All language subtitles for Law and Order S04E05 Black Tie.DVDRip.NonHI.en.UNVSL

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.

The Beckerman luncheon's
been changed to a brunch.

Why am I just hearing
about this now?

They called yesterday,
after you left, madame.

So sorry. Well, change
hair and nails to 9:30...

and wake Mr. Keyes. Yes, madame.

Mr. Keyes?

Mr. Keyes?

Mr. Keyes?

I'm in great shape.
Come on, feel my legs.

Profaci, don't ask,
don't tell. Stop.

So...

how much is this 100-mile
walk gonna cost us?

It's only 25 cents a mile.

All right, put me down.
Hello, 27. Briscoe.

If you go the distance,
it's $25? Right.

What is it, for
saving the whales?

Come on, it's for handicapped
kids. Cough it up, come on.

No, I know the address,
but I need your name.

You owe me $10.

Some woman says Jonathan
Keyes was murdered last night...

in the penthouse
at Keyes Towers.

Probably a crank call.

Hey, it's a chance to see
how the other half lives.

Wait here, please.
Mr. Darby will speak with you.

We'd rather speak
with Mr. Keyes.

I'll handle it, Felix.

Garrett Darby, the
Keyes' family attorney.

Det. Logan, Det. Briscoe.

We're checking on a call we
received, that Mr. Keyes was murdered.

Mr. Keyes passed away last
night, but of natural causes.

There was no reason
for anyone to call you.

Where's the body?

In the guest suite.

A lawyer beats us to
the body. That's unique.

These people get a hangnail, their
first call is to some pinstriped shyster.

I tried to wake him, I
called him by name...

I touched him. No response.

So I called Dr. Brackley.

Family history of hypertension.
Looks like heart failure.

What was the occasion?

He attended a charity
dinner, and then the ballet.

Conveniently
dressed for his funeral.

We separated after the ballet.

I went to a party at Bunny Chapman's,
Jon wanted to get home early.

Did he?

Did he what? Get home early.

Why, I have no idea.

I got home around 4:00
and went straight to bed.

I didn't see him.

Separate rooms?

I have a sleep disorder. The
slightest sound disturbs me.

And sometimes we slept apart.

Any idea who it was that called
us and said he was murdered?

Well, someone must
have informed the tabloids...

and they called you,
hoping for a headline.

"Police Investigate
Keyes' Death."

It's a pity you had
to oblige them.

Yes, Felix?

The men from the Medical
Examiner's Office are here.

They want to remove Mr. Keyes.

What? We called
them, Mrs. Keyes.

We need a
determination of death.

You're not taking my
husband's body out of here.

Ma'am, without a
signed death certificate...

the M.E. has to look at the
body. Excuse me, Det. Logan.

I've spoken to
Commissioner Hastings...

made him aware of this outrage.

You know the law,
Counselor. Yes, I know it.

And you know that a
restraining order will prevent...

anyone from touching
that man's body.

I'm not having my husband
carved up in some morgue.

That's not our
intention, Mrs. Keyes.

I'm Lt. Van Buren. Are you
here to stop this outrage?

You called these
gentlemen? Yes...

they're from Ehrhardt's
Funeral Home on 88th.

Let them take the body. The
Medical Examiner's people...

can do a review
at the funeral home.

We'll enjoin
against any autopsy.

Why don't we just see if
the M.E. can put this to rest...

with a non-invasive examination?

I know this is a terrible
time for you, Mrs. Keyes...

but I'm sure you want to
know why your husband died.

As long as he's not cut open.

Hey, what in the hell
was that? What was what?

You come out here, and you
make us look like a couple of idiots.

We did get a call reporting a
murder. Well, I got calls, too.

Yeah, and without talking
to us you pulled the plug.

The plug was pulled
before I walked in that door.

That body was
headed for injunction.

Get real, Lieutenant.
We couldn't handle it?

Is that what you're saying?

What you can't handle
is my rank in a skirt.

But this is neither the time
nor the place to discuss it.

Now, I want you to find out
what's really going on here...

before this thing
picks up more profile.

No bruises, abrasions, nail
marks, obvious fractures.

There's some indication of water immersion.
The skin on his fingers was wrinkled.

And no way to tell about
any water in the lungs?

No, but it seems unlikely.

