All language subtitles for Law.and.Order.S13E15.Bitch.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

In the criminal justice system
In the criminal justice system

the people are represented

by two separate
yet equally important groups:

the police,
who investigate crime

and the district attorneys,
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

My last boss,
he screwed me out of a raise.

So I tell him,

"Who do you think I am?
Blanche Freakin' DuBois?"

What he said?

Nothing. So I went out for a smoke and
never came back.

Better to work with
animals who don't talk.

So, what, they just let you
in like this?

Wait till you see Buffy.

Good morning, Buffy,
Vlady's here.

You sure this bitch
likes you?

Hey, come on, girl.
It's time to ride.

Smells like old Buffy's
got a bladder problem.

Mr. Osterhaus? Hello?

It's Vlady, sir.

Oh, mine booc!

So, based on temp
and rigor,

time of death comes
in Saturday afternoon,

somewhere in the
neighborhood of 2:00.

Bruising up and down
the right side,

right ankle looks broken.

Falling down the stairs will do
that.

I doubt he tripped.
Defensive wounds?

There's no way that head
wound was an accident.

So somebody clocked him
before he fell down.

That's one possibility,

but considering the lack
of blood on the stairs,

I'm going to go with
the flip side--

he tumbled and
then got beamed.

Could be with that.

So that's what
a one iron is for.

WOMAN
Oh, it's me, hon.

It's Saturday--
let's see, uh, 4:15.

I could really use
a brunch partner tomorrow.

Give me a jingle?

He didn't look hungry.

His name's Bradley Osterhaus.

Some kind of big deal
stockbroker.

Six calls, all women,
all very friendly.

Oh, and no forced entry.

Gold Rolex and
$3,500 in cash

laying out in the open
for all the world to see.

I doubt he was
thinking robbery.

Found this inside,
Detective.

It's a lady's earring.

Thanks, Barrett.

Well, it looks like diamonds...
antique-- hard to trace.

And expensive.

This says that Osterhaus was
to have lunch on Saturday

with a Cece Vandeveer.

Sounds like she could afford
a pair of these.

Captioning sponsored by
UNIVERSAL NETWORK TELEVISION

He used to say if I left him
one thing in my will...

Well, I guess you don't have
to worry about that anymore.

That's crass.

If you knew him, you'd know
how hard this is to fathom.

He seemed to have quite
a fan club, Mrs. Vandeveer.

They were all women.

Something wrong
with that?

Hey, I'm all for it.

Fortunately, I wasn't married
to any of them.

Oh, please,
our husbands trusted Bradley.

He was everything they aren't.

Charming raconteur,
a devil on the dance floor...

At lunch on Saturday,
you weren't wearing

antique diamonds earrings,
were you?

This year if it's not designed
by Keisselstein-Cord,

it's not in my jewelry drawer.

Mine either.

Let me tell you
about Bradley.

He had two gift lists.

I've been firmly planted on
the Mark Cross list since '98.

And the other one?
Les Belles Fleures.

As a matter of fact,
that's where I dropped him

after lunch.

Flowers always did the trick
for me.

You're a simple man, aren't you?

I do my best.

Beats the hell
out of flowers.

Pardon?

Ignore him,
he's simple.

Do you know who Mr. Osterhaus bought that
for?

He is very generous.

He has many friends.

Last week,
he bought three camis...

comme ca.

You could catch
a cold in that.

All for the same friend?

Sizes two, six and eight.

Busy night.

I don't think so.

We delivered two.

The third
he carried with him.

Can you tell us
where the two were delivered?

I don't know.

Some things are private.

Well, we'll make sure
you get an invitation

to Mr. Osterhaus's funeral.

Oh, mon Dieu.

Let me check my book.

I don't think I ever met
a size two.

I jut saw him two weeks ago.

He took me to my first
Rolling Stones concert.

Tenth row center.

My ears are still ringing.

Tough tickets to get.

Not for Brad.

The man knew
everybody who knows.

Still, three seats,
front and center?

Three?

Oh, this.

Besides being older than Mick
by a decade,

my fiancé is more
the Meistersinger type.

And he doesn't mind you going
around the town with Brad?

Are you kidding?

Brad introduced me to Ronald.

Did your fiancé know about
the lingerie Brad sent you?

Of course not.

It was a gift for my honeymoon.

Lower, half inch.

I was with my attorney
up in Pound Ridge.

Excuse me?

I'm sure you want to know
where I was Saturday.

Have you ever actually read
a pre-nup?

