All language subtitles for Law and order S13E13 - Absentia

NARRATOR:
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.

So, what do you think?

Excuse me.

Burritos? Greek? There's
that Spanish place.

El Faro's?

The one on Carmine.

Oh, I'm not in a
tapas state of mind.

Hey, what about that Thai
joint we always go to?

This is the problem with New York.
Too much choice.

You know we should...

Oh my God! What
was that?

Hey!

Call 911.

Oh my God! Robby,
be careful!

Oh my God!

Dina!

We need you to come down
and look at some pictures.

Okay. But like we said...
Hey, you never know,

something might jog your memory.

Could they ID the shooter?

Eh, too dark, it all
happened so fast, etcetera.

Uh, he's about six feet,
dark hair, dark complexion.

Black, white,
Hispanic? What?

Italian, Greek,
Armenian, who knows?

What about the witness? He
must've gotten a good look.

Glen Fordyce. He's
visiting from Chicago,

and that's about all I got.
He's still in shock.

What do we know
about the dead guy?

That's Josh Baker, fifty-three.
He's the proprietor.

Oh, there's his
daughter right there.

We're very sorry about your dad.

Thank you. Listen, I'm
sorry to trouble you,

but we're gonna need a list of
all the things that were stolen

so we can check pawn
shops, fences, etcetera.

I can do that for
you in the morning.

He wouldn't have put up a fight.

He always said just give
it up, it's not worth it.

So why? Sometimes they
worry about witnesses.

What about the
customer? How...

He's on his way to surgery.

We're actually hoping that
he can ID the shooter.

Could you tell him
how sorry I am?

Two or three to the chest.
Point blank.

That's nine millimeter.
Any prints?

Not a lot.

It's closing time.

Must've just finished wiping
the counter down back here.

Who knows?

He left a few pieces behind.
Maybe we'll get lucky.

Yeah, and if our witness lives through
surgery, we'll all hit the lottery.

This is a business trip,
and I finished early

so I figured I'd stop and pick
something up for my wife.

How's the owner?

Mr. Baker didn't make it.

See, that's what you get
for being a nice guy,

going out of your way.

What do you mean,
Mr. Fordyce?

Well, he was closing up, and
he let me stay and browse

'cause he knew I was heading
to Chicago in the morning.

Then this punk...

They don't make morphine
like they used to.

Thanks.

Anyway,

this kid rings the buzzer.

And since I was already
there, I guess he figured,

what the hell, he'd help
out two prodigal husbands.

Can you describe him?

Early twenties.
Uh, skinny.

Had curly dark hair,
uh, dark complexion.

BRISCOE: Black? White?
Not black.

Uh, hard to tell. Uh,

Hispanic, Middle Eastern,
Gypsy maybe.

He had some kind of accent.

A foreign accent?

I'm all for "your
huddled masses yearning

"to breathe free" and all, but

sometimes

makes you wonder
who's watching the door.

You think you could pick
his face out of a book?

Whatever you need
I'm here for you.

ED: Good. Thank you.

Thanks.

Now all we need is a pawnbroker

who's as accommodating
as Mr. Baker was.

Pawnbroker? Let's start in
the Village, move north.

Oh, come on, man. Three hundred for
this old beat up no count guitar?

Sorry, no discounts.

You sure you don't have
something more exciting?

Exciting?
Uh, like what?

Oh, something, uh, special.
You know, private stock.

Yeah, uh,

I just got these babies in. Right off
the boat, if you know what I mean.

Estate sale. What,
somebody died?

Wow, now you're talking.

You put these earrings together,
I'll give you a price.

How about I take the whole lot?

You buy in bulk and save.

I didn't know the stuff
was hot, I swear.

Yeah, I didn't know either. Let's
consult with an expert. Ed.

Want to take a look at these?

Oh, crap, man. What are you
guys, Starsky and Hutch?

Ding, ding.
We got a match.

Looks like you're closed
for the day, pal.

Well, what's the pawnbroker
have to say for himself?

"I never saw
him before."

Of course. His log book?
Illegible.

Isn't it always?

And I'll bet he neglected
to ask for ID.

Completely slipped his mind.

