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Part I

Posted on Thursday, 7 June 2001, at 4:05 p.m.

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.

Monday, June 26.
Punctually at seven o' clock, a man rose from his bed and began to walk into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, pulled out several eggs, an open package of bacon, and a half-quart carton of milk, and laid them out on the counter next to the stove. He proceeded to put a frying pan on the stove and slapped a few slices of bacon in it before filling a kettle with the water he needed to make his wife's tea.

Carefully he pulled the strips out of the pan with the tongs, failing to avoid a little spattering of grease on his hands. He cracked an egg into the pan, and began to spoon grease over the yolk to cook it. Once the egg was cooked, he put it onto a slice of toast, and put the tea leaves in the kettle. When everything was ready, he placed the dishes on a tray, and started towards his wife's bedroom.

Whistling quietly, he knocked on the door. "Katie?" he called out, not waiting for a response before opening the door and walking in.

"Katie, dear," he began as he turned to shut the door behind him, but suddenly stopped speaking as he looked towards the bed and saw his wife laying there, still; her coverlet was crimsoned with blood, and she was very much dead. The tray slipped from his limp hands, and he fell against the wall in shock.

"Now, Mister-" Detective Mike Logan began, taking out a pad of paper.

"Churchill. Edward Churchill," the man replied.

"Mr. Churchill," he continued, "when did you discover your wife's body?"

"When I came in to bring her breakfast this morning. She's been ill for the past month or so, and I've been taking care of her-until-and I found her, like that-" Mr. Churchill put his hands to his face, muffling the rasping of his breath as he wept.

"Mr. Churchill," said the other detective, Lennie Briscoe, "when did you last see your wife?"

"Last night, when I took her to bed," he choked out.

"Did you hear any noises during the night?"

"No-I went to bed not long after she did, at 9:00, and slept through the entire night."

"Did you see anything suspicious?"

"No-nothing. I-I-I don't understand it. How could it have happened? Why would someone do such a thing? There's no fire escape near her window-how could anyone have gotten in, when we're three levels up from the ground?"

"Is there anyone who has a key to the apartment, Mr. Churchill, other than yourself?"

"Only the super-and Frank,"

"Who's Frank?" Det. Logan interposed.

"Frank is our nephew-we've taken care of him since he was a child. He works in Katie's business, helps run things for her now since she's-she was-ill."

"Where is Frank?"

"Presumably at work now-he goes in at 7:30 every morning. He's such a good boy," Mr. Churchill confided to Briscoe. "He's always been so good to his aunt-they loved each other very much."

"I'm sure you're right, sir," Briscoe said comfortingly, standing up. He and Logan walked back towards the bedroom, making sure to shut the door behind them.

"What happened?" said Logan to the medical examiner, being careful not to step in the shards of plate near the door.

"Stab wounds, it appears-and our murderer rifled through her drawers, but not sure what they found. Nothing valuable, at any rate-there just seems to be dust and moth-eaten sweaters."

"I think this is the spare bedroom, so that makes sense-but why would anybody come in here, in the middle of the night, to kill this woman?" Briscoe wondered aloud.

"Perhaps we ought to go ask the nephew after we talk to the super," Logan replied.

"It's common procedure," the super replied defensively. "How else would I get in and fix things?"

"Where do you keep the keys?"

The man closed the door to his office before replying. "All of the people here seem to be convinced that they'll be murdered in their beds, and this accident hasn't helped any. They all worry about those damn keys, but," he said, pointing at a small safe installed in the wall behind his desk, "I keep them in there-it's as secure as anything, and only I and the owner know the combination. And if you'll believe me, I can think of better things to do with my time than knocking off an old hag like that Churchill woman."

"You didn't like her?"

The man snorted. "Who did?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Churchill. Apparently, she died earlier this morning."

"Murdered?" he repeated.

"We were kind of hoping you could tell us why, Mr. Churchill," Logan replied.

"How-how should I-I can't imagine why any person would want to kill her in her bed in the middle of the night!" He ran a hand carelessly through his blonde hair.

"Did she have any enemies, Mr. Churchill?"

"Of course not!" he retorted. "I mean-I know she was unpopular, but nobody ever threatened her, or anything like that. At least, she never told me of anything." His face reflected feelings of wonder, frustration, and sorrow.

"Unpopular?"

"In her age, she had become a little-well, a little sharp. She was an intelligent woman; she knew how to call them like she saw them. She was more open in her speech-but to murder her for that?" He shook his head in disbelief. When he welcomed them in, the detectives were both impressed by his open manners and friendly demeanor, and now they sympathized silently with him.

"Were there any clients or former employees who might have had a grudge?"

"All of our clients have been satisfied, I believe-no one has left the agency in over a year. As for employees-" he said, taking a file out of a drawer, "the last people fired were Harriet Smith and George Wickham; Jane Fairfax resigned about a week ago." He handed the sheet to them. "Here, you can take this for your search, if you'd like; their forwarding addresses are right there."

"Thank you, Mr. Churchill; we will," said Logan, looking over the information before putting the paper in his pocket.

"Mr. Churchill, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you about your relationship with your aunt, and where you were last night."

"My aunt and I have always had a good relationship-she has taken care of me since I was young, and though she was crotchety upon occasion, I loved and respected her enough to bear it easily. As for where I was last night, I was at my apartment, reading papers; I went to bed around midnight."

"A likeable guy, Churchill," Briscoe commented as they left the building. "I'm sure the aunt liked him enough to give him a nice slice of her money in her will. Do you think he might have a motive there?"

"We ought to check-after all, the only people who could have gotten in were Churchill and the super. It seems a little strange to me, but who knows what we'll find?" Logan replied.

"We were wondering what kind of assets he has, whether he's in debt, stuff like that."

"Frank Churchill is only 24, but he's got quite a few assets-no loans to pay, a textbook-perfect portfolio, already paying into an IRA. His aunt is quite generous with him-gives him a great salary, pays for his apartment, and bought him a brand-new Mercedes last year. He's in no debt of any kind."

The detectives blinked. "Are you sure there aren't any debts that you don't know about?"

"Listen-I can't tell you exactly how much he has invested, but it'd take some unusual kinds of debts to put him under, and I don't see how he could have that. He runs his own business and waits on his aunt-both full-time occupations. He doesn't have the time or the freedom to owe millions from gambling or drug use."

"He's that attentive to his aunt?"

Gardiner shook his head. "Frank Churchill is a highly usual man-myself, I'd have kicked over the traces long ago, but he seems genuinely devoted to the lady, with good reason. He stands to inherit everything she owns-though he doesn't really need the money."

"I guess we don't have to worry about him killing his aunt, then," Logan replied.

"No surprises here-the victim died of multiple stab wounds to the chest," Dr. Rogers said, reading from the file. "One penetrated her left lung, another the right, and a nice slash into the artery ended it."

"Third time's the charm," commented Briscoe dryly.

"Her body temperature at the time she was found indicated that she died between 11 and 12 that night. She struggled a little between the first wound and her death, had some bruising on her right shoulder, but since I wouldn't call that a defensive wound, she couldn't have done much damage to her attacker."

"What about the crime scene?" Logan said, flipping through the file.

"We checked-no stray fibers, no strands of hair, no fingerprints, nothing. The CSU boys went all over the house for anything, looked for a possible entrance but all of the windows and doors were securely locked. The killer was either in the house before the Churchills went to bed, or had a key to let himself in. I'm sorry, boys, that's all there is."

"If only we could find something else-nobody seemed to care enough about her to kill her."

"Perhaps Ms. Fairfax did, though."

Logan laughed. "At this rate, I doubt it."

"No, Jane Fairfax is my niece-my name is Henrietta Bates. Who are you gentlemen?"

"We're detectives with the NYPD. We want to talk with Ms. Fairfax about the death of Kate Churchill."

"Mrs. Churchill is dead? Oh! How sad! How poor young Mr. Churchill must feel; I hope Mr. and Mrs. Weston can help his uncle console him."

"Mr. and Mrs. Weston-"

"His parents-well, one should say, Mr. Weston is his father-his mother died years ago, which is why he went to live with his aunt and uncle. Mrs. Weston, the current Mrs. Weston, is his second wife, young Mr. Churchill's step-mother, and a very kindly woman. She was Miss Woodhouse's nanny before she married Mr. Weston, and since Miss Woodhouse is far too old for a nanny any longer, it was a good thing that she married Mr. Weston."

"Miss Woodhouse-" Logan said, scribbling the names as fast as he could.

"Miss Woodhouse is an old friend of Mother and myself. How often we are invited to dine with her and her father! She is quite kind to us, and so many little gifts she gives us, like a fine tenderloin of pork from their farm-they have a little farm up north of here, several hours away, as you know."

