All language subtitles for Law.and.Order.S13E02.Shangri-La.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

In the criminal justice system
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.

You know, if I hadn't
blown out my knee...

And if I could sing, I'd be touring with
Tony Orlando.

You've never seen me
go to the hoop.

I never saw
a donkey fly neither.

Here, you want to shoot
buckets...

go.

Don't forget the soap.

Hey, Magic...

you got your cell?

If it's not too much trouble,
give 9-1-1 a buzz, will ya?

Hey, nice of you to show.

Just once, I wish
the bad guys

would do business
at a reasonable hour.

Yeah, like you got
something better to do.

Hey, I was smack in the middle of a
four-star dream.

Alone?

What, are you
hosting a talk show?

Listen, the deceased
is Valerie Keenan.

She's 27 years old.
She teaches here.

And I know-- there are witnesses just
taking numbers

waiting to tell us
exactly what happened.

See, that's the thing
about dreams, Lennie--

they tend to stop
once you lift your lids.

They found the body over here in this
janitor's closet

with a whole bunch
of bloody rags.

Must've killed her
someplace else

dumped the body here,
used the rags to clean up.

Gets an A-plus
for neatness.

So, Dr. Brody,
tell me a story.

What we got here is
one very dead lady.

You went to school for that?

Made Mom proud.

COD is loss of blood

caused by what looks like
a knife wound to the chest.

Body temp tells me
she's dead six to 12 hours.

Defensive wounds?

Nah. Nothing
under her nails, either.

Looks like Ms. Keenan here
didn't put up much of a fight.

Thanks.

Okay, so my theory on
dreams dying once you wake

may have just gone bust.

Huh? I didn't have
any coffee yet, Ed.

Sorry. Word is there's a security camera
above the front door.

It ain't
four stars, but...

Let's go to the videotape.

Captioning sponsored by
UNIVERSAL NETWORK TELEVISION

The last time I spent this much time in
the principal's office

I left with a two-day suspension.

I couldn't sit down
for a week.

We could use
a little more

of that sort of discipline today
if you ask me.

I'm Victor Drayson,
the principal.

Your secretary said
that we could...

I would've been here sooner,
but the Throgs Neck

was particularly bitchy
this morning.

It's the last thing
I needed today.

Yeah, well, I'm sure Ms.
Keenan wasn't too happy

about it either.

That's not what I meant.

Obviously, we're all terribly
upset about this.

I told the Board that Big
Brother would come in handy

sooner or later.

Security turns it on
at 5:00 in the afternoon

and off at 9:00
the next morning.

Well, we know
when the killer

didn't coe
in the building.

The tape is clear.

Stabbed and shoved
in a storage closet...

I didn't think Valerie
was here long enough

to make those kind of enemies.

Yeah, how long does
that usually take?

This is a tough New York City
public high school, Detective

not Miss Porter's
Finishing School

for young girls.

I think a good
place to start is

did Ms. Keenan have
any problems?

I can't tell you
much about her.

This was her
first semester here.

Although, she came
with so-so recommendation

she seemed pleasant enough.

Did her job.

You know, it would
be a big help

if we could get a list
of all Ms. Keenan's students.

Sure.

In the meantime,
we'd like to talk

to some of the other teachers.

All right.

You read about it

but you never expect it
to happen at your school.

We realize how
difficult this must be

but we're going to need...

We're supposed to stare out
at 60 bored eyes

knowing two of them belong
to a cold-blooded killer.

You're convinced

it was a student
who killed Ms. Keenan?

Well, I haven't seen

too many headlines about faculty
members out on shooting sprees.

Actually, your colleague
was stabbed.

I'm sorry. You have to realize
this is quite disconcerting.

We understand.

Were any of you acquainted

with Ms. Keenan?

She just started.

Ninth grade English.

Kids seemed to like her.

I saw her
wasting her time

with the drama club once.

I know what you must think

but all of us, all we ever
wanted to do was teach

and now we're more concerned
with living through the day.

You know what?

I'm starting to think that school vouchers
aren't such a bad idea.

Sure-- why shouldn't a bunch of
Bible-bangers brainwash the next
generation?

Man, you're just lucky
you're kids are grown.

I'm sorry.
Sorry about that.

You're lucky you
don't have any.

Hey, let me ask you something.

If school is such a war zone,
what'd make Ms. Keenan

hang around
after the bell?

Trouble at home?

She stayed late
to prepare lessons

and grade exams.

This place isn't exactly

conducive to work.

I don't mean to get
too personal, Gwen

but were you and Val...?

Lesbians?

Uh, roommates?
One bed?

