16x18 - Thinking Makes It So

[bunniefuu]

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.

Lips to God's ears,
I'm telling you,

I don't know how
I got by without it.

You with me here? Howie?

What? I'm fine. Hey, pal,
that's why you divorced her.

Now, there you go. There's
nothing a good sweat won't cure.

It's that time.

I don't want you to fire me.

And you should look into
that TiVo thing.

It'll change your life.

We've been robbed.

You freeze!

No!

Better back off, Mr. Grant.

I'm going to
have to detain you, sir.

Yep, we're definitely
talking Deer Hunter.

One sh*t. Dead. Like that.

I'm impressed.

He sh*t first.
I told him to freeze.

The guy pulled a g*n in a bank.

I have no problem with that.

I did my 20, over at the 24.

This is the first time I had to...
That's all right. Take it easy.

Listen did you see him
with anyone else?

No. Mr. Farber screamed.
I locked the doors by remote.

Okay. Thanks.

Is he a customer?
I never saw him before.

This is nuts. I mean, Howard said he
never got hit that bad in his divorce.

He makes a good living.

Half of one anyway. Listen,
don't go anywhere. All right?

Yeah.

Bonnie's got no ID.
How we doing on Clyde?

His name's on the door.
Howard Grant. Bank Manager.

Now you know why I keep
my money in my mattress.

I said I did it. What
else do you want from me?

You can give us the name of your
friend, that would be nice.

He's dead, Howard.
The guy's not going to mind.

See, you know what
that tells us?

That tells us that
you're protecting somebody.

It's not easy for two
guys to rob a bank nowadays

with trained security
and cameras.

And the getaway?

Who's gonna let a guy with Fort Knox in
a gym bag walk outside and hail a cab?

Our guys are going through the bank's
video cameras, inside and out.

Our D.A. has a soft spot in his heart
for guys who give up their partners.

But if you dummy up, you're not
helping him, you're hurting yourself.

I mean you don't look like the kind
of dude that wakes up in the morning

and decides to go out
and commit a Class A felony.

Why is she here?

Imagine my surprise when Mrs.
Fogarty knocks on my door

and tells me that
the man I married,

father of my only child,

is being lead away from his place
of employment in handcuffs.

I want to be there
when you explain to Julie

why it is you won't be around
for the next eight-to-20.

Who's Julie? Our six year old.

I can't believe I let you
talk me into joint custody.

Damn it, Cheryl. I did it for Julie.
You think I want them to...

"Them"?

Who you talking about, Howard?

No. Nothing.

Howard,
Julie is at school, right?

If anything happens to her,
Howard, I swear to God.

Who's got her, Howard?

If these guys have Julie, they're
not going to be messing around.

If they have your daughter
and they don't have the money.

You do the math.

It was so fast.

I was on my way to work.

I walked up from the subway
and that man in the bank...

The dead one?

He came up to me.

I swear, I never saw him before.

He told me to call home.
So I did, on my cell.

A man answered.

He was there with Julie.

Oh my God.

He said he was going to k*ll her
if I didn't do what they wanted.

The other one handed me
the gym bag.

Did you recognize the voice?

I didn't know either of them,
I swear.

I didn't know what to do.

You left a six-year-old
at home by herself?

You have no idea how many times I
have begged him not to do that.

It was for 15 minutes.

Somebody's got to earn a living!

When Julie stays over,

Joan Cathcart, the mother
of one of her classmates

picks her up
and takes her to school.

What do you mean missing? She's home
in bed. That's what Howard told me.

When was that?
This morning at 8:45.

I buzzed and he was there.

He said she was running a fever and
he was keeping her home today.

Are you sure it was Mr. Grant on
the other end of the intercom?

I said, "Howard?"
And he said, "Yeah."

CSU is working on the apartment.

Bank Robbery Task Force says there aren't
any jobs with similar MOs in the city.

Well, everyone has to
start somewhere.

There was one in
Trenton, one in Philly.

