All language subtitles for Law & Order (1990) - S07E12 - Barter (1080p AMZN WEB-DL x265 ImE)-12.eng

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.

Look at it.
Right there.

Please, Mark.
Can we just go up?

Well, I gotta see
how deep it is.

Okay, you're right.
So the big, bad parking attendant

put a teeny, little scratch
on your beautiful new car.

Now get over it.

I understand accidents happen.

I just wish they
wouldn't lie about it.

I told you we should have taken a cab.
Now come on.

What's that smell?
Firecrackers?

That's Shelly's car.
What's she doing parked there?

She probably has packages.

Yeah, but she knows she's
not supposed to park there.

Why not? You park there
when you have packages.

Mmm.

Oh, Mark, look.
Oh, my God.

They found her around 8:45.
They could still smell the gunpowder.

They know her?
They live down the hall.

Shelly Ganz. 33.
She's some kind of financial planner.

Is there a Mr. Ganz?
She's divorced.

They said she lives
with her parents.

They're in Connecticut
for the week.

Find their number.

That's a hell of a way
to treat a camel hair coat.

Shotgun. One round.

I make it from
about a foot away

from the burn marks
and the spread pattern.

What's in the trunk?
Groceries.

Cash and credit cards
are still in her purse.

So, she pulls in, pops the
trunk, steps out... Hello.

The shot came
from this direction.

The shooter might have been
hiding behind those pipes.

We got shoe prints in the
grease there and one here.

Size nine-and-a-half
work boot.

Well, that rules out
Shaquille. Thanks.

I took out the trash around 7:00.

It was the last time I came down here until Mr.
Poletti buzzed me.

Have you noticed anyone
hanging around the building?

No. Nobody.

Has anybody been working
over by those pipes?

No.
Who all parks down here?

Just the people who
live in the co-op?

Yes. But there's not
enough parking spaces.

Some of them have to
park on the street.

What about that security gate over there?
Is that usually closed?

Yes. You open it with a pass card.
But any credit card will do.

It was like our little secret.

Not anymore.
Okay, you take that,

you give me a call, you remember
anything else, all right?

Yeah.

One shot to the back.
No robbery, no sexual assault.

You know what this looks like.

Yeah. Looks like somebody
gets a parking space.

I don't understand it.

Shelly didn't have
an enemy in the world.

She volunteered at a food
bank for the homeless.

She did walkathons for AIDS.

She was always helping people.

It just doesn't make any sense.

We were told
she'd been married.

Yes. She was divorced almost
a year and a half ago.

That's when she
moved in with us.

We're gonna need her
ex-husband's address.

He lives in Utah.

Any problems with him?

No. They spoke together once or
twice, maybe, in the last year.

Was she seeing anyone recently?

Yes. There was someone
she met at work,

Peter something.
She said he was nice.

Peter Messina.
They broke up a couple of weeks ago.

She was pretty hurt.

She was working up
to telling you.

He doesn't work for
that firm anymore.

Shelly said that he left
after they broke up.

We're ready for
the identification.

Maybe I should just go.
No.

No, I want to see Shelly.

I haven't talked to Shelly since
I left Danielson and Quirk.

You just stopped
seeing each other cold turkey?

Right, that's how mature
people handle it.

Getting yourself fired,
that's very mature.

It was my decision to leave.

We're all ears.

Shelly found out I was sleeping
with her mutual fund analyst.

You burn the midnight oil in my line of work.
You date what's handy.

Anyway, it was time
to get out of Dodge.

Yeah, well, just for drill, cowboy,
where were you last night?

Home, with a cold.

I ordered some hot and sour
from Szechwan Village.

So, it was just you, a bowl of
soup and the mutual fund analyst?

No. She broke up with me
after she heard about Shelly.

In his short, brilliant career here,

Peter cut a wide swath
through the office pool.

He saw the writing on the wall.

Nobody had to nudge him
toward the exit.

And after he left, it was
one big happy family again?

Yes. Boy toys aren't worth
fighting over, Detective.

Can you think of anyone
who'd want to hurt Shelly?

No. Shelly was one of the nicest
people who ever worked for me.

Nobody had a beef with her?
Maybe she forgot

to say hello to
the mail-room boy?

There was one thorn in her side.
She was treasurer of her parents' co-op.

Every other week she got a
nasty call from someone

about co-op business.

For example? You name it.
Contractors, repairmen, owners,

people who would like
to become owners.

How bad did the calls get?

She said she was
threatened a few times.

It's the nineties.
People play rough.

Our last treasurer, Mr.
Fields, passed away about a year ago. He was 80.

It took Shelly, oh, a good month
working with the auditors

to get the books
back into shape.

What other kinds of
things did she do?

Oh, she kept track of the
maintenance, she paid the taxes,

she interviewed
prospective buyers.

