September
Revisited
All characters in this story come either from Law & Order or Woody Allen’s film September. No profits are made from writing this story—only a lot of fun!
“I can’t believe we are really in New York!” The tourist, clad in a FDNY cap and I’m A Redneck sweatshirt gawked at the tall buildings surrounding Central Park. “And all that bull about New Yorkers being rude! Hey, hey, would you two mind taking a picture of me and my missus?” The tourist shook the shoulder of a man who was in a quiet discussion with his wife. The man turned, obviously annoyed, but the tourist was oblivious to his feelings. “Just click the camera’s red button. We’ll back up by this fountain, ok?” He grinned.
The man shrugged. “I’ll be back in a minute, Stephie,” he said. He took two steps towards the fountain when a shot rang out, and he crumpled to the ground. The tourist yelled in terror and his wife screamed, but Stephie stood, white-faced and silent, looking down at the body of her husband.
“They were from Philadelphia, according to the wife,” the ME man told Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green. “They had come to the City to visit an old friend and to help out our economy.”
“We don’t need that kind of help,” Lennie said as he watched the forensic team search the area behind a bush. “Is that where the shooter was waiting?”
“Looks like it,” a uniformed officer from the forensics team came up. “Vegetation is trampled, like whoever was there waited a long time.”
“Then this was an intentional hit,” Lennie said. “Did the other couple know anyone in the City who might wish to do them harm?”
“No,” the uniformed officer said. “They were tourists from Arkansas. Unless the shooter was out to kill people with bad taste in clothes, they are out of it.”
“If he was intent on making a fashion statement, half of the City would be dead,” Ed remarked. “Where is the widow?”
“She rode down to the hospital with her husband,” the ME man said. “He was still alive then, though he died en route.”
“Then let’s go to the hospital,” Lennie said.
It was easy to spot the widow. She was sitting in the waiting room, her pale face in stark contrast to her short red hair. Another woman, about her age, was sitting next to her, holding her hand.
“Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green, Homicide,” Lennie said, showing his badge. The two women looked up at him. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I-I already told a policeman—there in the park,” the widow said haltingly.
“And you don’t have to say anything now, if you don’t feel like it, Stephanie,” her friend said as she patted her hand.
“No—Lane—I must help them. I must find out who killed Harry.” She turned to the detectives. “We had just had breakfast at our hotel, and we were taking a walk through the Park. Somebody came up behind us and asked Harry to take their picture. He said he’d better humor them, or they’d pester us. He—was amused, because they thought we were native New Yorkers!” She started crying again.
“You didn’t see anyone else in the park—lurking somewhere, or maybe following you?” Ed asked.
“No—no one but the tourists. We were—busy talking.”
“About what?” Lennie asked.
“Personal things,” Stephanie said defensively.
“They might have something to do with why your husband was killed,” Lennie persisted.
“I don’t see how,” Stephanie ran her hand through her hair. “Our kids are grown, have flown the nest. Harry was getting ready to retire, and I wanted to start fresh somewhere else. Lane is an old friend, and invited us to come up to the City and check it out.” She looked at her friend and smiled. “She’s shown me how someone can rebuild their life. She used to live in New England, but she left and moved here and went to school. She’s in real estate now. I was hoping Harry would invest in her business—maybe take part in it myself—“
“And you shall, Stephie,” Lane said, patting her friend’shand again. “I told you that I needed someone who knew computers to help with the office. And you know the basics—“
“And that’s great, but let’s get back to the case,” Ed said. “Did your husband indicate that he was troubled or worried about anything? Had he stepped on anyone’s toes at work?”
“You mean you think someone wanted to speed up his retirement? I don’t think so,” Stephanie said. “He was always well-liked at work.”
“And how about outside of work?” Ed looked at the widow sharply.
She looked at him, bewildered. “We don’t know anyone else in the City,” she said. “No one at home knew we were driving to New York, and I’m sure we weren’t followed. Besides—“
“Stephie!” The widow’s words were interrupted as a thin, middle-aged man with a shock of dark brown hair burst into the waiting room. “Stephie! I just heard about the shooting on the radio! Are you all right?” He rushed up to her and took her hand.
“Peter!” Stephanie looked flustered. She looked at her friend Lane as she pulled her hand away from Peter’s grasp.
“And who are you?” Lennie asked. “A friend from Philadelphia?”
Peter looked at the detective, annoyed. “No, I’m from Manhattan. I’m a free-lance writer. Stephanie and I have been friends for years.”