Hmm, it would've made life
a whole lot easier.

That couch pulls out.

Till she found
her own place.

That's a picture of Val

after a truly pathetic version
of a Chorus Line senior year.

So you two go back awhile?

Sixth grade.

We were going to take Broadway
by storm--

the, uh, "Babes from Bayshore."

Do you have anything
more recent?

That's, um, this summer.

Ocean Beach.

Pretty girl.

Was she involved with anybody?

Love's a bitch.

It's a bitch and a half
when you work together.

She was seeing
another teacher?

At her last gig, uh...
a private school up in Milford.

She and a history teacher,
Arnie something.

It didn't last.

Say, um, that photo--

do you think maybe
I could get it back

when you're done with it?

Old times' sake.

Notice the feet.

I'm more of a leg man, Doc.

The blood pooling tells me she was nose
over toes

for quite some time before being dumped
onto the closet floor.

My guess-- she was seated.

An artist admiring
his masterpiece.

Or a scared kid trying
to figure out what to do.

Uh, a scared kid
with a bad complexion.

What do you got, a crystal ball up in here
somewhere?

Something like.

Here, on the hands,
neck and face--

thick cosmetic gel.

The kind used
to cover pimples?

More like the kind
that removes heavy-duty makeup

used to cover
severe skin problems.

Could this be the same heavy-duty makeup
worn by, say, actor types?

It could be.

Reception on that crystal ball
is not 100%.

Never knew a dead
person before.

That's stupid.

What I mean is, Ms. Keenan, she was one of
the good guys.

Was Ms. Keenan the faculty
advisor to the drama club?

Um, actually, she was new.

You know-- helped out
here and there

but the drama club is really
Mr. Bergen's little kingdom.

Casting, directing,
the whole deal.

Do I sense a little resentment
buried under there?

Forget it.
No big deal.

Fiona should've been Sally Bowles last
year, hands down.

Cabaret, you know-
Liza in the movie.

The chorus was fine.

But, girl, you
deserved the lead.

Mr. Bergen thought I
didn't look mature enough.

I.e., she didn't make it
in the looks department.

Look at her, man!
The guy's got taste up his butt.

Stop, Jody.

Did Ms. Keenan disagree?

Like it would've mattered
to Mr. Bergen.

So, uh, do you two think
he really killed her?

Now why would you say that?

You're here,
aren't you?

Jody tends
to get carried away.

What? I saw them at Starbucks
together, didn't I?

Well, that proves it.

Look, if my man
looks at me

like Mr. Bergen looked at her

and it's going to be time
for him to hit the showers.

You went
to high school, right?

Wasn't it always
Ms. Zahler's shacking up

with Mr. Leffler on the sly?

Mr. Gold is banging Mrs. Kamen

in the teacher's lounge
before first period?

I told you.

Hormones and wild imaginations:
the stuff of adolescence;

the fuel that stokes the fire
of gossip.

Sure, I had
a cup of coffee with Val

a couple drinks
here and there

but we did work together.

Yo, Boz, it this going
to take all day, or what?

I understand you guys are
just doing your job

so let me help you out.

Tuesday night,
I was at the ballpark.

At Shea?

Let's go, Mets.

First good thing you said.

That was a great game.

Too bad it was rained out.

In the third inning.

That's when I went to Cannon's
for a couple of cold ones.

Go ahead. Waste your time.
Check it out if you want.

Color me impressed.

I had the Mets
on the back end

of the three-team parlay.

Hey, I love 'em,
but don't bet on 'em.

Sure, he comes in

dripping wet.

Orders a brandy, beer back.

Alone?

Hmm. That's funny
how that goes.

When Boz starts showing up

I figured him
for a first-class fruit.

You know-- fancy-ass quotes,
calling me "barkeep."

And who do you know
orders Courvoisier?

Then?

Then I realize that
it is all for the broads.

They eat up
that literature crap.

Makes you wish you'd
finished Moby Dick.

Makes me wish I got past
Look Jane, See Dick.

Meaning Bergen brings
a lot of ladies in here?

Meaning, if I had half
of his action

I'd double the dose
of vitamin V.

Is this one of his dates?

Ah, Grey Goose Gibson,
extra onions.

Never forget a drink.

Yeah, I saw her picture
in the paper.

That's a shame.

Another diet?

No, one's my limit.

So she was in here with Bergen?

Last couple of weeks,
mostly.

Did they look cozy?

Cozy?

Sure, that's one way
of putting it.

So it wasn't just the drama club's
hormones running wild.

Well, maybe the guy has a couple of pops,
starts to feel perky

heads back for a little desktop
rendezvous at the school.