No, but I should have.

We'd known each other for years.

We went riding, played tennis...

I don't know how I'm going
to tell Darcy, my daughter.

She was that close
to Brad, was she?

She fell in love with him
at a Labor Day clambake.

He taught her how to swim.

What about you?

After my divorce,
I swore off men--

at least when Darcy was around.

She really had her life turned
upside down by her father.

Brad, I don't know,
he was different.

We heard he was
a hell of a dancer.

To the rest of the world.

To me he was...

he was warm,
like a down comforter. Safe.

Well, what about all these other women
he'd been dancing with?

They didn't matter.

Like the little umbrella
on a frozen daiquiri,

it looks good, but does
nothing for the buzz.

You're very colorful,
Mrs. Tucker.

I'm a photographer.
It comes with my job.

Brad went out with those women
because their husbands

or boyfriends
had better things to do.

It was... more of an obligation,

a business necessity,
that's all.

I'm sure.

What about last Saturday?

I was setting up a shoot
at Jackie's studio.

Jackie? Jackie Scott. The "Queen of
Cosmetics."

I'm doing her fall catalogue.

Hello.

I got to get Darcy to ballet.

How was school?

Bachelorette number one's lawyer
confirms her alibi.

And number two?

Jackie's office said
they couldn't tell us

where she was
until they checked with her.

Apparently,
she's a very private person.

Well, then she needs
to keep her face

off all those magazine covers.

Jackie Scott, huh?

What's up, Ana?

Her office says she'll be
at Barney's in a half hour.

Hey, if she's giving out
any free samples, holler.

I'm so sorry
to keep you waiting.

We've been prepping
for this event for months.

Not a problem.

Thanks.

It's a shame
about Bradley.

And to think that I was angry

because he never
returned my call.

Well, I hope you found
another brunch partner.

We heard your message.

Oh. Of course you did.

Actually, we wanted to talk
to you about Lindsay Tucker.

She's shooting
my fall catalogue.

You don't think that Lindsay...?

It's all part
of the drill.

Of course.

Can I have your autograph? Oh, sure.
Excuse me.

When was the last time
you saw Lindsay?

Saturday-- all day.

We were prepping for the shoot.

Thanks very much.

Look, if you're thinking
that Lindsay killed Brad,

you're way off base--
they were in love.

Were you really close to Brad?

Well, everybody needs a shoulder
to cry on, Detective.

What sort of thing
made Bradley tear up?

You know, Brad treated
his clients like family.

And when that
Internet bubble burst

a lot them
with discretionary accounts

lost a ton of money.

I think he felt like
he let them down.

Like he was personally
responsible.

Oh, sorry.

I wonder if any of
his clients agreed.

Everyone's still in shock.

It'll take a while
to sink in.

I guess it could
have been worse.

It could have been you?

Bradley could have had kids.

How are his clients
holding up?

The stiff-
upper-lip crowd?

They probably didn't notice.

Money's money, huh?

Oh, no, not to those
on Brad's client list.

That's funny, I used to tell him

that he wouldn't qualify
as one of his own clients.

Judging by his crib,
I'd say he was doing okay.

For some people, the Mayflower
is more than a Westside hotel.

Old money.

You know what?

Maybe we better take a look
at that client list.

Put the biggest losers
on top.

You thought I was mad as hell

and killed Bradley
for some bad investments?

A couple of million bucks,
I would have been tempted.

It was hardly a fiscal downfall.

It was more like a hiccup.

Nothing a little Pepto
wouldn't cure, huh?

Well, the way I see it,

there's that much less
for my lovely wife to spend

when I'm gone.

People in our crowd, we might
die for money, Detective,

but we certainly
wouldn't kill for it,

especially someone like Bradley.

My heart goes out to Lindsay.

Lindsay Tucker,
the photographer?

Yeah. She wanted
to marry him.

But I'm not sure Bradley
was the marrying type.

Not that it really mattered
either way.

Why is that?

Well, for Lindsey to make it
down the aisle with Bradley,

she'd have to step over
her mother's dead carcass.

Why? Because he's just
a stockbroker?

Mom wouldn't appreciate

being kicked out of Brad's bed.

You didn't hear that from me.

Wait, you're saying
that Brad

was sleeping with
Lindsay Tucker and her mother?

That's right.

And nobody who
picks a fight

with Jackie Scott
ever lives to talk about it.

publicly traded
Jackie Scott?

Yeah.

Please don't tell me
at the same time.

Oh, it's like Oedipus,
the sequel.

