All language subtitles for Law.and.Order.S10E23.Stiff.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

yet equally important groups,

yet equally important groups,

the police
who investigate crime

and the district attorneys
who prosecute the offenders.

These are their stories.

That's too easy. That was Henri Richard,
The Pocket Rocket.

Come on, you can do better than that.

Okay. First game,
first goal, Bobby Orr.

Who'd he get by?

Uh... Gump Worsley. Again.
But harder. Ask me anything.

Okay. First Russia NHL series. Who was the
one...

Mr. Moore!
Syd, get a cab.

What happened?

Just get a damn cab!

Yes, sir.

He told the doctors he found her
unconscious on the floor.

He told me
he found her on the bed.

He brought her here
in a cab?

Said he didn't want to wait for the
paramedics.

Anybody else
in the apartment?

No. Just him and his wife.
The help left at 7:00.

That's the doctor you want to talk to. Dr.
Murphy.

Thanks.

Dr. Murphy,
we're here about Joan Moore.

She's still
in a coma.

From what?
We're still running tests.

But so far...

She arrived fully comatose.
Pupils fixed, dilated.

Physical trauma?

No signs of any.

We drew bloods, ran an IV of sugar, then
switched to naltrexone

for possible opiate OD.

Normally, it's one or the other. They pop
back.

But she didn't. She have any preexisting
conditions?

Not according to the husband.

Said the last time
she'd seen a doctor

was eight months ago
for a routine physical.

Well, what do you suspect?

She was poisoned. By her own hand or
someone else's.

And you know this how?

A fresh needle mark
in her left buttock.

No kidding.
If you find anything dodgy

in her blood test,
let us know.

If I find anything.
Excuse me.

A little jab will do ya.

When I came home,
I found Joan lying on the bed.

Couldn't get her to wake up.

The doc said you told him
she was on the floor.

Well, the bed.
He's mistaken.

Why didn't you
call 911?

What, and wait 45 minutes
for them to get there?

I just picked Joan up
and ran.

Thought she'd
had a heart attack.

Does she have
heart problems?

No.

But you thought she
had a heart attack?

What would you think?
She was unconscious.

They found a fresh
needle mark in her backside.

Any idea how it got there?

I don't know.

Was she injecting drugs?

You mean illegal drugs?
It's not possible.

Mr. Moore, they're testing your wife's
blood.

Whatever she might
have taken, they'll find,

so there's no sense
in protecting...

Joan is not
a drug addict.

These questions
are ridiculous.

She's simply very sick.
Now, if you will excuse me,

I have to call
my stepdaughter.

Last time I saw Mr. Moore down in the gym
was about 9:00.

Must've been 9:45,
he runs out the elevator

with his wife half-dead.
She gonna be okay?

We don't know. Uh, these two, they get
along all right?

Yeah, sure.
Better than the first husband.

Mr. Mason?
What a pain that guy was.

Yeah, what happened to him?

She kicked him out
about 10 years ago.

But she kept the co-op?

Why not? She paid for it. Whole floor,
park and river view.

Family money, you know.

What does
Mr. Moore bring to the table?

Lot of good manners.

He sits on the board of this, the board of
that. Banking, that sort of thing.

They have any
visitors that evening?

No. Night before,
though, they had

a small dinner party.
Their regular crowd.

Mrs. Moore, she have any bad habits?
Drugs, things like that?

Mrs. Moore? She probably starches her
undies, you know?

What he means is, she's a decent lady.
Very quiet.

All right.
Thanks for your time.

Well, I don't see much here. Guy finds his
wife in a coma,

he gets the details confused.

Green. Yeah.

We'll be right over.

It's the doctor from the E.R.

What we have is
severe hypoglycemic shock.

Low blood sugar?

Her blood came back positive for massive
amounts of insulin.

That's what lowered her glucose and put
her into shock.

Insulin. So that
explains the needle mark.

Yeah, we had the insulin tested. It's
synthetic insulin.

Used to treat diabetes.

Okay, so she's diabetic,
she makes a mistake...

No, I don't think
she's diabetic.

There's no evidence
of daily injections,

no telltale finger pricks,
no MedicAlert bracelet.