And what, pulls a David
Copperfield to get by

the security camera
over the front door?

Ed, you get up
in the morning, right?

You shower, shave.

Now, the guy on the TV, with the pearly
whites and the perfect hair

tells you there's a good chance
of rain all day long.

What do you do?

I put on my old shoes.

Yeah, maybe grab a raincoat,
an umbrella, some galoshes...

None of which I saw
on the tape.

So either the faculty
and the entire student body

lost faith in the morning
weather guy...

Or somebody pulled a
fast one with that tape.

Hello.

It's like when your
building blows a fuse.

The super does his thing:

Let there be light,
air, heat, whatever.

Problem is, he never tells
the little man

working the clock
and the VCR.

That explains why I keep
missing Sex and the City.

Exactly. You set it
to record on Sunday

but what you're really
getting is Saturday.

Could someone intentionally
change the date?

People still have one thing
over machines.

What's that?

Fingers.

Well, how about using yours
to hit the fast-forward button.

Hey, there we go.

Valerie Keenan, alive and well.

And tonight's
special guest star is...

Life's a cabaret, old chum.

Can't this wait?

If my boss sees...

It's the least of your problems
right now, Fiona.

Why would I kill
Miss Keenan?

I mean, all she ever did was try to help
me.

Okay, the fact is

Ms. Keenan let you
in the building at 8:00.

Two hours later,
you leave the building alone.

Maybe someone climbed
through a window.

Oh, sure,
that's a possibility.

All he'd need is industrial-strength metal
cutters

to get through the bars.

Okay, I was there

but she was fine when I left.

I swear.

Well, why were you there
in the first place?

Ms. Keenan was tutoring me
for my SATs.

She needed the money,
and I needed the help.

Why didn't you
tell us this before?

When you didn't come
to me right away

I thought maybe

the video missed me
or something.

Boz said I should just
stay out of it.

Boz?

Mr. Bergen.

Everybody calls him that.

Why would he tell you
to stay out of it?

I don't know.

Ask him. Ask anyone.

I would never hurt Miss Keenan.

Girl enters empty building.

Girls exits
empty building.

And there's a
good chance

the girl's responsible

for anything
that happened in between.

Unless someone
was already there

and spent the night.

Unless there's
another way in.

Shall I keep
on going?

Hey, Ed, quick.

What was the name of your
ninth grade algebra teacher?

Mr. Heinrick.

Spanish?

Señor Sanchez.

Is there some reason

for this stroll
down memory lane?

Mr. Heinrick.

Mr. Sanche.

Not William or Freddy.

Or Boz.

When we first started
talking to Fiona

it was Mr. Bergen this,
Mr. Bergen that.

You squeeze her a little bit,
out comes "Boz."

But I thought

his name was Gary.

Yeah, but to those who know and love
him...

Yeah, and when he's not

spending
extra-curricular time

with the fairer
members of the faculty

maybe he's picking
some unripe peaches

off the junior
class tree.

Look, we're working homicide
here, remember?

Vice is down the hall.

Yeah, and hell
hath no fury

like a pissed-off
teenage girl.

Fiona?

I don't...

Not that I recall.

Chuck, look at
the picture, man.

Might help.

Third girl
from the left.

I don't think so.

No.

I'm sorry.

Hey, what the hell
did you give me?

Diet cola,
like last time.

I never ordered a diet

anything
in my life.

Hey, I don't forget.

Right.

You don't forget.

And we don't care
what you served

or who you
served it to.

Although, I happen
to have the number

of the people who
do on speed dial.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Whoa.

Yeah, I...

She was with him.

Now normally, I'd
card people like that

but when Boz vouches for her...

Good old Boz.

He's a regular.

What am I going to do?

But I swear,
I don't have a clue

what goes down
once they're out that door.

Let me ask you something.

Did you keep tabs

on the guys
your kids spent time with?

Does an alphabetized
list count?

Fiona doesn't have any brothers

or sisters

so I've become both her mom
and her best friend.

We talk about everything.

No disrespect, Mrs. Chapman

but there are some things

that kids don't want
Mom to know.

It's a fact of life.

Kids get crushes
on their teachers.

Of course, they do.

But they don't
act on it.

Sometimes the decision's
taken out of their hands.

Sometimes it's the teachers

who lack self-control.

You're saying Mr. Bergen...

He may have taken advantage
of Fiona's youth.

No way.

Fiona's tough enough
to stand up for herself.

And smart.

Top two percent

nationally
on her PSATs.

Top of her class.

Besides, she already

has a boyfriend.

