All language subtitles for Law.and.Order.S06E10.Remand.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

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.

First call came in
around 2:00.

By the time units rolled in,
the flames were wall-to-wall.

And it's a lock for arson?

We found a gasoline can
and a box of matches.

Two witnesses saw
somebody drive away
just before the bonfire.

Gave us a description.

Louis Johnson,
medium rare.

Smoke stains
in his nose and mouth,

he was alive
before the fire started.

Fumes killed him.

Couldn't run out?

The door was locked
from the inside.

Our guess is,
he was spending
the night.

Didn't want any visitors.

Did Johnson ever have
any trouble before this?

Some vandalism last week
before he got his trees.

What was it, kids?
Nah.

A local crew
muscling the businesses
for protection.

Nobody, and that includes
Johnson, wanted to
talk about it.

And look where it got him.

We're gonna need the names
of that crew, all right?

Two pairs of eyes
put you in the lot.

I was buying
my Christmas tree.

At 2:04 a.m.?

No, you're cooked, Danny,
we got your prints
on the box of matches.

I hate to break it to you,
but you're the stupidest
torch I ever met.

Now's your one chance
to do something smart.

I swear, I didn't know
Louis was in the shed
when the fire broke out.

Bad break, his wife
tossing him out
of the house that night.

The job was about reducing
the value of Louis'
inventory. That's all.

I can serve up
the guy that paid me.
We know him.

He's being
worked on next door.

No, we're shopping
for the CEO.

Yeah, but I just know
the one guy. I'm not
part of the crew.

That's too bad, 'cause
you're gonna take the weight
for all of them, Danny.

The Schwartz deli job
last year,

I can give you
who was behind that.

Too late.
Somebody already
beat you to it.

All right. Wait, wait.
I got something big.

I know the guy that really did
that Cookie Costello stabbing.

You know the one.
Big mother case.
Thirty years ago.

Girl got stabbed while
the whole neighborhood
watched.

Yeah. Sal Munoz.
He's been in Attica
for the last 30 years.

Yeah, that's what you think.

I want somebody
from the D.A.'s in here.

They need a reason
to move, Danny.

Yeah, well, tell them this.

This guy,
I'll call him Bobby,

me and him were having
a few pops one night,

he tells me how he stuck
the girl with a knife so
she could never have kids.

Hey, see? I got something.
Next time I talk,
it's to the D.A.

My first partner in uniform
was on that Costello canvas.

They kept the details
of her injuries out of
the papers, too personal.

I remember reading
something about that.

Yeah, young woman
stabbed 14 times

and raped outside her building
in the East Village.

Yeah, while 40
of her neighbors
turned up their TVs

so they couldn't
hear the screams.

So what, they had TVs
but no phones?

Oh, they called
the police all right,
about 45 minutes later.

Should've heard the excuses.

Everybody assumed
somebody else called it in.

So if Danny's on the money,

then the wrong guy's
been in jail for
the past 30 years.

And Mr. Right's
been on the street.

Thirty years ago,
I sat in her hospital room
and held her hand.

You prosecuted
Sal Munoz?

Ms. Costello sent me
Christmas cards
every year since.

This firebug,
he gave you a name?

Bobby Farina.

Career deadbeat.
In and out of State facilities
since he was six.

And somewhere along the way,
he must've picked up
a crystal ball.

Van Buren says the police
never released the specifics
of Costello's injuries.

Munoz confessed.

After how many rounds
with New York's finest?

Cookie Costello
couldn't ID him, Adam.

We should at least
talk to her.
Absolutely not.

A building full of her friends
and neighbors watched.

She was stabbed, then raped,
left for dead in an alley.

Thirty years isn't time enough
for wounds like that to heal.

Munoz is serving
consecutive 25-year terms.
We can't ignore this.

Have the cops find
this Farina character.

Damn.

Today's my birthday,

you know, half a century,
I'm pushing carcasses
for a living.

Yeah, I know just
how you feel, Bobby.

Half a century
and I'm still talking
to scum like you.

I'm all straightened out now.

Oh, yeah.
We heard from your P.O.

how you got four years
for straightening out
your girlfriend.

I'm a gridiron legend.
You know, we can't
all beat the rap.

And what about
Cookie Costello?

You straighten
her out, too?

Don't ring no bells.
A bitch with a name
like that, I'd remember.

What? You don't
read the papers?

She was carved up
in May 1965,

three blocks from where
you parked your sorry ass.

I was doing a stretch
in Dannemora in '65.

For assaulting
a hooker, we heard.

You went in,
in September.
Try again.