But he did give us the same
description as Fordyce.

Dark curly hair, skinny,
six foot, accent.

Hey, we got a hit on a print from the
store off a bracelet he left behind.

Uh, Eddie Travandze. Twenty-eight,
six foot, dark hair, brown eyes.

BCI's sending over a photo.
And what's claim to fame?

Oh, B and E, possession
of burglary tools.

He did eighteen months upstate.

Travandze? What is that?

Says here he's from Georgia.

So his foreign accent
was southern?

No, Georgia, like in Russia.
You know, Soviet Union.

Is there a last known?

Yeah, 125 Delancey.
See ya.

When's the last time you saw
your husband? Who knows?

He left. Doesn't
live here no more.

Yeah? Why are all his clothes
still in the closet?

I told you, he left.

Girlfriend floozy. I tell
him to get the hell out,

or else or else I do like Mrs.
Bobbitt. Snip, snip.

This floozy, you know
where we can find her?

No ideas.

Officer would you mind sitting here
with Mrs. Travandze for a while?

Disgusting.
Worse than KGB.

Pigs!

Get the hell out!

Don't you love
innocent bystanders?

Police!

I don't know nothing.

Actually, we'll be
the judge of that.

I'm outta work as it is.
I don't need trouble.

We're here to prevent
trouble, Mr?

Yeats.
Timmy Yeats.

I don't need this.
I really don't.

Yeah, we just got a few
questions about Mr. Travandze.

Who'd he kill? Now, why
would you say that?

Them Georgians.
Worse than Ukes.

They're a crazy breed,
know what I'm saying'?

Screaming all the time
like there's no tomorrow.

What, screaming at each other?

Him at her. Her at him.
Both of 'em at me.

You know any of his friends?

Me? Nah.

All right, man, so when we see
Eddie, we'll give him your regards.

Okay.

Okay. There's this bar
in the East Village.

Eddie dragged me there
on a couple of occasions

for some cheap vodka called Borka's.
Borzoi's, something.

On St. Mark's.
Real dump.

When he's not beating the wife,

he's down there swapping lies
with the other Cossacks.

I know the place.

Edward Travandze?

Never heard of him.

That was a rhetorical
question, smart ass.

Go away. You're under arrest.

For what? Armed
robbery and murder.

Maybe he doesn't
understand English, Ed.

You got wrong guy.
Stand up.

Go to hell.
What do you want?

BRISCOE: Hey, any of you guys
want to join your friend,

there's plenty
of room in Rikers.

Guess they understood that.

Yeah, Rikers is Rikers
in any language.

You've probably
heard this before, too.

You have the right
to remain silent.

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

Do svidaniya.

That's him.
Number four.

You're positive?

Yep, he's the one who sold me the stuff.
Definitely.

ED: Thank you,
Mr. Krakow.

Can I go, uh, home now?

Yeah, we're gonna have
an officer escort you.

Uh, we have a a bargain, right?

Now, that sounds interesting.

Look, I'm a stand up guy. I told you
I'd come in pick the guy out, so...

And what did they promise you?
A hot cup of coffee.

Officer.

If that's who you're hanging your case
on, you're wasting everyone's time.

If you don't have anything
better than a witness

with a lot to gain by perjuring
himself, my work here is done.

Sorry I'm late.

It's easier to get through customs
than check out of a hospital.

I'm sorry,
Mr. Finnerty.

It looks like you might have to
put in a couple of more hours

on behalf of your client.

Yeah, your client used Mr.
Fordyce for target practice.

Detective Briscoe says you have
fingerprints and another witness?

There's no such thing
as too much evidence.

Good. I wouldn't want
this mutt to get away.

Hey! Save it for the
courtroom, Counselor.

Let's get this over with.

Take your time, now.

No need.
Number four.

I'll never forget that
face as long as I live.

Docket number 274691.

People v. Edward Travandze. Charges
are murder in the first degree,

attempted murder in the first degree,
robbery in the first degree.

That's a pretty good trifecta, Mr.
Travandze.

JUDGE: What've you got
to say for yourself?

You got the wrong guy.

I assume that's a not guilty.

Not at all guilty.