"Did this Miss Woodhouse know the Churchills well?"

"Well, she sees Mr. Churchill at the Westons' often enough;-I believe she is dating young Mr. Churchill, so I dare say that she knows them well."

"How well do you know the Churchills?"

"Not very well, I must say. We have met them a little, at a party or two, but not often. Jane was more acquainted with them, because she used to work for them."

"Do you know why Jane left her job there?"

"Well, Jane has been trained to be a teacher, you see, and she was offered a place at a private school by the Smallridges in Massachusetts, and the salary was so good, and the Smallridges so kind, that she could not help but accept their offer. Not that the Churchills were not wonderful-and how happy we were that Mrs. Churchill gave her the job that she could work there, and stay with us! but we could not stop Jane from fulfilling her dreams forever, you know."

"Is that where she is working now?"

"Oh, no, not quite yet-you see, I do believe she has just accepted-yes, she sent them her reply just yesterday."

"Miss Bates, when did she receive this offer?"

"Oh, it was about two weeks ago-the Tuesday before last, I believe."

"Why didn't she reply sooner?" Logan asked, looking at the sheet from Churchill. "It says here she gave notice on the 16th, three days afterwards. Why did she wait more than a week before posting a reply? Didn't she want the job?"

Miss Bates thought for a moment. "Well, she did have to consider it a little, and I insisted that she should ask the Campbells for advice, since it was they who paid for her education. I fear she was reluctant to leave mother and me here alone, but I persuaded her that it was quite all right, for we have always done very well, and we have such kind friends about us, that we could want for positively nothing. Though, I wouldn't have you thinking that we don't want Jane here. She is the dearest girl, and has always been most good helping me care for Mother, and nothing but a blessing-but I did not want her to feel tied to us, you know. Young people must go off on their own, I have always said, and Jane must go off on her own as well."

"Of course," Det. Briscoe replied, with an impatient smile. "Is Jane here, so we can talk to her?"

"Why-why yes, I do believe she is, sitting upstairs with mother. Oh! How silly I have been, chattering on with you the entire time, when you have only been wanting to talk to Jane about poor Mrs. Churchill, and detaining you quite shamelessly when I am sure you have so much to do to solve the case! I shall go upstairs presently, and I shall send her down to you."

"Thank you very much, ma'am," Det. Logan ironically smiled, and watched her go upstairs crying, "Jane! Jane!"

"What will we do after this?" asked Logan.

"I think we'll talk with the girlfriend next-hopefully we won't have to talk to Miss Bates again," Briscoe muttered. The two men shared a smile together before Miss Fairfax's foot was heard on the floor, and they observed her as she came down. Her hair was dark, and tied back at the nape of her neck; her eyes were very clear and large, and her features were as delicate as her small frame, and as soft as the voice she used to reply to their questions.

"How long did you work for the Churchills before you left their employment?"

"About six months, I believe, since I returned from visiting with the Campbells-my godparents. Mrs. Weston knew that her stepson needed a secretary, and so she urged him to offer me the position, which I accepted."

"You worked as Frank Churchill's secretary?"

"Yes."

"So, you knew his step-mother before you took the job-did you know him before then, too?"

"No-I first knew Mrs. Weston when she was Emma Woodhouse's nanny, and I a little girl, but I was adopted by the Campbells when I was eight and lived with them until sometime last year, so I never had the chance to meet her stepson, let alone his relatives."

"I see. Did you have many dealings with Mrs. Churchill?"

"Some-by the time I was hired on she no longer came to the office more than once a week. Sometimes she would ask me to send faxes or make copies for her, but most of the time I was busy doing work for Mr. Churchill."

"Why did you leave the job?"

She smiled a little. "I must admit that the only reason I took the job was to have some reason to stay on here with my Aunt Hetty and my grand-mother. However, since I went to college to learn to teach, it seemed foolish to delay the inevitable, especially when I was offered a wonderful position in Massachusetts."

"Your aunt told us you waited about ten days before accepting, however-why?"

"I had sent off resumes to schools here in New York before I got the offer, and I decided to wait and see if I might find a job here before I accepted a place off in Massachusetts. After a week or so, I decided that nothing was coming, and accepted the position without further ado."

"Very sensible."

"So I was told," she smiled faintly.

"Is there anything you could tell us further that might help us with our investigation?"

"No-nothing."

"Where were you on Sunday evening?"

"At home, with my aunt and grandmother."

"Thank you, Miss Fairfax; we'll call you if we need to speak with you any more."

"You're very welcome, and good luck in your investigation."

"Thank you," Det. Logan said as they left the house.

"So, the girl worked for Frank Churchill, while Harriet Smith and that Wickham were only clerks."

"And her aunt happens to be acquainted with people who know the Churchills socially."

"But she doesn't know them well herself," Briscoe commented ironically. "Strange."

"Or convenient-well, let's talk to this Miss Woodhouse, and see if she has anything to say about Kate Churchill."

"Or Jane Fairfax."

Part II

Posted on Thursday, 14 June 2001, at 11:17 a.m.

The Woodhouse residence. Tuesday, June 27.

"I'm sorry that you had to wait, gentlemen-unfortunately I had to finish my makeup first."

"That's all right," Lennie said, still relaxed after the half-hour's wait.

"Do you gentlemen need any refreshments?" Miss Woodhouse asked, shaking her blond hair back.

"That's all right, Miss Woodhouse-we'd just like to start the questioning now," Mike replied, his smile grimly impatient.

"Of course," she replied, taking a seat on the divan.. "Ask away-and please, call me Emma. It feels odd to be addressed as anything other than that."

"Miss-Emma, are you acquainted with Frank Churchill?"

"Why, yes, of course. He's a dear friend of mine," she said with a smile.

"We were told that the relationship is a little closer than that."

She blushed under her foundation. "Well-it's not official, but we go out together every now and then. He called me yesterday and told me about his aunt's death-I've never heard him so shaken-up before. Of course, they adored each other. I sympathize-if I didn't have my father to cosset, I'd be lost too."

"We understand that you are acquainted with Jane Fairfax and her relations, the Bateses."

Emma's low laugh echoed through the room. "I see you talked to Miss Bates-Jane herself wouldn't have mentioned it, I think."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Oh, nothing-it's just that Jane and I have never been good friends, even though my father, her aunt, and Mr. Knightley all did their best to promote it."

"Who is Mr. Knightley?"

"George Knightley has been a family friend for years-he works as a lawyer in the City. He's very rich, very intelligent, and likes to have his own way as much as any other rich successful lawyer I know. But very warm-hearted-he is much more patient with the Bateses and their kind than I could ever be. But I dare say, that's all because I'm a spoiled beast," she concluded with a smirk, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"So he is acquainted with Jane Fairfax and the Churchills?"

"Yes-the Churchills have been doing his taxes for years, and he's given them legal advice whenever they needed it. As for Jane, he's known her since she was a little girl with pigtails about fifteen years ago."

"How close are the Churchills and Jane Fairfax?"

"Jane Fairfax and the Churchills? Not close at all, I should imagine. Mrs. Churchill was as much of a spoiled beast as I am, with even less of the milk of human kindness. She enjoyed the idea of noblesse oblige enough to take Jane on as a favor to the Bateses, but the twain never met socially.-Of course, there was last summer down in Florida when Jane was staying with the Campbells, and I know that Jane and Frank saw each other while they were there. I was quite wild for her to tell me something of him when she returned, because I didn't know Frank that well at the time-but she would give me nothing but the barest reply in that soft voice of hers! Of course, as I said, we were never friends, so I dare say that was the reason," she decided as she stopped to admire her manicured nails for a moment.

"Jane and Frank knew each other last year?" Logan asked.

"Of course. It has never been any secret, though Jane didn't talk about it. Frank was much forthcoming-he told me anything I asked, and also-" Emma smiled, looked down at her Gucci heels, and said nothing.

"What did Frank tell you about Jane Fairfax?"

"Oh, nothing-nothing explicitly, you understand-but he did mention that it seemed that Mr. Dixon-Miss Campbell's husband-was very friendly with Jane, and that she seemed to have no dislike of his attentions. Apparently the Campbells saw nothing-well, she is a very quiet thing, and I must say that I wasn't entirely surprised to hear of it."

"Why not?" Briscoe asked, frowning.

"Oh-I don't know-" she blushed, but continuing with her idea. "But she is just so very reserved, that who knows what she might be hiding?"

"I doubt that he had to bring it up-that Woodhouse woman seems hungry to hear anything bad about her."

"Yeah, I know-but isn't there probably some basis for that, especially since they've known each other for so long? I thought there was something strange about that Fairfax girl, and now I know why. What should we do?" Logan asked, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk to hear his partner's answer.