“And you knew she was in town?”
“Yes, of course! I phoned her when she came in last night. We went out to dinner.” Peter looked at the detectives angrily. “Any crime in that?”
“Maybe, if Harry wasn’t invited to come along,” Ed said. “Was Harry there?”
“I don’t know if that is any of your business,” Peter said stiffly.
“Well, Harry is dead,” Lennie said smoothly. “Anything that he did the night before his death might give us a clue as to who decided to gun him down.”
Peter looked at Stephanie, and his hand stole towards hers again. Then he looked at the detectives. “Harry wasn’t there. He—and Stephie—were having a hard time.”
“And you were there to help Stephie out? Or did you create the hard time?” Lennie asked.
“Stephie and I are friends—old friends—that’s all. Lane had told me they were coming to the City, and I wanted to see Steph again, that’s all.” He sat down beside her and draped an arm over her shoulder. “And I think that at a time like this, she needs all her friends with her.”
“Very nice,” Lennie said. “Would you mind telling us where you were this morning, say around nine o’clock?”
“No,” Peter said easily. “I was at home, asleep. I always sleep late.”
“Anyone at home to back up your alibi?” Lennie asked.
“No, I live alone,” he replied.
2-7 Precinct
“We have one potential motive,” Lennie reported to Lt. Anita Van Buren later on that morning. “Seems Stephanie and her husband were in transition—he from his job, and she from her marriage. If I read the signs right, she has a lover living right here in Manhattan. His name is Peter, and he came to her in the hospital, and was all over her. He told us they had a private dinner last night, a little item Stephanie had failed to mention when she talked with us earlier. And he has no alibi for the time of the shooting. Think that will be enough to get a warrant to search his apartment?”
“I’ll talk with Serena,” Anita said. “But meanwhile, try and get a little meat to add to your bare bones of a case.”
“I don’t mind you coming here,” Peter said as he stood in the doorway, blocking entrance to his flat. “But I think I told you all I knew to help you with the case when we met at the hospital.”
“Yeah, but we’d like to know more,” Lennie said, leaning against the door. “After all, you said you were old friends with Stephanie. Maybe you know something about her—or Harry—that would cause someone to decide to resort to murder.”
“I really don’t see that I have any more to tell you,” Peter said, stiffening his stance so Lennie couldn’t open the door any more.
“Peter? Who is there?” Stephanie’s voice came from the apartment. Ed and Lennie looked at one another.
“All right,” Peter said, looking at the floor. He swung the door open, and the detectives saw Stephanie lying down on the couch, covered with an afghan. Her hair was touseled, and her eyes red from crying. “I knew you were asleep, and I didn’t want to bother you,” he said to her as the detectives sat down on the chairs on either side of the television.
“Why are you here? Don’t you still have your hotel room?” Ed asked.
“Yes—no—I was worried that I couldn’t afford to pay the bill,” Stephanie said. “Peter insisted I come here. It’s quiet, and he had room.” She looked at them defensively. “We’re old friends.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before,” Lennie said drily. “Did he take you here from the hospital as soon as we left?”
Stephanie didn’t grasp the significance of Lennie’s words, and said, “Yes, he and Lane had quite an argument over where I would stay. Peter won, though Lane helped move my things over here. Mine—and Harry’s.”
“You wouldn’t mind us looking through Harry’s things, would you?” Ed said kindly. “We’re still looking for clues. Maybe there was a paper, a memo—“
“You won’t find any clues in Harry’s suitcase,” Stephie sighed. “But you are welcome to look.” She waved her hand in the direction of Peter’s bedroom, and lay back down on the sofa.
Peter followed the detectives to the bedroom. “I zipped up Harry’s suitcase myself,” he said. “I didn’t see anything that would help—“
“This it?” Ed hoisted the suitcase onto the bed and unzipped the flap. He started looking through the shirts that were folded inside.
Lennie, tired of watching his partner, glanced around the room. Something on the floor of the open closet caught his eye, and he stooped to look at it more closely. Slowly he stood up, a pen through the trigger guard of a pistol. “Looks like a .22,” he said casually. “Wasn’t that the caliber of the bullet that killed Harry?” He walked towards Peter, who stood with his mouth open in astonishment
“You must not have had enough time to do a good job hiding this, what with dealing with the bags and all,” Lennie told Peter. “Hands behind your back. I’m going to cuff you, then read you your rights. I knew we should have frisked you at the hospital!”
