[Note: post-ep for 18x01 Called Home. As of 04/26/08, this journal will go from the beginning of Season 18 and continue chronologically.  Also, the lines of dialogue between Connie and McCoy are taken directly from the episode.] 

 
The case was tricky.  On the one hand, yes, Mila Haynes had helped two men commit suicide.  On the other hand, she’d done it to frame Bill Nolan because of the newsman’s role in sending Haynes’ father to prison ten years prior.

 As soon as Cutter left the room, McCoy gave Connie a look.

“I don’t want Mike going on a tangent,” he told her, giving her a pointed look.

“Jack.”    She gave him a look right back and told him he needed to tell Cutter himself. 

It was only a few weeks in and already she was tired of being put in between the two men – the D.A. who’d been her boss for over a year and the new E.A.D.A who she was still getting to know.  She respected McCoy and was used to his ways, but she also appreciated Cutter’s…zest for the law (so far…).  It was a delicate balance and she did not want to play middleman. 

 Before leaving, McCoy gave her a relentless look, and reminded her once again that their case was not about the assisted suicides, but Haynes’ act of vengeance and the families who suffered because of it. They needed to play it up. 

“Your case is all brain and no heart,” is what he said before leaving. 

She sat back down and waited for Cutter to return. 

As she went through her notes, Connie became more and more disgusted with the major players in the trial.  It never ceased to amaze her how people could play puppetmaster with the lives of others.  Mila Haynes manipulated Tom Lupo, Larry Driscoll, the lab tech, even Bill Nolan himself all so that her father would be glorified.  It was the same demented devotion that drove religious zealots, if she thought about it long enough. 

Bill Nolan had been a willing sheep, gladly eating up what Haynes had to serve in vain pursuit of another Emmy.  She wanted to slap the smug look right off of his face.  He’d gotten lucky—very lucky.  How could you watch someone die right in front of you without so much as flinching?  Nolan didn’t care about bringing home the news.  He cared about not ruining his pressed suit and makeup for the camera. 

This wasn’t about the right to die –it was about greed for profit, whether that be career gain or personal satisfaction.    

McCoy was right, but she would have to tell Cutter in a way that didn’t make it seem like McCoy was usurping “his” case.  She hated being the go-between, but if it meant keeping the peace and keeping this case on track, she’d do it.  Just this once (she hoped).  

[word count: 445]

Note from the writer:  Because of my lagginess this TV season, I am currently behind on Law & Order: TOS episodes.  As you may know, I write both this journal ada_c_rubirosaand Michael Cutter at pda_lovin_eada.  My original goal was to write both Cutter and Rubirosa in sync, as each episode went by. Since then, I haven't been able to keep up and I've written a couple of entries each for them that are general entries, with one that had spoilers for "Tango".  As of Friday, April 25, I plan on catching up with the episodes I've missed, thanks to the wonders of DVR. 

At that point, I am going to restart the timelines for these journals, as I really would like them to be in a storytelling sort of format, showing the 'behind the scenes' and 'inner thoughts' of these two characters from the beginning of Season 18.  So basically, as soon as I get caught up this weekend with viewing episodes,  the timelines for both journals will start at 18x01, Called Home.

Thank you!  Comments/feedback/suggestions welcome. 

Normally, the cases we try are run-of-the-mill.  There’s really not anything glamorous about being a prosecutor, despite what they make it look like on television.  The last time I checked, “glamour” was not defined as being short-staffed, living on caffeine and dealing with the scum of the earth (and then there are the people they’re defending).

Occasionally, we get big-name defendants that we’re up against.  Instead of a trial, we get a circus, complete with legal tap dancing and buffoonery worthy of a dozen clowns popping out of a tiny car.  There was Senator Bailey’s trial last year and the whole mess with Sofia Archer and her adopted baby to name a couple of recent incidents.

I’ll never understand the world of the rich and famous. It’s beyond me, even after dealing with celebrities in the context of my job, how people can think that they’re entitled simply because they have money or because their face is on TV.  Adopting kids so that they can be an accessory, the same as they’d buy a Prada bag or Gucci heels, is also something that still irks me.   I suppose it makes me soft, the fact that I still think about th case months later. 

It’s usually the murders that make my stomach lurch – inhumanity is never old, never lost on me – but there’s something to be said for the little things that lead up to murders – an abusive relationship covered up for years, egos fed by media and fans that lead people to think they’re untouchable. 

Some lawyers lust for the camera, for their name in the papers, to be a celebrity by way of association or for their ability to find legal loopholes. They can keep fame, and I’ll keep my ability to sleep at night. 

[word count: 296]

 

“Do I look like I’m bothered? They’re going to come after me and there could be trouble for the case, but I’m not backing down,” Jack McCoy’s tone was unapologetic as he speared a piece of salad with his fork with all the tenacity of a hunter going after his prey.  “Ask me how I sleep at night.”

“Like a baby,” I rolled my eyes before taking a drink from my water glass. “You know, for a pessimist, you’re awfully cheerful.”

“For an optimist, you’re awfully not,” the District Attorney shot back. 

“If you go outside the lines of the law just a smidge more, I’m going to call you Cutter,” I said, referring to the over-zealous Executive Assistant District Attorney. 

“You wouldn’t,” Jack gave me a look.

I only grinned.  “You two are much more alike than you think, you know.”

“Are you trying to make me mad?” He started in on his steak.

“Nope, just trying to make you two realize you need to kiss and make up and make my life a whole hell of a lot easier,” I said, still working on my own salad.

“If you ever use me, Cutter, and kiss in the same sentence again, you’re going to find yourself working the night court beat,” Jack warned. 

I tried not to laugh.  “Did I say ‘Cutter’? I meant…Schiff…yes…you and Schiff, two peas in a pod…”

 

[word count: 232]

This is Connie, leave a message after the beep. *Beep*

( OOC )