"Perhaps we should ask Churchill himself about his relationship with Jane Fairfax, and see what he says."

"Nothing-but we were wondering how well you knew her, outside of work."

Frank paused for a moment before replying. "A little-I saw her at my father's house, and at Emma Woodhouse's place, but not much beyond that."

"What about last summer in Florida? Apparently you knew her pretty well then."

He flushed for a moment before laughing. "Not that well-I saw her a couple times when I was down there, but I claim no close acquaintance. My aunt had other friends down there that she met, and Mrs. Campbell was just one of so many."

"How did Jane Fairfax get her job here? Did she apply?"

"No-my step-mother, Mrs. Weston, recommended her to me as a girl needing a job for a few months. I went over the idea with my aunt, and since she remembered Jane as a nice girl, she gave her assent."

"What did you think?"

"I didn't particularly care one way or another. I needed a capable secretary, and I got one."

"Even though you seemed to believe she was having an affair with her best friend's husband?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Frank abruptly demanded. "I mean-sure, maybe I suspected something-but I didn't know her that well-I didn't know for certain, and what would that have to do with her answering phones? It wasn't any of my business," he concluded, and sat down.

"What kinds of things did Miss Fairfax do for you while she was working here?"

"She answered phones, kept track of my appointments, ran errands, took memos-anything I needed."

"Ran errands?" asked Logan.

"What kinds of errands?" continued Briscoe.

"The usual-she might go pick up some lunch, take my clothes to the dry cleaners, go feed my cat."

"Did she ever run any errands for your aunt?"

"I don't know . . . I don't know if my aunt ever asked her to. I never did, at any rate."

"But you gave her your keys at times, didn't you?"

"Yes, on a few occasions;-are you trying to imply something about her trustworthiness?" he asked, his eyes darting between them. "I have always found Miss Fairfax to be completely honest. I've never seen her do anything wrong.-There's no way that she killed my aunt! It's impossible!"

"Who said anything about her killing your aunt?" asked Logan in a dampening tone.

"I'm sorry," Frank said, visibly calming down. "I just hope that I wasn't giving you the wrong idea about her. There's no way that it could have been Miss Fairfax, if that was what you were thinking."

"We'll take your word for it, Mr. Churchill," Briscoe replied soothingly.

"Would you recognize this girl?" Logan asked, flashing the picture in his face.

"Yeah," said the man, throwing a glance at it. "But then, I might not."

"What's the big secret? Are you not supposed to know?"

"There's no secret-I see a lot of people come in and out of this place any day of the week-I don't really remember faces anymore."

"Have you seen her before?"

"Look, man, I've got a lot of work to do-"

"We understand that," Briscoe replied. "But could you give us a minute and look at it?"

The man sighed, took the photograph, and glanced it over. "Sure, she looks familiar. But there are lots of pretty girls with dark hair that live around here."

"Is there anyone else who might be able to help us?"

"There are two watchmen-the day man's out on duty now, so you can go and question him."

"Do you know her?"

"Hmm, let me think-I think I've seen her come in a few times during the day. A pretty girl-I always remember the pretty girls," he grinned.

"I'm sure you do," Logan caustically replied.

"Did she have any keys to get in?" asked Briscoe when he noticed the hairy eyeball that the doorman was turning on his partner.

"Yeah-she was able to open the doors for herself."

"Do you know if she lived here or not?"

"No, she doesn't live here-I recognize most of the regulars, and I don't remember seeing her that often."

"Do you happen to know whose apartment she was going into?"

"Hmm . . . let me think . . . I think it was the Churchills; the lady wanted her to pick up something-hey, you don't think that she's connected with the murder, do you? She's a pretty girl," he said, wistfully glancing at the picture.

"Yeah, well, pretty girls can commit murders too," Logan replied.

"Are you Max Hurst?"

"Yeah-who are you?"

"NYPD-we want to talk to you about your job."

The door shut, and was reopened. "C'mon in," he mumbled, standing aside. The detectives walked in past the dirty pants and empty pizza boxes that littered the floor, and sat down on the folding chairs in front of the card table that served as a kitchen table.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Were you at work on Sunday evening?"

"Yeah, I was there."

"What are your hours?"

"I start around 6:30, and go until 6:30 in the morning, when the day watchman takes over. The reason why I took the job is because it works out so that I can still go to school and pay the bills."

"Do you remember any people coming in around 11:00 that night?"

"Hmm . . . there was an older couple who came in from seeing Love's Labour's Lost around 11:15-I helped them out of their cab; after that, they went inside. Other than that, I don't remember seeing anybody else."

"What about around 11:30? 12:00?"

Hurst blushed. "I-I fell asleep. I'm always up all day at school, doing research, working on papers; after that, I grab a quick dinner, then come and stand outside for several hours-every now and then, can I help falling asleep, when nothing's happening? I mean, how many drug dealers are crawling around in that neighborhood? I was tired, I fell asleep, I woke up around 1:00. I saw nothing."

When the cops began to rise, Hurst stepped towards them, held an arm out and said, "Look, you guys aren't going to tell Mr. Wright on me, are you? I really need this job."

"No, we've got bigger fish to fry, kid," Logan said. "But you let our best chance at catching that killer pass you by."

Stricken, the young man said nothing further, his lips as sullen as his eyes were downcast.

"You really gave that kid a talking-to," Lennie said.

"He deserved it. How are we going to find our man now? With no witness to I.D. the person, how are you going to get a jury to convict?"

"Maybe we should go back and talk to some of the residents there, see if anybody was about."

"Old people walking the halls at 11:00 at night?" Logan snorted. "It'd be a wild goose chase."

"Well, perhaps we ought to talk to somebody else, and see if we can't establish a real motive. Jane Fairfax may have known Kate Churchill, but so did a lot of people-that doesn't mean she killed her."

"Are you George Knightley?"

"Yes, I am. Take a seat, gentlemen," he said, gesturing to the leather chairs from across his desk. The two men sat down, grunting with pleasure at the comfortableness of their seats. "Coffee? Tea?"

"It's hot enough outside without it, but some coffee'd be great," Briscoe replied.

Nodding to the secretary that had escorted the men inside, Knightley took his seat, and said, "Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We'd just like to ask you a few questions about some acquaintances of yours, Mr. Knightley," Logan said as he accepted his cup.

"Whatever I can do to help."

"Mr. Knightley, you are acquainted with the Churchill family, right?"

"Yes, they've done my taxes for about seven years, and I have provided legal advice to them upon occasion."

"Any legal action against them?"

"No lawsuits; just wanted advice on some pedestrian stuff-parking tickets, business permits, building contracts. That sort of thing."

"Did you meet with them socially?"

"A little-they invited me to their parties, but I cannot say that I returned the favor."

Logan smiled. "It sounds like she didn't get out much, then."

"Well, Mrs. Churchill was an admirable businesswoman, but not the most relaxing of companions."

"What about Frank Churchill?"

Knightley sighed. "I met him a few times at some of Emma's parties, but I never really liked him that much-I guess we just didn't click."

"You never liked him?"

"Well, I had no reason not to like him-he is very personable, very charming, and completely devoted to his aunt. There's just something about him that makes me not want to trust him. I suspect that he does not always tell the truth about things-he appears to be honest in his business dealings, and on his own taxes, but I think sometimes he says things to his friends which are misleading."

"What about Jane Fairfax?"

Knightley smiled. "Jane Fairfax I have known since she was a young girl-and always have I found her to be honest, reliable, and refined. Her relatives the Bateses and her friends the Campbells are good people who have given her good principles and values. I have always admired her-"

"Always?"

"Well-I don't know if I should say this-but recently there has been a difference. She was always quite open with me, but since last year, there have been times when I sensed a reserve that she was not wont to have. I don't know what it is, but something has changed, and I cannot put my finger on it."

"What do you think caused this change?"

Knightley leaned back heavily, his brow furrowed, and casually ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know," he sighed, waving a hand in his emotion. "I suspect that there is something she wishes to conceal, but I cannot imagine what it could be."

"How did she feel about the Churchills, do you know? Was she unhappy there?"

"I'm not sure-I tried to speak to her about it once, sensing that it might have been a problem, but she would say nothing to me."

"How well did she know the Churchills?"

"They met in Weymouth, a resort town in Florida, last summer, and mixed a little socially. I also know that Frank has passed on some gossip to Emma about Jane's activities there. At times, I have seen them together, and I have suspected that Jane did not like Frank Churchill very much. There would be looks that she would give him-and I noticed that the few times he chose to say something to her, she would say little beyond a civil reply. This led me to believe that she was unhappy in their employ, and I was never more pleased than when I heard that she had quit. When I last saw her on Friday, she seemed to be less troubled than she had been in the past few months."