And both of them were unsolved.

Is the AMBER Alert
still in place?

Well, the Task Force says that the kid in
Jersey was k*lled after the locals went public.

What about Philly?
That kid was never found.

But we're not sure that
these are the same guys.

So, all we have is an
unknown DOA in the morgue.

Task Force is running his prints
through national database now.

Talk to Mrs. Grant, maybe she has
a better memory than Howard.

Bastard.

Did you ever... Don't you
think I would tell you?

All right. We're gonna have Officer
Randall take you home, all right?

If you“. 'You'lbe the first
person I'll call. All right?

Fontana.

Please tell me this boy has
his name tattooed on his ass.

I wish. All I can tell you
is his last meal was escargot.

You soak anything in butter,
it slows the digestion.

Hey. This guy's prints
were in the system.

He got pinched three years ago
in a fight in some swanky bar.

His name is Cyrus Lowell.

Cy with a six year old?
I would have noticed. Sorry.

Was he with anyone
when he left this morning?

No one came into the lobby.

He's got a whole lot of friends.
I'll tell you that.

Any regular visitors?

He's a player, you know, a member
of the Broad-a-Night Club.

He's got pretty good taste too.
Chéteau Gironde.

It's about three quarters done.

Hey.

It was bottled exclusively

for the wine cellar at
the Perry Street Restaurant.

You are thinking he is a customer?
That is funny.

No. Cyrus est un gargon,
awaken C'est trés amusant.

Was he working last night? Oui.

We're interested in any of his
acquaintances that you might know about.

Oh, I doubt they could
afford to eat here.

What about the other employees,
was he close to anybody?

There's Mademoiselle Faye. The sommelier.
Trésjofie.

Cy, a man with a plan.

What plan is that? A house in Cannes,
a Gulfstream V, you name it.

L told him he'd better
start working lunch.

Did he ever talk
about any of his friends?

You mean other than
Donald Tr*mp?

Did you spend more time
at your place or his?

I can't believe Marcel told you.

Okay, a couple of times a month I'd
have my morning coffee at his place.

No big deal.

You were never curious
about that fancy apartment?

I just figured his daddy
took care of him.

Why, is his daddy well off?

Cy says he lives at the Winslet Hotel,
which makes him definitely not poor.

You'll have to forgive me
for meeting you down here.

The housekeepers
are in my apartment.

I was transferred from
London six months ago.

What kind of work
do you do, Mr. Lowell?

Mergers and Acquisitions,
at Condell Hemmings.

What's that got to do with Cy?

Mr. Lowell, I'm afraid
we have some, uh...

Sad news for you.

Dead?

Trying to rob a bank.
That seem strange?

He was always...

Ever since he could talk
it's been a struggle,

in school, fights with friends.

I tried, but when he
started with the dr*gs...

We were hoping that you knew some of
the people that he hung out with.

I'm sorry.

When I caught him forging
my signature on checks,

the counselor said that
I had to cut him loose.

I haven't talked to him
in over two years.

Do I have to
ID the body or something?

The Task Force
has about as much as we do.

Major Case Squad is running down all
the names in Cy's address book.

You know, I'm gonna
go talk to Howard again.

See if his memory
got any better.

Don't you think this guy
told us everything?

I rather be pressing him than waiting
around to find a dead six-year-old girl.

All right. Okay.

The computer geeks
came up empty.

And the only Lowell to make
the papers was his old man.

He was involved
in some nasty divorce

from a high society dame
in Sag Harbor last year.

When last year? Ah, June.

Yeah, Manhattan, business.
Condell Hemmings, please.

That's where the old man works.

He said he moved
here six months ago.

Yeah. I'm looking
for a Mitch Lowell.

Mmm-hmm. How about
your London office?

Okay. Thank you.

Condell Hemmings doesn't have
a Mitch Lowell. Never did.

You guys think that this
could be a father son thing?