May '65.
I could've been
in New Jersey.

I did a lot of work there.
You know, collecting
for the bookies.

Hey, the only ones
who knew the particulars
are the victim, her doctors,

and the piece of crap
who did it, and that's you!

All right, look.
I got it from this lawyer,
Nick Taradash, all right?

He repped me
on a couple beefs.

The guy lays all these gems
on me about this Costello
thing. I swear to God.

Nick and I shared office space
after his first coronary,

and after his second
last summer, I took over
the whole place.

And that would make him?

Dead. He made me
his executor.

Should've said no.

Sanitation Department
would choke on his files.

Did you know Nick?

No. But, uh, we ran into
one of his clients,
Ms. Marks. uh, Bobby Farina.

Leg-breaker,
all-around dirt bag.

Don't know the name,
but the description
fits Nick's clientele.

All the local hoods
used to carry Nick's card
in their wallets.

And now
they carry yours?

I'm not the household name
Nick was,
but I'm getting there.

Okay, Bobby Farina.

Still has a balance.
What's he done now?

We're looking at him
for the Cookie Costello case.

He has knowledge of details
that were withheld.

Claims he got them
from Mr. Taradash.

Possible. Nick was
court-appointed to rep
the defendant, Sal Munoz.

He liked to talk it up.
Case got him good press.

So in other words,
Taradash was handed
a hot potato.

Hmm.
Not much he could do with it.
Munoz confessed.

Nick tried to plea him
on insanity,

but, apparently,
the juries didn't go
for that stuff back then.

Insanity's the defense
of last resort.

Taradash went for it
on first down.

So maybe his heart
wasn't in it.

After all, the vic
was the girl next door,
right?

Let me propose
a less noble reason.

Taradash makes his living
repping the local bad boys.

Now, suppose one of them
was the guilty party?

Farina. And Taradash
might not want to bite
the hand that feeds him.

I wonder if Bobby's name
ever came up
during the investigation.

Let's go see
the detectives.

Farina? Dumb muscle.

Yeah, that's him.
You ever look at him
for the Costello case?

No. No, Costello
was a sex thing.

We had our guy,
the P.R., Munoz.

The sick son of a bitch
followed her from work
in his car.

Picked on her
because she was
wearing a white dress.

Figured she was canned goods.

You said she was
coming home from work?

What we got is
she went to a movie.

Oh, no. She was working
under the table
at the Franklin Pub.

On account of her probation,
she was supposed to
keep out of the place.

Probation for what?
Gambling.

We didn't release that
out of respect for the victim.

What else didn't make it
into your report?

It had nothing to do
with the case.

She gambled,
Farina collected
for gamblers.

There's gambling
all over the place
except in your report.

Munoz did it!
He confessed to it.
And two rapes besides.

Right after a trip
to the West End Grill?

Munoz was a righteous bust.

So the hell with you.

Okay, I'll bite.
What's the West End Grill?

The docks on the West Side.

Back in the '60s,
they used to take guys
like Munoz out there

and see how far they
could swim, after they beat
the hell out of them.

Or so I heard.

Uh, it's time
to talk to Cookie.

She lives in Tarrytown.

Oh, I'm sorry.
I don't remember anything
after I got out of my car.

After 30 years, nothing.
The doctors said
it was the shock.

I say it was God's way
of healing.

Well, that's a...
That's a good way
of looking at it.

Yeah, well,
I've tried to forget
everything.

So why...
Why is this all
coming back now?

We have some new information
on a Bobby Farina.

Guy from the old neighborhood.

Dad? Bobby Farina?

A wiseass kid,
used to nick candy
from my store.

He grew up to be a bagman
for the bookies
in the East Village.

Why do you worry
about Farina?

They got the guy
that attacked her.

You had a gambling
arrest back then?

You bastards got crust.

Don't tell them nothing,
Cookie.

Dad, I can handle this.

I was 22,
I liked the excitement.

I used to have a crush
on Sandy Koufax.

I used to bet the Dodgers
when he pitched.

I bet the Giants,
but sometimes
I got jammed up,

and so I took bets at the bar
for the bookies,
to work it off.

I got caught.

And that's it?
You never had any trouble
with Bobby Farina?

You think
I brought this on myself?

Look at it.
It's the dress
she was wearing.

Every time that animal
comes up for parole,
I'm there with this.

He laughs at me in the court,
and you think it's not him?

You're damn fools.

She was up to her elbows
in the action.

She could've pissed off
these mooks
any number of ways.

So they have Bobby
send her a message.

Yeah, unless she wants
a repeat performance,

she doesn't put
the finger on him.