The men looked at each other. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Knightley. We'll be in touch if we need to ask you anything more."

"Of course; I am happy to be of help in any circumstance."

"Not a very good one," Logan replied. "If only we could get some information placing her around the scene of the crime-we've got motive, opportunity-but we need someone to say that she was away from home between the hours of 11 and 12."

"I doubt whether she would be so forthcoming. . ."

"But I think I know one person who might be . . ." Logan said, pausing in his steps, and Briscoe turned back to look at him.

"That's quite all right, ma'am, we're fine."

"Oh, well, then," Miss Bates said, coming back from the direction of the kitchen, and sitting in a chair across from them. "I must seem very distracted-but Mother tends to feel very poorly in the heat, and it is as much as one can do to hold body and soul together as to tend to Mother. She had a bad attack on Sunday evening-she has angina, you know, and though she goes regularly to the doctor nothing seems to stabilize it, and when I went to get her nitroglycerine pills I discovered that there were only a few left-and even though I told Jane that it wasn't necessary, she insisted on going out to refill her prescription, even though it was very late. I told her, 'We might as well wait for tomorrow morning, for I need to get some vitamins and some orange juice and it can wait 'til then,' but she told me that it was no trouble, that she would be safe, and she went out and got the vitamins and the orange juice as well as the pills, and actually it turned out to be a lucky thing, because Mother was poorly all through the next day, and I was so glad that Jane was there to support her grand-mother and I in our hour of need. As I told you, she has always been a good girl, and so helpful, that I am sure I could never have wished for a better niece."

"She went out on Sunday evening?"

"Yes! And it was quite as I told her-'It is not safe to venture out at these late hours; though we know all the neighbors, the drug store is not as close as I would like it to be, and I cannot like it.' But she insisted that it would be all right-though, I must say, it took her a while to get everything. I suppose the store was closed-but then, you know, she must have waited a while at the pharmacist's, for they had to prepare the pills-so I guess that must have been it. What a relief it is to know that was the reason for it!"

"How long was she gone?"

"Oh, about an hour, I believe."

"When did she leave?" Logan said, leaning forward.

"Now, let me see-Mother was watching Masterpiece Theatre on PBS, which we used to watch quite often, but less so now, since Mother tires rather early, but for a while she was feeling better, and she enjoyed the last episode of Our Mutual Friend, which we had seen before when they first showed it last year, but it was so very good, that we didn't mind seeing it again-and it was right at the end when everything was coming out about John Rokesmith-so I suppose it was close on 11:00 when she actually left, for you know I tried to persuade her not to leave, and that took several minutes, for I was not easily convinced, as you can imagine."

"Indeed-I can imagine it."

"I am sure that you can-after all, being gentlemen of the law, you are well acquainted with what strange things may happen on the streets late at night. Yes, I am sure that you can conceive it."

The two men looked at each other. "What pharmacy did Jane go to?" asked Logan.

"A lot of customers?"

"Only a couple-that's why I was working that night."

Briscoe smiled. "Well, then perhaps you might recognize this person?"

She took the photograph. "Yeah, I see her come in here often enough-the grandmother's name is Bates, I remember, and she picks up medications for her. She was in here that night, you know."

"What time?"

"Around 11-she dropped off the prescription, and said that she would be back in an hour to pick it up. She came about a half-hour later, paid, then took off."

"Thirty minutes? Are you sure?"

She thought for a moment. "Not exactly-but it was before 12, I remember, because I got a call from my husband, and she had already gone by then. But it was her all right-she's about the only girl in this neighborhood with a nose like that."

"Do you remember how she looked when she came back? Was she nervous or anything?"

"Yeah, she looked a bit upset-but any time a girl walks the streets at night, she's nervous about what's behind the next corner."

"I don't think she had to worry," Logan observed wryly. "Thanks for the help."

"Sure-hey, if you need it, Excedrin's on sale for $4.49."

"No thanks; my head feels fine now."

"Did you see this girl walking the halls on Sunday evening between 11 and 12?" Briscoe asked one lady.

She shook her head. "No, I was in bed at the time."

"Excuse me, sir, but did you happen to see this girl walking the halls on Sunday evening?" said Logan.

The man examined the photograph. "I wish I did."

"Did you see this girl walking the halls on Sunday evening?"

Det. Logan began to question a group of women standing in front of the elevator. They all examined the photograph with interest, but none could give a satisfactory reply.-"Hmm," one woman said. "Hmm."

Logan turned back with interest. "Do you think you saw her?"

"I got up during the night-it was around 11:30-I heard a noise, so I opened my door, and peeked out into the hall. I saw a person walk past very quickly-it was a young girl, with dark hair, not very tall."

"Was the girl carrying anything with her?" Logan asked, the murder weapon in their minds.

"Yes, she was carrying a purse . . . it was very nice . . ."

"How big was the purse? Was it like a handbag? or something larger?"

"Oh, it was quite large-it looked full."

"Are you sure that the girl in the picture is the same one you saw that night?"

"-Yes, yes, I do believe it was her. In fact, I'm positive of it. It was her."

"Yes? Can I help you detectives?" she asked.

"Actually, Miss Fairfax, if you wouldn't mind coming with us, we'd like to take you down to the precinct for a line-up," Briscoe said.

Her eyes widened. "A line up? Whatever for? I-I didn't do it!"

"We have a witness who swears she saw you in the Churchills' building around 11:30. You were out of the house at that time, were you not?" Logan replied.

She bit her lip. "Yes, I went to the pharmacist's-but I-"

"Miss Fairfax, you knew the Churchills for at least six months before you began to work for them, did you not?"

"-Yes; yes, I did."

"And you didn't like them, did you?"

"I-I-I did not dislike them, no."

"Miss Fairfax, did you enter the Churchills' apartment before the murder?"

She was turning white. "Yes, yes, I did-but I didn't do it!"

"Well, Miss Fairfax, if you didn't do it, then perhaps you might agree to the line-up, that these coincidences of circumstances can be proven to be merely coincidences," Briscoe replied.

She stood there for a moment, not moving. "Let me tell my aunt first."

"Can you identify the girl?"

The woman squinted out. "I think so-if I could see the back, for she was walking very quickly."

"Look at the wall." The girls turned around, so that their backs were facing the witness. The woman studied their backs, then asked "Could I see them from the front again?"

"Turn around."

After a moment, she pointed one out. "There. I'm sure it's number four. It is her exactly."

"Thank you, ma'am." The cops indicated that the suspects leave, and they waited for Miss Fairfax to enter the room again.

"Jane Fairfax, you are under arrest for the murder of Kate Churchill. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. . ."

Part III

Posted on Thursday, 21 June 2001, at 1:31 p.m.

New York County Court Building. Friday, June 30.

"People v. Jane Henrietta Fairfax," recited the clerk of the court. "The charge is murder in the second degree."

"How does the defendant plead?" asked Judge Thomas Bertram.

"Not guilty, Your Honor," replied Jane Fairfax, her soft voice wooden from care.

"Let me hear from you on bail, counselors," replied the judge.

"Your Honor, due to the serious nature of these charges, we ask for $100,000 bail," recited E.A.D.A. Jack McCoy.

"Your Honor, Miss Fairfax's family is not rich-they cannot afford that kind of bail money," argued Elizabeth Bennet, the defendant's attorney.

"It is not the people's problem that she cannot make bail," retorted McCoy.

"Miss Fairfax is a responsible person. If you look at her record, you will see that this is the first charge of any kind that has been lodged against her. Besides, she is not a flight risk; she is needed at home to help take care of her grandmother."

"She should have thought of that before she put a woman to death."

The judge looked over the case. "Considering that the defendant has cooperated with the police so far, I'll assume that she has no intention of leaving town. Bail is set at $50,000." A thump of the gavel, and McCoy was gathering his papers to leave.

"We need to talk about this, Jack," Ms. Bennet said as she followed him from the courtroom.

"I'll say-you've got quite a problem in front of you, because I'm not going lower than Murder 2."

"Jack! Do you really think you can make that stick?" she scoffed.

"She knew the family-she made a copy of the keys to the apartment in order to get in-surely that argues premeditation."

"Yes, but where is this precious set of keys of yours, since looking through her belongings didn't yield any? Opportunity does not equal action-I'll be doing you a favor if I agree to Man 2."

McCoy laughed. "Man 2? Remember, I don't need your keys to prove her presence-she was identified in a lineup."

"Yes, by an old lady who probably needs glasses to see anything over a foot in front of her. The police report says that she saw a picture first-I might call that prejudicial. I'm sure she can be destroyed on cross-examination; and without the witness, you don't have much placing her there."

"The police found a knife at the Bateses' identical to the one missing from a set in the Churchills' apartment."