His name wouldn't

be Boz, would it?

No, it's Brian.

I can get you his number
if you like.

Her mom said that?

Hey, a girl tells
her mother about you

you're on third
ready to slide home, right?

I guess.

You don't sound like things are
too cool between you two.

She says
we're cool.

Yeah, but, uh,
you don't buy it 100%, huh?

I don't know
what to tell you, man.

Enjoy it while you got it.

I mean, what the hell?

Who knows how long
it's going to last, right?

Hey, I told you
about Darlene, right?

Senior year.

Girl had legs up to here.
Body was like pa-dow.

What she doing
with a scrub like me, right?

Mine was a cheerleader.

Anyway, like an idiot

I believed her when the
"I can't live without you"

turned into, "No, I'm sorry.
I got to study."

Or "I got to go shopping
with the girls."

"I'm spending the weekend with my sister
in Jersey."

It's women, man.

What are you going to do?

Hey, don't beat yourself up
over it, kid.

Sometimes a sister really
is just a sister.

We're investigating a murder.

Can you explain to me
why I should give a damn

about how this girl did
on her college boards?

Fiona claims that she went to the
school

the night of the murder

to get SAT tutoring
from the victim.

And that's incriminating because... ?

Because her mom says

her scores were
touching Ivy League.

A dead teacher.

No hard evidence.

Snowballs aren't the only things
that roll down hills, guys.

And if you haven't been
reading the Post lately

there's a new DA sitting on the top of
that mountain.

The girl lies
about her reason

for going to the school
the night of the murder.

She tells her boyfriend
that she is booked on weekends

because she needs
to go visit her sister

which she doesn't have.

If you lie to
one boyfriend

that usually means
you got another one.

So, her sex life's better
than mine.

So what?

So, there's a good chance

one of the lucky guys
is her teacher--

the same teacher
that was sweating up the sheets

with the recently
departed Val Keenan.

Can we prove that?

Dump it all
in a bag

give it a real good shake

and I guarantee
something falls out.

I think if he's facing
the threat

of a ten-year sabbatical
in Ossining for statutory rape

Mr. Bergen might tell us
all sorts of nasty things.

What's this guy Bergen teach anyway?
English.

Good. I was afraid
it was political science.

You know, all that nonsense

about the Bill of Rights
and stuff like that.

Pick him up.

What about her?

Well, first
let's see

what falls out of that bag.

Yeah?

Police, Mr. Bergen.

We have a warrant.

Open the door now.

I guess
we better do this inside.

Now's not a really
good time.

Uh, wait.

Wh-What's going on?

What's this about?

Look, I'll give
you a hint, bro.

It ain't about
cutting class.

Hint number two.

Sounds like statutory rape.

Let me guess.

Oh! Calcutt!

Boz? What's happening?

Put your clothes on.

You, too.

Hey, that's mine.

Yeah, I'm
just going to

shake it up a little bit
and see what falls out.

Looks like blood.

Gary Bergen, you're
under arrest

for rape in the
third degree.

Same goes for
you, sweetheart.

Only instead of rape,
substitute murder.

...right to
an attorney...

y
Family Court sometime.

It's a whole other world.

Don't even try, Jess.

A world where
black-letter law

bends under the weight
of empathy.

And that's a good thing?

If you're human.

Opposing counsel hasn't
called me that in a long time.

Oh, but Jack...
I know where you live.

So, that's the bastard, huh?

Now, that's the Jessica

I remember.

How great would
Alexander have been

if Aristotle let the class
go home early?

Would Tiger have eight
major trophies on his shelf

if Butch called it quits
after one bucket of balls?

You're joking, right?

Exceptional
teachers

keep teaching long after
the bell rings, Ms. Southerlyn.

Your client

was running around
in his underwear

with his 16-year-old student.

Who was also half-naked

as I understand it.

And who's to say
it wasn't school-related?

Okay. I can't take this guy.

You're on your own.

Okay, we both know Fiona should be tried
as juvenile

so what say we skip
the hoop-de-do

ship the case down the street

and save the long, drawn-out
song-and-dance for another day?

Your client committed a
premeditated murder, Jessica.

All the hoop-de-do
notwithstanding

for that she gets
to play with the grownups.

She's 16, Jack.

When you were 16, you were
sneaking into ball games

and swiping cigarettes
from a local bodega.

Neither of which

is a Class A felony.

And who knows where you might have ended
up

if you were
given a nudge

by a fine, upstanding citizen

like Gary Bergen.

The felony here

is what happened
to my clien.

If I'm not mistaken

trace evidence
of the victim's blood type

was found
on her backpack.