You ask Mr. Moore?
Yes.

He said she isn't diabetic.

Thanks, Doc. So we're back to the needle
mark.

And enough insulin
to kill her.

What say we ask Carmichael for a search
warrant?

A syringe? My God, no.

Who emptied the trash?
I did.

You find any medicine bottles, insulin,
anything like that?

No.

How long you
work for the Moores?

Since before
there was Mr. Moore.

I've been with Miss Joan since before her
first husband.

Yeah, my first wife's
got a poodle like that.

Uh, these Miss Joan's?

She wanted to
make her life better.

What was wrong with it?

Nothing was wrong with it. She might have
been a little tired, that's all.

Depressed?

No, no. She just lied in bed, looking at
the ceiling,

like she was stuck.

I think she was
wondering about things.

Wondering about her husband?

Higher things than that.
Maybe you wouldn't understand.

Yeah, we probably wouldn't. So, uh, how
was her life with Mr. Moore?

Normal,
like a husband and wife.

Yeah, now, we heard that Mrs. Moore had a
lot of family money.

How was Mr. Moore
fixed before he met her?

He had to work for a living.

Not so much now. Miss Joan takes care of
everything.

No wonder she was tired.

It's not a time for joking.
Now, may I go?

Who is Mrs. Moore's doctor?

It used to be Dr. Hobart
for 25 years.

But Mr. Moore didn't want her
seeing him anymore.

Why not?

I don't know such things. Maybe Miss
Joan's daughter knows.

The way Mom
explained it,

David thought that Dr. Hobart was
completely out of touch.

So she just chucked
him after 25 years

on your
stepfather's say-so?

David's very controlling.

But my mom
will come out of this.

Jerry, could you take these photos to the
printer?

Sure.

I'm sorry.
I'm trying to get out of here

so I can get back
to the hospital.

Which doctor
did she switch to?

Well, I don't think
she'd gone to anybody.

There was nothing
wrong with her.

I don't understand why
the police are involved.

Well, it was
an insulin overdose,

and nobody can explain why she had the
insulin in her system.

I'm sure the hospital
made a mistake.

There's no mistaking
the insulin was injected.

That's crazy. My mother would never take
something

she wasn't supposed to.

Yeah, well, that brings us to the other
possibility.

Your stepfather was the only one alone
with your mother.

My mother and David
have a great relationship.

They seemed happy.

She was reading self-help books,
inspirational books.

What does that mean?

David would never
hurt my mother.

He'd do anything for her, and she'd do
anything to make him happy.

What you're suggesting
is cruel.

Now, if you don't mind,
I have to go.

That's us,
a couple of meanies.

The insulin didn't
fall out of the sky.

Moore had to get it
from somewhere.

You check with his doctor?

It took a little arm-twisting, but he
violated his privilege enough

to tell us he
never prescribed it.

You look like
you're having fun.

Oh, by the pound.

I got the Moore's credit card bills, check
stubs,

medical insurance forms.

You should see
the plan these people have.

Prescription drugs,
8 bucks a pop.

I gotta talk
to the union about this.

In the meantime...

Oh, in the meantime, he's getting his
Lipitor once a month.

She's taking
birth control pills...

Good for her.

At her age, it's probably for the estrogen
boost.

What's this one here?

A credit card charge
for $112

at Jaros Drugs six weeks ago.

That charge wasn't sent to the medical
insurance.

Probably 'cause it wasn't for drugs. Maybe
toiletries.

They live on
the East Side, right?

This pharmacy is all the way over in the
West 90s.

That's a long haul for 100 bucks worth of
toothpaste.

Moore? Was that a refill?

You tell us.

I don't see anything
for a David Moore.

Can I see
that charge again?

$112, no co-pay.

Here we go.
$112 for Joan Moore.

First time prescription
for selegiline.

What's that for?

Depression,
among other things.

You'd have to ask her doctor,
Dr. Richard Shipman.

Right around the corner
on 93rd.

You can't tell us why you might have
prescribed selegiline for her?

I'm not even going to confirm whether or
not she's a patient.

I wish I could. I'm sorry, doctor-patient
privilege.

Well, her privileges
have been suspended, Doc.