"Yes, but the Bateses had the same knife set. That means nothing."

"Well, add that knife to the fact that we have witnesses to prove she was out of the house during that time, long enough to get over in time to be spotted by my witness. You may think her testimony is unreliable, but a jury might find it believable when Miss Fairfax can't explain where she was between 11:00 and 12:00."

Ms. Bennet sniffed. "If you won't deal, Jack, then I'll just have to get her off."

"You think you can do that?" McCoy scoffed in reply.

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

"I hope you didn't promise Jane Fairfax anything, in that case."

A.D.A. Claire Kincaid raised an eyebrow. "So confident?"

"Apparently-she thinks she can discredit the witness at the apartment, but I don't see how that will get Fairfax off. She was gone for about 40 minutes, and the Churchills' place is not 10 minutes away from the store. That gives her about 20 minutes to kill her, and she probably didn't even need half that time to do it."

"What we need is some physical evidence-it's all very well to say she had the chance to make the keys, and some kind of motive, but where are those keys? The knife isn't good enough." D.A. Adam Shiff asked. "I wouldn't be too confident, Jack-Elizabeth Bennet has a reputation for manipulating juries, and the case is so shaky that she shouldn't find it too difficult to do."

"The police didn't find the keys when they searched her house-but she could have gotten rid of anything easily." Jack meditated over the problem for a moment. "What if we managed to get a more solid motive? Maybe some tiff occurred between Fairfax and the victim at the office-somebody had to witness something like that."

"Perhaps we ought to interview the nephew," Kincaid replied. "After all, he must want to see justice done, and as her boss, he would have had the most opportunity for seeing something."

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Churchill, but my name is Jack McCoy, and I am prosecuting your aunt's case."

"Oh, come in-I am glad to hear it. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, you could start by trying to remember if you ever saw Jane Fairfax fight with your aunt."

He blanched. "What? Is-is Jane accused, then?"

"Yes-didn't you know?"

He sank down into a chair. "No-I didn't." He coughed, then said, "Now-what was your question again?"

"Do you remember any fight between your aunt and Miss Fairfax? Anything that might have made Miss Fairfax angry with your aunt?"

"No!-that is . . . uhm-I can't think." He put his hands to his head.

"Take your time, Mr. Churchill. Perhaps you haven't thought about it in a while, but I'm sure that you can remember something. Did you ever notice that Jane was angry, or unhappy? Did you ever see her upset?"

"Yes-I mean;-how is she?"

"Jane Fairfax?" McCoy asked, surprised.

"What is she being charged with?"

"Murder 2;- we have a witness that can place her at the scene of the crime, and another witness who can prove a motive. Miss Fairfax's testimony will even help our case, since she cannot explain where she was at the time of the murder-all we need is for you to give us some-."

"I-!" croaked Churchill.

McCoy studied him with concern; he looked sickly. "Are you all right, Mr. Churchill?"

He straightened. "Yes, I'm fine-I'm sorry, I'm just-overcome, I guess."

"I understand. But if you think of anything that could help, I'd appreciate it if you'd call my office and pass it on. Here's my card-the number is right there," McCoy said, rising. He could see that nothing would come from Churchill at this time.

"Yes-thank you. I'll remember that," Churchill said, struggling up from his seat, and staggered feebly to the door. He opened it for McCoy, and shut it behind him.

"Do you think there was anything between them?" Shiff asked.

McCoy thought about it. "Well, he certainly didn't like the idea of her in jail-but then, they have been acquainted. He might just be disturbed by the idea of someone he knew killing his aunt."

"According to the notes, though, they both told the police that they weren't well-acquainted at all. Sounds like he was pretty distracted over a former employee," Kincaid volunteered.

"What are you thinking?" McCoy asked her.

"Well, if there were a relationship, he would have a reason for not telling us anything. Otherwise, it makes no sense that he's more concerned about the woman who killed his aunt than his aunt, especially when everyone says that Mrs. Churchill and Frank had a close relationship."

"Perhaps they did it together-apparently he had no financial motive, but he was the sole inheritor in her will." McCoy considered the situation. "They get together, and decide to kill her off so they can collect her property and retire to happy-ever-after in comfort. Churchill knows that he'd be recognized by the doorman, so she's the one who does the deed."

"Makes sense," Kincaid replied.

"A pretty story, but where's the proof?" asked Adam. "You don't expect them to tell you anything, do you?"

"Not unless we offered her a deal."

Ms. Bennet looked at her client. "May we please speak alone about this?"

"Of course," McCoy replied, and he escorted Kincaid from the room.

"Do you think she'll take it?" she asked.

"Bennet offered me Man 2 earlier, so I suppose it's possible. If I were a young girl, I'd be terrified by the idea of serving life in prison. Parole in 5-7 might be good enough."

The door opened, and Ms. Bennet walked out, her client standing behind her. "I'm afraid we're going to have to turn down your generous offer."

"Holding out for Man 2?" McCoy asked after Jane was taken back to her cell.

"Off the record-she refused to testify against Churchill. She says there's nothing to tell."

"Well, I guess we'll see each other in court, then."

"Look at that girl," McCoy could hear Mr. Churchill remark to his nephew behind him. "She looks quite faint, I am sorry that she is unwell-but why did she have to hurt poor Katie?"

The clerk stood up, and the courtroom quieted down. "All rise, court is now in session; the Honorable Thomas Bertram presiding." Everyone stood up as the dignified man walked into the room with a solid if leisurely step to the bench, and sat down.

"Please be seated," he said, his voice soft to the ear, but strong in its effect.

"Case number 13187/00, People v. Jane Henrietta Fairfax," the clerk read before sitting down.

"Are counsel ready to proceed?" asked the judge.

"We are, Your Honor," both sides replied, and the defense sat down as McCoy came out from behind his table, and proceeded with his opening arguments.

The basic arguments of both the prosecution and the defense could have been stated in less words than either side used. E.A.D.A. McCoy outlined the prosecution's version of that Sunday's events, laying due stress on the loss suffered by Kate Churchill's death, and the absolute guilt of the accused in perpetrating that crime. Ms. Bennet pointed out the weaknesses in the prosecution's case, the unimpeachable virtue of her client, the absolute impossibility that she did it, and the disservice to society that ruining an innocent young woman's life would be. As suitable for the situation, both sides used dramatic pauses, deep tones, sharp words, and tried to upstage each other in grandeur and gravity. As they spoke, they impressed both the whole courtroom with the seriousness of the situation, and all glanced at Jane Fairfax, fully grasping the real possibility of her large eyes looking out for the rest of her life and seeing only black bars before her.

It was decided once Ms. Bennet concluded that the court would recess for lunch. Jane Fairfax was stood up, and was led out of the courtroom by her lawyer. She glanced towards the prosecution bench before looking ahead, and walking away. It was after she left and in the middle of a conference between Kincaid and McCoy that Frank Churchill walked up to them, and said, "I need to talk to you. Now."

"Did you remember something, Frank?" McCoy asked eagerly.

"Uh, yeah," he replied. His brow looked like wrinkled bed sheets, and his jaw was stiff. "We need to talk-in private."

"Come upstairs," they said, leading him back to the D.A.'s office.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, he said, "This trial has to end-it can't continue."

"Mr. Churchill, I'm sorry, but Miss Fairfax is the person who killed your aunt. She must face trial for her crime."

His face crumpled, and he looked years older in the course of a moment. "Sh-sh-she-" He stopped to take a breath. "She didn't do it. She's innocent. She didn't kill my aunt-I did."

"I don't know anything about this, Your Honor," said Ms. Bennet.

"Your Honor, I'm afraid that the trial cannot continue," replied McCoy.

"Isn't that a plea that the defense should be giving, and not the prosecution?"

"The case cannot continue because I have received a confession from Frank Churchill, Kate Churchill's nephew." He handed the quickly scribbled document to the judge. "Signed and notarized, as you can see."

"Well, if there has been a confession, then Miss Fairfax is cleared of all charges, and is free to leave."

Ms. Bennet looked as surprised as she felt as she walked out of the room. "I can't believe it, Jack. I was ready to bury your case into the ground."

"Alas, that I was denied that pleasure," he commented ironically, "but I still think I could have brought you to the table."

She laughed. "All of your evidence was circumstantial, but juries are unpredictable-still, I think I might have taken my chances. At any rate, thanks for making my job easy for me."

"You're welcome," he said as they walked out into the hall. Ms. Bennet walked over to her client, and whispered the news in her ear as McCoy headed up towards his office.