What?
Thirty years later,
she's still afraid?

Hey, she looks at
those scars every night.
Listen, pull her records.

See if she was ever
mixed up with Bobby.

Here we go.

Promoting gambling,
second degree.
She got a year probation.

Well, well.
Taradash was her attorney.

Yeah, he was a local guy.

And Munoz wasn't.

Hey, Lennie, look at this.
The bookie she was
working for.

Eddie Murrows, I remember him.
He's a KG, Known Gambler.

I know what it is.

He was in Bobby Farina's file
as one of his employers.

Sure, Bobby did
some work for me.

Nudged a few clients
to get current on their
delinquencies. Way back when.

Sounds like you had
the whole neighborhood
working for you.

Bobby Farina.
Cookie Costello.

I let her work off
what she owed.

Nice girl.
Awful what happened.

P.R. bastard should have
gotten the chair.

We've got a better candidate.

Yeah. Uh, you spent
the winter of '65 in Elmira
on a gambling rap?

What's that got
to do with Costello?

I ain't got no time for this.

Hey, is that a cell phone
in your shirt pocket?

Yeah. So?

Well, a smart KG like you,
you don't want
your calls traced.

You probably use
a stolen frequency, right?
An E felony.

It'll take me 30 seconds
to find out.

Now, in 1964,
Cookie Costello was arrested
for a gambling offense.

They gave her probation.
That's very generous, right?

Yeah. So a couple
of months later,
you get popped.

Did you make
a connection there?

That's nuts.

What she knew
about my business
you could put in a gel-tab.

Oh, that's not what we hear.

We hear you gave Bobby
the say-so to carve her up.

No way.
Bobby was in East Orange.
May 25th, 1965.

Red-letter day in sports,
Ali took Liston in one.

Bobby visited
a client in Jersey.

A guy in the restaurant trade.

It's possible an unsolved
battery was committed
on this person.

The widow said the husband
got beat up at their place
about midnight.

Same time as Cookie.

Now she fingered Farina,
but the husband wouldn't
make a complaint.

But he stopped gambling
right after that.

The bottom line is,
Bobby's in the clear.

All this because
Taradash opened his mouth.

Small world.

Oh, it gets even smaller.

Taradash was handling
Cookie's gambling cases.

Is that a problem?

Taradash had
a prior relationship
with Costello.

Representing Munoz
was a clear conflict
of interest.

That's just terrific.

You didn't know?

If we knew that Taradash
had the slightest privileged
knowledge of the victim,

we would've had him
conflicted out.

Turns out he didn't
use that knowledge
to discredit her.

Could have short-changed Munoz
out of loyalty to her?

Not the Taradash I knew.
There's nothing to this.

He put on a hell of a case.
Twelve expert witnesses.

Three weeks of testimony.
Munoz got his money's worth.

Yes?

Much as we'd like to,
we can't sweep this
under the rug.

Munoz has to be notified.

Right.

Okay. Thanks.

We just got run off
the high road by Teri Marks.

Teri Marks.
Somebody I should know?

She shared an office
with Taradash.

She just filed a motion
for a new trial on behalf
of Sal Munoz.

Mr. Munoz would like
to thank your detectives.

If it weren't for them,
I would've never looked
in Nick's files

and found the conflict.

Sixth Amendment violation.
Serious stuff.

Only in your mind, Ms. Marks.
What do you want?

What my client wants,
his freedom.

He's been denied
parole three times.

His next at-bat's
in two weeks.

Support his application,
we'll drop this motion.

Fine. Done. As long as
Ms. Costello agrees.

Come on,

Taradash shouldn't have
gone near this case without
a waiver from Mr. Munoz.

Of course, this was all
news to you, Mr. Munoz?

That's right, man.
Taradash never told me.

I'll do one better.
Everyone knew about
the conflict except my client.

Now it's a conspiracy.

Against the Puerto Rican man,
baby.

Mr. Munoz,
address yourself to me.

Your client confessed.

They didn't need
a conspiracy
to convict him.

This so-called
conflict of interest is
nothing but a footnote.

As if your opinion matters.

Come on, Sal,
I'll walk you
back to your bus.

We got a call from
The New York Times
this morning.

You sent them a press release
about your motion?

It's an important case.

For your career.

The canons of ethics
are clear, Your Honor.

A lawyer cannot
represent one client

if he's limited by
his responsibilities
to another client.

Unless his client consents.
Mr. Munoz wasn't even
aware of the conflict.

Or he conveniently forgot
Taradash notified him.

What's in the case record?

The record is silent
on the subject.