No petechial hemorrhages
or ecchymosis.

Okay, so that rules out
strangulation, suffocation.

What about poisoning?

We might find something
in nasal swabs or saliva.

I couldn't get clean blood
samples. He was too polluted.

Polluted with what?
Formaldehyde.

The body was embalmed before
I arrived at the funeral home.

The director said
family's orders.

Mrs. Keyes insists he
goes to a funeral home...

then gets him embalmed
before they get a blood sample.

You gotta give
me a break on that.

That stinks.

Mike, what's wrong
with this picture?

He's wearing a cummerbund.

He was laid out in a vest.

They dressed
him after his death.

Could be for appearances.

Maybe he died on the toilet.

Maybe he died in the saddle with
somebody other than Mrs. Keyes.

Marcela Di Portago.

We always flirted very openly.

The media loved it, and Jonathan
loved having his picture in the paper.

Mrs. Keyes share that love?

Danielle is a silent
partner in this business.

She thought talk of Kesey
and me would be good for trade.

Where did the good friends
go when the music stopped?

I left Dardenelle's on
my own around 2:00...

and he was left with the
latest set of cheekbones.

She have a name?
They all have names...

but I never keep track of who
Kesey's playing house with.

Four years back I picked
him up at LaGuardia.

Got him across town through the
barricades on Puerto Rican Parade Day...

and from then on, I was
his man. It's been good.

I'll miss him.

Maybe Mrs. Keyes
will keep the limo.

She can keep the
job that goes with it.

She's not fun, like Mr. Keyes?
Nasty piece of work.

Anyway, lucky for me, Mr. K didn't
spend a whole lot of time with her.

Who did he spend his time with?

Nowadays, just Cathy
Rogers, the cover girl.

What about her? Is she just something
to wear on his arm for the night?

No, no, they were getting
regular. He cared about her.

Did Mrs. Keyes
care that he cared?

Mrs. Keyes cared
about Mrs. Keyes, period.

Lovely, darling. All
right, a little more smile.

Perfect. I love it.

I'm not seeing your eyes.

Excuse me. We're
looking for Cathy Rogers.

She's not here. That's
not what her agency said.

Okay.

Perfect. Lovely.

The press have been
driving the poor thing crazy.

She came here to hide.
She's in no shape to work.

Cathy...

these men are from the police.

I'm Det. Briscoe.
This is Det. Logan.

She killed him.

You think that? Did
you call the police?

No. But when I heard
he was dead, I knew.

We happen to know you
were with him last night.

If I tell you something, how do I know
you're not going to sell it to the press?

My manager says, as an
exclusive, my story's worth a lot.

Maybe even a TV movie deal.

Well, it could also mean obstruction
and time in a cell at Bedford.

Why would I withhold evidence?

I was crazy for Kesey.

I told everyone he was
the best lover I ever had.

Living up to that might be quite
a challenge for a guy his age.

Maybe last night, he was reaching
for the stars and got a vapor lock?

There was nothing
wrong with him last night.

He was great, like always.

Afterwards, we took
a shower together.

He wanted more...

but I had an early
shoot, so I left.

Was he wearing a tux
when you tucked him in?

He was watching CNN when I left.

When I got home, I called him,
so he'd know that I was okay.

We talked for a while, then
she came into his room...

so we had to hang up.

The whore is lying.
I didn't speak to him.

I can't even confirm or deny
that he had a guest in his suite.

We didn't intrude
on each other's lives.

Well, the problem is, you
told us he slept downstairs...

because of your sleep disorder.

Well, I really didn't see where my
sex life was any of your business.

Doesn't it bother you
that someone out there...

is describing your late husband
as the best lover she's ever had?

Read the tabloids,
Mr. Logan. She's not the first.

Jonathan gave his last slut a check
for $25,000 for giving him rave reviews.

He had a large ego.

I accepted it and I
was well compensated.

Yeah, well, we still have
a problem about the tux.

Perhaps she was
presenting him with an award.

I'm sorry I'm late.
Traffic was bad.

Do I have to submit to
this? What is the law?

The law is that these men have no
business investigating Mr. Keyes' death.

Here's a report from the
Medical Examiner's Office...

stating his opinion that Jonathan
Keyes died of natural causes.

Felix will show you out.

My uncle died in
his bib overalls.