How much you want to bet the maid
cleaning Mitchell Lowell's room

is a six-year-old
named Julie Grant?

Are you sure this is kosher?

Do you know what exigent
circumstances means? No, not really.

It means don't ask
any questions.

Hey, did Mr. Lowell have a six-year-old
girl with him earlier today?

Not that I know of,

but I'm in my office most of the day.
I don't really see much.

How do we get a hold of the maid?
I'll page her.

What about the phones? Do his calls
come through the switchboard?

Certainly.

The only girl I've seen with Mitch is a
lot older than six, physically, anyway.

Would you happen to know her name?
Who doesn't? Sara Essex.

Life's a bitch when Daddy owns
casinos all over the world.

Have you ever seen this guy?
All the time.

Did Mitch...

Excuse me, ma'am.
Joe check this out.

He gave Cyrus a wakeup call
yesterday at 7:16 a.m.

Yeah. The kid shouldn't
miss his own funeral.

Funeral? What's...

And the last call he made
yesterday was 11:03 a.m.

And it must have been
somebody he was close to,

because he made the same phone
call every day this week.

That was right after
the news showed his arrest.

And I have a pretty good idea who
this phone number belongs to.

Why would I know where Mitch is?

Look, girl, we know he called
you yesterday around 11:00.

That's right, to stand me up.

We were supposed to go
to that new club, Sweat.

I went with Colin Farrell instead.
You just missed him.

Did he say why he cancelled?

After "I can't go," who listens?
What's the big deal?

You know what? I've had
enough of this crap.

Come on. Get up.
You're under arrest.

What the hell?

Accessory to bank robbery
and kidnapping. What?

Michelle, call my father.

Oh yeah, I'm sure your daddy
gonna be real proud of you.

Okay. Okay. Forget it, Michelle.

I don't know why Mitch bailed and I
certainly don't know where he is.

Keep talking.

I let him borrow my SL.

You gave him a $100,000 car

and you didn't ask him
where he was going?

Why would I? It's not
like it's the first time.

Mitch hates trains. I let him take a
car to go out to one of his houses.

Houses? How many does he have?

Two that I know of. One in Sag
Harbor and one in Westport.

He likes to get out
of the city to chill.

Let me give you the short
course on Mr. Lowell.

Please, sit down.

I met him about a month after
Frank, my first husband, d*ed.

I was in Bergdorf's,
knee-deep in shopping therapy

when the clerk
refused all my credit cards.

Is that because they were
in your late husband's name?

Mmm. I actually
burst into tears.

That's when the great
Mitchell Lowell

rode up on his white
stallion and bailed me out.

Thank you, Rosa.

Six weeks later,
we walked down the aisle.

So how'd you find out he was a crook?
Thank you.

My financial people.

They told me Mitch was slowly
emptying my stock portfolio.

Why didn't you have him locked up?
Who needs the publicity?

I did, however, use the thr*at of arrest
as leverage in the divorce settlement.

Would you let him use your
house when you weren't here?

L wouldn't let that S.O.B.
use my trash basket.

He's a bum.

Well, I kinda figured
that out on my own.

No, I haven't seen him since last summer
when we signed the divorce papers.

And I've been in Paris the past
three months. Well, how nice.

Thank you.

Oh, how do you like that car?

What's better than a Bentley?

But I mean the other one.
The SL.

Where is he?

I don't even know what he did.

He threatened me.

We'll talk.

Where is she? Who?

The little girl. Where is she?

What little girl? I don't know
what you're talking about.

You know what
I'm talking about now?

You won't sh**t. Oh, won't I?

Where is she?

Screw you.

Before we leave this house, you're
going to tell me where that girl is.

You understand?

Where's that little girl?

Get down. Get down.
Where's that girl?

Where's that little girl?
Where is she? Stop!

Where's that little girl?

Where's that little girl, you
cheap con artist? Where is she?

Where is she?

I can do this all day, Mitch.
How 'bout you, huh?

Where is she? Where is she?