The record is incomplete.
Some transcripts are missing.

Then let's fill in the gaps.

Is the presiding judge
still available
to give testimony?

Yes, Your Honor.
But Taradash's conflict
is hardly new evidence.

With all due respect,
it's not grounds for
enlarging the record.

It is if I say it is.

Taradash told me in chambers

that he had represented
Ms. Costello on one occasion.

But he believed that
his representation of Munoz

wouldn't be
adversely affected.

And, of course,
he showed you a waiver
signed by his client.

No.

I told him to consult
with Munoz, and to report
back if there was a problem.

And that's the last
I heard of it.

Judge Mallory,
why wasn't your conversation

with Mr. Taradash
on the record?

I'm sure it was.
I can't explain why
it's not in the transcripts.

And you didn't insist
on a signed waiver
from Mr. Munoz?

I admit I should've followed
through personally.

But Taradash tried
a lot of cases before me.

He was meticulous.
I'm sure it's all
in his case files.

Ms. Marks, have you checked?

There is nothing
in the files
about a waiver.

Your Honor,
much as we trust
Counsel's thoroughness,

we'd like to examine
those files ourselves.

Out of the question,
Your Honor.

We're not waiving
attorney-client privilege.

You put it into issue,
Ms. Marks.

They're entitled to look.

I'll appoint a special master
to search the files.

Jack, I was on the phone
with the special master.

Taradash was a neat freak.
He even saved
his phone messages.

But there's no mention
of a waiver.

Even a pack rat like Nixon
was short 18 minutes.

Someone doctored his file?

After Taradash died,
the files were turned
over to Munoz, right?

He had them until
after Marks called him
to inquire about a waiver.

If there was one,
Munoz could've
pulled it from his file.

No way to even prove
there was a waiver
in the first place.

I checked our old files.

Some of the return receipts
from Taradash were signed
by a Marcella Klein.

Secretary?

Initials don't match
Taradash's correspondence.

Klein could've been
a law clerk.

Maybe she's entered
the profession since then.

I was what nowadays you'd call
a paralegal, secretary's pay,
lawyer's duties.

But thanks to Mr. Taradash,
I became an attorney.

To your knowledge,
did he ever inform Mr. Munoz

that he had represented
Ms. Costello?

He specifically told me
he did. He said Mr. Munoz
couldn't care less.

Thank you.

You weren't present

when Mr. Taradash
spoke with my client?

No.

In fact, you refused
to attend meetings
with my client.

Well, he made me
uncomfortable.

Mr. Taradash
share your feelings
about Mr. Munoz?

Mr. Taradash kept
his feelings separate from
his professional duties.

So we shouldn't read anything
into the fact that he let an
all-white jury be impaneled?

All-white juries were
commonplace in 1965.

Or that he never brought up
Ms. Costello's criminal
activities?

It was moot.
Mr. Munoz confessed.

Or that he never challenged
that confession?

He believed it supported
an insanity defense.

It was his strategy
to let it stand.

An effective strategy,
if he wanted
his client convicted.

That's ridiculous.

He believed
Mr. Munoz belonged
in a hospital.

And he fought like hell
to get him there.

His loyalties were split,
Your Honor,

between his former client,
a popular young woman,

and the man accused
of brutally attacking her,

a nuisance client,
that the court
dumped into his lap.

No one could expect him
to be impartial.

The trial judge did,
and so did Mr. Munoz.

We heard testimony
he was informed
of the conflict.

Mr. McCoy, if he was informed,
why did he wait 30 years
to seek a new trial?

Maybe because he didn't
realize he could until
Ms. Marks told him.

Assume
he did give a waiver.

He has a grade six education,
he will do anything
his lawyer tells him to.

The Judge should've
looked out for
his interests,

he should've advised
Mr. Taradash to withdraw.

The verdict wouldn't
have been any different
with another lawyer.

Everything Mr. Taradash
did was proper.

All right, Mr. McCoy.

The canons compel us
to avoid even the appearance
of impropriety.

Since there's no record
of any waiver, I can't
assume one was given.

I'm setting aside the verdict
and granting the motion
for a new trial.

We had to pull the one judge
who reads the canons
with a microscope.

Yeah.
Marks is peddling
her offer again.

They'll plead out
if we support parole.

Not in my lifetime.

A new trial, Adam?
30-year-old evidence.

Witnesses gone
who knows where.

You have the victim
and the confession.

Do you want me to
gift-wrap it for you?

He's almost 60.
The jury might think
he's rehabilitated,

even harmless.

Munoz just crawled halfway
out the hole we dug
for him 30 years ago.