We relied on her for everything.
She did a wonderful job.

She screened
prospective buyers?

Yes, well, we can't let
just anyone move in.

The board does vote
on every prospect.

And she'd break the news
to the people you turned down?

Yes. She said some people would
not take no for an answer.

Do you happen to remember who
any of those people were?

No, she never mentioned any...

Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
You don't think that...

Are the applications
still in the co-op records?

Yes, but those records
are confidential.

Mrs. Keenan, they might help
us to find Shelly's killer.

Well, I suppose it
wouldn't do any harm.

The sad thing is, Detective,
this is just the kind of thing

that I would have asked
Shelly's advice about.

Profaci checked with the doorman
at the boyfriend's building.

He logged in a Chinese delivery

at about 7:30 on
the night of the murder.

Too bad. I would have loved
nailing the boy toy. So to speak.

And Forensics ID'd
the shoe print as coming

from a Danner work boot
with Vibram soles.

So, unless somebody put down their
shoe size on their application...

Yeah, they put
down everything but.

You'd have to be a saint
to get into this place.

Or at least not Puerto Rican.

They turned down the Vegas,
the Lopezes, the Castillos...

Mmm-hmm.
I get the idea.

We have
a Mr. Hoffman

who claimed on his application
that he was single,

but Shelly Ganz found out he had an
ex-wife and two kids in New Jersey.

He was buying a co-op with
undeclared marital property?

Not to mention the 50 grand
he owes in child support.

Maybe Ganz threatened
to report him.

I was turned down because
I run this establishment.

Only 10 adult bookstores
left in Times Square,

and I'm the only owner
born in this country.

Well, I hate to burst your red,
white and blue bubble, Mr. Hoffman,

but you were turned down because
you lied on your application.

I told them I was in
the entertainment business.

You see these videos?
That's entertainment.

I don't see Hello, Dolly!
Up there.

Shelly Ganz found out you were
hiding money from your ex.

She did?

This is news to you?
Yeah.

She must have called my
ex-wife, that little bitch.

That application was confidential.
I'm gonna sue.

Don't bother.

Goes to show, no good
deed goes unpunished.

Yeah. One man's do-gooder
is another man's busybody.

I mean, being treasurer,
she knew everybody's business.

Maybe not everyone in the building
is sorry to see she's gone.

Here we are. I hope I made
it strong enough for you.

Now, is there anything else
I can get for you?

Well, maybe just a blood
pressure monitor. Oh, you.

Mrs. Keenan,
I noticed the co-op

is a secondary lender
on some of the units.

Well, yes. Our old
treasurer, Mr. Fields,

approved mortgage loans
for our residents.

But Shelly put a stop to that.
She thought it was financially unsound.

I can see why.
Some of your neighbors

are delinquent
on their payments.

Yes. We told Shelly to do
whatever she thought best.

Yeah. Looks like the people
in 3-D are feeling the heat.

Ah, yes.
The Tashjians.

They wanted Shelly's help
getting a loan someplace.

Yeah. There's a letter
here asking her approval

to use their co-op as collateral,
but I don't see an answer.

Well, I don't know
what Shelly decided.

Maybe the loan company does.

Mr. Russo will be back in
the office this afternoon.

You should really talk to him.

Oh, we'll have more
fun talking to you.

We just want to know
about the Tashjian loan.

Loan information
is confidential.

Yeah, you know,
we hear that a lot.

But most of the time
it's just not true.

If you could just
pull their file.

You ask the questions.
If I can answer them, I will.

Whoa! That's quite a brick.
The Tashjians long-time customers?

Uh, they've had a loan
with us since 1995.

For how much?
1.2 million.

Really? What did they
do with all that money?

They own an ad agency.
They pay employees, freelancers,

commercial production houses, anything
as it pertains to their business.

We understand they were
applying for a new loan?

Actually, they're renegotiating
the terms of this loan.

They're behind on repaying it.

Seems to be their habit.

They wanted to use their co-op
as collateral, is that right?

Yes, but they're waiting for approval
from their co-op's treasurer.

Shelly Ganz?
Uh, yes.

They were supposed to
get it three weeks ago.

And if it doesn't come through?
We call in the loan.

Shelly told us there was a problem
because of the co-op bylaws,

but she said she'd run
it by the board again.

Maybe you thought
she was the problem.

The way we heard it, the board
rubber-stamped everything she told them.

Okay, I confess.
I killed Shelly.

Then I was going to kill
everyone on the board,

get myself elected and rewrite the bylaws.
Makes a lot of sense.

Very funny. Humor us some more, Mr.
Tashjian.

Where were you Monday night?
I got home about 6:30.

I was on the phone with clients

until I heard
the sirens outside.

You were by yourself?
Yes. My wife was at the gym.