“I don’t know how it got there,” Peter sputtered. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“That’s what they all say,” Lennie said as he cuffed Peter.
2-7 Precinct
“So you’ve tagged Peter for the murder?” Serena asked Anita as they watched Peter’s interrogation through the one way glass.
“Yes,” Anita said. “We’ve talked with Stephanie and her friend, Lane. It seems that Stephanie and Peter had a brief affair years ago, when both were visiting Lane at her home in New England. Afterward, Stephanie went back to her husband and kids in Philadelphia while Peter moved to Paris, where he stayed for several years. He came back to this country a few years ago, after his book about his father made the best seller list. As far as Lane knew, he and Stephanie hadn’t set eyes on one another since New England until their dinner last night. Our theory is that he asked her to come away with him, and she declined because of Harry. So Peter decided to do something about it.”
“Any prints on the gun?” Serena asked.
“None usable,” Anita replied. “But we did find that the .22 was the murder weapon.”
“Great,” Serena sighed. “We have the murder weapon. But any good defense attorney would argue that Lane or Stephie could have planted it there.”
“But Peter had a motive to do the killing,” Anita pointed out. “And he’s the only one without an alibi. We know Stephanie didn’t shoot her husband and Lane said she was in her office.”
“Let’s hope that’s enough to convince a grand jury,” Serena said.
“Have the detectives found out anything more about the Cental Park shooting?” Jack McCoy asked Serena as he sat behind his desk, reading reports. “The case looks a little thin.”
“We barely squeaked through the Grand Jury,” Serena said. “Any defense attorney could shoot holes in our case. And the detectives haven’t been able to find any more evidence linking Peter with Stephanie and Harry.”
“How about the other woman—Lane?” Jack frowned at the reports.
“She’s a real estate agent with a large clientele, mostly apartments. She has kept in touch with Stephanie over the years—but just Christmas card stuff. She hadn’t gone to Philadelphia to visit, and Stephanie and Harry hadn’t come to visit her here.”
“But the gun turns up in Peter’s apartment. That’s a strong bit of evidence, especially if we can find more to back up our theory of the motive.” Jack said. He ran his hand through his hair. “Has surveillance come up with anything on Peter?”
“Only that since getting out on parole, he’s been with Stephanie constantly,” Serena said.
Jack raised his brows. “You’d think he’d cool down his ardor a bit.”
Serena shrugged. “Maybe he isn’t aware we’re keeping an eye on him.”
“Well, other than holding Stephanie’s hand, have the detectives seen anything incriminating?” Jack asked.
Serena shook her head. “But I’ve been doing my homework. I’ve been checking into Peter’s accounts. Seems he hasn’t been doing well lately.”
“I thought he had a best-selling novel,” Jack said.
“A couple of years ago,” Serena replied. “Seems that his latest work hasn’t been as profitable.”
“But he lives in a loft in a high rent district,” Jack said, flipping through the papers. “Where is he getting the money?”
“Guess,” Serena said smugly.
“Stephanie?” Jack asked. Serena nodded. “I thought she said she hadn’t seen Peter for years.”
“But apparently they were pen pals. We’ve found that regular bank drafts have been transferred from Stephanie’s account to Peter’s account for about a year and a half. A few hundred at first, but in the thousands the last three months.”
“And Harry found out. He told his wife to turn off the spigot, and she refused. They came to New York to sort things out, but Peter is the one who does the sorting. This will ride,” Jack said, satisfied.
“What the People will show is a variation on the old love triangle,” Jack McCoy said in his opening statement. “We will show that Peter was being supported by Stephanie, his lover. When Harry found out, he came to Manhattan to stop it. Instead, Peter stopped him—with a bullet.”
“Mr. McCoy is living in a dreamland,” Mary Johnston, defense attorney, said as she stood up to address the jury. “My client has had a business arrangement with Stephanie for several years, but that is all. We will show that the two had not seen one another for over fifteen years. Please ladies and gentlemen of the jury, remember that the People must prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt. We will show you there is plenty of doubt of Peter’s guilt.”
“You realize that Ms Johnston was right in her opening statement,” Jack said as he loosened his tie and hung up his jacket. “Once we get through the preliminary witnesses, she’ll be there to shoot down our theory of the crime. Haven’t the police come up with anyone who heard Stephie and Peter talking to each other over the phone? Haven’t you dug up any email letters or anything?”
