to an end, forging his features into an expression of what he hoped was consummate professionalism and re-considering the current topic of interest - their latest Jane Doe.
“Sorry, but I don’t think questioning her is going to be an option, somehow.”
On seeing his boss’ expectant look, he quickly continued.
“She’s now the subject of an open homicide.”
If she had any reaction to the facts which could potentially have a less than positive impact on her division’s case, there was again no outward reaction. Feeling the need at least to elicit a response, one of any nature, Jim continued.
“She was found in Battery Park early this morning. Provisional M.E.’s report says she’d been there a couple of days at least. Still no I.D. on her but the prints are a match. The new detectives on the case have been made aware of the connection to our guy.”
At this information, Alex once again raised her eyes from the mound of paperwork which had again garnered her attention. Slowly removing her glasses, she looked directly at her Deputy.
“Well, they’d better work fast. Finn goes to trial in less than a week. And this is not one that we want to lose, if only for the sake of our dignity.”
Caught off guard by the unexpected hint of humour in his colleague’s response, Jim Steele could do nothing but nod his head in agreement. Realising this was his cue to leave he turned, pausing briefly as he reached the door, gathering his thoughts.
“I’ll give their Captain a call today. But I think there’s going to be some unlucky detectives spending a couple of hours at Riker’s this afternoon in the company of New York’s dumbest criminal.”
Content that he’d at least put in an acceptable parting shot, he pulled the door closed behind him leaving the Bureau Chief to whatever unreadable thoughts he had just interrupted.
TBC...