What's going on, Steven?

These are New York City police detectives, Susan.
I'll explain in the car.

Is this your parking space?

When someone's not
using it. Why?

Shelly Ganz was
shot right here.

We know.

It's been nice talking to you.

You thinking what I'm thinking?
Those cars look alike.

She's got the same color
hair, same age, same build.

Easy to mistake
one for the other.

Hey, in this light
I'm lucky I recognize you.

This is Susan Tashjian's
driver's license photo,

and this is Shelly Ganz.

Hmm. There's
a resemblance.

So somebody wanted
Mrs. Tashjian dead

and hired somebody who'd
never seen her to kill her.

Is this what I'm hearing?

The shooter sees
a dark-colored luxury import

roll into Susan Tashjian's parking spot.
A brunette gets out.

Now, he's not going to ask her for
ID before pulling the trigger.

Well, what happened to Steven
Tashjian killing the girl?

Well, LUDs confirms that he was on the
phone when the shooting happened.

Anyway, killing Ganz doesn't
get him the instant jackpot.

On the other hand, having his wife
clipped might be the way to go.

If there's a nice, fat insurance
policy at the end of the rainbow.

Well, if they have insurance,
they have premiums.

The Tashjians use an outside
bookkeeper to pay their bills.

They've been clients for the last seven years.
It's been quite a ride.

Yeah, mostly downhill,
from what we hear.

They won this big luxury car
account a couple of years ago.

They took out a business loan, moved
to a new building, buy new equipment.

So far, so good.

Yes, well, the bottom fell out
of the luxury car market.

The company cut back on advertising.
The Tashjians lost the account.

But they still have
to pay back the loan.

Here we go. There are two yearly premiums
to the Dominion Insurance Company.

One for Steven's policy
and one for Susan's.

We're going to need those
policy numbers, all right?

Yeah, they're on
the check stubs.

Correct me if
I'm wrong, but, um,

do you suspect Steven
of wanting to hurt Susan?

You've known them longer than we have.
Do you think it's possible?

Well, the last time they came
in to do their quarterlies,

they barely spoke to each other.
But I'm no marriage counselor.

Susan Tashjian's got a $300,000
policy payable to her husband.

He has got a $500,000
policy payable to her.

So she's got 200,000
better reasons to kill him.

Yeah, unless the shooter is Mr.
Magoo,

I doubt he mistook Shelly
Ganz for Steven Tashjian.

This whole notion that my husband
killed Shelly Ganz is absurd.

Well, we happen to agree.

You admit you're wrong?
That's refreshing, coming from a city employee.

So, you're here to apologize?

Oh, let's not get carried away.

No, the thing is,
we think it's possible

that whoever killed Ms.
Ganz really meant to kill you.

Why would
anyone wanna kill me?

It's just a theory.

Your husband told us you
were at the gym last Monday.

Is that a regular
thing for you?

Yes. I work out with
a personal trainer

three nights a week for the last year.
I go from 7:00 to 8:30.

How long does it take
you to get home?

Ten minutes.
The gym's on 61st.

But Monday I gave a friend a lift
home and went up for coffee.

So, normally you
get home by 8:45.

Did you call your husband, tell
him you were going to be late?

No. Wait,
you think...

We're just covering all bases.

What a ridiculous idea.

Steven and I have been married 11 years.
We love each other.

Well, if you can
think of anybody else,

uh, an ex-employee,
a client, a relative?

The last big argument I had
was with my dry cleaner.

There's nobody out
to kill me, Detective.

Well, maybe you remember
somebody following you,

somebody waiting
outside the building.

The only thing I can think of

is last week the super said a man
tried to deliver an envelope to me.

Who was he? I don't know.
I wasn't home.

I never heard about it again.

I'm sure you're
wrong about this.

His hair wasn't that curly. More wavy.
And he had a windbreaker.

Did it have a logo,
like a uniform?

No. You know, come to think of it,
it might have been a leather jacket.

Big difference.

Yeah, well, I wasn't paying
attention to his clothes.

I was mopping the floor.

His eyes weren't that far apart.
And his chin was fatter.

What about this envelope, what did
it look like? I didn't see it.

It must have been in this
little duffel bag he had.

I told him Mrs. Tashjian wasn't
home, she was at her office,

then he went back to his car.
Did you see his car?

Yeah. I went outside to dump the mop
bucket, and he got into a Mercedes.

You see the license plate?
No.

It was a newer Mercedes,
though, dark green.

But the right front fender had
that gray primer paint on it.

Did you tell him where Mrs.
Tashjian worked?

Yeah.

His ears are too big.

He might have asked for Mrs.
Tashjian from the ad agency.

You know, people come in and out of here all day.
I don't focus on their faces.

This was last week.
Look at the picture again.