“No,” Stephanie said. “There was no correspondence on Stephie’s computer from Peter. If he mailed her letters, she must have burned them. The Philly police searched the house and found nothing. Made her kids quite upset.”
“Her kids,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Wonder what they think of this business with Peter. Do you know if they are in town?”
“Yes, they were in the courtroom this morning with their mother. I take it that James and Katherine don’t take well to the notion of being there, but they are doing it out of respect for her.”
“Find out where they are staying, and let’s pay them a visit,” Jack said, reaching for his coat. “This may be one time that having mother and children staying in separate establishments will be to our advantage.”
“We don’t like the idea of Mother going to court, but she insists upon it,” James said as he offered the attorneys a drink.
“No thanks,” Jack said as he sat down on the chair next to the couch. James sat on the couch next to his sister and looked at the prosecutors warily.
“You think Mother is mixed up in this somehow, don’t you?” he asked.
Jack looked at him steadily. “Do you?”
James shook his head. “That Peter fellow has bewitched her, that’s all. I still remember when she came back from that summer in New England. I was just starting grade school, and I could tell something had changed. Dad didn’t seem to notice it though, but I did. Every once in a while, Mom would get this distant look in her eyes, and I knew she was back there. It was only later that I found out what had happened.”
“When was this?” Serena asked.
“When she got a letter from New York,” Katherine said. “I went into her bedroom one day, and found her reading it. When she saw me, she shoved it in the drawer of her dresser, like she was guilty or something. Being a nosy teen, I went in later and found it. Pretty hot stuff. Of course, I told Jamie all about it.”
“Like what?” Serena leaned forward.
Katherine shrugged. “Like ‘I’ve never forgotten you, or the night we spent together.’ Oh, and something about aren’t the kids grown up yet so you can come away with me?”
“You can see why we despise him,” James commented.
“When did your mother start sending him money?” Jack asked.
“She did that?” James looked at his sister. “Katherine, did you know about that?”
“No, but I suspected,” his sister said darkly. “I was in college, and there were times I asked for things, and she’d say to wait.”
“Did your mother get an allowance from your father?” Serena asked.
“Not exactly,” Katherine said. “After I was in high school, she started working in a shop. I think she saved her money from that. But it wasn’t very much. If she wanted to get anything big, she’d have to ask Dad.”
“Big being a thousand dollars or so?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Katherine answered.
“We have more on our motive,” Serena said as they left the hotel.
“Yes, but I wish we could pin it down,” Jack said as he unlocked the car. “Hearsay evidence cannot be admitted, and I don’t know how to get Stephanie to testify about it.”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Serena said. “How about this? We invite Peter and his lawyer to our office to make a deal. We tell him what the kids told us—only say it came from Stephanie. It might be enough to make him forget about the trial.”
Jack raised his brows. “Why, Ms Southerlyn! Where do you get such ideas?”
“From watching the master in action,” Serena grinned.
“Why did you call us here, Jack?” Mary Johnston asked as she escorted Peter into the office. “Have you decided to tender your apology to my client personally before you drop the case?”
“No, I thought I’d give your client an opportunity to make a clean breast of things,” Jack replied as he leaned forward in his chair. “What about it, Peter?”
Peter stared into the prosecutor’s eyes. “I love Stephanie. I have ever since that September so long ago. But that’s the only thing I’m guilty of.”
“Really? What about stealing money from Stephanie’s husband, Harry?” Serena asked.
“I never took a dime from Harry,” Peter said stiffly.
“But you took plenty from Stephanie,” Jack said, pulling out a memo. “By our calculations, over seven thousand dollars in the last three months alone. We know that Stephanie didn’t have that kind of money herself.”
“Oh, and how do you know that?” Peter asked defensively.
“How do you think we know?” Serena countered. “She worked at a shop, but didn’t earn much more than minimum wage. There was no way she could afford to lend you that kind of money.”
Peter looked over at his attorney and whispered in her ear. She frowned and shook her head. “If Stephanie told them about the money, she told them how she got it. It’s my guess they are bluffing.” She stood up. “Come on, Peter. There’s nothing here for us.”
“So much for getting a confession out of him,” Serena sighed.
Just before Jack walked out of his office for the night, Nora called to him. “Come over and tell me about the Central Park case,” she said.
Sighing, Jack entered her office and flung his helmet on the couch.
Nora looked at it and then at his stormy face. “That bad, huh? What’s the hang up?”