She's lying in a coma
at Stein Memorial.

What? How did that happen?

Oh, so she is a patient?

She got an insulin overdose
from an injection.

Oh, my God.

This drug you were giving her, was it
for depression?

That's it, we're done. I have patients who
need me.

Don't forget about
the one in a coma.

This is going very well.

If there was nothing
physically wrong with her,

the selegiline had to be
for depression.

Shipman's a neurologist. You go to a
neurologist for depression?

All right,
take me through this again.

The husband say anything about her
condition prior to the coma?

No, he hardly had time
to say boo to us.

Their help said that she seemed worn out
lately.

She'd just lie in bed, like she was stuck
there, staring at the ceiling.

Sounds like akinesia. Difficulty
initiating movement.

That explains
the neurologist.

That explains a lot.

The selegiline
was for Parkinson's.

If she was
already getting akinesia

within six weeks,
it's progressing fast.

What would her
prospects be like?

Well, there's no cure.

You treat the symptoms, but the brain
cells keep degenerating.

At the rate she seemed
to be going,

it would have become
devastating in short order.

Hard thing for
a husband to watch.

There's nothing
he could do.

Except maybe help her die.

I had nothing
to do with it.

I told you,
I found her unconscious.

Mr. Moore,
we know she had Parkinson's.

Well, that's not true.
Who told you that?

She was seeing
a neurologist.

She was taking
medication for Parkinson's.

I didn't know anything about it. She never
told me.

Come on, Mr. Moore.

Even your houseboy noticed she was having
problems.

We can imagine
how hard it must have been

for you
to see her like that.

You were just trying
to do the humane thing.

No, you're wrong.

She ask you to do it?
Is that what happened?

She just couldn't face it, the pain, the
debilitation.

It was an act of kindness
on your part.

My client denies
any involvement.

He can deny all he wants. We're trying to
give him a break.

He can either cop to
a suicide assist,

or he's tangling with
attempted murder.

His choice.
But I...

David. A minute.

In return for probation,
Mr. Moore'd consider pleading

to promoting
a suicide attempt.

Does he wanna tell us
how it went down?

Once the deal's in place,

he'll give you
all the details.

Do we just take his word the suicide was
his wife's idea?

Did she leave a note?
A videotape?

I guess they didn't read
Euthanasia for Dummies.

Have you even confirmed
she has Parkinson's?

M.E. says there's no way to do it while
she's in a coma.

You can't test for it unless the person's
conscious.

Or dead, so they can slice her open.

We're being asked to
take a lot on faith.

I'll get you a court order so you can talk
to the neurologist.

When she came in four months ago, the
tremors were pronounced.

You were sure it
was Parkinson's?

There wasn't any doubt.

When's the last time
you saw her?

Couple of weeks ago. The disease was
progressing quickly.

Did she ever
talk about suicide?

No.

I won't say she was
particularly courageous.

I think suicide went
against her beliefs.

Was she depressed?

Well, she had mood swings.
Good days and bad days.

Mostly she was concerned with preserving
her dignity.

She didn't want anybody to know she had
Parkinson's.

She kept asking for more powerful drugs to
hide the symptoms.

Hide from who?

Her family.
Her friends.

I told her there'd come a point where no
amount of drugs

would be able to keep the symptoms under
control.

Maybe it was that knowledge
that tipped it.

I'll agree to promoting a suicide, but he
has to do six months.

I know what you're going to say, but we
don't hand out

brownie points for helping people kill
themselves.

Even if he acted out
of love and concern?

Spare me the violins.

I can just as easily believe he couldn't
bear the burden

of caring for his sick wife.

Please.
This was not a selfish act.

Let's hear your story first. Then we'll
talk about sentencing you.

I only became aware of Joan's condition
about a month ago.

Of course I'd noticed before that, but
she'd make excuses.

Then one night, she fell in the den. She
couldn't get up.

She must have laid there an hour till I
got back from my walk.

She was terrified. She knew it would only
get worse.

She asked me to
help her end it.

What did you say?

I refused. I said we'd find other doctors,

but she wouldn't even
consider it.

And so finally, last week,

I injected her with insulin.

She became unconscious.
I panicked.