He drives a green Mercedes
with gray primer on it.

Maybe you saw it
parked on the street.

No, that wasn't a Mercedes.
It was a red Beemer.

Looked new except for
the primer on the hood.

You saw this guy in the car?

Yeah, it could have been him.

He looked Hispanic.
I saw him get out.

What did he do? Checked the
street numbers, then he split.

Okay, thanks.

If it's the same guy, it sounds like
he gets his cars from Rent-A-Wreck.

Or a body shop.

We don't do body work
here. We farm it out.

Get in, Detective.
See how it fits.

The body shops you use
specialize in Mercedes?

They also do BMW's and Porsches.
They all have the same requirements.

We use two places. One on the Upper
East Side and one on Avenue C.

Well, how does it feel?

Like I can't afford it.

And those are the only
two in Manhattan?

The only two places that I use.

There are about
three more I don't.

What would it take to get you
into this car, Detective?

Next week's lotto numbers.

Would you just take
a look at the picture?

Yeah, one second.

People. They buy a German car, all of a
sudden they think they're driving a tank.

What's this about?

It's about identifying
the guy in the picture.

Well, I gotta know
what you want with him.

Hey, you keep stalling us,

we're going to
forget about this guy

and take a serious
interest in you.

Okay, okay.

It kind of looks
like Enrique Flores.

He's got a little shop
out in Hunts Point.

He does some overflow
work for us sometimes.

No.

Just tell him to
call me back. Thanks.

He's still out in Brooklyn
picking up a car.

Would you look at
those girls, Rey?

Thirty degrees, freezing rain,

they haven't taken a break
since we got here.

Politicians who complain about
the vanishing work ethic

should meet these women.

I bet they have.

So, you find a place yet?

Still looking.

Might not need it.
Yeah? Good.

Listen. You know, I've been down this road
a couple of times. If you wanna talk.

Yeah, thanks. We're
getting counseling.

Well, shrinks can be helpful.

It's a priest.

Whatever works.

Hey, Lennie,
that looks like him.

Unit two, go in. Go in.

I don't know, man.
We'll take a look at it inside.

Enrique Flores.

What's going on?
What did I do?

You pissed me off, that's what.

Hey, man. I don't know you.
Why you doing this to me?

Enrique Flores, you're under arrest
for the murder of Shelly Ganz.

I don't know Shelly Ganz.
I don't know these Tashjian people.

I don't even know
what I'm doing here.

You heard him.
He didn't do it.

Two witnesses have him sniffing
around Susan Tashjian.

We have his boot print in her garage.
He's the guy.

I was set up.
It has to be.

It's because I'm a Latino.
They have it in for Latinos.

Hey, the only people we got it
in for are dirt-bag murderers.

Detective, there's no need
for ad hominem attacks.

Screw your ad hominem.

This guy blew a hole the size of
my fist through a girl's back.

Who put you up to it, Enrique?

You have to believe me.
I didn't do it.

If you wanna stay alive,
you better start talking.

No way. This
interview is over.

It's number four.

No. No, maybe not.

You know, if I could
get a closer look.

Can I go in there?
It's against the rules.

I didn't know. Well, those two
in the middle could be him.

Is that good enough?

Right now he's in
Central Booking.

But if he goes to arraignment
and makes bail, he's gonna run.

What do you have on him?

He was wearing nine-and-a-half
Danner boots when we picked him up.

They're fairly new,
so the wear pattern

is not unique enough
for a conclusive match.

Fingerprints, murder
weapon, anything?

No prints. We're still processing
the body shop and his house.

Unless we get something conclusive
to dazzle the arraignment judge,

don't count on high bail.

I'd just like to know
we have the right man.

Hey, we didn't get
Flores by mistake.

Somebody ID'd
him from a sketch.

Yes?

It's for you.

They want us to lose his
paperwork for a few days.

By then, we might have enough
evidence to get him remanded.

Yeah.

Susan Tashjian.

She was shot dead a half an
hour ago outside her gym.

I was at the front desk
when I heard the shots.

By the time I got to
Susan, she was dead.

Did you see anybody
out on the street?

Not at first.

Then people started coming out
of that bodega over there.

It's such a waste.

Yeah, well, if you remember
anything else. Thanks.

She just wouldn't believe
somebody was out to get her.

Times like these,
I'd rather be wrong.

She was tapped three
times in the back.

Nine millimeter.
We have the casings.

Witnesses?
Nothing yet.

Find the husband.
Bring him in.

I would like to see her.
I mean, can I at least do that?

Oh, don't worry, Steve.
This time the job got done right.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

We're saying you found somebody to
finish off what Enrique Flores started.

I did not have my wife killed.
You're crazy.

You're practical. You throw the
insurance money at your creditors,

maybe they leave you
alone for a while.