You gonna tell me where she is?
You gonna tell me?

Where is she? Where is that little girl?
Where is she?

All right, I'll tell you!

She's on the boat.

Get up. Get up, you crook.

That's her.
Bring her up on the port side.

Julie? It's okay, honey.
I'm not going to hurt you.

My name is Joe. I'm a policeman.

I'm going to take you home
to your mother and dad.

“Docket Number 0837.38.
People v. Mitchell Lowell.

"Charge is Robbery
in the First Degree,"

"and Kidnapping
in the First Degree."

Randolph Dworkin
for the defense.

Pleasure's mine.

Not bad, huh?

I beg your pardon?

"Squirt" Dworkin?

Oh, come on. It's me, Miss Kurtzman.
Camp Wei-Met.

I was in the bunk with
"Bugger," I mean, Benny.

The defendant held a six-year-old
girl hostage while his partner...

That thing with the latrine?
Me and Benny, we got booted?

Do you mind?

How do you plead?

Excuse me, Your Honor.
I don't mean to be rude

but because of our
past social connection,

don't you think we're tiptoeing ever
so slightly into the grey area here?

The People waive any conflicts.

All due respect,
but these people don't.

You actually want me to recuse
myself from an arraignment?

Who knows? Someday you might be
sitting in a senate hearing room

across from Messrs.
Kennedy, Biden, and Leahy.

I'm just trying... Fine.

Judge Melon is down the hall.

I gotta ask, Judge, does Benny
still play with matches?

Next.

So, after all this, I ask Judge
Melon for remand without bail

and this clown
lets it go without objection.

Does this clown have a name?

"Squirt." You're kidding.

Dworkin, Andy, or something.

He's definitely not a clown, Alex.
You didn't see him.

I did on two prior occasions.

Randy Dworkin
is very, very smart.

And cute as a button.

Ms. Borgia.

So, I come in for a nosh
and imagine my surprise...

Okay, I'm lying. Jack, you're
such a creature of habit.

From what I hear about your
show this morning, so are you.

Everyone in a courtroom
is always so gloomy.

Why not have some fun,
is what I say.

Because it's not moot court.

Res ipsa loquiter.

What Jack and I know quite well
and what you will soon discover

is that whatever happens
in court by day,

by night, we get to go home
and sleep in our own beds.

Speaking of which, how are you on sushi?
I know this little place.

No, thank you.

Don't even think
about a deal, Randy.

Did I mention how predictable you are?
Okay, enough shop talk.

Let me ask you, Jack, what is your
thinking about this Iraq thing?

I see it as a
learning experience.

Before we started spreading
democracy to the four corners,

who ever heard of lEDs or Tikrit
or waterboarding for that matter?

I think your soup's
getting cold.

Detective Fontana's little trick
wasn't exactly waterboarding

but really, what's in a name?

No one can ever say
his version doesn't work.

You sure about dinner?

Enjoy. Bye.

It's a motion to dismiss.

Lowell claims he only told the cops
where they could find Julie Grant

after he was tortured.

Find out what the hell
is going on.

Hi. What a surprise.

Do you have a minute?

Yeah. Do you mind if we walk and talk?
Not at all.

What can I do for you?

Well, I wanted to say that I thought you
did a helluva of a job with Lowell.

Uh-huh.

Well, thank you very much.
We got the girl.

Yes you did.

My question is how?

Well, maybe
your question should be,

"What would've happened
if we didn't get her?"

So you did thr*aten to sh**t him
and shove his head in a toilet?

I'll make this
very easy for you.

Whatever Lowell says I did,

I say just the opposite.

Is that all you're going to say?

Peanut?

So, is Dworkin making
coffee or just boiling water?

Fontana's a good cop.

Right now, he's filled to the
brim with moral indignation.

Sure he is. We're supposed
to be on the same team.

You know, I know that
when the dust settles,

that this Lowell character is just gonna
be the latest in a long line of defendants

claiming to be a victim
of an overzealous officer.