Jack flung himself on the couch and rubbed his hand over his face. “The hang up is that we really don’t have that much on the man. The murder weapon was found in his apartment. But there were no usable fingerprints on it, and no link between him and the weapon. We know that he and the victim’s wife had a brief affair years ago, and that she has been helping him out financially recently.”
Nora frowned. “Hardly overwhelming evidence. I’m sure the defense attorney will point out the fact that there was ample time for the real murderer to plant the gun, and that any arrangements between the two former lovers were strictly financial. That will make sense to a jury; former lovers sometimes enter into business relationships.” She looked at him.
“Yeah,” he said, looking at the floor. “It’s all they have left.”
“It’s more than that,” Nora said, coming over to him. “Former lovers know each other; know how far they can trust one another.”
Jack looked at her wanly. “Are you talking about the case now, Nora, or us?”
Nora smiled cryptically. “You’ve kept tabs on the both of them since the murder?”
“Yes, but there’s nothing we can use,” Jack said. “She’s staying at his apartment, which is repugnant to her kids, but not illegal. They haven’t been seen plotting or celebrating.”
“Maybe there is nothing to find,” Nora said thoughtfully. “Maybe he just came to her aid at a time of stress.”
“That’s how the jury would read it, even if I could get it brought into evidence,” Jack sighed.
“Try to see if you can find something before you rest your side of the case,” Nora advised. “If you don’t find anything more, you may have to drop it.” She looked down on Jack and patted his shoulder. “I won’t hold it against you if you do.”
“No, I will,” Jack sighed as he stood up to go.
“The People rest, Your Honor,” Jack McCoy stated at the end of the next day. He had presented his witnesses, including the forensic accountant, who had explained the financial arrangement between Stephanie and Peter. Mary Johnston had forced the accountant to concede that he didn’t find any indication that any monies had been transferred illegally from any account, and that there was no indication that money had been taken from Harry’s accounts to give to Peter. Lane had talked vaguely about the affair between Peter and Stephanie that had occurred years ago, but had no evidence to offer about their relationship of later days. Jack McCoy was licked, and he knew it.
“Motion to dismiss, Your Honor,” Mary Johnston said. “The People have failed to make a prima facia case.”
Judge Mikusinski frowned. “Motion is denied,” she said. “The Defense will present their case starting tomorrow. Court is adjourned.”
“We might as well throw in the towel,” Serena said to Jack as they left the courtroom. “Did you see the look on the judge’s face? She even knows we barely passed the test of prima facia.”
“Yes, but—“ Jack stopped as a messenger came up to him.
“Mr. McCoy? A package for you. Sign here.” The messenger was gone.
Jack examined the package curiously. “No return address, and just my name on it. Was that messenger from UPS or FedEX?”
“No,” Serena said nervously. “And I don’t think the metal detector downstairs always works on bombs.” She took a couple of steps away. Jack stared at her, and then held the package at arm’s length.
“I think it would be a good idea to call security,” he said, surprised to find his voice was shaking. Serena ran as Jack stood stock still, holding the package in front of him.
Soon a special bomb squad was on the scene. They evacuated the courthouse and then took the package away carefully, though it had been a struggle to get it from Jack, who had held it in a death’s grip until assured he wouldn’t blow up just handing it off to a policeman.
Nora was waiting in Jack’s office when the attorneys came back, still shaken. She looked at Serena, and said, “Take the rest of the day off. Jack, come in here with me.”
Jack went to Nora’s office, where he sank into the couch. She was there with water, but he waved it aside. “Have you heard anything from the bomb squad yet?”
“No, but they’ll call as soon as they know something. Jack, are you all right?” Nora looked at him with concern.
“If I were a cat, I’d be minus about seven of my nine lives now,” he sighed. “It was funny—I couldn’t let go of the package, even when the bomb squad arrived. It was only after they took it that I realized I’d been holding my breath. I’m still a bit shaky.” He held out his hand and gazed at it.
“Because you’re still in shock,” Nora said as she sat down beside him. “Give me those hands—they’re cold as death.” She rubbed them between her own.
“I remember one time, long ago, when you looked after me,” Jack said, watching her.
“You were drunk then, muttering the name of another girl, as I recall,” Nora replied, not looking up from her work. “I thought I could never forgive you for that, Jack McCoy.”