I'm not going
to even start

to do the math
on that one.

Hey, it gets better.

I need to sit down.

We talked to both of them.

Neither one of them mentioned the fact
that they're related.

And you're thinking
the makeover maven

was somehow involved
in a first-degree felony?

Or covering one up,
anyway.

Imagine Lindsay's surprise
when she finds out

just how friendly Mom is
with her main squeeze.

So she kills the guy
because of the mother

and then uses her as an alibi?

Being rich ain't
for sissies.

Did you check out
their stories with anyone

at Jackie's office?

Well, it appears no one else
was working on Saturday.

Then you need to talk

to the other woman
in Lindsay's life.

The daughter's
only four years old.

I'm talking
about the nanny.

God forbid these people
should raise their own kids.

Miss Lindsay didn't tell Darcy yet.

Poor child, she couldn't wait
until Christmas.

Oh, Brad gave her
nice presents, did he?

She told me
next Christmas

Brad was going
to be her new daddy.

Well, how did Lindsay's mom
react to that news?

It was a secret.

Uh, Miss Lindsay
wouldn't...

We wanted to know

what time Miss Lindsay went over
to Brad's apartment Saturday.

She didn't go to Brad's house.

Oh, that's right.

She went over
to Jackie's office.

What time was that?

I don't know.

Wow, this is great.

Did Lindsay take this?

She likes the park
very much, yes.

Isn't this nice, Lennie?

It was a 10K benefiting breast
cancer research.

I must have missed
the little pink ribbon.

I ran the race, Lennie.

Don't ask.
It was for a friend.

But it was just
this past Saturday

and it was over at noon.

So either Lindsay used
an awful long lens

to take that picture...

Or she wasn't
in that office.

Make yourselves at home.

You want to use the phone?
It's pretty quiet.

Should be after what I paid
to soundproof this place.

Lindsay should
be back soon.

You know what?

I bet you could
help us out.

Well, I'll give
it a shot.

It's the least
a mother can do.

Can I get you something?

Water? Juice?

The truth would be nice.

Couple of detectives go knocking
on your door asking questions

about your daughter's murdered
lover, what would you do?

Depends on who did
the murdering.

Why would Lindsay kill Brad?

Just a guess,
but maybe Lindsay

didn't appreciate you
shtupping Brad

while she wasn't around.

You know, if one of my employees
spoke like that,

he'd be looking for work.

Maybe you should stop
giving us the runaround.

All right, look,
I was seeing Brad

but Lindsay had no idea--
nobody would have known

if we hadn't bumped
into Phil Brucker up in Vermont.

Maybe Phil...

No, no, not a chance.

He'd never hurt Lindsay.

Look, I mean, I know
you have to do this,

but really there's no way
that my daughter

would have killed Bradley.

Then why
the fairy tale

about you two working together on
Saturday?

She was here all morning.

And Brad was killed
in the afternoon.

Sorry, Jackie.

Susan said
they were looking for me.

You know what, it might be better

if we did this in private.

The one thing you're forgetting
is that I loved Bradley.

That's not going
to help your case, Lindsay.

Look, for most people,
the more you love somebody,

the more likely you are
to get pissed

when you find out they're cheating. I told
you,

those other women
didn't mean anything to Brad.

He took them to the ballet,
to the theater.

He complained to me
about them daily.

All of them?

What's that supposed to mean?

I'm thinking about one
in particular.

Someone a lot closer
to home.

I have no idea
what you're talking about.

Lindsay,

come on, think about it.

How much time
did your mom spend with Brad?

Stop.

That's sick.

Do you know who my mother is?

What she's accomplished
in her life?

She sleeps
in the Lincoln Bedroom.

She doesn't skulk around
in some sordid affair!

I knew you would suspect me,

and I also knew that once
the papers found out who I was,

it would be a PR nightmare
for my mother!

So you never got to her office
on Saturday?

I knew she was there.

It was the first thing
that popped into my head.

Miss Tucker's lawyer.

Don't say anything, Lindsay.

Are you charging her?

No, we were just having
a friendly conversation.

That's nice.

It's over. Grab your things.

That went well.

Excuse me.

Well, either this girl
is doing a real Meryl Streep

or she doesn't know anything
about Jackie and Bradley.

How's Forensics doing
with that golf club?

Wiped clean.

Okay, Jackie says she was in her office
all day on Saturday,

so the call she made to Osterhaus must
have happened

from her office--
only the LUDs say

that she called from her cell.