What? Don't tell me
you believe him.

Dworkin may be irreverent,
Arthur, but he's not unethical.

I doubt he'd present an argument
if he didn't believe it,

which probably means
he's got proof.

Who's the judge? Bradley.

Good fellah. He thinks
jaywalkers ought to get life.

Okay. Mr. Dworkin,

tell me just what kind of medal your
client wants pinned on his chest.

Let's see, he's already
an Eagle Scout.

What do you get
for holding your breath?

Okay, now if we take the Fourth
and Fifth Amendments seriously,

a show of hands
by those who don't.

Great. All that's left is for Your
Honor to exclude all the evidence,

both physical and testimonial,

obtained by said Detective
after locating my client.

Which means the whole
kit and caboodle.

Ergo my motion to dismiss.

It comes down to he said,
he said, Your Honor.

You heard Detective
Fontana and the defendant.

Credibility is a question
for the finder of fact.

Far be it for me to be contrary,

but as you can see from
his Sag Harbor booking photo,

Mr. Lowell was either on the sideline
when the Gatorade went flying

or he forgot to blow-dry after
bobbing for evidence.

This could just as easily have
been caused by water spraying

when Mr. Lowell was
transported out to the yacht.

A for effort, Jack.

I'll have my office
draft the dismissal papers.

Not so fast, Mr. Dworkin.

Th is Detective Fontana, is this
sort of roughhousing his usual MO?

There's no evidence of it.

In that case, I find Mr. McCoy's
explanation perfectly valid.

What about shoving
the g*n in his eye?

Without other proof,
admissibility still depends

on the credibility of Mr. Lowell
versus that of Detective Fontana.

And I don't believe a word out of
your client's mouth, Mr. Dworkin.

Therefore I am denying
the motion to dismiss.

Anything interesting?

There are a couple of cases

justifying the use of extreme physical
force to obtain a confession.

They're from Alabama in 1954.

I don't think you'll find
anything in those books

to ease
a guilty conscience, Alex.

If I knew for sure that Fontana
did what Lowell said he did...

Spray from the motorboat, Jack?
Give me a break.

Fine.

What if he did do it?

Even Alan Dershowitz,
the Babe Ruth of Civil Rights,

said that under some
circumstances,

t*rture is not only
justifiable it's obligatory.

That's right. To find a ticking nuclear
device hidden somewhere in New York City.

So it's okay to t*rture someone
to save a million lives?

There's at least
an argument for it.

What if the b*mb
wasn't in New York City?

What if it was in
Rugby, North Dakota

where only a couple of thousand
people would be at risk?

That's a bogus argument.

I don't think the
Grants would agree.

Let's not forget that Mitchell
Lowell kidnapped their little girl.

Let's also not forget
that we have a constitution.

Call me a stickler, but I think we
should at least pretend to follow it.

And I think that the
constitution should be used

less as a shield for the guilty

and more as a sword
for their innocent victims.

Did Fontana do
what they claim he did?

He said he didn't.

But you're not 100%?

Well whatever happened, by judicial
fiat, it's no longer your problem.

t*rture is morally wrong,

at least according
to the petition I signed

condemning the fun and
games at Guantanamo Bay.

Well, that's true, but your
morality is not at issue here.

That won't help me sleep
at night, Arthur.

You know I was about, six the first
time I went fishing with my old man.

Hell, if I didn't catch one
about like that.

Just getting ready to plop
him down into the bucket

when I started wondering
some grown up things.

You know about right and
wrong, good and bad.

That fish had never done anything
to me, why should I k*ll him?

Well, I was getting
ready to toss him back

and then it hit me.

If I do the right thing
by the fish,

I'm left with nothing but a can of string
beans and a stale biscuit for dinner.

Well, there I stood,
frozen as a popsicle,

until my dad looked me
in the eye and he said,

"Son, there's nothing either good
or bad, but thinking makes it so."