You think I had her
killed for $300,000?

Look, forget I loved
Susan. She was my partner.

She did all of
the creative work.

Without her,
the ad agency's just...

I can't believe that you're
accusing me of this.

You're on the hook for two murders, Mr.
Tashjian.

I didn't do it.

Damn you, I did not do it.

Now, I have answered your questions,
and now I wanna see Susan.

You want us to put him
up for the night?

There's no evidence
to sustain an arrest.

Take him to the morgue,
then let him go.

Do we know for certain how many
policies Tashjian had on his wife?

The bookkeeper mentioned the
one policy with Dominion Life.

You don't think Tashjian
would kill her for 300,000.

I think he'd make it
worth his while.

Well, he can't collect
on any policy

without a copy of
the death certificate.

I'll tell the Department of Health to
notify us if they get any requests.

Meantime, let's connect
him to Enrique Flores.

Well, if Flores ever did work on Tashjian's
car, I can't find a record of it.

There's nothing in
Tashjian's files, either.

They weren't Army buddies, they
didn't go to the same school.

Who would you ask
if you needed a hit man?

I'd find an old cop, preferably
one with a lot of alimony.

Where did Tashjian
get his business loan?

Uh...

From the Beachwood
Loan Company in Brooklyn.

Flores borrowed $90,000 from them last
year to buy a frame straightener.

How many red and
how many green?

No, I don't want
Santa on the roof.

Just give me the lights
over the whole house.

Right. Fax me
the contract.

You believe that?
$15,000 for Christmas lights.

So, uh, who were you
asking about?

Enrique Flores
and Steven Tashjian.

They both borrowed money
from you, Mr. Russo.

Call me Bunny.

Lynne, pull out
the files, will you,

on Steven Tashjian
and Enrique Flores.

You know, I put out between five and seven
million dollars in loans every month,

so I don't know
everybody by name.

Flores has a body shop in Hunts Point.
He owes you $90,000.

And Tashjian has an ad agency.
He owes you 1.2 million.

I see.

And I hear his wife was
killed a couple of days ago.

Thank you, Lynne.

So why do you wanna
know about these two?

We suspect Tashjian had his wife
killed and Flores is involved.

They might have met
through your company.

Well, it's not like I
have socials for my borrowers.

Why would Tashjian
kill his wife?

For the life insurance.
He needed money.

Who doesn't?

Oh, look, I'm not
defending the guy,

but a lot of people had a
beef with the Tashjians.

How come?

They stiffed their clients,
suppliers, freelancers.

Every time one of them sued, I'd get
the call as the primary creditor.

There are two photo studios in
Chapter 7 because of the Tashjians.

The Tashjians settled
with one photo studio.

The other one went out of business
when the photographer was sued

for sexually
harassing his models.

What about their
other creditors?

They either wrote off the debts

or they're waiting
for their turn in court.

Doesn't look promising.

This does.
The Department of Health called.

They got two requests for Susan
Tashjian's death certificate.

One from Dominion Life

and one from an agent of the
Champlain Insurance Company.

Mr. Tashjian doubled up.
Mmm-hmm.

Steven Tashjian?
Never heard of him.

You pulled his wife's
death certificate.

He's the beneficiary
on her life insurance policy.

Well, let me look here.

You have disability insurance?

Yes, with the city.
Yeah, right.

The BOW policy.
Better Off Working.

You should think
about additional coverage.

Oh, here it is.

Susan Tashjian. Champlain Life.
$600,000 payout.

That's nice
for Mr. Tashjian.

Well, he's not the beneficiary.

No, the Beachwood Loan Company is.
They own the policy.

Why would they have
life insurance on her?

Well, didn't she co-sign
for a loan with them?

Yes, she and her husband.

Well, Beachwood has policies on all
their borrowers. Good thing, too.

Last year, they had
four people die on them.

Four claims worth over
three million dollars.

One of the borrowers
died of a heart attack.

The other three were shot dead.
The crimes are unsolved.

Coincidentally, all three were in default
to Beachwood. Same as the Tashjians.

Susan Tashjian gets killed,

Beachwood gets back half
the money it loaned them.

Loan companies seize assets, they don't
kill people for insurance money.

Bunny Russo is not your
friendly neighborhood lender.

In 1992, he got two years probation
for aggravated harassment.

He took a baseball bat
to a client's car

while the client
was still in it.

And you think now that he uses
Flores to murder his clients?

Flores and whatever accomplice
shot Susan Tashjian.

We looked at
Flores' bank records.

He hasn't made a payment
to Russo in two months.

He's probably working off his
debt by shooting people.

The mother of all loan sharks.
Hell of a bedtime story.

Right now, that's
all it is. A story.

Reopen the old cases.
Find something on Mr. Russo.