Hey, people do use those things
indoors, partner.

JACKIE
It's me, hon. It's Saturday--

let's see, uh, 4:15.

I could really use
a brunch partner tomorrow.

Give me a jingle?

Hell of a lot of background noise, ain't
it?

Have you ever spent any time
in my office?

I don't think the City
soundproofed your office.

Looks like Jackie wasn't where
she says she was, either.

I have a roomful of people
in there.

When is this going to stop?

When you tell us something
that resembles the truth.

Do you have any idea what I pay in city
taxes?

I do. And I want to thank you
for these new shoes.

Don't quit your day job,
Detective.

Lindsay, I'll be with you
in a minute.

No, maybe you should
hear this.

You weren't the only one
that lied

about where you were
on Saturday.

Go back
to the meeting.

"Dear Jackie, thank you
for a glorious weekend.

Love... Brad."

Les Belles Fleures
sent me your box

by mistake.

Once again, you win.

I killed Bradley.

Still lounging around?

I already gave up
95% of my salary to the public.

I'm entitled to an hour
for myself.

Arthur, we've
got to talk.

I think maybe
for propriety's sake,

we ought to wait
a couple of months.

Do you always have to be
such a lawyer?

I think it's genetic,

kind of like
making money is with you.

Listen, Arthur, if this
mess hits the papers...

It's Lindsay's mess, not yours.

The company
is me, Arthur.

It's my face, my integrity.

If either one of them
gets blemished, we're...

Look, we both know
my judgments in personal matters

may not be top of
the line, but...

Marrying Harold
was bad judgment.

Hopping into bed with the fella

who's hopping
into your daughter's bed

is a mangled moral compass.

If I remember correctly,
I didn't judge you

when you came to me,
hat in hand,

before the election.

Or when you wanted to get into that
country club

or get your season tickets
to the Met.

I didn't ask any questions,
did I?

I didn't judge.

I helped you
because you were my friend.

Say the word
and I'll recuse myself.

Otherwise, I'll play it
as I see it.

No, don't be silly.

But tell me, Arthur...
this McCoy fella,

he works for you, right?

Oh, she has nerve.

Not to mention

several organs below
the Mason-Dixon.

What did she expect
you to do?

Well, to be blunt,
she'd like me

to jump down, turn around,

and pick a bail
of cotton.

Jack...

So, I have three items of note

that might be useful
in the Lindsay Tucker matter.

Shoot.

Well, first,
Jackie didn't inherit

her company from a rich daddy
or a husband.

The old gal started
in the street

and made it up
to the penthouse.

As an entrepreneur,

she's right up there
with Sam Walton.

As a loving mother,

she's right up there
with Sam Walton.

I know she feels love,

but mostly an eighth of a point
at a time.

So coming to Lindsay's aid

at the risk
of hurting her credibility

with investors
is out of character.

Miles.

Two-- Brad Osterhaus wasn't just
the Scott girl's lover,

he was her stockbroker
and a damn good one.

Now, Jackie's mantra
has always been

if somebody's making you money,
keep 'em around no matter what.

Now, I'm sure Lindsay heard that
on more than one occasion

and she's not one
to disobey her mater.

You think this is about
more than a cheating lover?

That's my two cents.

See if you can
turn it into a buck.

You said you had
three items of note.

That's only two.

Number three--

I read five papers
with my morning coffee.

Could it be
he's unduly influenced?

Or he could be right.

I'd hate to find out I was wrong
after I rested my case.

According to this, Lindsay's down about
ten percent.

Worse than some,
better than most.

Not that it would bother
Lindsay either way.

Well, ten percent
of a lot

is still a lot,
no matter who you are.

Look at the title
on the account.

"The trust for the benefit
of Lindsay Scott."

It's a tax thing.

It's a way to shelter
capital gain.

So Jackie's the trustee?

Along with Brad.

It's the only way
the tax thing worked.

Let me get
this right.

Brad couldn't buy
and sell stock

for Lindsay's benefit
without Jackie's approval?

And vice versa.

Can I get a look
at Jackie's records?

One step ahead of you.

That would explain why

Jackie's personal trades

and the trades in the trust
are identical.

Except for one.

Pylon Petroleum.

Which lost 70% of its value
on October 10.

Jackie had Osterhaus dump
her shares on October 8.

And made a whopping profit
of $32,000.

While the trust's
investment

in Pylon Petroleum was a bust.

Jackie must have known something
the rest of Wall Street didn't.