You hit him with a shovel
before he crawls
all the way out.

"Case number 23049 of '65,
People v. Salvatore Munoz

"One count attempted murder
in the second degree.

"One count rape
in the first degree."

Mr. Morean, remind me
to check the warranty
on my hearing aid, will you?

I heard you say '65.

It is a 1965 case, Your Honor.
Remanded for a new trial.

After 30 years?
Hats off, Mr. Munoz.

Let's see. You originally
pleaded not guilty by reason
of mental disease or defect.

You sticking with that plea?

My client's amending it
to not guilty.

Your Honor,
we ask bail be denied.

Mr. Munoz confessed
to the crime.

He already served 30 years.
He's earned a little R&R.

Ms. Marks, I don't really care

how much cigarette money
he may have saved
over the years,

he's staying put.
Bail is denied. Next.

"Case number 93564..."

Bail for a confessed rapist?

You must've had a double dose
of Wheaties this morning.

I skipped breakfast
so I could file this early.
Motion for suppression.

My client wasn't given
his rights before
he was questioned.

You kiss that confession
goodbye, Ms. Kincaid.

Mr. Costello...

I had to see it for myself.

My daughter's scared
out of her mind that monster
will show up at our door.

We'll make sure
that never happens.

They swore the only way
he'd get out is in a box.

How could you let this happen?

My client
was grilled for six hours
without an attorney

before signing a confession.

He was never given
any warnings about
his right to counsel

nor his right
to remain silent.

In 1965 he wasn't entitled
to any warnings.

The Supreme Court
didn't decide Miranda
until 1966.

Miranda landed
on the court's desk
in the fall of 1965.

Any competent attorney
in the country would've
known about it.

Any competent attorney

would've delayed my client's
proceedings long enough to see
how the court ruled.

Mr. Taradash filed 27
pretrial motions attacking
the State's evidence.

His competency is
not in question.

Besides, it's irrelevant.
Miranda isn't retroactive.

It's not grounds for appeal
for every felon convicted
before then.

I'm not talking about
every felon.

I'm talking about a case

where there is the possibility
of a conflict of interest.

The confession
was never challenged.

Then challenge it
under the laws
as they existed in 1965.

I've read them, Your Honor.

I bet even Clarence Darrow
couldn't get this
confession suppressed.

Mr. McCoy, I don't know
what a judge would've done
in 1965,

but in 1995,
there is an irrebuttable
presumption

that any confession
taken without
Miranda warnings

is involuntary
and therefore inadmissible.

I'm granting the motion.
The confession is out.

I'm supposed to waste
two detectives on
a 30-year-old case?

We're already behind
on last month.

The judge kicked
the confession.

McCoy's counting on you guys
to turn this sludge
back into chicken salad.

This guy's already
served twice what
the Chambers kid got

for killing that girl
in Central Park.

Munoz gets out, Detective,
he can sleep on your couch.

Now, we'll need the witness
who ID'd Munoz in a line-up.

One of Cookie's neighbors.
She only saw the guy
in the area.

The evidence is very thin.

What about the knife
they found on Munoz?

Lost in the department's
Bermuda Triangle.

Zip on forensics,
no hairs, fibers or prints.

Tell me they did a rape kit.
Uh-huh.

They blood-typed the semen.
A-negative, same as Munoz.

Along with three million
other New Yorkers.

This is what they went
to court with?

Cookie's father
kept her dress.

Maybe the lab can do
something with that.

Get it to Forensics,

and make a list of everyone
who had an apartment
facing that alley.

I said everything I had to say
to the police 30 years ago.

We know what you said
to your neighbor, Mrs. Baker,
three years later.

We just talked to her.

Yeah, you told her you saw
the whole thing from
your bedroom window.

That old bat doesn't know
what she's talking about.

I was asleep
in the living room.

Mrs. Santoro, I don't know
what they did with people
like you 30 years ago.

Procedure now is,
they throw you in jail
for contempt.

But I didn't see anything.

This guy Munoz
still knows how
to swing a knife.

You want him out there
on the same streets
as your daughter?

I swear, I couldn't tell
he was stabbing her.

What did you think
he was doing?

Just hitting her.

I heard next morning...

Anyway, they caught the guy.

Well, how much did you see?

Not much.

Must've been at the window
maybe 10 seconds.
Saw his face.

I thought Cookie was just
fighting with one of her
sleazy boyfriends again.

Yeah? Why's that?

Cookie's what
we used to call easy.

Every month,
different low-life.

So she had it coming, huh?

I'm not saying that.