JUDGE: That's a first.
Counselor?

The defendant killed one
man and wounded another

during the course of an armed
robbery, and as such...

You had me at "killed," Ms.
Southerlyn.

Defendant's remanded
without bail. Next.

I figure murder two, assault
one, served concurrently.

Feeling generous this
morning, are we?

His lawyer's bringing coffee.

He's been like that
for twenty minutes.

Maybe Travandze likes
vodka for breakfast.

Do what I say, okay?

(CURSING IN RUSSIAN) I said no.
Okay? No plea bargain.

Don't mind us.

I'm sorry to waste your time.

It seems my client is hell bent
on having his day in court.

You explained the consequences
of a guilty verdict?

Needle and all.

I go to prison one time.

I not go back. Never.

I don't think that's an issue here, Mr.
Travandze.

Your choice is between life in
prison or the death penalty.

Screw you!
It wasn't me!

You were ID'd by the pawnbroker
and the other customer you shot.

Mistaken identity.

I got jewels from guy in bar.
He sold to me.

I don't know where he get from.

Please don't insult my intelligence
with a fairy tale like that.

Last time I do nothing wrong,

son of bitch lawyer
says take deal.

Not again.
I know rights.

Most people looking at this kind of
evidence would take a deal and run.

I take chances in court instead.

I believe in jury system.

This guy was waiting
outside my store

when I came in that morning, uh, in a
real hurry to sell me some jewelry.

I see.

Did you buy it?
KRAKOW: Yeah.

KRAKOW: Yeah, of course.
That's my business.

And the person who
sold you this jewelry,

do you see him in
the courtroom today?

Yeah. He's over there.
The, uh, defendant.

These items which have already been
labeled People's two through eleven

are they the pieces that you
bought from the defendant?

KRAKOW: Yeah. Yeah,
that's them.

How much did you
pay for the lot?

Five hundred and fifty
dollars, cash.

Thank you.

You knew that these
pieces were stolen?

I run my business,

like the Army.
Don't ask, don't tell.

In fact, the District
Attorney indicted you for

receiving stolen property in
connection with this case,

didn't he?

I have, charges pending, yeah.

FINNERTY: Did they promise to drop those
charges if you testify against my client?

No, they didn't.

But you have hopes, don't
you, if you cooperate?

Objection.

FINNERTY: Withdrawn.

Dad...
I mean, my father

kept careful records of every piece of
inventory in the store for insurance.

Are any of the items labeled People's two
through eleven listed in that ledger?

Uh, all of them.

The pearl necklace.

The gold bracelet.

(SOBBING)

Do you know what
all this is worth?

That bastard killed my father for
maybe five thousand dollars.

I'm very sorry for
your loss, Ms. Baker.

Thank you.

You said exhibits two through eleven
were worth collectively about

five thousand dollars.
Is that correct?

About.

So it's not what you'd call
top of the line jewelry.

Isn't it highly unlikely that your
father's the only jeweler in town

who would sell
these kind of pieces?

I know what you're doing.
Ms. Baker?

Those pieces came
from my father's store.

Please, Ms. Baker
answer the question.

No. Other people sell
this kind ofjewelry, too.

Thank you.

Next witness, Mr. McCoy.

Approach, Your Honor.

The People request
a recess, Your Honor.

What seems to be the problem, Mr.
McCoy?

Our final witness Mr. Glen Fordyce,
is coming in from Chicago.

His plane must've been delayed.

Is he essential to your case?

Crucial, Your Honor.
Victim and eyewitness.

My client is entitled
to a speedy trial.

Relax, Mr. Finnerty.

I'll see everybody bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed tomorrow morning.

Yes, Your Honor.

Jack. Fordyce never
got on the plane.

Well, get him on the red-eye. We
need him here tomorrow morning.

I can't. He's gone.

What do you mean, gone?
He called his office,

said he needed to take
some time off.

That he and his wife were
going on a car trip.

A car trip?
Unbelievable.

Well, they've gotta eat and sleep.
Run their credit cards.

I did. So far, they
haven't used them.

And there's something else. Travandze's
uncle's doing life in Otisville.