If Jackie had

inside info, why wouldn't she
sell the trust shares, too?

Because she couldn't without
Brad Osterhaus's okay.

He was the cotrustee.

And he wanted to lose money?

I'm assuming
he wanted

to stay on the good side
of the SEC.

But Jackie's worth

more than $500 million, Serena.

The most she could have lost
in Pylon is, what, $100,000?

Why would she kill

over that?

I don't know.

That's where I lose myself.

I couldn't find any calls
from Jackie

to Brad's office
on October 8.

What time did Nunan dump
Jackie's shares?

1:17.

Somebody named Neil Skinner
called Nunan at 1:14.

Do you have
an address?

Yeah. Oh, you got
to love these guys.

This call was placed
from Mr. Skinner's private jet.

Pylon Petroleum.

She was my baby.

Started trading oil futures
from a rented room

over a barbershop in Amarillo

until I had enough
to start drilling on my own.

Let's just rope this bull,
why don't we?

My story to you
is no different

than the one
I told the SEC.

Members of my family

who sold their Pylon shares
acted without prior knowledge

of RWD's decision.

I know this for a fact
because I don't talk to them.

I'm interested in the flight
you took on your plane

with Jackie Scott

this past October.

So you're after
the cosmetics Kahuna.

This I'd pay to see.

Was she on your plane
in October?

Sure. I lent
her the G-5

to get back to the city
from Aspen.

But you didn't fly
with her?

And leave eight inches
of fresh powder?

Now, before you
start spending

that promotion money,
you should know

that Jackie never buys
a share of stock

without backstopping it
with a stop-loss order.

Smart girl.

She didn't have
a stop-loss order,

not for Pylon Petroleum
or any other stock.

She lied to Skinner.

You think he told her

his stock was about
to take a dive?

If he thought she already had
a stop-loss order,

he wouldn't be breaking
any laws.

Skinner found out that RWD
was pulling out its financing

on October 7.

Jackie Scott sold her shares
on October 8.

It's hardly a leap.

What's this all got
to do with Brad Osterhaus?

The SEC started investigating Skinner last
month.

Jackie had to have known it
was only a matter of time

before someone with
a federal warrant

came knocking
at her door.

So she tried
to persuade Osterhaus

to backdate a stop-loss order, he refused,
and...

Brad Osterhaus doesn't live to testify
against her.

What about
Lindsay's confession?

Arthur was right--
Jackie could withstand

the stink of a sex scandal,
but a financial scandal

would hurt her credibility
with her precious investors.

so Lindsay confessed to a crime
she didn't commit

to save the empire.

Especially if Jackie
assured her

that Arthur would get her off with just a
slap on the wrist.

Let her go.

What?

Release her.

But first stop off
to see Judge Martin

about a wiretap.

I told you they'd fall for it.

I had no doubt Arthur would
come through for us.

I didn't see you spend a night in
jail.

Sorry.

It's okay.

And thank you, Lindsay.

I hope you realize how much
I appreciate this.

I've heard warmer
mother-daughter conversations

on the Nature Channel.

That's the first call
Lindsay made

when she came home.

Thursday night.

Jackie should be
at the Grand Havana Room

right about now.

Look, Ed--
boys night out.

No room at the table,
fellas.

Ah, no problem.

Time to fold 'em,
anyway, Slim.

Jackie Scott, you're
under arrest

for the murder
of Bradley Osterhaus.

You have the right
to remain silent.

Anything you say can be used against you
in a court of law...

.

People v. Jacqueline Scott.

The charge is Murder
in the First Degree.

That's as good as it gets.

What's your plea?

Not guilty, Your Honor.

My client is a valued
member of the community.

She employs thousands
of New Yorkers

who depend on her
for their salary.

Does she have a cat?
I like cats.

The State asks
for remand without bail.

Ms. Scott's wealth
makes her a flight risk.

Since when is financial success a criminal
offense?

So let's say we make her
that much less offensive.

Bail is set at $2 million cash.

Your Honor,
this defendant

can hop on a
private plane

as easily as you and I
could get on a subway.

But can she get a cab
in the rain?

I'll take your passport, too,
Ms. Scott.

For added assurance, the
People also request

an electronic ankle bracelet
and house arrest.

Don't fret, Ms. Scott.

Maybe you can cook up
some matching accessories.

Next.

Let me guess--

you want to tell me what a great mom
Jackie's been.

I'm not here to make
excuses for her, Arthur.

And these bones have been
through way too much

to bend over backwards.

For anyone.