She was seduced
by a grown man.

Led astray.

Forced astry

would be more appropriate.

I mean, for crying out loud

the child doesn't

even have a driver's
license yet.

I'll tell you what,
Jessica.

The trip to Rikers--
it's on me.

It's called

"res ipsa loquitor,"
Mr. Bergen.

I'm sure your attorney
will explain it to you.

It's Italian hocus-pocus

for "they get a bellyful
of bupkes."

Actually,
it's Latin

for "two half-naked people
in an apartment

are probably not there
to play Scrabble."

And when one of said people
turns out to be underage...

It's not like
I was playing grab-ass

with an altar boy, Counselor.

Shut up, Gary.

Tell me, Ms. Southerlyn

that first romp in the back seat
of your Daddy's Olds

with little Bobby
from down the block...

just exactly how old were you?

To tell you
the truth

nobody really wants
to go to trial here.

Sure. Sure. A deal.

I'm a reasonable man.

Tell me about the murder
of Valerie Keenan.

Valerie Keenan's murder?

I didn't...

Is-is she crazy?

Look at her, Jack.

I mean, do you actually think

she has the capacity

to murder someone
all by herself?

Until she tells me
something different

that's what I'm going with.

Okay.

Off the record for now.

You try her as a juvenile,
she will tell you

whatever
you want to hear.

No, Jessica.

I'll never turn on Boz.

I guess it's out of my hands.

Tomorrow morning, 9:30.
Arraignment court.

We tried a first come,
first serve, Arthur.

Can you
believe this?

They want me to
speak at a dinner

honoring the
Chief Justice.

I'm listening.

Neither one of them
is giving an inch.

The SOB

put me in a footnote
in his last opinion

and I'm supposed
to sit on the dais.

A footnote,
for crying out loud.

Maybe we should...

"A negotiated deal
between two competent attorneys

"is the biggest step forward
in jurisprudence

since the guillotine."

That deserves more
than a footnote

my friends.

So, where's the speed bump?

This girl has a bad
case of the loyals.

She won't

implicate her lover
in the murder.

And you're sure
he's complicit?

I think he's knee-deep.

I think Val Keenan

discovered that he was
having an affair

with one of his students

and he persuaded Fiona
to kill Keenan

to save his own career,
and to keep himself

from going to jail
for a statutory rape.

Only we don't have any proof
of that.

And on the opposite side
of the aisle, we have...

Fiona Reid, madly in love
with Bergen.

Finds out he's two-timing her.

She kills

Val Keenan out of jealousy,
pure and simple

to get rid of her rival.

Arguing in the alternative.

That's what makes the law
so much fun.

It'll all play out
before trial, Arthur.

That would be nice,
wouldn't it?

I promise you if we offer Bergen

sexual misconduct one,
a fine, no time

he's going to connect
all the dots on this murder.

In other words, slap him firmly on the
wrist.

Why not? The only evidence
we have against him

is that he got lucky
with two different women.

One of whom is dead.

The other, underage.

She's 16.

He was her teacher.

He abused his position.

He violated a sacred trust.

Come on, Jack.

In the pantheon of evil

what Gary Bergen did
with Fiona Reid

doesn't even make the top ten.

I hope you never have
a daughter, Serena.

I think the problem is
that you're acting

like Fiona Reid
is your daughter.

Never get Freudian
with a man with a pickle.

You know, not to get
into specifics

but I was escorted
to my junior prom

by a college senior.

I suppose
you'd lock him up.

That would depend
on the specifics.

Good.

Go arrest him.

He's in the State Senate now.

The fact is

Gary Bergen took advantage
of his position...

Like Fiona had no say
in the matter.

She's old enough to be tried
for murder as an adult

but not old enough
to consent to sex.

Your logic's just a tad
flawed, Jack.

If you have a problem
with the logic, take it up

with your friend
in Albany.

Come in. Join us.

Have a burger.

No, thanks.

I've got witnesses
to prepare.

Judge Taylor has agreed
to hear my argument

for remanding Fiona Reid's case
to Family Court.

Actually, Fiona isn't my real
daughter.

So you adopted her, did you?

No, she was placed with me

through a charity group
at my church.

18 months ago.

She was a runaway.

Living on the streets
like an animal.

Eating garbage.

Father Joe found her.

She'd been living like that
for six months.

Did she ever tell you why she ran
away, Mrs. Chapman?

Her real mom and dad

they were crack addicts
in Detroit.

They sent her out
on the street to...

Are you saying they prostituted

their own 14-year-old daughter

to make money to purchase
illegal drugs?