The Russian mob.

What do you mean, disappeared?

Ask defense counsel.

Are you implying I had
something to do with this?

I'm not implying anything,
I'm saying it outright.

You, your client, somebody
got to my witness.

No wonder Mr. Travandze has
such faith in the jury system.

You have proof
of this, Counselor?

If something's happened
to Mr. Fordyce,

if you had anything
to do with it,

you'll be looking at conspiracy
to commit murder charges,

in addition to witness
tampering.

You just better hope that Mr.
Fordyce is still alive and well.

JACK: I need two weeks, Your Honor.
So do I.

In Vermont.

Do you have any more witnesses?

No, Your Honor.

Fine. Then let's see if we can put
an end to this proceeding ASAP.

This is ridiculous.

Your witness. Your job
to put him on the stand.

Go ahead, Mr. McCoy. Charge
me with conspiracy, too.

JUDGE: Have you reached
a verdict?

We have.

On the first count
of the indictment,

murder in the first degree,
how do you find?

We find the defendant,
not guilty.

On the second count
of the indictment,

attempt to commit murder in the
first degree, how do you find?

We find the defendant,
not guilty.

On the third count
of the indictment,

robbery in the first degree,
how do you find?

We find the defendant,
not guilty.

You don't seriously
suspect the Russian mob?

A key witness doesn't just
conveniently disappear Arthur.

Especially one who has a chance to put
the man who shot him behind bars.

What'd you find out?

The Chicago police pulled Fordyce's
LUDs, searched his apartment.

His clothes, his wife's
clothes, all gone.

Maybe your boy just got a
bad case of stage fright.

I don't think so. His prints in his
apartment matched someone named Levi March.

He has a record. For
killing Abby Sherman.

You know who he is?

You think that's possible
after all these years?

Why not? Everybody's
gotta be somewhere.

What are we talking about?
Glen Fordyce is The Griffin.

Well, if he is The Griffin, he sure as hell
doesn't want his kisser in a courtroom.

Why are you calling him
The Griffin?

That's what he called
himself, The Griffin.

A mythical beast.
Half dragon, half lion.

Levi March.

Gadfly, media maven, ladies'
man extraordinaire.

Who skipped bail after murdering
his girlfriend twenty years ago.

BRISCOE: In 1983, The Griffin
was front page news.

Every era has its gurus.

So this is all that we have. He
killed his girlfriend, Abby Sherman,

beat her to death with a blunt object.
Allegedly.

Oh, he did it.
The jury said so.

I thought he skipped bail.

He did. He was
tried in absentia.

That doesn't happen
often, does it?

Well, the Sherman family
had connections.

They knew a sympathetic judge that they
thought would give them some closure.

Well, shouldn't you be turning
this over to Cold Cases?

Well, Branch figures since
you actually met the man.

Always thinking
of others, your boss.

The original detective on
the case was Will Ashman.

He retired in '94.

Will Ashman?

Oh, you're gonna love this one.

March. Supposed to be a
real lady-killer, right?

Heh. What the broads saw in that
pudgy little son of a bitch,

I'll never know.

That's what makes 'em
broads, right, Lennie.

I'm with you, Will.

So this girl that March killed?

Oh, nice kid. Kinda
your girl next door.

Cuter than a bug's ear.

Lennie knows the type.
I used to.

I don't know what she was doing
with a creep like March.

Finally, she gets fed up. Tells
him she's dumping him, blah-blah.

He flips. Bashes her head
in with a champagne bottle,

bricks up her bod behind the
fireplace in his apartment.

Place smells worse than
a Cambodian kitchen.

Finally, the landlord
calls the cops.

So why would a judge let a
man like that out on bail?

It's hard to say no when you
ask for a cool mil up front

and they write you out
a check on the spot.

I didn't know March
had that kind of money.

Nah, his old man. Levi never
worked a day in his life.

And that's the last we hear of
him until about ten years ago.

We get this anonymous tip that he's shacked
up with some local talent up in Montreal.

So,

we strap on our snowshoes, go up there, make
nice with the Mounties, raid the place.

Miss the little nudnik
by a nose hair.

Yeah, Will's what
you call old school.