But the papers made her
out to be this
sweet young girl

with the bad neighbors.

She's the one
that didn't belong
in a family building.

Nice piece
of workmanship.

Too bad it wasn't
made of armor.

We got punctures in the fabric
from a single-edged knife.

Blood stains typed
and matched to the victim.

Small quantity of dried semen.

After 30 years,
you can ID the owner?

Drying actually
preserves the DNA.
Ran a PCR on it.

Matches the blood sample
we got from Mr. Munoz.

Oh, lucky us.
Nowadays he'd be
packing latex.

Here's the problem.
I picked up more DNA on
the lower part of the dress.

Doesn't match
the vic or Munoz.

What's it from?
Blood or semen?
Can't tell yet.

It's mixed in
with the other fluids.
I'll keep you posted.

All right, thanks.
A third party?

You think Munoz had
an accomplice?

Or Cookie had a quick one
on the way home from work.

Either way, we better
find out before Munoz
and his lawyer do.

What'd you want to do,
ask her priest
what she said at confession?

Better, her bartender.
She was working
at the Franklin Pub.

Yeah, assuming
it's still in business.

I'm here to tell you it is.

Started here 32 years ago.
Finally bought the place
in '73.

Now I'm looking to cash in.
You interested? Hey, cops
and bars, made in heaven.

Excuse me. I always did
want to own a bar.

Place is a goldmine, Lennie.
Ten guys to every guy.

Yeah, when I used
to come in here,
it was all guys, too,

except we had
the Giants game on.

So why the interest
in Cookie Costello?

Sal Munoz is up
for a new trial.

How'd that happen?

It's a technicality.

Anyway, we need
some background
on Cookie.

Now, we heard she had
a lot of boyfriends.

Hey, that's a crime?

She was 22, had a nice figure,
might as well put
some miles on it, huh?

Was there anyone special
she might've been
intimate with that night?

No, no, no.
She was here
the whole time.

Look, the girl liked
to have fun.

But the last week
she was here,

she was getting
her act together.

She stopped smoking,
stopped drinking, gambling.

Hey, maybe she caught
Billy Graham on TV.
Excuse me.

My experience, there's only
two reasons why a woman
drops her bad habits:

one, a new man...

Or a baby.

She was stabbed
in the lower abdomen,
right?

The other DNA could've
come from a baby
she was carrying.

Now, the question is,
why didn't the doctors
who patched her up catch it?

Maybe they did.

Maybe it was filed in
the police report right next
to her gambling conviction.

Every time one of you people
shows up at my door,
it's bad news.

I had only found out
about it a week before.
Nobody knew.

I was scared. I was single.
My parents were
very traditional.

Back then, girls in
my situation didn't have
the choices they have today.

You asked the police
to leave it out
of their report?

No. They didn't know.

But the doctors said that...

My father was there
when they brought me in.

The doctors told him
about the baby.

He asked them
if they could keep it secret,
for my sake.

Never even told my mother.

People will have to
know about it now,
won't they?

Well, that's...
That's possible.

What about the baby's father?

I never told him.
He was married.

We might need his name.

Bobby Farina.

She was having
an affair with him.

It lasted less than two weeks.

She was ashamed.
That's why she never
said anything.

Issue is,
how much does
the other side know.

She's been very good
about keeping her secret.

Have to assume
Taradash didn't know.
And neither does Marks.

You're thinking
of not telling Marks?

Well, we have to release
the forensics report
on the dress.

So then they'll know
she was pregnant.

Who the father was
is none of their business.

Ms. Kincaid,
do you think we ought
to tell them?

We're required to
under Rosario.

Only if we put her
on the stand.
And we're not going to.

Even so, it's exculpatory.

It points to a credible
alternative theory
of the crime.

I see. Farina was furious
that she was pregnant.

He attacked her.
Killed her unborn baby.
Left her for dead.

It might sound
credible to a jury.

And Munoz comes along
and rapes her.
Still credible?

Maybe not, but I'd err
on the side of caution
and turn over what we know.

And give this
three-time rapist
a chance to bluff a jury?

That can't be
a consideration.

Oh, it sure as hell can.

At the risk of committing
reversible error?

How many times do we
want to retry Munoz?

As many times as it takes.

We're legally, morally
and ethically entitled to keep
this information from him.

And that's exactly
what we're gonna do.

The substance was
made up of blood plasma,
lipids and cells,

a mixture consistent
with amniotic fluid.

This led me to conclude
Ms. Costello was pregnant.

What can you tell us about
the DNA from the semen
you found on the dress?

I did a PCR test.