Before the relatives arrived,
he was in a white linen suit...

with his hands folded
over a Panama hat.

There's nothing unusual
about dressing him.

Yeah, but none of your cousins called
the police and said he was murdered.

Uncle Willie didn't have
24-hour-a-day surveillance by the press.

We've got the girl du jour who
says that the wife paid him a visit...

just before he died.

Who's also trying to
sell the movie rights.

Look, nine out of 10 of the little
people are saying the wife's guilty.

But it doesn't build you a case.

Lennie, just took
a call for you.

The son, Lance Keyes,
wants a call back at his club.

Have fun. He's with his lawyer.

Case closed?

Officially, you're on lunch.

We played squash last week.
He beat me three straight.

This was not natural causes.

The Medical Examiner disagrees.

What, like those
people can't be bought?

Lance's father was
planning a divorce.

The pre-nuptial agreement
would have limited Danielle...

to the income from
a $1 million trust.

And she can't live on that?

Well, she could live a lot
better on a third of his assets.

That comes to $36 million
she would get from his will...

not to mention the
estate in Southampton.

Where the grieving widow is
entertaining 200 of his closest mourners...

even as we speak.

Well, you have to understand...

we're stuck with the M.E.'s
report until we get something new.

Look, if it's a matter
of money... Lance.

We just want to help
you any way we can.

Kids hate their stepmothers
on principle. Read Cinderella.

And young Lance here has a
legitimate motive, his old man's dough.

I mean, anything that doesn't go to the
wife goes directly into his bank account.

Listen, funeral homes, no
morgue, embalmings, no autopsy...

somebody else is
calling our shots here.

You got a couple
of hundred million,

you get treated
different when you kick.

Come on. When was the last
time someone reported a murder...

and CSU didn't work the room?

Well, I don't see anybody
giving us a warrant...

and I don't see me blowing
my pension over this.

Walk on the wild side,
Lennie. If this guy is a victim...

we got every right to get up close
and personal with the crime scene.

Well, let's hope the weather
holds in the Hamptons.

I think I really must call Mrs. Keyes.
I'm sure she would not allow this.

Remember Mr. Keyes?
You think he'd allow it?

You have to
polish all this stuff?

A different specialist
for every body part.

I'm glad I'm not rich enough
to know how sick I am.

Different doctors, but all
from the same pharmacy.

Someone didn't clean too well.

The brown spot, dried blood?

Injection, maybe.

Look at this.

That look like the top of
a medicine bottle to you?

Boy, everything ends
up in the dust ruffle.

What's that, the luck of
the Irish? Yeah, maybe.

Lab report on the cotton.
The brown spot is blood.

It matches Keyes' type...

minute traces of rubbing
alcohol and insulin.

That's wonderful, Mike.
Let me ask you this.

Either one of you
ever hear of a warrant?

It's the victim's apartment. You
don't need a warrant for a crime scene.

It's also the grieving widow's apartment,
which may make your precious...

cotton ball
inadmissible against her.

Well, at least now we
know what we're looking for.

People die from
too much insulin.

Ever think the guy was diabetic?

Okay, so we get a warrant
for the pharmacy's records.

Any warrant gets us a call
from downtown. Forget the judge.

We'll talk to the housekeeper.

She ought to know if
there's a diabetic in the family.

I certainly would have
known if anyone has diabetes.

How can you be so sure?

Because I make all the
doctor's appointments...

and I know everything
that goes on in their lives.

You mean, like, why Mr. Keyes got up
at 4:00 in the morning and put on a tux?

Look, you want to tell us once more
how he really looked when you found him?

Why should I?

I mean, people tell you something,
you don't pay any attention, anyhow.

Mike, don't you
think it's funny...

that we find a stray
cotton ball in the bedroom?

Makes me wonder
who made that call.

It was you, wasn't it?

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

All right, look, we're gonna finish
this conversation at the precinct.

I have the right to make a call.

Well, Mrs. Keyes did not...

want him found nude, see.

And with the room, of
course, it was obvious...

you know, what
had been going on.

So you cleaned up
before you called us.

Yes.

I made the bed...

and I dressed him.

Now, why did you do that?

Because I wanted to find out...

if there was any
indication of murder.

Besides, Mr. Keyes
always told me...

I had to obey Mrs. Keyes.