You mean
prehistoric. Hello.

But entertaining, in a
Neanderthal sort of way.

Hey, Fordyce has
a '91 Chevy Camaro.

A little extra horsepower
helps when you're on the run.

Yeah, spell that.
All right, cool.

It was registered
under Mr. And Mrs. Fordyce,

but the wife's driver's license has
the name Anne-Marie Gautreaux.

And you're thinking she's the
local talent from Montreal?

Montreal faxed us the driver's
license photos of all 145

Anne-Marie Gautreauxs
in the province.

A Chicago neighbor picked one as Mrs.
Fordyce.

Well, that doesn't necessarily
mean they've gone back to Canada.

On the other hand they left in a hurry
without any time to make plans.

They might've
looked up her family.

And all the cash they had was the couple
of hundred they got from the ATM.

I know where my kid comes
when she's running on empty.

Au revoir.

I take it you still haven't
located Monsieur March.

Well, until a few days
ago they were living

in Chicago under
the name Fordyce.

And he disappeared?

We're thinking maybe he paid
a visit to his in-laws.

That'd be difficult. They were killed six
months ago in an automobile accident.

Well, living under an assumed identity
and not able to get in touch,

there's a chance Anne-Marie
didn't hear about her folks.

She have any other family?
Sister.

She was here the day
before yesterday.

Was she alone?
Yeah. All alone.

Did she say
where her husband is?

We don't talk about him. He's
not welcome in this house.

You know where she is now? No.

No, I swear.

Did she say where she was going?

When she left she was very upset.
About what?

Our parents.
She didn't know.

I had no way to reach her.
She was...

She still in Montreal?

I think so, oui.

As far as I know.

If you should hear from Anne-Marie,
if she gets tired of running,

ask her to give us a call.

We can call New York
and make a deal.

She won't be prosecuted.

Mademoiselle Gautreaux?
Oui.

Gabrielle Simone,
Anne-Marie's attorney.

Oh, I might've known. A lawyer's
a lawyer anywhere in the world.

And so's a cop. Let's
cut to the chase.

Since Anne-Marie is totally
innocent of any crime...

Let's not forget about
harboring a fugitive.

Oh, I get it.
You're the straight man.

My sister said that I wouldn't
be charged with anything.

ED: And you won't, if you tell
us where your husband is.

I don't know If I can do this.

He's not getting away this time, Mrs.
Fordyce.

It's a lot harder to cross
borders than it used to be.

ED: It would be better for him
if you tell us where he is.

Otherwise, some other
cops get to him...

You never know what could happen.
He could wind up dead.

(WHISPERING IN FRENCH)

Anne-Marie will tell you where her
husband is if you give her immunity.

Plus she won't testify against him.
Not under any circumstances.

It's not a problem.
We want it in writing

from the District Attorney.

You can get that.

So when are you due?

Three months.

Is that why you decided to give
it up, after all these years?

It's too hard.

I love Glen, but

I'm tired. This is
no way to live.

My sister got married.
I missed the wedding.

She's got two kids
I've never met.

My parents died,

and I didn't even know.

I missed their funeral.

I'm not a criminal. I shouldn't
have to live like one.

How do you say "we're screwed" in French?
(CHATTERING ON WALKIE-TALKIE)

I guess that's how. He's
on the fire escape.

Oh, I thought
Griffins could fly.

You want to do the honors?

Avec plaisir.

March is on a plane back
to New York as we speak.

I've already picked out a
room for him at Attica.

Wait a minute. Aren't
we skipping a step?

March was tried
and convicted, Serena.

I just assumed there'd
be a new trial.

Yep.

I thought this office was serious
about due process, Jack.

And they are. He was represented
by very able counsel.

Who is sitting in the
conference room as we speak.

Two words, kangaroo court.

Evidence was presented.
Witnesses testified.

You represented
him, if memory serves.

I was young.
I was naive.

And now?

I'm old enough to realize
just how naive I was

for letting the state
proceed with that farce.

This is a municipal
building, Marvin.

Heil McCoy.

So what do you say
we call it man two.

Time served?
What time?

Twenty years, Levi had to
deny his own existence.