“And you walked out of my life—I thought forever. Then we met again on that Bar Association Committee, and then you were appointed here—“
“Yes,” she said, finishing her task and returning his hands to his lap. She got up and paced the room. “It was good—and bad—knowing I’d be working with you so closely here. Good, because I know you, Jack. Bad, because—“ The phone rang, and she took it. “Yes? Yes. It was a bomb. A note inside? It said what? Thank you.” She put down the phone and looked at Jack. “It was a bomb, made of plastic explosive. It would have gone off the minute you tried to open it. Luckily, our guys know how to defuse such things. Funny, though. There was a note inside. It said: ‘To avenge Peter’s conviction’. Was your case that compelling to make Stephanie want to avenge her lover?”
“No,” Jack said. “Far from it. It was as weak as it was when I talked with you about it last. It was obvious from the looks in the courtroom that everyone knew it.”
Nora looked at him. “Then why would someone do something like this?” she asked.
“Only one reason,” Jack replied slowly as the light dawned. “Nora, will you help me stage a scene that might help us get to the bottom of this?”
“I’ve called you all here because there has been a complication in this case,” Nora Lewin told her assembled guests. Peter and Stephanie sat together, holding hands, under the watchful eye of Mary Johnston. Lane was there, too, sitting across the table from the others. She looked at Nora, who continued. “After court this afternoon, Jack McCoy was presented with a package that contained a bomb. Although authorities were alerted, it went off before Mr. McCoy could hand it over to the bomb squad. He is in intensive care, and we don’t know if he will live or not. We have not been able to trace the messenger who sent the bomb, though we suspect it was sent on orders of one of the gangland figures Mr. McCoy has been prosecuting recently. Anyway, after talking with Mr. McCoy’s assistant, Ms Southerlyn, I have decided to drop the charges against you, Peter. Our case was weak, and with this catastrophe—“
Peter turned to Stephanie, a look of joy on his face. They embraced, as Mary Johnston nodded. “You’ll have the necessary paperwork on my desk as soon as you’re able? Under the circumstances, I don’t think we’ll quibble if they are a bit late.”
Only Lane sat at the table, a look of chagrin on her face. “What is all this?” she asked finally. The others turned and stared at her. She ignored them all, looking only at Nora. “What is all this?” she cried, standing up. Nora stood up, too. “There was a bomb that blew up outside the courtroom where this man was being tried! Surely there was a connection! Surely you found—“
“This note?” Jack McCoy entered the room holding a paper in his hand. All color drained from Lane’s face, and she staggered to her seat. Jack nodded at the astonished faces and took his place beside Nora. “Rumors of my injuries were slightly exaggerated, so that I could see if we could get a reaction from someone. Once I knew about the note, things began making sense. Peter didn’t kill Harry. Oh, he had a motive, but it wasn’t a strong one. Love is a strong motive, but hate is stronger.”
He turned and looked at Lane. “How long have you hated Peter?” he asked.
Lane sat, stone faced, her eyes staring daggers into her former friends, who sat in shock across the table. “You idiot,” she said through clenched teeth. “Finding the gun in Peter’s apartment should have been enough to convict him. But you blew the case. So I decided to blow you.”
“And you nearly succeeded,” Jack said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “From your expression, I’d say you’ve hated these two ever since that summer in New England. Were you Peter’s lover then? Did you try to rekindle things when Peter came back to town—and he rebuffed you? Or was it finding out Stephanie was financially supporting him instead of investing in your business that caused you to turn your hatred into murder?”
“Peter was my lover first,” Lane said through clenched teeth. “My lover, Stephie, mine. And you took him away, seduced him. And he kissed you in the pantry and humiliated me when all the people saw! I should have killed you, the both of you!” She lunged across the table, and it took all of Jack’s strength to keep her from scratching Peter’s eyes out.
After everyone had left, Nora and Jack went back to her office. It was Nora who noticed a scratch on the back of Jack’s hand where Lane had got him before he got her under control. “Let me put some iodine on it,” she said, going to her desk for the first aid kit. Jack followed her and sat on the edge of the desk as she applied the medicine. He winced at the sting, but said nothing. Nora held his hand for an instant before letting go.
“There,” she said, a bit breathless. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
He looked into her eyes. “Thanks, Nora, for helping me out tonight.”
“We’ve got our killer, and the innocent go free,” Nora replied. “Free to love again.”
Jack took her hand. “You know, Peter and Stephanie show us that even old relationships can have a second chance.”
She looked at him. “We have grown older, Jack, but are we any wiser than we were way back when?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said softly, “but I’m willing to give love a chance, if you are.” Their parted lips met, and they kissed.