Law & Order (1990) s13e13 Episode Script


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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
ED: Thank you, Mr.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Defendant's remanded without bail.
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.
I don't think that's an issue here, Mr.
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.
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.
Baker? Those pieces came from my father's store.
Please, Ms.
Baker answer the question.
Other people sell this kind ofjewelry, too.
Thank you.
Next witness, Mr.
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.
I'll see everybody bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow morning.
Yes, Your Honor.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
And Mrs.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There's a word for people like March.
Let's hope it's "guilty".
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.
JACK: Tippens.
Trish Tippens.
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.
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.
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.
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.