Of course, he knew how I felt.

Well, if you didn't like
her, why didn't you quit?

We go back a long time...

to his first marriage.

And I raised their son, Lance...

and when his mother died...

I was needed.

I stayed.

Lance Keyes and
his attorney are here.

I guess now we know
who Helga called.

What do you mean, you
investigated on your own?

Well, things were
going slowly...

and Lance thought
it would be prudent...

to hire his own investigator.

Somebody who wouldn't be
intimidated by my stepmother.

He found this bag in
Mrs. Keyes' bathroom.

And inside the bag he
found a smaller bag...

which contained...

We had it tested. It's
coated with insulin.

That's how she killed him.

How do we know it
wasn't your father's?

Mr. Keyes wasn't
allowed into her bedroom...

much less into her bathroom.

We also obtained...

payment records from
Bergman's Pharmacy.

Two weeks ago, Mrs.
Keyes purchased...

insulin and syringes.

This is all very convenient.

How can I be sure
someone didn't plant all this?

The syringe is
covered with her prints.

You can test it
yourself, if you like.

She was the only
one home that night.

Excuse us a minute.

If they were all this easy...

I don't like being hand delivered
evidence by an interested party.

Hey, if our hands weren't
tied, we would have found it.

You've got insulin on the
needle, in her bathroom...

her prints, the girlfriend
puts her at the scene.

You got probable
cause for arrest.

But nothing links it
to the man's death.

- Remember the M.E.'s report.
- Natural causes.

Because the M.E.'s hands were tied,
they couldn't touch the body, remember?

As long as we're stuck with that
report, we don't have a murder.

Oh, come on. You're not
saying we're gonna back off?

No. I'm gonna call the D.A.,
and we're gonna dig Keyes up.

Lieutenant, I don't
care who called you.

Either you investigate a case properly
or you consider an early retirement.

Hold it.

Everything I did was by
the book, in capital letters.

By preventing an
autopsy? Read the file.

The doctor on the scene
said he died of natural causes.

And it never occurred to you...

that he might have had a
personal stake in that diagnosis?

Remind me never to take a trip
with you in the back seat, Counselor.

It's an easy call
now, in this office.

I'm not unaware of your
predicament, Lieutenant.

Twenty-six calls this morning...

including seven
congressmen and three judges.

People are taking "rest
in peace" very seriously.

But it's got nothing to do with
the facts, Adam. You both know it...

and you're going to
let that influence you?

No, but it may influence the
poor bastard on the bench...

who's gotta decide whether
to start digging up dead bodies.

Mrs. Keyes is in your office with her
attorney, Prof. Norman Rothenberg.

There you go.

The rich are different.
They get better lawyers.

Damn it, Ben, what happened to
civility? The man's dead and buried.

We'd just like to confirm that
that ceremony wasn't premature.

What, is business so slow you
had to start manufacturing crimes?

Well, she certainly had motive.

In a few years, Ms.
Kincaid, hopefully...

you will be able to judge
without being judgmental.

An insulin-encrusted syringe...

with your client's fingerprints
on it, found in her bathroom.

That's about as close to a
smoking gun as you can get.

If there were evidence that the cause
of death was insulin poisoning, yes.

The chicken or the egg, Norman.
That's why we applied for an exhumation.

And you expect a judge to
raise the dead on a hunch?

A cotton ball with traces
of insulin found in his room.

That's hardly a jump.

Please don't insult me. You know
the cotton was illegally obtained.

A judge can't
ever consider that.

It was the victim's apartment.

It was a condo, Ben, held
in tenancy by the entirety.

At Mr. Keyes' death...

the property moved to Mrs.
Keyes as a matter of law.

So you can go around in
circles as much as you want...

Ben, it still isn't going
to get you anywhere.

I'll let a judge decide.

And when he does, a simple...

"I'm sorry" won't be sufficient.

Is that a threat, Norman? No.

It's a promise.

Somehow, I don't
feel that sorry for her.

Let's get enough back-up
so that a judge has to agree.

Danielle was to the manor born.

Only they just put a third
mortgage on the manor.

Jonathan's bank account helped
put the shine back in her crown.

Her granddaddy was
some sort of a duke.

Did Mr. Keyes know that his wife
only married him for the money?

Well, Jonathan's interests
were more libidinous.