Actually, she was 12 years old.

Thank you.

No further
questions.

Mrs. Chapman...

do you have any proof
that Fiona's parents were...

Never mind, strike that.

Were...

Your Honor, the State
drops its objection

to trying the defendant
as a juvenile.

I'm surprised it took you
that long, Mr. McCoy.

So ordered.

I don't want
to hear it, Serena.

I just never thought
I'd see your emotions

get the better
of your judgment.

It might have made a difference
if I was prepared.

An abused foster child...

Jack, how's an hour sound?

Perfect.

I'm sorry, I don't know
how that happened.

But still, a perfunctory
cross would have been nice.

After you've got a few more
trials under your belt

you'll learn you can't put
Little Orphan Annie

in front of a jury
and expect a conviction.

Even if she flat out
killed someone?

Wait a second? What's
happening in an hour?

Are you offering her
a deal?

After all, it is
the greatest step forward

in jurisprudence
since the guillotine.

He was being facetious.

Read his book.

I already told you.

Boz had nothing
to do with this.

Actually,
if I remember correctly

you said you wouldn't
implicate him.

It's not the same thing, Fiona.

We've already
been through this, sweetheart.

I don't see Boz lifting
a finger to help you.

What difference
does it make?

I'm the one
who killed Miss Keenan.

But would you have killed her
without Boz's encouragement?

I can help you here, Fiona.

Once we get in front of a judge,
it's out of my hands.

Just tell Mr. McCoy
what you told me.

He said he would lose his job

if Mrs. Keenan
said anything about us.

He said we couldn't
be together.

I wasn't supposed to get caught.

He said he would fix the video
so no one would know it was me.

Three in juvie?

If she says it under oath.

Excuse me.

Is it safe to sit?

You know what irritates me
to no end?

Is how the law's become a tool
to assuage society's guilt.

"Not my little Suzie
with the cute little dimples.

"That dirty old man
must have talked her into it.

Let's lock him up
and throw away the key."

Fiona isn't just getting
a free pass.

Okay,
let's assume

she's telling us the truth.

She and Bergen conspired
to kill Valerie Keenan.

What happens now?

Fiona goes
and spends three years

in a juvenile
facility.

Her record's expunged.
She goes to college.

She lives
happily ever after.

While Bergen,
on the other hand

he gets to wear gray pajamas
for the next 25 years or so.

Is that the equity
our courts are striving for?

She held
the knife.

He guided it.

In the real world, before one
parcels out equity

one has to parcel out

culpability.

Well, that's fine,
as long as culpability

isn't solely based
on gender or chronology.

I'm going to get some sleep.

'Cause tomorrow morning
I have to explain

the equities of our wonderful
system to Gary Bergen.

She's going
to testify against me?

You got to stop this.

Look, I slept with her

but that's as far
as it goes.

I'm offering you Man One.

What's that? Eight and a third to 25.

For something I didn't do?

If we go to court
on Murder Two

it's going to be
a lot worse.

Look, I'm going to be straight
with you, Mr. Bergen.

Once the jury hears about
the life that Fiona's lived

she becomes Goldilocks
and you're the Big Bad Wolf.

Goldilocks. Right.

I know a bartender
who would disagree.

So poor, manipulated

Fiona is visiting
a friend in Connecticut.

They go to a bar where they
know they won't get carded.

The bartender gets friendly,
Fiona gets coy.

One thing leads to another

and she cracks him in the head
with a beer bottle.

This according to a man
we're charging with murder.

Our search showed
no priors, Serena.

That's because she
convinced the bartender

not to press charges,
or more precisely, Bergen did.

She called him, he drove up
there in the middle of the night

and paid the bartender $1,000.

Still, that
doesn't mean

that Fiona's lying
about the murder.

That's not it, Jack.

The bar where this happened
is right outside of Milford.

Which is where
Valerie Keenan taught

before she moved down here.

I'm wondering if there isn't

a whole other side of this
story that we're missing.

You can catch the next train
out of Grand Central.

I'm sorry. This could take a while.

Alumni are listed by years.

It would be during

the years that
Valerie Keenan taught here.

Valerie...

it's a shame she left us.

Reid, you say?

That's right.

Fiona Reid.

Sorry.

No one by that name ever
matriculated at St. Paul's.

Yearbooks.

Where can I get past copies?

Well, at least you got
to breathe some fresh air.

I said there was no record
of Fiona Reid up in Milford.

I didn't say
she wasn't there.

Recognize anyone?

It's Fiona Reid.

Only back then she went by
the name of Marguerite Samson.