So that's it?

We just throw her out
with yesterday's newspaper?

If she killed someone, yes.

There was a time,
maybe I was five or six--

it was way before
she was a household name.

Central Park was
filled with snow.

I just couldn't wait
to use my new sled.

So when Mom stopped
to talk with someone,

I grabbed it

and I flew down the hill.

Right into a tree.

And the sled
shattered.

And I thought, oh, my God, she's going to
kill me.

She just bought this sled.

But she picked me up,

and she ran all the way
to the hospital.

You've long since

paid her back, Lindsay.

But if you could see
the look in her eye...

She loved me, Arthur.

Not the sled.

Me!

She was willing
to send you to jail.

No.

She would never have let it
get that far.

She betrayed you with Bradley.

She knew he was
wrong for me.

His being with her
only proved it.

You can't help her?

So, I listened
to your tape.

What I heard was
a mother expressing

appreciation for her loving daughter's
help.

For taking a fall
to prevent the Feds

from discovering
a financial cover-up.

First Martha, then me.

What, the boys get a free pass?

We found your palm print on
the wall above his corpse.

You can't honestly claim
she didn't kill Brad Osterhaus.

I didn't hear her
say that either.

Here we go.

My client intends

to plead not guilty
by reason of mental defect.

I can't wait to hear
what comes next.

As a result

of hormone replacement therapy
withdrawal.

Menopause rage?
Give me a break.

Hormone imbalance,

sleep deprivation.

It's real, Jack.

Go ahead, ask what's her name--

Olivet--

to talk to her.

Or Skoda.

The more the merrier.

Once I stopped taking

the pills, I was unable to get
a full night's sleep.

I became so forgetful
and irritable.

I screamed at everybody
around me.

Once I even walked 30 blocks
at full speed

and I had no idea
where I was going.

Is that how you felt

when you went to see
Bradley Osterhaus?

I really
don't remember.

I know I had a hair trigger.

And I was always muddled,
always a step behind.

Mr. McCoy thinks

you went to see him
to ask him to help you cover up

an illegal
securities transaction.

When he refused,
you killed him.

For $32,000?

Do you have any idea
what I'm worth?

I've heard rumors.

And I earned it all myself.

18-hour days,

six days a week,
for over 30 years, Doctor.

Can you still
keep up that pace?

Well, I could
until I quit the hormones.

And then?

I know all those menopause jokes men tell
in bars.

I defy any one of them to try
and conduct a board meeting

while suffering through
hot flashes,

or try and make
a sound business decision

after lying in a pool
of your own sweat all night.

Nightmares
don't happen

when you sleep, Doctor.

They happen the day after
you can't sleep.

How about now?

Now I'm fine.

It's only because
I'm back on the HRT.

In spite of the risks.

Well, the first thing
you need to understand--

I am what I do.

My business is my life.

Where does concern
for your daughter fit in?

I love Lindsay.

We're not talking about her.

Maybe we should be.

You have to admit,

most mothers don't have affairs
with their daughter's lovers.

And I am not most people.

Oh, you're going to make
a meal out of that one.

Doctor, you of all people
should know--

you can't control
where the heart takes you.

Even if it might
devastate your daughter?

Look, as I've said here
repeatedly,

I was not in my right mind.

She lived like a man,

she worked like man,

she made it to the top
in male society,

and now that she's in trouble,

she's a damsel
in menopausal distress?

What do they say about
an estrogen-depleted woman

carrying a loaded gun?

That's not science.
It's a bumper sticker.

Don't tell me you're buying
any of this nonsense.

Of course not, but a jury might.

Was HRT withdrawal the reason
she murdered someone? No.

But I got to tell you,

you pump anyone
full of enough drugs

and then remove them,
it's got to affect both

emotion and behavior.

To the point they could
control neither?

It's a possibility
that can't be ignored.

Please,

biology is not destiny.

Jackie Scott personifies
narcissism.

She's cold, she's selfish,

and she is more concerned
with her financial well-being

than she is with the welfare of her
daughter

her lover or anyone
else for that matter.

It's hubris that gets
that woman up in the morning,

and the only reason
she killed Osterhaus

is to protect her position
in the Sunday Style section.

I'm convinced.

Sorry, Emil,
you'll sit this one out.

Hot flashes, night sweats

and vaginal dryness are the most common
menopausal symptoms.

What about
sleep deprivation, Doctor?

It's a secondary symptom
of night sweats

experienced by some, but certainly not
all, menopausal women.