And I want to tell you,
no fish ever tasted better.

I hate to burst your bubble.

But your father borrowed
that tidbit from Hamlet.

Say, isn't he that fellah who sat
around thinking and talking to himself

while other people were going
to hell in a hand basket?

So, you're telling me to go
ahead and use the evidence

most judges would have tossed?

I'm telling you to make
a deal with the S.O.B.

I knew you were the best, Jack.

Show me one other D.A.
this generous.

Good. Alex will contact
Judge Bradley.

Here's the thing, my nana set
me straight a long time ago

when I was about to take that first step
down the road to the rest of my life.

"Kid," she said. "One day a man'll tell
you that for a mere hundred bucks,

"he'll sell you a diamond
as big as the Ritz."

"Now as sure as I ate my first bowl
of borscht in Minsk," she said.

"That diamond is gonna come on
the back of a baseball card"

"and the Ritz will taste
great with a shmear."

Do we have a deal
or not, Mr. Dworkin?

So cute, but so serious.

After Judge Bradley's ruling
you should be too.

Ten years is a gift.

Why are you putting on the white beard,
red coat and funny hat this time of year?

Hell, I'll talk to my guy

but, considering His Honor handed
me an appeal on a platinum platter,

I'm going to have to
recommend he pass.

I thought if I did
what they wanted,

maybe they'd leave Julie alone.

How much did he
ask you to steal?

He just said to fill up the bag.

I fit in a little over $700,000.

Why didn't you call the police?

Do you have any idea
what it's like?

Having your daughter's life
rest on the whim

of men without conscience, men
who will do anything for money.

I'm not a hero. I'm just a father trying
to do what's best for his daughter.

I was scared.

When you left your apartment that
morning, did you lock the door?

Of course. And when Julie's
there I check it twice.

Good for you.

I'm just suggesting with
Dworkin across the aisle,

that it's best
to watch your back.

Thanks to the
Honorable Judge Bradley,

his clowning
may all be for naught.

And when Fontana
takes the stand?

Dworkin didn't object to
Green's hearsay testimony,

so I have no reason to call him.

That doesn't mean that Squirt
won't invite him to testify.

Strange. Dworkin didn't submit an
affidavit for Lowell's ex-wife.

She was there when he
confessed to Fontana.

She was downstairs.

Sure, but she would have
noticed if his head was wet

when Fontana dragged him down
the stairs and out the door.

And if she did see it, why didn't Dworkin
use it in his motion to dismiss?

It could mean that Fontana didn't
violate procedure after all.

After Dworkin's motion
was denied,

it doesn't make any difference
one way or the other.

It does to me.

I should have called the cops the minute the
Harbor Master told me he was on the yacht.

Why didn't you?
'Cause I'm a jerk.

Hey, the man forged my
signature, mortgaged my house

and still, jerk that I am,
I stayed married to him.

He's a con man.
He's good at what he does.

But?

I don't think that I would have tried
to protect him when the cops showed up.

Why did you want to see me?

I just want to know if you
noticed anything unusual

when Detective Fontana
brought Mitch downstairs?

Like his head-dripping wet?

Don't worry. If you want me to lie for you,
I am ready, willing, and very credible.

You've been thinking
about that offer?

Every second of every day. Too bad
the Canons won't let me accept it.

I don't want to hear about Nazis
or plantation owners, Randy.

The truth is, I'm in no
mood for your games at all.

So, I spent my day listing appropriate
four letter epithets for Judge Bradley.

Off the record so did I.

If you haven't noticed, I only bring
out the rack on special occasions.

Bradley's ruling gives society's
imprimatur to barbaric behavior.

Which will just lead to more
brutal behavior by the cops.

It'll force the innocent to
lie and guaranty punishment

whether a suspect
is guilty or not.

It's globally rejected.

Morally deplorable.

Amen.

On the other hand,

I wouldn't be totally pissed if Lowell
spent the rest of his life in Attica.