A poor runaway sexually abused
by her Uncle John

living on the streets until
the church took her in

and placed her with another
loving foster family.

Some people by the name
of Kramer.

Amazing.

Yeah, what's
also amazing

is that you're looking
at her senior class photo.

She graduated from St. Paul's
Academy in 1998.

Either this girl
is some kind of prodigy

or she hasn't been 16
for quite some time.

The FBI matched her prints to
a Lorelei Savage

arrested in Sarasota, Florida
for shoplifting.

She did six months
in county

and was released on parole
in 1994 at the age of 18.

After 1994 there's no record
of her until she shows up

in Connecticut as 16-year-old
Marguerite Samson

where she spent three years
and graduated from high school.

And then
turns up here

with a new name
and a new sob story

ready to start all over again.

Unfortunately

she ran into somebody
who could blow her cover.

Valerie Keenan.

26 years old
and still in high school?

This girl must have some kind
of weird painting

hanging in her closet.

Teachers are
trained to look

for guns and drugs, but not
whether kids are actually kids.

And what teenager
doesn't look out of place?

She made a career

out of conning people.

Including my own senior staff.

Three years in juvie

for Murder Two?

To me it looks like

she took the State
of New York

for the biggest
ride of all.

And my brain trust

offers her a deal

I wouldn't give
my own granddaughter.

Oh, Jessica Sheets
is going to love this.

This isn't a house sale.

It's a murder charge.

The State will get
what it bargained for.

My client is ready,
willing, and able

to testify against
Gary Bergen.

No longer good enough.

She's already been sentenced,
for crying out loud.

That's right,
in Family Court.

Fiona Reid has not
been a juvenile

for almost
a decade.

The Family Court
had no jurisdiction

to hear the case

in the first place.

Doesn't matter.
Double jeopardy.

I'm sure
you've heard of it.

Since the entire
proceedings were void

she was never
in any jeopardy.

The only jeopardy that's
attached around here

is the jeopardy you're in
if you were aware

of any of this
the first time around.

I'm sure Miss Sheets

was completely unaware of her
client's deception, Your Honor.

Fine.

My clerk will

instruct you as to trial date.

Your Honor,
as my client

will surely be prejudiced being
tried jointly with Mr. Bergen

I move that
we sever.

Prejudiced? How?

She'll be pleading not guilty
by reason of mental defect.

She has no idea
who she is.

Have your guy talk to her, Jack,
and get back to me.

Your Honor?

What the hell?

We'll let Bergen
be someone else's problem.

Living on the streets must have
been

very difficult,
Fiona.

You might feel better
if you do talk about it.

Actually, I feel better when
I talk about happy things.

Such as?

My mom.

I mean, Mrs. Chapman.

Do you know how long it's been
since somebody loved me?

The Kramers loved you.

I... I don't know them.

The family you lived with
up in Connecticut.

They knew you
as Marguerite.

You must have me confused
with somebody else.

I guess I must.

Tell me, you're a junior now.

Do you have plans for
after you graduate?

That's a long way off.

Not really.

You'll be 18 before you know it.

No.

A year and a half, Fiona.

You'll have
to consider college...

No, I don't.

Why I can't I think about now?

Why am I, why must I always
worry about things

that might never happen?

Why won't
they happen?

Because I'm...

Because I'm never
going to be 18.

Why not?

I just... I can't.

I won't.

You're not buying this,
are you?

I think she's a con artist.

Pure and simple.

No offense.

None taken.

Look, all I can say
is for this girl

18 appears to be the Rubicon
she'll never cross.

Can you say in court
that she's legally sane?

Sure, Jack, but...

Fine.

I thought no jury would
convict Little Orphan Annie.

That's right.

Lizzie Borden's
another story.

This girl seems to have
gotten under his skin.

You think?

It's called "dissociative fugue."

It's a type
of hysteria

characterized by
the total obliteration

of a person's
identity.

Like amnesia,
Dr. Carson?

It's related

but in cases such as this

the patient
subconsciously assumes

an entirely new personality.

And the cause of this
dissociative fugue

is what, Doctor?

Simply,
it's the patient's attempt

to escape intolerable conflict.

A conflict born
at an early age?

That would be correct.

Now, Doctor,
about this Lorelei Savage...

Objection. My client's
name is Fiona Reid.

Because that's
what she calls herself today?

You'll address me

Counselor.

For the sake of expediency

we'll go with the name
on the indictment.

Objection
is sustained.

Okay, Doctor.

You said the defendant

because of
some unresolved conflict...

Actually,
I said "intolerable conflict."

You say "tomahto..."
Objection.

Mr. McCoy.