And the hormone replacement
therapy relieves sufferers

of those symptoms?

It's been very successful,

but recent studies
have linked HRT

with an increased risk
of breast cancer,

so many women have elected
to forgo it.

And the typical symptoms return?

That's correct.

Let me ask you this.

Do you know of any case

in which those symptoms
have led to murder?

No.

Then, in your opinion,

when the defendant killed
Mr. Osterhaus

was she aware
of what she was doing?

Did she know right
from wrong?

Yes.

Jackie Scott's life is defined
by her status

in a socially elite world.

When that status
is threatened,

her reaction
would be primal,

like a lioness
protecting a cub.

Look what she did.

She was willing to send
her daughter to prison

rather than lose
her social position.

Jackie Scott is what she earns, and from
what I gather,

she was petrified that the federal
government might take that away.

And that's why
she was willing to kill.

I believe so.

Are you a medical doctor?

I have a PhD
in clinical psychology.

You mean, like, "Lie on your
back and tell me your problem"?

Objection.

I'm sorry.

I don't mean
to trivialize

your profession, Dr. Olivet.

I just want to understand
your background.

For instance,

are you educated
in the biochemical ramifications

of fluctuating levels
of estrogen?

I know how to read,

and I know that
no level of estrogen

will cause a woman to kill.

Nobody is saying
that estrogen itself

would cause anyone
to kill.

To your knowledge,
are menopausal symptoms worse

when a patient stops

hormone replacement
therapy?

All evidence to that effect
is anecdotal at best.

But it does happen
in some women?

Yes, their hot flashes

become more pronounced,
they may sleep less,

but they certainly don't become

emotional car wrecks.

Is that a medical term...
Doctor?

I lost my temper.

I don't blame you.

I survived the nurture-versus- nature war,
Jack

Both sides are wrong
and both sides are right,

but women have come too far

to let the law entertain
questions like

"Would you want her
to operate on you?"

"Would you want her
finger on the button?"

"Do you want him
on the stand?"

Brolin's calling Skoda.

How did he get on
Brolin's witness list?

He didn't.
He's on ours.

You're a psychiatrist,
Dr. Skoda, a medical doctor.

Is that correct?
Yes.

Good. Now, would you agree

with your esteemed colleague
Dr. Olivet

that increased night sweats
that accompany HRT withdrawal

could cause sleep deprivation?

Yes.

And what is "frontal lobe
deficit," Doctor?

It's an interruption
in the chemical

and electrical activity
in a patient's brain

which impedes it from
functioning normally.

Now, Doctor, what could cause the chemical
and electrical activity in the brain

to be impeded?

Idiopathic hypersomnia,

which is the most common form
of sleep deprivation.

Now, what are the ramifications
of frontal lobe deficit?

It hinders one's ability
to process language.

It can also lead
to impaired judgment

and more violent behavior,
isn't that true?

It's possible.

Now, here is the analysis
of the endocrine levels

in Ms. Scott's blood plasma.

Is there anything here
that jumps out at you?

There appears
to be low TSH levels,

which indicate decreased
thyroid activity

when she wasn't on HRT.

And the significance
of that?

The defendant may have been
sleep-deprived.

Which can cause
frontal lobe deficit

and the subsequent
violent behavior.

Now, could you please tell us
who pays your salary?

I have a private practice.

And? And I'm on retainer

with the District
Attorney's office.

Thank you.

So, a college freshmen who pulls
a couple of all-nighters

cramming for finals might snap

and whack his roommate?

Of course not.

Idiopathic hypersomnia
is a severe sleep disorder.

Patients diagnosed as such
typically awaken

from a deep sleep several times during one
night.

Do you know of
any specific case

in which a woman
committed a murder

because she stopped
hormone replacement therapy?

No.

Nothing further.

I mean, my bed became my enemy.

You know, I would awaken
in this hellish heat

six or seven times a night.

I'd have to move
to another bed

to get dry pillows and sheets,

and then, suddenly,
I'd be freezing, shivering.

I couldn't fall back to sleep.

What about during
the day at the office?

It was humiliating.

I kept forgetting.

I'd be right in the middle
of a speech to shareholders

and I didn't know
who I was talking to,

what I was trying to say.

And what you have
to understand is,

my mind has taken me
where I wanted to go.

Now, I had lost faith in it.

You seem perfectly fine
sitting here, Ms. Scott.

That's because
I'm back on the pills.

Despite the cancer risk?

Yes.

Yes, and anybody who has ever
experienced the alternative

wouldn't even have
to ask me why.