You should have seen
Danny 10 years ago.

She looked a little like
Cathy Rogers. Supermodel.

Can anyone blame him?

I'm really only interested in
whether his wife blamed him.

Well, in their circles, these
kind of flings are expected.

But what's good for the gander
is not always good for the goose.

Mrs. Keyes had a
relationship, too?

Jonathan's ego couldn't take it.

Who was the boyfriend?
Well, to put it delicately...

Marcela Di Portago...

was more than a
business partner.

Haven't you heard
it's chic to be gay?

And if she was anything,
Danielle was chic.

It lasted a few months.
So it wasn't serious?

Look, Danielle was curious. She needed
something to talk about in the sauna.

It was nothing.

Well, unfortunately,
it was to Jonathan.

Why, because he
didn't get to watch?

My dalliance with Danielle
may have been touted...

as grounds for the upcoming
divorce. But it wasn't the reason.

Well, what was?

My guess is, poor Kesey finally
got tired of using the guest room.

You mean he wasn't there out of
choice? More like out of desperation.

Playing the male rogue hormones
was his way of trying to excite her.

So you're saying that he loved
her? Of course it was useless.

There was a reason why
Cosmo calls her the "Ice Princess."

In 10 years, I saw her
get excited only once...

when Lutèce ran out
of Chateau d'Yquem.

Expensive way to wash
down your medicine.

Did she use insulin?

Supplied more than
generously by Whit Ferguson.

The writer?

Of course, I am myopic...

allergic, xenophobic...

and some of my closer
friends would swear on a stack...

that I'm schizophrenic.

Do you think I'm paranoid?

I'm really only interested
in the diabetes, sir.

Shame. It's the
least fun of all.

The price of overindulgence
and my grandfather's curse.

For leaving Charleston,
you understand.

And you're required to inject
insulin? Sins of the fathers.

What is it again that you do?
I'm an assistant district attorney.

Face like that, you should be sipping
Cristal in the Bois de Boulogne...

and not black coffee at
Irving's on Court Street.

Amazing what the Russians
can do with a potato.

So, it's really a terrific
scandal, don't you think?

I always knew she
had murder in her eyes.

And you got her the insulin?

You don't need a
prescription, my dear.

Well, you do for syringes. True.

To tell the truth, I always
thought a pearl-handled derringer...

in a beaded purse
was more her style.

As far as I knew, the insulin
was purely for the war on cellulite.

She injected herself
in order to lose weight?

Some people will do
anything to fit into a size 3.

The Keyes were convinced that insulin
would burn off all those crème brûlées.

You mean Jonathan
Keyes injected himself, too?

Oh, Johnny boy didn't have the
gumption to stick a needle in himself.

No, he just closed his eyes
and let Danny have all the fun.

When was the last time
you gave her a syringe?

I couldn't be bothered.

I instructed my pharmacist
that from time to time...

Mrs. Keyes would be picking
up my prescription for me.

These people never
heard of exercise?

Why sweat when you can shoot up?

I thought insulin induced
coma, not heart failure.

Well, Keyes' physician said
hypertension ran in the family.

And M.E. told me...

that an unwarranted amount of insulin
could definitely cause cardiac problems.

We still can't prove Mrs.
Keyes did the injecting.

Whit Ferguson
signed an affidavit...

saying that Mr. Keyes
never injected himself.

Now, Ben, they found a used syringe
in her bathroom with her prints on it.

I think that's sufficient to warrant an
autopsy, even if I am a little prejudiced.

You are? Yeah.

Well, let's hope Judge Mooney
shares your character flaw.

I've reviewed the State's application
and the affidavits filed therewith...

and I have to say they make a
hell of a compelling argument.

Can I assume...

by your virtual lack of
answering papers, Professor...

that you're letting
this go unopposed?

No, on the contrary, Your Honor.

There's no way that mere
documentation can communicate...

the enormity of our opposition.

This is a factual finding,
Norman, it's not a melodrama.

And have we reached the
point in jurisprudence where...

humanity and compassion
have been totally discarded?

Please, Mr. Rothenberg. I have
enough trouble breathing the air outside.

I assume Mrs. Keyes
wishes to make a statement.

She does, Your Honor.

Take your time, Danielle.

This is my husband we're
discussing, not some corpse.