He could have turned himself in.

For something he didn't do.

Heil to you, too.

Murder two.
Twenty-five.

He's fifty-five years old.
That's a life sentence.

And Abby Sherman would be
forty-five if she'd lived.

If Levi March hadn't killed her.

You know, I was hoping
you'd take this position.

Now I get to correct the mistake
I made twenty years ago.

What's done cannot be
undone, Marvin.

Oh, yes it can.

That's what appellate
courts are for.

It is well established that in all
criminal proceedings, the accused

has the right, guaranteed
by the Sixth Amendment,

to be, and I quote, "Confronted
with the witnesses against him."

Similarly the due process clause
of the Fourteenth Amendment

implicitly guarantees
a defendant

the right to a fair
and impartial trial.

That's all very interesting, but
you're appealing a decision

rendered over twenty years ago.

The last I looked, this state
required notice of appeal

within sixty days of a verdict.

With all due respect,
Your Honor,

cart before the horse.

If the original trial
was unconstitutional

there was no verdict.

Always the clever one,
Mr. Silverman.

Thank you, Your Honors.

JACK: In "Davis v. Alaska,"
the Supreme Court held

that the essence of the
right of confrontation

was the right
to cross-examine.

That right was certainly
not denied the defendant,

in that he was represented more than
competently by present counsel.

Within limits.

He can't very well advise
counsel on his own defense

when he's not in the courtroom.

Mr. March, waived his
right to advise counsel

when he failed
to turn up for his trial.

Doesn't "Crosby v. United States"
preclude trial in absentia

when the defendant flees
before proceedings commence?

Mr. March was in custody under indictment
at the time he fled the jurisdiction.

It was his choice
not to participate

in subsequent legal proceedings.

Nobody at the time,
including counsel, objected.

The People should not be penalized
now, twenty years later.

How could you have lost?
He killed my sister.

We already proved it in court.

Appellate courts look at
the law, Mrs. Carmody,

and not the people it effects.

This has been going
on for twenty years.

It ruined my family. It
killed my parents, literally.

We convicted him once, I'm
confident we'll convict him again.

I hope so.

Good night.

Bye.

You that sanguine?
Of course not.

A twenty-year-old case. Evidence
goes astray, witnesses die.

You wouldn't want it to
be too easy, would you?

Detective Ashman?

Remembers it like it was
yesterday.

Mr. And Mrs. Sherman.
Both dead.

Thomas Styner? A neighbor.
He died last year.

Trish Tippens? Abby
Sherman's best friend.

She moved to Europe after the first trial.
You know, it's a shame too.

Because Mrs. Sherman testified
that Abby told her that

she was going to leave
Levi because she came home

and found him in bed
with her friend, Trish.

There was a quote.

"I'm leaving him, although I'm
afraid he might kill me if I do."

There's your motive. We'll read Mrs.
Sherman's testimony into evidence.

And between that, the detective's
testimony and forensics,

Levi March will go to prison
for the rest of his life.

I was just a kid when
Abby moved in with Levi.

What did you family
think of Mr. March?

He was okay. He and my
dad would talk politics.

Levi was always on the news,

so it was like we had a
celebrity in the family.

JACK: Was your sister
happy with Mr. March?

At first.

Then I started to notice
how he'd boss her around.

At a restaurant, he would
tell her what to order.

He made her wear certain
clothes, things like that.

He was a control freak.

JACK: Did she ever complain?

It was a family tradition to go skating
in Central Park, every New Year's Day.

Until Abby met Levi, that is.

That year, Levi
wouldn't let Abby go.

He didn't know how to skate, so
that was it, Abby couldn't go.

So after we were done, we
dropped by their apartment.

Abby was alone.
She was crying.

Did she tell you why?

My dad took me for a walk,
while Abby talked to Mom.

I found out afterwards.
He'd hit her.

A couple of months later
she was dead.

Did you see Levi March
hit your sister?

No.

Did she ever tell you
he'd hit her?

No.

Tell me Mrs. Carmody, was there ever
a time when you saw your mother cry?

Of course.

Did your father kill her?

Do you know what that
man did to our family?