Withdrawn.

In any case,
this girl is playing

at being someone else,
isn't that true?

It's hardly playing

Mr. McCoy.

Fiona has assumed
another personality

at the expense of her own.

And what personality
would that be?

The one that was raped
by her uncle

when she was 12 years old?

Or the one that was
the daughter of crack addicts

and sent out
to sell her body

at the same age?

I couldn't say.

Is that because

there's no proof

that any of that
ever happened?

Let me ask you
this, Doctor.

Why is it

that she always adopts
the persona of a teenager?

After all, she is 26 years old.

Wouldn't it be more fun
to be an astronaut

or a race
car driver?

Objection. Badgering.

No, I'd like to answer

that question.

Fiona consistently returns
to an adolescent state

because youth is her safety net,
so to speak.

It enables her
to belong to a family

that loves and cares for her.

It enables her
to avoid growing up

or taking responsibility
for her life

or going out into the world
to earn a living.

No, Mr. McCoy.

It shields her from any kind
of legitimate adult interaction.

Or at least that's
my preliminary diagnosis.

You see, typically, a perpetual identity
crisis such as this

is the patient's way

of negating
the real sexual abuse

she suffered as a child.

When's your
birthday, Fiona?

May 16, 1986.

That's interesting

because the prosecutor--

Mr. McCoy-- has presented
fingerprint evidence

that indicates you are a 26-year-old woman
named Lorelei Savage.

Well, there has to be a mistake.

Why do you
say that?

Because I'm Fiona Reid.

Of course you are.

Tell me about
your boyfriend.

Brian.

He's a sweetie.

My friends think he's a little geeky,
but...

we get along okay.

How intimate were you
with Brian?

If you're talking about sex...
no.

Brian and I haven't had sex.

When we're
old enough--

when we're ready,
maybe it will happen.

When you're 18?

When I'm ready.

But you were ready to have sex
with your teacher, Mr. Bergen

isn't that true?

He forced me.

And you were ready
to kill Valerie Keenan

because she could expose you for the fraud
that you are.

Objection.

That's it, Counselor.

You will control yourself

or you'll see sanctions.

He forced me!

Your Honor, I'd like to continue
my cross tomorrow

if that's possible.

And I assume

we'll all come back
with cooler heads.

Court is recessed
until 9:30 tomorrow morning.

I want to know the penalty

for simple assault
in Connecticut.

In the interest
of full disclosure

you should know
that we've dropped all charges

against Gary Bergen.

I know all about
the incident in Connecticut

if that's where you're going.

Good, that will save us time.

What confuses me, Mr. Bergen

is that if the bartender
actually pressed charges

as a first-time
offender

Fiona would have drawn
a suspended sentence

with a $250 fine.

Yet you chose to pay
the bartender $1,000

to make it all
go away.

To me, that seems

an odd choice...

considering a teacher's salary.

Fiona insisted.

She told me
that a criminal record

would hurt her chances
of getting into a good college.

Sure, that is
one possibility.

Another
is that Fiona was scared.

Well, of course she was scared.

Scared that the parole board down in
Florida

might issue
a warrant

for her arrest

if her fingerprints ever
happened to hit the system.

That would put a quick end
to your game, wouldn't it?

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

That's right. I forgot.
You're insane.

All right,
I think we are done here.

So insane
that you went

to Milford, Connecticut.

So insane that when you were carded in
that bar in Milford

you used your old Marguerite Samson
driver's license.

Pretty strange...
wouldn't you say?

Considering you testified
you never heard of her.

You're good.

Fiona?

But you see, Mr. McCoy,
what I'm good at--

what my special talent is--

is to make people see
what they want to see.

And it's carried me
this far in life.

I doubt it will
let me down

with 12 people unable
to avoid jury duty.

Without an attorney, it might.

Fact is, unlike you

your lawyer is bound
by a code of ethics.

She can't knowingly
let you lie

on the stand

nor can she lie to the jury
in her closing.

You think I need her to win?

The jury already sees me

as a poor abused,
abandoned child.

All they're concerned about,
all they really hope for

is to save my soul.

Until Mr. Bergen
takes the stand.

Him?

As far as they're concerned,
he's a child molester.

Who's going
to believe him?

What about me, Fiona?

They'll believe me.

How could you?

Eight and a third to 25.

It's plenty of time

for her to think about
who she really is.

Well, how does
the story go?

When you leave
Shangri-La

you immediately
turn old and gray.

Somehow,
I think Fiona Reid's

going to figure
a way around that.

So, being 16 forever--
that wouldn't be so bad.

That must have been
one hell of a prom night.

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