For 10 years, we were happy.

Norman's told me what
happens during an autopsy.

I don't know what you
have against us, Mr. Stone.

I assume it must be the money. I doubt that
you'd go to this trouble for anyone else.

You just don't
understand. I loved him.

Mrs. Keyes, how do you explain
the used hypodermic needle...

with your fingerprints on
it, found in your bathroom?

No, I always disposed of the
needles when I was through.

I haven't injected myself
for several months.

The pharmacy's
records indicate...

that you purchased insulin within
two weeks of your husband's death.

Well, yes, but that
was for Jonathan.

I wanted him to stop. I
knew that it wasn't healthy...

but he was a
chronic overeater...

and he injected himself
every time he had a big meal.

Mr. Ferguson stated
in his affidavit...

that your husband was
afraid of injecting himself.

At first, but when I
refused to inject him...

his vanity overcame his fear.

Then, Mrs. Keyes, what were your
fingerprints doing on that syringe?

I have no idea.

The attending physician
certified that the cause of death...

was cardiac arrest.

Which is consistent with an
insulin overdose, Your Honor.

If it was, somebody somewhere
is liable for something.

The body will be exhumed
with all due speed.

And, Mrs. Keyes...

if the autopsy
comes up negative...

you have my deepest
apologies. Thank you.

Tissue samples were
removed from the coronal

mastoid area and
right frontal lobes.

We run an RIA and...

This is his brain.

This is his brain on
drugs. What kind of drugs?

Your Mr. Keyes was
swimming in insulin.

Surprise, surprise. It's
enough for an arrest.

Not exactly the
Staten Island Ferry.

You kidding? These people
could probably buy Staten Island.

Not now, Popeye.

Couldn't this wait
until tomorrow?

I told your office that Mrs.
Keyes would surrender voluntarily.

Danielle Keyes, you're under arrest
for the murder of Jonathan Keyes.

You have the right to remain...

Come on, Detective. Don't you
think I've already advised Mrs. Keyes...

on everything she needs to know? And
the handcuffs certainly won't be necessary.

Counselor, you've
heard of pro forma.

You have the right
to remain silent.

It was in Mrs. Keyes'
bathroom, under the sink.

There was a bag, like a gym bag.

I opened it, and there was
a small cloth purse inside.

And in that purse? There was
a syringe and an empty vial.

Is this the syringe, Mr. Quinn?

Yes.

Offered as evidence.

Call it People's 14.

And what did you
do with the syringe?

I took it to the
Tyler-Hampton Laboratory.

They tested it...

and they told me there were
still traces of insulin on the needle.

Thank you.

Who was it who first suggested that
you search Mrs. Keyes' bathroom?

Their son, Lance Keyes.

And did he specifically ask you to
search the cabinet beneath the sink?

Yes.

And when you found the gym
bag, did you open it immediately?

No, it was locked. Lance
told me to rip it open.

Let me back up a few
steps here, Mr. Quinn.

On the day of your search, did Lance
actually let you into the apartment?

No, he didn't have a key.
The housekeeper let us in.

Did you have a warrant, sir?

I've been off the police force 10
years now. I'm a private citizen.

I don't need a warrant.
It was a good search.

It sounds like a
good burglary to me.

Objection. I object,
too, Your Honor...

and I renew my motion
to suppress the syringe...

as it was obtained
by an illegal search.

You're both overruled.

By the way, Mr. Quinn...

how much did Lance Keyes
pay you for your services?

$20,000.

It was a little after 8:30...

I found him on the
bathroom floor, naked.

Can you explain why
the dead body was...

fully clothed when
the police arrived?

Well, Mrs. Keyes asked
me to clean him up.

It wouldn't look right,
she said, considering.

When you found
Mr. Keyes on the floor...

was there a syringe or any other
drug paraphernalia in the area?

No.

One last question, Miss Holtz.

Why did you call the police and tell
them that Mr. Keyes had been murdered?

Because I know Mrs. Keyes.

Thank you.

Your Honor, my
associate, Gerald Austin...

will be conducting the
remainder of the trial.

Any objections, Mr. Stone?

No, Your Honor.

To the best of your memory...

what did you serve to
Mr. Keyes for dinner that night?

Veal roast, mashed
potatoes, and...

oh, yes, a white Bordeaux.