Just like your rack, Jack,

I only dust off my high horse
in dire circumstances.

Off the record?

Man to man.

Whatever he did,
Fontana found the girl.

The slippery slope argument
is a bunch of crap.

We sanction the death penalty.

If k*lling's okay, how can a little
physical persuasion be wrong?

It all comes down to weighing
the life of an innocent girl

against the momentary
discomfort of a felon.

Three cheers for Fontana,
is what I say.

So why do we both feel
like taking a hot shower?

Because deep down I'm thrilled to
have won the motion to dismiss

even though it's morally wrong.

And, in my heart of hearts,
I'm ecstatic about losing

even though I know
that's a legal taboo.

He knocked on the door.
I said, "Who is it?"

He said he was Daddy's friend.

So I unlocked the door
and let him in.

Did he scare you?

No. He gave me candy and asked me
if I wanted to go on a boat ride.

I said yes.

Of course you did.

Did he ever touch you?
He held my hand.

Did that hurt?

No. He was nice.

On the boat he gave me pizza
and let me watch movies.

Tell me, Julie, how'd
you get so damn cute?

Did you hear what Mr. Lowell said
to your father on the phone?

He said he was going to k*ll me.

And that didn't scare you?

At first it did,
but then he winked at me

and said it was
just a joke on Daddy.

Thank you.

Nothing further.

The defense calls
Detective Joseph Fontana.

I found the defendant
hiding in a corner.

The door to the room in which Mr.
Lowell was hiding, was it open?

No.

Was it unlocked? No.

So how'd you get in?

I forced it open.

- You kicked it in?
- That's right.

And then once you were in, what?

You shook his hand?

I detained him.

Did you grab him by the neck?

I detained him.

Nothing like a good old
juicy euphemism.

- Objection.
- Withdrawn.

Did you get physical
with Mr. Lowell?

I don't know what you
mean by physical,

but he told me where he hid the little
girl and then agreed to take me there.

Did you ever give him an old
fashioned kick in the rump?

A smack in the kisser maybe?

No.

- Did you shove your g*n into his eye?
- Objection!

Did you shove his head into the toilet bowl?
- Approach, Your Honor.

Your Honor has already ruled that the
defendant's claims weren't credible.

And the witness is merely confirming
Your Honor's finding of fact.

No harm, no foul.

You can proceed. Mr. Dworkin. But no mention
of the fact that I already ruled on this.

Did you shove your g*n
in Mr. Lowell's eye?

I was in hot pursuit of a felon so,
naturally, I had my w*apon drawn.

So, that's a yes?

Objection. Withdrawn.

Did you shove his head into the toilet
not once, not twice, but three times?

I was trying to save
a little girl's life.

Please, direct the
witness to answer the question!

Objection! Your Honor
this is prejudicial.

You're damn straight it is. Your
Honor, I move for immediate dismissal.

My chambers, now!

That was a clear admission.

I didn't hear him
admit anything.

Okay, it was a tacit admission of an
illegally obtained confession, making,

as Your Honor opined earlier, the
whole kit and caboodle inadmissible.

It's irrelevant. We've got the girl's
testimony connecting the defendant...

Only you wouldn't have the girl if
Fontana didn't get medieval on him.

Plums of the poisonous tree,
Your Honor.

Without Fontana's abuse,

my client wouldn't have told him
that the girl was on the boat,

Fontana wouldn't have
located her

and she certainly wouldn't
have been in the courtroom

to connect him to anything.

Please tell me you've got something to
link him to the robbery, Mr. McCoy.

In that case, Your Honor, I move for
a complete dismissal of all charges.

Wait.

If we can establish that the police would
have discovered Julie Grant's location,

separate and apart from the
defendant's coerced confession.

You'd make my day, Ms. Borgia.

The Harbor Master
informed Mrs. Lowell

that the defendant was on her boat
before he showed up at her house.

I'm sure she'll sign an
affidavit to that effect.