The DNA matched
the defendant's on
all 21 combination

of genetic markers.

And what are the odds
that the semen on the dress

came from someone
other than Mr. Munoz?

About one in 200.

Thank you.

One in 200 in a city
of eight million?

Doesn't sound that impressive.
Isn't there a more exact
DNA test?

The RFLP, but there wasn't
enough semen on
the dress to do that test.

You testified that this dress

wasn't kept in the police
evidence room over the last
30 years, is that correct?

Yes.
It was returned
to the victim.

So you can't be sure

this is the dress Ms. Costello
was attacked in, can you?

We have a photograph
of the dress taken
right after the attack.

This appears to be
the same dress.

Would you bet
your reputation on it?

No.

I saw him from the back,
moving his arms
and then he looked up.

Is the man you saw
here today?

Yes. That's him
sitting right there.

Let the record show
that the witness pointed
at the defendant.

Thank you, Mrs. Santoro.
No more questions.

I just want to make sure
I have this right.

After 30 years your conscience
suddenly drove you
to call the police?

No. They came to me.

You just volunteered
what you knew?

They said I could
be charged with contempt
if I didn't.

Over the years,
you'd read newspaper
accounts of the crime,

you'd seen pictures
of my client?

Yeah, I suppose so.

Then isn't it possible,
under pressure
from the police,

that you confused
those photos with the man
that you glimpsed in 1965?

Oh, I don't know.
I don't think so.

I'm just trying to do
the right thing here.

My client should
rot in jail just so
you can sleep at night?

No more questions.

Mr. Munoz was picked up
on a traffic stop
for a broken tail light.

When I searched his car,
I found a switchblade
in the glove box.

I saw what looked like
dried blood on the handle.

Without revealing the contents
of the interrogation,

tell us what opinion
you formed as to
Mr. Munoz's guilt.

I was convinced
he was our guy.

What convinced you, Detective?
The fact that he was
Puerto Rican?

He fit the description we had.

Hispanic male driving
a beige car.

How many people fit
that very unique profile?

I wouldn't know.
But a witness picked
Munoz out of a line-up.

A line-up consisting of
my client and five Irish cops,
isn't that right?

I didn't ask
their ethnic origins.

But we followed procedure
right down the line.

Wouldn't proper procedure
have led you to investigate

Ms. Costello's
gambling associates?

No.

How about the fact
that she was pregnant
when she was attacked?

We didn't know
she was pregnant.
She didn't tell us.

Now that you know,
do the six stab wounds
to her lower abdomen

acquire a new
significance to you?

They might.

You're thinking
whoever attacked her

did so with the intention
of ending her pregnancy,
isn't that right?

There's no facts
to support that.

Detective, the only reason
we have no facts is that you
never bothered to collect any.

Withdrawn. No more questions.

Marks is killing us.

Yeah.

We've got to put her on, Adam.
The jury needs to hear her.

We'll have to disclose
that Farina's the father.

No choice.
Marks is vilifying her.

If we don't call her
as a witness,

the jury will assume
we've got something to hide.

Put her on the witness list.
Those the old files?

Yeah.

It won't be pretty.
Marks'll have
a field day with Costello.

Unless we inoculate the jury.

We do it to her
before Marks does?

Ask the L.A. prosecutors,

don't they wish
they'd pulled the pin
on the Fuhrman grenade?

I mean,
just before I parked,

I noticed this beige car
in my rear view

and then I got out.

The rest is just a blank.
I woke up in the hospital.

Please describe your injuries.

The doctors told me
I had 14 stab wounds,

in my throat,
my chest, arms
and stomach.

I... I can't have
children of my own.

They told me I was raped.

Could you describe
your social life
before this attack?

I had a lot of boyfriends.
I liked the attention.

I was young, I was pretty.

I wasn't worried
about the future.

Sometimes,
I made mistakes.

Please explain that.

I got pregnant

from this man,
Bobby Farina.

He was married.

I never told him
because I didn't know

if I was gonna keep the baby
or give it up for adoption.

And you never
told the police?

No. I was ashamed.

After all the other
stupid things I'd done.

You mean your arrest?

Yes. For bookmaking.

I... I gambled.

And sometimes,
I worked for my bookie
to pay off my debts.

It was very foolish.

I... I wasn't
a career woman.

The way I grew up,
family is everything.

That's impossible now,
because of him.

Thank you.

I'm very sorry
about your injuries,
Ms. Costello.

I just have a few questions.

The father of your child,
Bobby Farina, what did
he do for a living?

He worked for my bookie.
He collected debts.

Were you aware that
he'd been convicted
of violent felonies?