Jane's mouth opened in astonishment, and she cried aloud, "No!" She ran over to McCoy, and said, "Please, Mr. McCoy, please, don't do this. Let me talk to Frank-I can explain-"

"It's too late, Miss Fairfax. Mr. Churchill has already been arrested. It's over," he said, taking her hands compassionately. She was more distracted than Frank had been when he found out about the trial.

"Please-" she whispered, tears running down her face. Ms. Bennet took her client firmly by the hand, and led her out of the building.

"How does the defendant plead?" asked Judge Bertram.

"Not guilty, by reason of insanity," said Elizabeth Bennet as she walked into the room.

"What are you doing here?" McCoy cried out, surprised.

"I will be representing Mr. Churchill during this trial. It's time for round two, Jack."

"A very smart plea, it sounds like," Shiff replied.

"Not guilty by reason of insanity?" McCoy repeated incredulously.

"Well, she had to have some reason for saying he wasn't at fault for his action, since the confession is as solid as a lockbox."

"Yeah, but-insanity? How can she claim that he was insane when he killed his aunt?"

"Probably she knows something about that night that you don't."

"And to get that, there is only one person that we can go to," Kincaid replied.

Part IV

Posted on Saturday, 4 August 2001, at 5:43 a.m.

The Bateses' apartment. Monday, July 10.
McCoy knocked on the door. "Miss Fairfax?" he called out.

She answered the door with bloodshot eyes. When she perceived who they were, she began to shut the door.

"Please, Miss Fairfax, we must speak with you." Jack said, putting his foot in the door.

"No-I can't."

"Miss Fairfax, I know that Elizabeth Bennet is going to call you to the stand when she makes her case-and anything that you won't tell me now, I can get out of you then. Once sworn, you have to answer all of the questions with honesty-and you might be surprised with what we know already."

The door opened wider. "What do you know?"

"We know that you and Frank Churchill had a relationship," McCoy bluffed, a brilliant poker face concealing his thoughts.

"Please, Miss Fairfax, we just want to understand better what happened that evening," pleaded Kincaid. "I don't know what Mr. Churchill has told you, but we believe that you know enough to help us."

"Why should I help you?" she asked simply.

"Because no matter whatever reasons Frank had, Kate Churchill didn't deserve to die."

Jane opened the door, and let the detectives in. She walked into the kitchen, and brought out three glasses of ice water, and gestured for McCoy and Kincaid to seat themselves near the air conditioner. "You're right," she said after taking a sip from her glass. "Kate Churchill did not deserve to die-but Frank doesn't deserve to be locked up in prison for the rest of his life either."

"How close are you and Frank?" Kincaid inquired gently.

"I love him," she said simply. "I don't know what's going to happen now-but I love him. This doesn't change how I feel about him-you see, we're so alike."

"Alike?" McCoy said, mentally contrasting the self-assured professional to the timorous girl before him.

"Yes-you might not think it, but we share a similar past history. Not that the Campbells were like the Churchills, but we were both orphaned at a young age, so each of us understand the other's experiences. Everyone talks about how lucky you are to have made it so well-but you can't help missing your parents, no matter how kind your guardians are."

"And were the Churchills unkind?"

"Not his uncle-his uncle was kind, but weak. He easily bends to a stronger will, and Kate Churchill was a strong-willed woman. She did what she pleased, and her husband looked the other way." Jane stared off into space for a moment. "I don't know how he could have done it-how could anybody ignore something like that? but I suppose it was easier for him that way. He could pretend that it wasn't happening."

"What was happening?"

"Kate Churchill-Kate Churchill abused Frank, both physically and mentally. If she was in a bad mood, she would beat him until he was black and blue with whatever was handy. If she was in a good mood, she called him names." Her eyes watered. "She once told him that his mother died because she didn't want him-that his father abandoned him, and that he was lucky she was so kind as to keep him despite his flaws. I mean, what kind of a woman says stuff like that to a little five-year-old kid?" As her lips stopped quivering, she said firmly, "Kate Churchill didn't deserve to die-she deserved to rot in prison for the rest of her life for what she did to him.

"Some children might have fought back-but Frank just did what he could to please her. He adopted her opinions, her tastes. He never spoke back. He worked hard to get good grades. He took all of the classes and did all of the sports that she wanted him to do, and was always friends with children she approved of." Jane sniffed. "But by the time his soccer coach noticed his bruises when he was in high school, it was too late. Kate may have stopped abusing him, but he didn't stop trying to please her." She took a deep breath. "I guess that he had in some way convinced himself that he wanted the same things she wanted from him, because he's never admitted to being scared of her. But that's what I think is his reason, that in some way he's still scared what might happen if she weren't happy with him, because until he met me-" She stopped to blow her nose, and swallowed some water.

"I-well, I believe you understand what kind of a woman Kate Churchill was, what she valued. I was nothing like what she wanted for her nephew-I was everything that she wanted him to avoid. Frank knew that it was wrong to fall in love with me. He must have struggled against it-but he did the impossible. He fell in love-with me." She paused for a moment, and McCoy imagined Jane's surprise, and the implausibility of the match. "But of course we didn't tell anyone that we had become engaged," she sighed. "It was a complete secret."

"So Frank didn't hire you because his stepmother asked him to."

"Of course not-when Frank realized how nearby I was, he decided that a way for us to see each other would be for me to work for him, and so he made up some story to tell his aunt, so she'd agree to hire me. It was at the office that we were able to communicate, because Frank refused to call me over the phone, or to email me. He didn't want anything that could be traced-so generally we arranged meetings in his office whenever nobody was around. I didn't see much of him outside the office, because he was paranoid about his aunt finding out. He said that we had to wait-and I know he didn't mean his aunt's death. I don't think he knew what he meant when he said that-he just said things like that to keep our hopes up."

"What was your relationship like in the days before the murder?"

"I was unhappy with the situation. I didn't get to see Frank that often, and I had to lie constantly to my family to cover up the engagement. It got to the point when it seemed like for every one lie I had already told, there were five more I had to tell to keep the secret. When I gave my notice to his aunt the 16th, I knew that I wanted out. I couldn't take it any longer."

"But why didn't you give notice to him? That would have ended the situation very clearly."

She sighed. "No, it wouldn't have-he would have insisted on talking about it in the office, and what if we had been caught? Besides, I didn't want a scene. I hoped that perhaps he would never find out until I didn't show up for work one day, and then I'd never have to see him again. I was right-when he found out on Wednesday, he called me into his office and angrily demanded an explanation. I suggested that we meet later-"

"Go on," McCoy urged.

"Well, we arranged to meet that Sunday evening. I was hoping that since my grandmother was feeling so poorly that she and my aunt would go to sleep early so that I could leave the house without being noticed, but when they stayed up, I seized on the excuse of getting the pills in order to have a reason for leaving. After dropping off the prescription, I walked about five blocks to this bar where we usually met. He was waiting for me, and asked right away why I was quitting. I told him what I told you-that I wasn't happy, that I couldn't be engaged to him any longer. I said I knew he wasn't happy, and that I thought it would be better for both of us if we forgot that we had ever seen each other, and moved on with our lives."

"How did he react?"

"He was shocked-he just sat there for a minute without moving at all. I started to get worried and asked him if he understood what I had said, and he looked at me-" Her eyes started to water again. "He didn't say anything-he just looked at me-" She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself under control. After about a minute, she continued. "I told him I was sorry-I told him that he would be glad that I had done this, so that he wouldn't have to hide anything from his aunt any longer. It was then that I noticed that he wasn't listening-he seemed to be angry, and though I wasn't sure that it was at me, I didn't want to risk a fight in public. So, I left."

"Was this the last time you saw Frank Churchill before the murder?"

"Yes," she replied, starting to get a distant look of her own. "I hadn't seen him since then until Friday, and I haven't spoken with him either. Perhaps I should have-perhaps then this wouldn't have happened."

"Are you saying that you want to go to jail for him?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"The reason he did it at all, if there is a reason, is because of what I said to him," she replied. "If I had borne it better-well, maybe Kate Churchill would be alive today."

"Not very," Jack replied to his superior. "After all, he seemed perfectly ready for her to take the blame for a few days. He must have known when the detectives came back to question him the second time where the situation was headed, but he waited over a week to confess."

"Perhaps he thought that Jane could get off, but when he went to the trial, he realized he couldn't be sure, so he confessed to get the charges against her dismissed, and planned this insanity plea with Bennet," theorized Kincaid.

"Don't praise yourselves too highly-probably he just panicked. Your case wasn't that solid."

"He seems like an unstable guy," Kincaid commented, turning the conversation from troublesome lines.

"No, he's stable-his lawyer just wants the jury to think he isn't so he'll get off," McCoy replied.

Schiff shook his head. "If you've been counting your chickens, McCoy, I wouldn't waste the time. This egg is cracked."