Why did you kill
Brad Osterhaus?

I don't know.

I don't remember!

But if I could have stopped it,
I would have.

How'd you get
to Mr. Osterhaus's apartment

the day you killed him?

I walked.

Over a mile
on busy city streets.

How long did it take you?

I didn't check my watch.

But you didn't get lost. No.

Kill anyone along the way?

Objection.

Sustained.

How did you get home afterward?

I took a cab.

A cab? Really?

Did you tip the cabby?

Of course.

You remember walking
to Mr. Osterhaus's apartment,

you remember tipping
the cabby

for the ride home,

but nothing in between.

I've got to admit,
I find that curious.

I also find it curious

that you had
the presence of mind

to leave
an innocent-sounding message

for Mr. Osterhaus
two hours after you killed him!

Exactly!

That's what I'm saying.

I went in and out.

I was so confused.

I didn't know what I was doing.

You were establishing

an alibi, weren't you?

You want to walk
out of this courtroom,

and you're willing to demean

half the world's population
to do it.

Go ahead, mock me.
Objection.

Call me names.

I'm used to it.

Men have been laughing at me
for years.

They laughed when I applied
for my first business loan.

They laughed when I proposed
to take my company public.

They said the business community
wouldn't take me seriously.

They said, "Why don't you just
put your pretty little face

on the billboards, and we'll
take care of the rest."

Well, I put my face
on the billboards,

and I took care
of the rest.

I did it all myself.

Do you think it's easy for me
to admit that I lost control?

I want to remember,
Mr. McCoy.

I wish to God I could.

I need to be redeemed.

The scientists punched it out
in the center of the ring

while Jackie rope-a-doped
the jury.

I doubt anyone fell
for that self-serving drivel.

There's no way a jury
can ignore the financial motive

or the false alibi.

Sympathy versus science.

So we're looking
at a jump ball?

Well, we need 12.

They only need one
to hang it.

Which means it's time
to cut our losses.

Helen Brolin? No way.

When she smells blood,
she doesn't retreat.

Look, I know I'm skating out

on the thin end
of the pond here,

but set up a meeting
for tomorrow morning.

Is that right?

Arthur?

What, no straitjacket?

That's not funny.

Yeah, Lillian tells me
my last funny line was "I do."

Exactly whose soul
are we here to search?

You're right.

I'll tell you what
I'm going to do, Jackie.

I'm going to put man one
on the table,

you'll do the minimum,
and we'll call it a day.

My jury consultants tell me this is far
from a sure thing.

And I play poker
with you, Arthur.

The fact that
you're here at all

tells me you don't think you have a
winner.

But I still get to draw
some more cards.

Just how long do you think
we can keep this metaphor going?

I'm going to indict Lindsay
for obstruction and conspiracy.

Right,

what do you care?

You've already walked
down that road

with Lindsay once.

You are really a piece of work,
Jackie.

I'm not going to let you
sit here and insult my client.

I haven't even warmed up yet.

And as God's honest...

I can't wait to get back
in a courtroom.

You?

Hey, what are friends for?

Uh... Helen, would you give us
a moment alone, please?

Not a chance.

It's all right.
I'm fine.

Nothing she says
can be used in court.

Never crossed my mind.

The gender card? Please.

You won't even use
the ladies' tees.

Well, my lawyer seems
pretty confident.

If I were you,
I'd forget about my lawyer

and start worrying
about my daughter,

because when I cross-examine
those witnesses,

including Lindsay,
I'm going to ask about

every check you ever wrote,

every share of stock
you ever bought or sold

and every man
who ever spent the night.

You son of a bitch!

Take your time.

Discuss it all with counsel.

"Pick a lane."

It's what the old man
used to say.

Used to say, "Jack

"life is like the street.

"Like a dangerous New York
street.

"You pick a lane,

and don't you let
anybody ever cut you off."

You can't cut me off, Arthur.

No one can.

I didn't have to.

Of course she took the deal.

It may not be the best thing I ever did,

but then again,
it wasn't the worst.

I'm not going to ask.

Well, let's just say that
money may not buy happiness,

but it sure buys
a lot of family secrets.

She could have paid
the SEC fine

and been on a plane to Paris.

Well, Jackie never bites
the hand that feeds her,

but she'll cut off
the one that tries

to take even a mouthful
off her plate.

Well, now she gets to trade
that ankle bracelet

for a jailhouse jumpsuit.

I hope for their sake
they have her color.

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