I knew he'd got into trouble
because of his temper.

And you knew that he wouldn't
be overjoyed by the news
of your pregnancy?

That's why
I didn't tell him.

Well, you just said it was
because you weren't sure
about keeping the baby.

Well, it was
for both reasons.

When the police
questioned you recently
about Mr. Farina,

you denied knowing him,
isn't that so?

Yes. But I'm...
I'm not lying now.

I never told him
about the baby.

Because you were afraid
of what he might do to you?

Yes.

But, in fact, Ms. Costello,
you did tell him, didn't you?

No.
You threatened
to tell his wife

unless he gave you
money for an abortion.

That's not true.
I am a good Catholic.

I would never do
a thing like that!

You mean the kind of
good Catholic who gets
arrested for bookmaking,

who commits adultery
with felons?

Objection.
Sustained.

Tone it down, Ms. Marks.

I am not a bad person!

But Bobby Farina is.

He stabbed you in the stomach
and killed your unborn child,
didn't he?

He is the one
who tried to kill me.

How would you know?

You never saw your attacker.

When you came to
in the hospital,

the police told you
Sal Munoz was the one.

And you went along with it
because you knew
if you accused Bobby

that he would come back
and finish the job,
wouldn't he?

Please stop it.

The police framed my client

and you kept your mouth
shut for 30 years.

Please stop.
Even when the police told you

that Mr. Farina was a suspect,
you still denied knowing him,
didn't you?

Yes.
Even though you knew

the only man with
the motive to do this
horrible thing to you

was Bobby Farina,
isn't that the truth?

I don't...
I don't know.
I don't know.

No more questions.

Marks knows her audience.

You could've heard hair grow
in that jury box.

People slow down for
traffic accidents, that
doesn't mean they approve.

Wishful thinking.
She even created doubt
in Cookie's mind.

Thirty years ago, no judge
would've let Ms. Teri Marks

get away with that
kind of muck-raking.

Thirty years ago,
you had a confession.

Yeah. And we had
an insanity plea.

You know,
Munoz had a girlfriend.
A Dominican girl.

She was supposed to
testify at the first
trial on his behalf.

In support of his
insanity plea.

I read her statement.
There's no red flag there.

The girl disappeared
before she took the stand.

Defense accused us
of threatening to pull
her visa if she testified.

And?

And nonsense.

Well, then
why'd she disappear?

Find her and ask her.

Sal wanted me to lie for him,
to say that he was crazy,

that he heard voices

and that's why I ran away
to Santo Domingo.

But he's not crazy.
He's just evil.

Mr. McCoy, I hope
this isn't why you
want her to testify.

No, Your Honor.

Ms. Valerio, tell the judge
about the times Sal hurt you.

Sometimes, he'd want
to have sex with me
and I didn't feel like it.

If I said no,
he'd hit me
and force me to.

If I tried to get away,
he would hit me harder.

Your Honor.

Go on, Ms. Valerio.

One time I went
to the police
and Sal found out.

He got very angry.

He got this small knife
from the kitchen and
he pressed it against me

and he said that
if I ever opened up
my mouth again,

that he would cut me up
inside so that I could
never have babies.

All right.
Thank you, Ms. Valerio.
You can leave now.

Your Honor, I can't believe
Mr. McCoy has asked you
to allow this testimony.

It's prejudicial.
It's prior bad acts.
It's inadmissible.

It establishes
a common pattern.
Same weapon, same MO.

A paring knife
versus a switchblade,

a girlfriend versus
a complete stranger?

There's no pattern here.

He threatened to
injure his girlfriend

in the exactly the same manner
he injured Cookie Costello.

And who knows how many others.

That's the problem.
There are no others.

Two vaguely similar acts
do not add up to a pattern.

No, they don't, Ms. Marks.

Mr. McCoy, this is outside
the Molineux exception.
I can't allow it.

Ms. Valerio will not testify.

Have you reached a verdict?

We have.

On the first count
of the indictment,

rape in the first degree,
how do you find?

We find the defendant,
Sal Munoz, not guilty.

On the second count
of the indictment,

attempt to commit murder
in the second degree,

how do you find?

We find the defendant
not guilty.

Yes!

Marks just had
a press conference.

She actually thinks
she righted
a 30-year-old wrong.

And probably hopes
to be the centerfold in
next month's Bar Journal.

Yeah. Well, she did her job.
We didn't do ours.

Bad evidence.
Bad memories.
Bad rulings.

We did everything we could.

Yeah.

Didn't you tell me
you never make
this job personal?

I lied.
Second time
in 30 years.