"Well, I'm not going to go without a fight. Let's call Olivet, and see what she has to say."

"Terrible-I mean, she was a good woman. She took care of me, and I was grateful for it."

"Frank, what happened that night?"

His eyes widened while continuing to stare intensely into hers. "I-it was bad, I remember. When Jane-my girlfriend-told me that she didn't want to see me any more, I-I-I don't know what happened. All I remember is the pain, feeling awful-I didn't know where I was going, or what I was doing. I just remember the pain, hating it, wanting to do something to relieve it. The next thing I remember, I was in my bed, and it was the next morning."

"How did you know that it was you who did it if you don't remember that night?"

"Well-I remember being in the apartment, seeing her in the bed. I remember the pain;-I knew it had to have been me. Nobody else had keys to the apartment, so it had to have been me."

"Frank, do you know why you would want to kill her?"

"I didn't want to kill her-I loved her. I can't understand why I did it."

"Did your aunt ever physically or mentally injure you?"

His mouth twitched. "She used to spank me a little when I was younger-but that stopped years ago. She had a hard life herself; she went to counseling, and she got better. I-I've forgiven her for it."

"Did you ever feel threatened by your aunt?"

"Of course!" he ejaculated, then added, "when I was a child. How could I feel threatened by her now?"

"Frank, do you think that you should have killed your aunt?"

"No-murder is wrong, I know that. But I wasn't thinking of that at the time-I wasn't thinking at all."

"What do you think?" McCoy asked Olivet after Churchill had left.

Her short answer was as poised as her expression. "Personally, I think that Frank Churchill knew that what he was doing was wrong when he did it. But I'm not sure how well you will be able to convince a jury of it."

"What is this?" he asked, tossing a few sheets of paper onto the desk. Jack picked them up, and looked at them.

"I believe this is a subpoena requesting your appearance in court next week."

"What do you need me in court for?"

"The prosecution needs your testimony concerning the relations between your wife and your nephew."

"Frank and Katie loved each other. And while I'll be happy to testify as to that, I don't understand-"

"Mr. Churchill, you did witness your wife's abuse of Frank, did you not?"

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Churchill," McCoy said, standing up. "Kate Churchill physically and mentally abused Frank when he was a young boy, and that was why he killed her."

His eyes widened, and his mouth puckered open in a confused gape. "No! That's not true! I mean-listen, that was a long time ago. Katie was going through a bad spell, but then she got better. Frank understood. Frank knew she was sorry, that she didn't mean it. He adored her. He never would have killed her."

"Then why was Frank the only conceivable person to have access to the apartment?"

"You didn't think that a week ago! Then, you were sure it was Jane Fairfax! Why aren't you prosecuting her? She's the guilty party. Frank is innocent, and I am not about to say something that you will twist about to serving your own purposes, in order to send my innocent nephew to jail!"

"Why did he confess, then?"

"To protect the girl, of course. They've been friends, and he felt bad for her-perhaps he blamed himself for trusting her-he's a good boy, he tries hard to please everyone."

"Mr. Churchill, what did you when you saw your wife beating your young nephew?" McCoy asked softly.

"I-I did what I had to do. Katie was going through a bad spell-I tried to help-but that's all it was, a bad spell. That wasn't what Katie always did-F-Frank knew it, too. He understood everything! He tried to help Katie too. They loved each other, they always did. Katie always wanted a little boy."

"Didn't the abuse go on for almost ten years?"

Mr. Churchill stared at him blankly for a moment, then his mouth pulled inward until it was only a little line of discontent. "I-I don't-I don't have to answer your questions, especially without a lawyer present. I have nothing to tell you but what I've already told you. You're prosecuting the wrong person, that's all I'll say."

"I called Bennet's office and left a message-but she never called. I think she plans to fight this thing out."

Schiff shook his head. "It's a bad situation. There ought to have been a plea bargain."

"Well, we'll just have to see whether the uncle's and Olivet's testimonies will convince the jury."

Part V

Posted on Friday, 24 August 2001, at 9:35 a.m.

New York County Courthouse. Monday, July 17.
"What is your professional opinion, Dr. Olivet, of Frank Churchill's culpability for his crime?"

"In my opinion Mr. Churchill was not insane when he committed the crime. He was aware of the consequences of his action at the time of the murder, and he knew that it was wrong to kill his aunt."

"No further questions, Your Honor," McCoy replied, then sat down.

"Dr. Olivet, what was the basis for your judgment?" Ms. Bennet asked.

"Mr. Churchill was vague in his recollections of the event, but he said that the crime was one way to dispose of his pain. When connected with the fact that Mr. Churchill was abused by his aunt, it would appear that Mr. Churchill connected his rejection by Miss Fairfax with the pain he felt from his aunt's abuse, and killed her in anger. It was obvious that Mr. Churchill continued to feel threatened by her, and that would only be another motive to act."

"Dr. Olivet, I'm still confused--you said that Mr. Churchill knew that it was wrong to kill his aunt when he did it--did he say so?"

"No, he did not. But I was led to believe that from his tension and demeanor as he remembered the crime and from his account of the morning after that he recognized it."

"So, he knew the morning after that what he had done was wrong, correct?"

"Yes."

"And he recognizes it now?"

"Yes."

"But how does this prove that Frank Churchill at the time of the murder was aware that the crime was wrong? Did he not specifically state that he did not know what he was doing?"

"Yes, Mr. Churchill said that. In no case can you be absolutely sure of what the person was thinking at the time, because the psychologist was not a witness to the crime, or hearing the person's thoughts. However, from listening to the person speak, you can deduce what they were thinking at the time."

"So, you cannot be absolutely certain that Mr. Churchill was not temporarily insane at the time, or that your conjectures were what he was thinking?"

"No--my suggestions are probable, but by no means certain."

"Frank and Katie loved each other. He was almost a son to her--no one could have treated her better," he said gruffly.

"Mr. Churchill, what was the relationship between the victim and the defendant when he was a child?"

His mouth creased. "That was long ago--Frank got over it."

"Mr. Churchill, what happened?"

"Katie--Katie was going through a rough period. She was unhappy--she took it out on Frank. But she got over it," he said in a louder tone. "She went to counseling, and she was all better. She and Frank adored each other afterwards--they were so close, he told her everything."

"Mr. Churchill, I must ask you again, what happened during this 'rough period'?"

"--She hit him a little bit."

"Like what? What did she use?"

His mouth pressed together even more. "A--a pan," he said softly.

"Mr. Churchill, could you repeat that? I didn't hear," McCoy said.

"A pan," he repeated. "A frying pan, or sometimes her hand, or a belt."

"What other kinds of abuse did Frank Churchill suffer during this 'rough period'?"

"She was having a difficult time--"

"Mr. Churchill--"

"She would yell at him some times, when she was in a bad mood--but she was unhappy, trying to cope with her feelings--"

"What kind of things did she say to him?"

"She called him--she said he was stupid, that she didn't want him, that his mother killed herself to get away from him."

"How old was Frank when she said these things to him first?"

"Five years old."

"And how long did this 'rough period' last?"

"E--eleven years," he slurred.

"More than a 'period,' wouldn't you say?" McCoy commented sarcastically.

Edward glared at him, and said nothing.

"Mr. Churchill, when did you talk with Frank about these instances?"

"I--I didn't like to bring it up afterwards. It was something better forgotten."

"Better for Kate Churchill and you, yes. But then, you would have no way of knowing how Frank really felt about his aunt's abuse, would you?"

"Objection, Your Honor!--"

"Withdrawn," McCoy replied. "Mr. Churchill, what is your relationship with your nephew?"

"I--we see each other now and then."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"The--the 25th of June."

"Mr. Churchill, while your wife was abusing your nephew, what were you doing?"

He blushed. "I--I--"

"No further questions, your Honor," McCoy replied, sitting down.

"Mr. Churchill, do you believe that your nephew the defendant was capable of committing this crime while he was in his right mind?" began Ms. Bennet.

"No," he said decisively. "Frank would never have done something like this--I can't even believe that he even killed Katie. I saw them together so many times, and you could tell from watching them that they really loved each other. They had a strong bond together--she was like a mother to him. And I know that looking at the abuse, that it doesn't seem to make sense, but Frank forgave Katie years ago. He decided to put it behind him, so he was able to love her deeply despite what had happened. I can't believe that that love would allow him to kill her even while he was out of his mind."

"We had agreed to meet around 11:00 at this bar about five blocks from my house. I arrived around 11:15, and Frank was there waiting for me. He asked me why I was quitting my job as his secretary and I told him that I didn't want to work for him any longer, and that I didn't want to see him again."

"How did he react to this news?"