Once the defendant
refused to cooperate,

Detective Fontana surely would
have interrogated Mrs. Lowell

about everything
concerning his visit.

She certainly would have mentioned
the Harbor Master's phone call.

Detective Fontana would have followed up and
he would have found the kidnapped child.

This establishes inevitable discovery and
makes all of the evidence admissible.

Thank you, Ms. Borgia.

Motion denied.

Very good, Alex.

I don't want to talk about it.

Detective Fontana
extracted from my client

what we in the legal biz
call a coerced confession.

How do we know this?

He told us so himself,
that's how.

What, you don't remember that?

Let me, as they say,
refresh your recollections.

Detective Fontana was sitting right
there and I asked him directly

if he used certain specific abusive
acts to encourage Mr. Lowell to talk.

Of course you remember.

That's when Mr. McCoy
got all red in the face

and screamed something
about prejudicial testimony.

My question is,

do you remember
Detective Fontana ever saying,

"No, I did not commit
those brutal acts?"

I sure don't.

Where I come from
if someone accuses you

of something barbaric
and you don't deny it, well...

Do we, as good citizens
of this great state,

really want to give our stamp of
approval to such conduct by our cops?

When you talk about it amongst
yourselves, what I want you to do

is weigh on the one hand, Detective
Fontana kicking in a door

and on the other, Mr. Lowell knocking
politely on Julie Grant's door

and asking if he could come in.

On the one hand, grabbing
Mitchell Lowell's neck.

On the other, giving
Julie a piece of candy.

Shoving a g*n in his eye.

Taking her on a boat ride.

Dragging him across the room
by his neck.

Holding her hand
so she wouldn't be scared.

Shoving his head
in a toilet three times.

Giving her pizza
and letting her watch movies.

Legal.

Illegal.

How can that be?

Like it or not,

in evaluating the case
against Mitchell Lowell,

Detective Fontana's actions are
irrelevant and must be ignored.

Like it or not, the law says that you must
focus only on what the defendant did.

I'm realistic.
I know you're good people

and, as such, it's next to impossible
that you could ignore what you heard

or didn't hear
in this courtroom.

And I also know that by asking you
to weigh the defendant's actions

against the police officer's,
Mr. Dworkin is, in effect,

appealing to your fundamental
sense of fair play.

Is that a bad thing?

Heck, what's good for the goose is
good for the gander. We all know that.

Fairness is all.

Or is it?

Does Mr. Dworkin's fairness
leave any room for justice?

That fairness exists in a vacuum

while justice,
on the other hand, cannot.

In Mr. Dworkin's vacuum world,
we'd have to treat a r*pist

the same as we treat a man
who made love to his wife.

After all, they've both performed
the same physical act.

It's only fair.

In Mr. Dworkin's vacuum world,

the t*rror1st must be
treated the same

as the soldier who
tracks him down and kills him.

Of course he does.

Each of them has taken a human
life and what's fair is only fair.

In Mr. Dworkin's vacuum world,

the man who takes a little girl hostage
while attempting to rob a bank,

as long as he feeds her well,
must be treated better

than a cop who used excessive force in trying
to save the life of that innocent child.

It's only fair. But is it just?

The benchmark of a civilized society
is the quality of its justice.

In this society,

we put kidnappers and
bank robbers behind bars.

Have you reached a verdict?

We have.

On the count of Robbery in the
First Degree, how do you find?

We find the defendant,
Mitchell Lowell, guilty.

On the charge of Kidnapping in the
First Degree, how do you find?

We find the defendant guilty.

Moral righteousness be damned.

I'm fine with the result.

Hey, me and you, Jack,
same page.

Not to worry.
Secrets are my specialty.

Are you ever serious?

Dead serious.

Suppose Lowell wasn't
the one who was tortured.

Suppose Fontana got Lowell to
talk by dunking his mother

or his daughter,
or his poodle in the toilet.

Are we fine with that one too?

Yeah, I don't know either.