A crying girlfriend. A disagreement
about a family outing.

A hearsay story about someone
hitting someone else.

Not exactly evidence
of murder, is it?

That bastard killed Abby!
SILVERMAN: Your Honor.

JUDGE: We get your point,
Mr. Silverman.

At this time, Your Honor, the People
would like to read into evidence

the testimony
of Mrs. Vera Sherman.

Chambers, Judge.

Hearsay, best evidence.
Take your pick.

The witness is deceased,
Your Honor.

Who's your witness?
The victim's mother.

She testified at the first
trial that Abby Sherman

had told her that she was scared
the defendant would kill her

if she tried to leave.

Sworn testimony is admissible if the
witness is unavailable for trial.

You're forgetting, Jack, according
to the Appellate Division,

that trial was an unconstitutional
violation of my client's rights.

Ergo the verdict was void, ergo
the trial never took place,

ergo Mrs. Sherman
never testified.

That is absurd. Defense counsel's
welcome to read his own

cross-examination
of the witness

from the first trial into
evidence, if he likes.

What witness?
I don't see a witness.

I don't either.

As far as I'm concerned, that
transcript doesn't exist.

The neighbors complained
about a stink.

JACK: What did you do?

We searched the place.

It stunk all right.

Could you describe the smell?
Sure.

It smelled like death
and peppermint.

Objection.

Is the witness an expert
in the olfactory sciences?

I'm an expert in dead bodies

and the people
who try to hide them.

I'll let it go.

Thank you, Judge.

Turns out the smell was a
combination of air fresheners

and decomposing flesh.

JACK: And this odor was emanating
from the defendant's apartment?

His fireplace, to be exact.

What did you do?

I waited there while
my partner got a warrant

and we tore down the wall.

What did you find?

Human remains.

Are these photographs
of those human remains?

ASHMAN: Yes. Yes, they are.

JACK: Could you describe the
condition of those remains?

Badly decomposed.

The body had been dismembered.

The skull crushed.

Were you subsequently able
to identify those remains?

Yes.

As those of Abby Sherman.

Sure, Abby and I had problems.

I'm sure all couples do
from time to time.

Did you ever hit her?

Let me tell you something.

I believe, I truly believe,

that each person on this planet
has only one true soul mate.

Abby and I were born
for each other.

No, I didn't hit her.

And I certainly didn't kill her.

When was the last time
you saw her?

March 12th, 1982.

We made love on the couch, and
I got on a plane for Detroit.

If you remember there was
an auto worker's strike.

I just flew out to lend
support for the working man.

How long were you out of town?

Maybe six weeks.

Did you talk to Abby while you
were in Detroit?

No.

She was going the next day to the Navajo
Reservation where she was doing work

at the tribal hospital.

And you couldn't reach her? No.

In those days,
there were no cell phones,

and she didn't have an answering
machine where she was staying.

So what happened
when you got home?

I called her parents.
They hadn't heard from her.

They didn't know where
she was either.

Did the apartment smell?

I called the super.
I complained.

He said we had rats.
He put out poison.

I just assumed that they crawled
off and died in the walls.

A few days later, Detective
Ashman showed up.

He took the fireplace apart,
and he found her body.

And you were shocked?

Devastated.

I wanted to die.

Do you have any idea who could
have done such a thing?

Of course I do.

That's why I ran.

I knew I couldn't
get a fair trial.

They were trying to frame me.

Why don't you tell us
who did it?

Who killed Abby Sherman?

Well, what you have to know
is that at that time I was

a very high profile person.

I spoke truths a lot of
people didn't want to hear.

Like what?

Like the marriage of corporate
America and the American government.

Like the conspiracy of greed
and power that controls

each and every human
being on this planet.

I spoke the truth back then.

People were starting to listen.

Are you saying the American
government killed Abby Sherman?

Yes.

That's exactly what I'm saying.

But if you were the problem,
if you were such a threat,

why didn't they just kill you?

They wanted to discredit me.

Shut me up,

not make me a martyr.

Mr. McCoy? I'm
sorry, Your Honor,

I just don't know what to say.

I've heard some
whoppers on the stand,

but this beggars
the imagination.