"He was surprised at first--he sat there for over a minute, not moving, not saying anything. I asked him if he had heard me, and he said 'Yes'. He then looked at me--I tried to tell him it was for the best; that he would be happier without me, that he wouldn't have to lie to his aunt any longer. It was after I said this that he began to look disturbed--he was looking away, and I could tell he was thinking about something else. I then noticed that he was becoming angry. I didn't want to face it, so I gathered up my purse, mumbled something, and left. I glanced behind me once to see if he was following me outside, but he was still seated at the table. I then continued to the store to buy some groceries, went to pick up a prescription for my aunt, then returned home."

"Miss Fairfax, what did Mr. Churchill tell you of his childhood?"

"He told me that his aunt used to abuse him when he was a child."

"Miss Fairfax, do you think that Mr. Churchill was angry with his aunt for it?"

"Objection, Your Honor; calls for speculation," Ms. Bennet cried out.

"Sustained," ruled Judge Bertram.

"Miss Fairfax, do you think he was happy with his aunt?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained--Mr. McCoy, you know that you cannot ask that," the judge reproved mildly.

"Miss Fairfax," he tried again, "what did Mr. Churchill ever say to you about his aunt?"

"There were times when he said that he was tired of her--whenever we met, he would regret that we could not announce our engagement because of what he feared his aunt's reaction would be, and often wished that she could have been the type of woman to accept it. One time he said that his position was more important to his aunt than his happiness, and from his expression I could tell that he was upset."

"Miss Fairfax," began Bennet as she began her cross-examination, "you know Mr. Churchill well, do you not?"

"Of course," she said, glancing at him.

"Do you think that Mr. Churchill was the type of person to commit murder?"

"Objection, Your Honor; characterization," McCoy jumped in.

"Miss Fairfax, had Mr. Churchill to your knowledge committed any murders?"

"No."

"Do you know if Mr. Churchill has committed any murders other than this one while you have known him?"

"No, he has not."

"So, this is not something that Mr. Churchill does regularly?"

"No; Frank would never have killed his aunt if I had not upset him that night. He is a good man."

McCoy snuck a look at Churchill, but he was looking down, avoiding Jane's eye.

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"Mr. Churchill, can you please tell us what you remember of the night of the murder?" asked Ms. Bennet

"I remember going to see Jane at the bar--when she told me that she wanted to break it off, I just lost it. I was surprised--hurt--I felt terrible. I felt like I couldn't breathe for a while."

"What happened next?"

"I don't really remember her leaving--I just remember that I felt like I had to get out of there, I had to get away. I remember walking halfway home, but at some point I must have turned, because I ended up at my aunt's apartment. I didn't know what I was doing there. I remember going into the bedroom, and seeing her asleep--but the next thing I remember, I was in my apartment, waking up to go to work. I didn't know what I had done until the police came and told me. I knew it had to have been me, but I couldn't understand why I had done it. I loved my aunt--I never wanted her to die. I must have been out of my mind."

"Objection, Your Honor; opinion."

"Sustained. The jury is instructed to disregard Mr. Churchill's last remark."

"Mr. Churchill, how do you feel now about your aunt's death?"

"Terrible--that's why I had to confess. I couldn't let someone else take the blame. I don't know why I did it, but I did it, and I had to take responsibility for my actions. I wish it hadn't happened--I loved her in spite of all her problems. She took me into her house, raised me--she was the mother I never had. I couldn't help but be grateful."

"Mr. Churchill," began Jack in his cross-examination, "you always tried to be a good nephew to your aunt, correct?"

"It was the least I could do after all she had done for me. I wanted to make her happy."

"But this was sometimes difficult, yes?"

Frank looked at him. "Yes," he said guardedly.

"Did this often this entailed doing something that you did not like?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you want to go to business school?"

"Objection, Your Honor; irrelevant."

"Your Honor, I am trying to establish the defendant's relationship with the victim."

Bertram pondered this for a moment before deciding, "Overruled. Answer the question, please," he told Frank Churchill.

"Not particularly, no."

"Did you want to live in New York?"

"--No."

"Yet your aunt wanted you to do these things--did you do them to please her?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Churchill, what did you think your aunt's reaction would have been if you married Jane Fairfax?"

"She would have been upset--angry. She wanted me to marry somebody well-to-do."

"And it was to prevent your aunt from being displeased that you concealed your engagement?"

"Yes," he replied, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"So, when Jane Fairfax told you that she wanted to end the engagement because she was tired of hiding it, did you consider announcing your attachment?"

"Yes--but I couldn't."

"Because of your aunt?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Churchill, were you afraid of your aunt?"

"No! Of course not!" Frank snorted. "I'm at least seven inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than my aunt. If she ever attempted to physically assault me, I could easily stop her."

"Mr. Churchill, I don't understand. You claim to be unafraid of your aunt, yet you were prepared to relinquish your engagement to a woman you loved just merely to avoid upsetting her. Why else would you refuse to announce your engagement, if you were not afraid of what your aunt would do?"

"I said I didn't want to upset my aunt. That didn't mean that I was afraid of her."

"I guess Jane Fairfax never meant that much to you, if you could drop her just to please your aunt."

"That's not true! I loved Jane--I'll always love Jane! I could never love anyone but Jane! She means so much to me," Frank murmured.

"Then why didn't you agree to publish the engagement?"

"Because I knew what my aunt would do," he replied, his eyes rolling. "She would screech, scream, shout, throw things at me--she would have done everything she could to convince me to end the engagement, and if I had not done what she wanted, she would have fired me, disinherited me--she would have done everything possible to make sure that I never got a job anywhere where she had friends. I would have had to leave the city, and start all over again."

"So, without using physical force, you felt that your aunt could seriously threaten your life as it was?"

Frank was scowling, and his countenance did not brighten as he answered. "Yes. My life as it was would have been at an end if I had told my aunt that I was going to marry Jane Fairfax."

"Did you resent it that your aunt had this power over you, that she could have ended your life as you knew it?"

"Of course. I was often frustrated with my aunt for that very reason--but that doesn't mean that I would have killed her," he replied, his voice raising as he finished his sentence.

"Mr. Churchill, may I remind you that you have already confessed to murdering your aunt?"

"Consciously, I meant. I never would have stabbed her if I had been in my right mind."

"Well, if you weren't in your right mind when you committed the crime, Mr. Churchill, why did you wait for Jane Fairfax to be charged with the crime before you went to the police?"

He blushed. "I--I don't know."

"Possibly because you knew you were guilty before you left the apartment, and decided that you'd rather risk anything in the world than be held accountable?"

"Objection, Your Honor!--"

"Sustained. Mr. McCoy, please limit your commentary to a bare minimum."

"I didn't tell anyone what had happened because I knew that people like you would never believe the truth!" he growled.

"Do you expect the people of the jury to believe you were conveniently out of your mind as you murdered your aunt? Certainly, her death was convenient for you. It brought not grief, but everything you desired."

"I expect them to believe what I said because it is the truth," Frank insisted calmly.

The court recessed while the jury went into deliberations, which only took about thirty minutes. Once everyone had reassembled, and sat down again, Judge Bertram turned and asked, "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor," replied the foreman.

"Will the defendant please rise. Jury, how do you find on the sole count of manslaughter in the first degree?"

"We find the defendant, Francis Charles Weston Churchill, not guilty by reason of insanity."

McCoy watched incredulously as Frank turned around and embraced Jane Fairfax for the first time in public, broadly smiling. A halloo echoed through the courtroom; Mr. Churchill went to hug his nephew, but was ignored by Frank, who turned back to Elizabeth in order to shake her hand vigorously. The uncle then congratulated her on a job well done as the judge formally dismissed the jury, thanking them for their service. The loud thump of the gavel startled Jack out of his lethargy, and with Kincaid's help, he gathered up his papers as Frank took Jane's hand, and left the courtroom a free man.

"I told you not to count your chickens, Jack. You knew that Bennet was good, and that the case was weak. It was bound to happen."

"I can't accept it. That man murdered Kate Churchill in cold blood, and he escaped punishment. It almost makes me feel sorry for the aunt."

"The person I feel sorry for is Jane Fairfax," Kincaid said. "She deserves a better fate. Frank Churchill will get over his feelings of guilt quickly enough, but Jane will feel guilty for the rest of her life for her role in that crime. I can't imagine that her husband will provide much consolation."

"Yeah, well, better luck next time," Shiff replied as they all left for dinner.

Author's Note: If some of McCoy's phrases sound familiar to you, then you can congratulate yourself for your excellent memory, because many of those lines were borrowed from Knightley's speech in Chapter 49 of Emma, just like I lifted the title of the story from Frank Churchill's letter in Chapter 50. And if you can believe it, I wrote the entire story around this ending, just because I thought Knightley's words were too wise to be forgotten.