My dad was supposed to meet me
at the Garden for a hockey game.

He called to say that he was having a
drink with a business acquaintance.

The next morning, they found
his body near Battery Park.

Ten months, they still can't
tell me what happened.

Your father borrowed money
from Beachwood Loan?

Yes. For his dress-making
business. $900,000.

But it was paid back by an
insurance company after he died.

Why do you ask?

Did he ever discuss his
dealings with Sam Russo?

Bunny? Sure.

They had shouting
matches over the phone.

My dad was behind
on his payments.

His business was in trouble.
He owed money everywhere.

Did Mr. Russo
ever threaten him?

Everybody threatened my dad.
He threatened them back.

He ran a sweatshop,
not a nursery school.

Wait. Is that bastard Russo
a suspect?

Have you ever seen this man before
or heard his name, Enrique Flores?

No. Who is he?
Is he mixed up with Russo?

Do you know who your father had
drinks with before he disappeared?

No. Look, my mother's been waiting 10 months.
If you know something, tell me.

I can't discuss it, Mr. Kaiser.
I'm sorry. Thank you for coming in.

And I advise you to stay
away from Mr. Russo.

Waxman was a PI, specialized in
matrimonial and missing persons.

You can imagine, I had
suspects coming out of my ass.

Unfaithful spouses,
bill skippers,

not to mention two ex-wives
hawking him for alimony.

What about Beachwood Loan?

He owed them
close to 450 grand.

They took a big bath
on that puppy.

They did fine. They had
life insurance on him.

I didn't know that.

His name's Enrique Flores.

He's a suspect in another murder
involving Beachwood Loan.

I never heard of him.

What's his connection
to Beachwood?

He borrowed money from them.

He owns a body shop in Hunts Point.
That rings a bell.

We found license plate numbers
in Waxman's notebook.

We figured it had something
to do with his cases.

You traced the cars?
Yeah.

One guy said he had an accident

and didn't even have his car
the week Waxman was killed.

We thought Waxman got
the plate number wrong.

Here. The car was getting fixed
at a place in Hunts Point.

You used one of your customer's
cars to follow him, Enrique.

But Waxman made you.
He wrote down your plate.

No. No, it's a mistake.
Doesn't make sense any other way.

That's two killings
with your name on them.

It's a coincidence.
I'm the wrong guy.

What do you want with him?

He knows what we want.
Sam Russo.

But it's not me.
No way I did it.

Enrique, listen to
what they have to...

I don't want to listen.
I want to go home.

Starting tonight, Mr.
Flores, home is a four-by-ten cell.

You can't do that.
I have bail.

We're re-arresting you for
the murder of Jason Waxman.

This time I guarantee
you won't get bail.

Please, I gotta go home!

You better listen to
your lawyer, Enrique.

You don't talk, you're
never gonna go home.

Oh, God. My God. What, what, what?
Take it easy.

It hurts!
Lay him down.

I can't breathe.
Lay him down. Easy.

I'll call EMS.
Who knows CPR?

After you.

Mr. Flores, can you hear me?
Yes.

You've had a mild heart attack.

Please. I don't want to die.

You're gonna be fine, but your
heartbeat is still irregular.

So we're gonna keep you
overnight for observation.

I want to go home.

We'll talk about
that later, Mr. Flores.

Now, we're going to give you a
sedative to help you relax.

But I need to ask you
a few things.

Where did you feel
the pain first?

In my head.
I felt a lot of pressure.

And what were you doing
when it started?

The police were asking me questions.
I see.

Because I killed
two people, Doctor.

I killed them,
and I'm going to jail.

Well, is he gonna live?
Better than that.

He just fessed up
to the two murders.

You heard him? I was standing
three feet in front of him.

He didn't happen to say Russo
put him up to it, did he?

No.

It's enough that he
admitted to the murders.

It's bedtime
for Mr. Russo.

You have
the right to a lawyer.

If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.
You understand all that?

Nothing I haven't heard before.
Lynne, call David Sheehan.

Where are you guys taking me?
The 27th Precinct.

Tell him to meet me
at the 27th Precinct,

and page him if you have to.
Come on.

Hey, wait a minute.
You mind swinging by my house?

They just put up the
Christmas lights today.

I'd really like to see
what they look like.

We'll have Santa
bring you a picture.

Five murders?
What are you doing, McCoy?

Cleaning out your desk
for the new year?

I was hoping he might
want to clear his conscience.

My conscience?

We know miracles don't happen
without a little help.

We have the shooter
for Ganz and Waxman.

You tell us who did
the other three,

you plead to murder one, and I
won't seek the death penalty.

You must be Saint
Bernadette of Lourdes

if you think I'm gonna
plead to anything.

Life without parole, Mr.
Russo. Take it or lose it.