What about dessert?

German chocolate cake.

And a sauterne, yeah.

Did Mr. Keyes have more
than one slice of cake?

He had two.

Sounds to me like you're
trying to fatten him up.

Well, I didn't pick the menu,
you know. Mrs. Keyes did.

Yet you served it...

knowing full well that it
would surely cause him...

to inject himself with a
potentially dangerous drug?

I would never...

never hurt Mr. Keyes.

$400 an hour is a lot to
pay for the second string.

I assume you're giving
Mrs. Keyes a discount.

Well, the trial is
spring training, Ben.

Season doesn't start until I'm
pitching to a room full of judges.

Norman, even you
need grounds for appeal.

And on the record
so far, it won't be easy.

In 20 years, DiMaggio never had to dive
for a ball. They all came right to him.

It's funny how that works.

That went right past me.

He's gonna throw this
whole thing right in the tank.

He thinks he already
has grounds for appeal.

He's giving his assistant
a little experience...

while he gets a
head start on his brief.

But appeal with what?

I was at his apartment
until 2:00 in the morning...

and then his driver,
Murphy, took me home.

Were you alone in
the apartment? No.

The lights were on in the master
bedroom. Mrs. Keyes was upstairs.

When you arrived
home, what did you do?

I called Jonathan.

He wanted to be
sure I got home okay.

We talked for
about five minutes...

and then he said he
had to go. Why is that?

Jonathan said that she
wanted to talk to him.

You mean Mrs. Keyes?

Yes.

Thank you.

Did you actually
hear Mrs. Keyes...

while you were on the phone?

He was talking to a
woman. Helga was gone.

Who else would be in
his apartment at that hour?

That's right, what would
possibly make me think...

that a woman other than his
wife would enter his bedroom?

Yes, the gym bag was mine...

but I have no idea how it
got into my bathroom cabinet.

What about the cloth purse?

Yes, that was mine, too, but
I haven't used it for months.

I keep it at our house
in Southampton.

When you found out that your
husband had passed away...

what did you do?

I telephoned Lance.

And where was he at the time?

At our house in Southampton.

The same place you
kept the cloth purse.

Does that suggest
anything to you, Mrs. Keyes?

Objection. Withdrawn.

Thank you, Mrs. Keyes.

One more question, Mrs. Keyes.

Did you ever give Lance
permission to go into your bathroom?

Of course not.

I never gave him permission
to enter my apartment.

Your witness.

Mrs. Keyes, why does your
husband sleep in the guest room?

I assume he had company.

And does he often have company?

We were married, Mr. Stone.

What we did, where we did it, with
whom it was done was irrelevant.

I loved Jonathan
and he loved me.

But don't you get angry...

when you know your husband
is sleeping with another woman...

in your own apartment?

I don't expect
you to understand.

Jonathan and I were different.

Ah, yes, it would seem so...

because most people, when
they want to lose weight...

they eat less.

And most wives, they care...

when their husbands have
affairs, and most wives...

when they find...

their husband dead
on the bathroom floor...

they call the police...

before they dress him up
in a tuxedo. Isn't that right?

I am not most people, Mr. Stone.

But if your husband divorced
you, you would be, wouldn't you?

And then you'd be
just like everybody else.

And you couldn't
stand that, could you?

Mr. Stone.

Any objections, Mr. Austin?

No.

Mr. Rothenberg?

No, Your Honor.

Thank you, Your Honor.

He had to know the
jury would hate her.

He put her on the stand
to establish illegal entry.

He could care less about
her effect on the jury.

The search is still good. There are
200 years of precedent on our side.

And Mr. Rothenberg
would love to change that.

So we better start researching
our response to his appeal now.

But we don't even
have a verdict yet.

We will. My guess is two hours.

We'll get a conviction,
followed by an appeal.

On the sole count of the indictment,
murder in the second degree...

how do you find?

We find the defendant guilty.

Move to continue bail
pending appeal, Judge.

A little quick out of the
gate, aren't you, Counselor?

Your Honor, I object. At least
until the People are served...

with a notice of appeal.

- Consider yourself served.
- Bail is continued.

Mrs. Keyes is getting her
money's worth. A 100-page brief.

And he doesn't cite
one case on point.

Private investigators
don't need warrants.

I've got Federal and
State cases to prove it.