Objection.

Do you have any questions for
this witness, Counselor?

The government
murdered Abby Sherman?

Who was it?

The CIA?

The FBI?

Go ahead, just mock me,
Mr. McCoy.

It is the truth.

You've got to admit this is
all pretty hard to believe?

Why? Why is it so hard
to believe?

They killed John, didn't they?

John Kennedy?

John Lennon.

So Mark David Chapman was
working for the government?

He spent time in a CIA
training camp in Beirut,

where he was blooded.

Blooded?

Brainwashed.

Trained,

to be a skilled, covert
assassin.

Are you saying the CIA
assassinated John Lennon?

He was as dangerous
to them as I was.

It's so sad. You're a part of the
conspiracy and you don't even know it.

You're a dupe,
Mr. McCoy.

And you're not.
You know the truth.

That's right, I do.

How, in this world of uncertainty,
can you be so damned sure?

They told me.

Told you?
Who told you?

A retired black ops agent.

Black ops?

Illegal, covert operations.

Wet works.

Assassinations.

The Phoenix program in Vietnam.
You remember,

"Terminate with extreme
prejudice."

You remember that
one, don't you, Mr. McCoy?

And what did this

retired,

secret,

covert,

black ops

assassin

tell you?

He called me in Chicago
last year and apologized

for killing Abby.

I see.

And for the record,

what was this man's name?

He couldn't tell me.

Classified,

on pain of death.

Oh, please.

SILVERMAN: Objection.

Withdrawn.

There's a word
for people like March.

Let's hope it's "guilty".

Paranoid. Wild theories
without a wisp of fact.

The '97 NBA conference finals.

The refs threw out
half the Knicks' team.

So they'd lose to Miami,

and Miami would lose
to the Bulls

and Michael Jordan
would end up in the finals.

The payday everyone wanted.

You don't believe that, Arthur.

Me? No.

But the fellow I get my paper from every
morning's still yapping about it.

It only takes one
out of twelve, Jack.

Don't I know it.

I just went over the LUDs pulled
from March's Chicago phone.

Please don't tell me there
was a call from Langley.

No, but there were quite a few
to and from a P. Tippens.

JACK: Tippens.

Trish Tippens.

Patricia. The one Abby Sherman
caught March in bed with.

I'll tell you what,

it's March's girlfriends
who ought to be paranoid.

Actually, I was thinking
more about his wife.

Mrs. Sherman, "She told me Levi was
cheating on her all the time."

Question,
"Did she say with whom?"

Answer, "Well, the straw
that broke the camel's back

"was her friend Trish.
Trish Tippens.

"Abby came home and
found Trish and Levi in bed."

Judge already said none of
this can be used in court.

We're not in court, Marvin.

I don't understand.

Who cares about an affair
I had twenty years ago?

This is a list of phone calls
between your husband

and Patricia Tippens
over the past two years.

There are hundreds of them.

If you look closely, you'll see
that the area code is 312.

Chicago, isn't it where you've
been living the past two years?

They're all local calls.

Do you really think they
were just staying in touch?

Bastard.

You are a pig.

Cochon.

Don't you see, sweetie?

They're setting us up.

I gave up my life for you.

My family.

Ten years.

I trusted you.

You never even stopped
seeing her, did you?

Even while I'm pregnant
you were still screwing her.

They're lying, Anne-Marie.

And we'll talk about it later.

That's right.

They're always lying.

Everyone else is always lying.

You're the only one
who tells the truth.

Do you know what he told me?

He told me that he killed
that girl,

Abby.

That he killed her and he put
her body in the fireplace.

Anne-Marie.

What are you saying?

I never told you that.

They're married.
It's privileged.

No, guess again.

We were never married.

Our marriage is a sham, a lie.

Just like him.

Give us a minute, Jack.

He took murder two, the max.

Twenty-five to life?

I would've rolled the dice
with a jury.

You didn't have a felony escape
charge hanging over your head

with sentences
to run consecutively.

This way, he has at least a
theoretical chance of parole.

Do you really think he told
Anne-Marie he committed the murder?

I think she proved his point.

This time, finally,
someone was out

to get him.