Enrique Flores has already
confessed to two killings.

Honey, if you had the brains
to go along with those looks,

you'd know you're being played.

Sam, let me handle
this, will you, please?

Dave, shut up.
Nobody's making cases against me.

I'm an honest businessman
making an honest living.

By threatening people
with a baseball bat?

Did you learn that at the Meyer
Lansky School of Business?

People borrow money from me and
they pay me back for one reason.

Because they have to.
Not because they like to.

And if they don't pay,
you kill them.

I never killed anyone
in my life.

Dave, you deal
with this. Guard!

I'm not going to testify against him.
Forget about it.

Enrique, calm down.
You know what the doctor said.

If I take the stand
against Russo,

I might as well have
a big heart attack.

If you don't testify, Mr.
Flores, you'll be facing something

far more lethal
than a heart attack.

Assuming he testifies,
what do you propose?

Murder two, two counts,
concurrent sentences.

That's not much of a break,
considering your evidence.

A spontaneous admission in
front of a police detective?

Isn't anybody listening to me?

I don't care if they kiss
my ass, I'm not talking.

We have your statement from the hospital.
We'll see you at trial.

You're not there
yet, Mr. McCoy.

The statement's protected.
You can't use it.

My client was responding to a
question by the treating physician.

His answers are protected by
the doctor-patient privilege.

The presence of a third party,
in this case Detective Curtis,

shatters the privilege.
It's black letter law.

Except where a police
officer's presence

is required to guard the patient.
People v. Sanders.

My client didn't
have the option

of a private session
with his doctor.

Flores knew the detective was there.

He knew to keep his mouth shut.

Mr. McCoy, I hope
you're not suggesting

he had to give up his right
against self-incrimination

in order to get
medical treatment.

Your Honor, the information
that he had killed two people

was not necessary to
his medical treatment.

There's no privilege.
I can cite People v. Bostic...

My client had a heart attack,
he was hooked up to an ECG,

he didn't know if
he would live or die.

He was in no
condition to decide

what's necessary
medical information.

I wouldn't expect him to.

Your Honor, this was
an excited utterance,

it was voluntary
and spontaneous.

And it's inadmissible.

The doctor-patient privilege was not
waived by the detective's presence.

Defense motion is granted.

All we've got is a boot print

and a license plate number
on a note pad.

Thanks to Judge Meathead,
we couldn't convince Flores

to hold our hat,
let alone testify.

Okay, forget the judge.
How do you propose to convict Mr. Russo?

Flores confessed.
We can't use it against him,

but maybe we can
use it against Russo.

Yeah. He lent money to someone
who killed two people.

Now, since when
is that a crime?

It proves one element
of the fact pattern.

The only pattern here
is you have no facts.

Susan Tashjian shot dead
right under your noses.

Two other murders unsolved.

Find those killers and connect
them with the loan shark.

Maybe they were doing the same thing
as Flores, working off a loan.

Check the company records, see
who's been getting a break lately.

If you wanna go, go.
I'm fine.

Don't you have a babysitter
waiting at home?

She's a live-in.

I know you like working with
people who can put in long hours.

You talked to Adam.
What makes you think that?

Now, if you wanna go...
I'm fine.

Don't you have a bar to visit?

Edward Kaiser. The one who didn't
make it to the hockey game.

I don't know how he ever
qualified for a loan.

He went through a Chapter 11
bankruptcy six years ago.

A lot of his
accounts receivable

were more than
120 days overdue.

Kaiser had default
written all over him.

Why would Russo
lend him a dime?

Here's one reason.

Kaiser was referred to
Beachwood by Steven Tashjian.

Strange how he never
bothered telling us

one of his friends
was murdered.

Is this Tashjian's file?
Yeah.

Two weeks after
Kaiser was killed,

Tashjian had five percentage
points shaved off his loan,

retroactive to
the first payment.

That was always in the cards.
Once the loan reached a certain amount,

I got a rebate on
the interest rate.

A rebate worth $200,000.

I don't understand, Mr.
McCoy. Have you joined

some regulatory commission
on interest rates?

I'd like to know
what Mr. Tashjian did

to warrant such
special treatment.

I didn't do anything.
You're listed as a reference

on Edward Kaiser's
loan application.

Why didn't you tell us
you knew him?

You're wife is shot.
Mr. Kaiser is shot.

You all owe money
to Mr. Russo.

And you never say
anything to us?

I met Kaiser once
or twice at business functions.

I might have mentioned Beachwood.
I didn't know he had taken out a loan.

You never talked to him?
No.

Somebody in
your office did.

Your ad agency's phone records

show three calls to him
the week he died.

One was made
the day he was murdered.

He told his son he was meeting somebody for drinks.
Then he disappeared.

He was meeting you, wasn't he?

You killed him
on Russo's orders.