You have five judges
there, Miss Kincaid.

Two of whom have to turn
right to see Thurgood Marshall.

The woman killed her husband...

we've got the murder
weapon, a jury found her guilty.

But she's no longer on trial.

It's an appeal. Now it's
the lawyers' turn to be tried.

Ben, nice brief.

I don't think you missed a case.

You must be pretty
confident, Norman.

You don't start handing out compliments
unless you think you're gonna win.

Well, the way I look at it,
you've got Marshall and Bryant...

Jensen and Bloom are with me...

and the swing vote is
definitely Justice Getman.

Norman, I don't mind when
you want to expand the law.

I just wish when you do it,
you'd pick a more deserving client.

My only concern is the law.

I'll leave justice to a
more majestic authority.

Unconscionable is too
tame a word, Your Honor.

The surreptitious search
of a woman's bathroom...

is contrary to what Cardozo
called "the very essence...

of a scheme of ordered liberty."

Justice demands that
the fruits of that search...

namely the syringe, be excluded.

Correct me if I'm
wrong, Professor...

but wasn't the search
conducted by a private individual?

The Constitution
requires State action.

The perpetrator was...

a private investigator
licensed by the State.

In effect, he was an
agent of the government.

Only the Supreme Court ruled...

a liquor license didn't make a
private club an agent of the State.

The private investigator's
license is distinguishable.

It empowers an individual...

to serve in a law
enforcement capacity...

an activity exclusively
reserved to the state.

And on the facts in this case...

particularly, the
state has benefited...

from his illegal actions.

Just as we would not tolerate governmental
intrusion into Mrs. Keyes' bathroom...

we should not tolerate a
thinly-veiled agent of the government...

to violate what the
Framers deemed inviolable.

If we do, individuals who can afford a fee
of $20,000 for a private investigator...

would be the recipients
of a higher form of justice...

than those of us who cannot.

Thank you, Your Honors.

It's black letter law.

The Fourth Amendment
is designed to regulate...

governmental activity only...

and any private search,
no matter how egregious...

cannot be
constitutionally prohibited.

What if the search was
specifically designed...

to further a
governmental objective?

Any search that uncovers
evidence later to be used at trial...

is furthering
governmental objectives.

So, Mr. Stone...

while I'm sitting unconscious
in my dentist's chair...

he decides to search my
briefcase, and finds a gun.

You think it should be admissible
against me in a murder trial?

The Supreme Court
thinks so, Your Honor.

And carried to the extreme...

if a police officer doesn't have
sufficient cause to obtain a warrant...

he can get a private
citizen to do his dirty work.

Yes, but in this case, it was
the son of the murdered victim...

who requested the search.

And if he couldn't afford the
services of a private investigator...

this case never would have
come to trial. Is that correct?

Of course it's correct.

Once again, how much
justice can you afford?

If there is a double
standard, Your Honors...

we should eliminate it not by lowering
the justice available to the wealthy...

but by raising the quality
of justice for everyone.

Thank you, Mr. Stone.

Did the appellate victory
come as a surprise?

No, what surprises me is
that it has taken this long...

for our legal system to
recognize such a basic violation...

of an individual's
civil liberties.

It's a 3-2 decision.
We're gonna appeal.

And who's footing your bills?

The Court limited its holding to
the particular facts of this case.

So we count our blessings
and retry the woman.

With what?

After the appeal, we
can't use the syringe.

It's tough to prove an intentional
murder without a murder weapon.

What if it wasn't intentional?

What if we argue that
despite the evidence...

it was his overdose.

But that Mrs. Keyes
chose the menu...

she knew that he'd overeat
and shoot up afterwards?

A jury might buy
depraved indifference.

It's still murder
two. And then what?

Rothenberg hauls us
uptown for another appeal...

and another, and another.

We just walk away from this?

When the door slams
enough in your face...

eventually you kind of get the
idea they're not letting you in.

It's obvious to me
that she's guilty.

The woman will not
see the inside of a prison.

We may have the
law on our side...

may have the
facts on our side...

but Danielle Keyes
has the money...

on her side.

And we just can't beat
that. Case is closed.

Danielle Keyes sold the New
York apartment for $6 million.

She bought an estate
in the south of France.

Is there some point when this
actually stops bothering you?

No. There really isn't.