No. Uh...
Steven, let me talk here.

Unless he tells me
what happened,

I'm having him arrested
for first-degree murder.

Based on what?

Steven, let's go.

Russo had your wife killed, Mr. Tashjian.
Don't you think he ought to pay for it?

In return for his
testimony against Russo,

he gets full immunity.

Let's hear what he has to say.

I, uh...

I was having trouble
paying Russo.

He said if I did him a favor, he
would make things easier for me.

He asked me to arrange
a meeting with Kaiser.

What happened at the meeting?

I don't know.
I wasn't there. I was with my wife.

I swear, I didn't know
they were gonna kill him.

You went through this subterfuge
just to have a cup of coffee with him?

I thought they might
rough him up.

I didn't think that
they would kill him.

When you found out, why
didn't you tell the police?

Russo's people
would have loved that.

Where do you think he gets
the money to give his loans?

Golden age investment clubs?

He puts the mob's money
to work, Mr. McCoy.

Along with immunity, my client expects
police protection. Do we have a deal?

You said you were with your wife when Mr.
Kaiser was killed?

Yeah, that's
right. Yeah.

He was killed on
a Wednesday night.

Your wife told the police she had a
session with her personal trainer

every Wednesday night.

Susan didn't go to the gym that night.
She was with me.

Mr. McCoy, full immunity,
or you don't have a witness.

Not unless he can prove
he was with his wife that...

Deal. He has immunity.

My office will send
you the paperwork.

What the hell was that?

What the hell was what?

His alibi doesn't hold up.
In your opinion.

We can ask Susan Tashjian's
trainer if she was at the gym.

You'd rather give
immunity to a murderer.

Jack, he's gonna take the
stand, he's going to lie,

and you don't care?
What are you accusing me of?

Looks to me like you're
about to suborn perjury.

Suppose you're right
about Tashjian.

How would you make
the case against him?

Only four people know for sure where
he was that night 10 months ago.

Tashjian, his wife,
Kaiser and Russo.

You'll never prove
he was lying.

The choice is not convicting
Russo or convicting Tashjian.

The choice is Russo or nothing.
He's a five-time killer.

And Tashjian is telling
enough truth to convict him.

If you're not
comfortable with that,

someone else can fill the
second chair on this one.

When I heard Kaiser was found dead,
I was stunned. I was scared.

What did you do?
Nothing.

I tried hard to keep up
with our payments.

I didn't want to be
next on Russo's list.

Objection. Is there a list in evidence?
Sustained.

Did you discuss the status
of your loan with Mr. Russo?

Yes. My wife and I
tried to renegotiate it.

But Russo just
wanted his money.

He said he was
calling in the loan.

What did you think
he meant by that?

It sounded like
a death threat to me.

Objection.
Sustained.

What did you say
to Mr. Russo?

I begged him for more time.

Then Shelly Ganz was
killed in our garage.

I warned my wife he's after us,
but she didn't believe me.

So Russo killed her.

Objection.
He's speculating.

Mr. Tashjian, what's the factual
basis for your allegation?

I know how he ran his business.

That's what I'm trying to get to.
How do you know any of this?

Kaiser is dead. Shelly Ganz is dead.
My wife is dead. I just know.

Did you see or hear anything linking Mr.
Russo to these crimes?

The objection is sustained.

The jury will disregard the
witness' unfounded allegations...

No, it's true.
That's enough, Mr. Tashjian.

May I, Your Honor?

How do you know it's true, sir?

You weren't with your wife on the night
that Kaiser was killed, were you?

What did you do that night that
was worth $200,000 to Mr. Russo,

the man you claim
killed your wife?

Mr. McCoy, unless you
have other questions...

I killed Kaiser.

Russo told me to.

I had to do it, or he
was gonna kill Susan.

God forgive me.

I didn't know what I was
getting myself into.

I didn't know who
I was dealing with.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

No more questions, Your Honor.

So,
that moron Flores,

he did Waxman and
the girl in the garage,

and Ray Mayeri, he's
in the carting business,

he did Susan Tashjian.

That's everybody.

Now, if you want to talk
about your investors,

I could see to it that you're incarcerated
in a medium-security facility.

Get out of here, will you?

I got a wife and a kid
to worry about.

Just thought I'd ask.

You knew all along Tashjian
killed Kaiser, didn't you?

Don't worry, I'm not gonna
run to the Ethics Committee.

I didn't know with
absolute certainty.

One way or another, I had to
get Tashjian on the stand.

Well, hats off.

Sometimes you have to
make deals with the devil.

Just as long as you don't
get your eyebrows singed.

Anyway, Tashjian owes somebody
half a million dollars.

I'm sure they'll be around to
collect it one of these days.

And as for the Ethics
Committee, you owe me one.