I realized what I was doing. That's when I
brought her to the hospital.

Did she leave a note or any kind of
document stating her intentions?

Uh, no, not that I know of.

Where'd you get
the insulin?

A friend who's diabetic.

We'll need his name.

What does the name matter?

You have
everything you need.

So do we have a deal?

We'll have to let you know.

You better not be
playing us, Miss Carmichael.

Find this diabetic friend.

I know their close friends,

but I haven't heard
if any of them are diabetic.

Well, if you can give us their names, we
can ask them.

Mom turned 50 last January, and I
organized the party at Le Cirque for her.

I might still
have the guest list.

I'm having a really
hard time with this.

I... I never knew anything was wrong with
my mom.

I can't believe
she didn't tell me.

Can you believe she'd
want to kill herself?

No, no. She'd been investing in my book
business.

She'd been looking forward
to my success.

I... I don't understand David
doing what he did.

None of this
makes any sense to me.

Here. Their closest friends.
Maybe they know.

We cross-referenced the names
with the Diabetes Association

and the National Institute of Diabetes.

None of these people
are listed as diabetics.

I guess the next step is we start calling
them up.

Not these people.
Look at these names.

It's the Concorde
Frequent Flyer Club.

So what do we do,
slip a Twinkie in their salad

and see if they
go into sugar shock?

Start calling the pharmacies in their
neighborhood.

Hey, there were three doctors on the list.
I ran them by the licensing board.

Two of them are
chairmen of biotech firms.

Haven't practiced in 10 years, haven't
written any scrips.

The third one's a shrink, Dr. Bertram
Stokes. Look at this.

He got stopped at
customs last winter,

coming back from Spain
with 20 vials of insulin.

No prescription.

And he's not diabetic.

I paid a fine.
That's all there was to it.

What were you going to do with all that
insulin?

Maybe I should
call my attorney.

Hey, you can call the sugar plum fairy for
all we care.

She can meet you
down at our house.

One of your friends is in a coma from an
overdose of insulin,

and we like you as the guy who supplied
the insulin to her husband.

Are you crazy?

You're the shrink.
You tell me.

I did not give
David Moore any insulin.

Back to my question.

Now I am calling my attorney.

What did you think he was going to do with
the insulin,

put it on his cereal?

I don't know, but somebody might. The guy
had on a wedding ring.

Excuse me.

We're looking for
Dr. Stokes' wife.

Uh, you know
when she'll be back?

Good question. She hasn't been here since
last week.

Any idea where
we can find her?

Don't be cute.
It's a murder investigation.

She's at
The Christophe.

Since last week?
What happened?

I don't know. She just left here on
Tuesday.

Thanks.

The day after Joan Moore landed in the
hospital.

I'm just needing some time away from Bert.

Nothing to do with Joan.

Just a coincidence, huh?

Yes. Of course, it's awful what's happened
to Joan.

Well, what do you think did happen?

She had a stroke.
Isn't that it?

A stroke of insulin,
administered by her husband.

What he calls a suicide attempt on account
of her Parkinson's.

Except from what we hear,
Mrs. Moore wasn't suicidal,

so we may be looking
at attempted murder.

Murder? I can't imagine it.

Why are you talking
to Bert and me?

Your husband smuggles
insulin from overseas.

He's been caught once, but he's taken the
trip seven times since then.

If he supplied
any of it to Mr. Moore,

that makes him
an accessory to murder.

No. It isn't murder.

Then what is it?

It's a game.
A control game.

You're gonna have
to explain that.

Our husbands...

Joan would do
anything for David.

Anything not to be left alone.

What's the game?

I feel stupid trying to explain how I let
Bert do this to me.

How Joan let David...

Try us. We've been around the block a few
hundred times.

I doubt that you've been
in this neighborhood.

This was taped a month ago.

What's he doing?

Hang on to your popcorn.

Oh, gross.

Now I've seen
everything.

When he's done, he brings her out of the
insulin shock

with a shot of sucrose.

What was Jeannie Stokes doing with this
tape?

They were all into it. Five couples. Bert
Stokes got them started.

They swapped wives,
swapped tapes.

What do you call this?

Besides a bunch of
crazy rich white people

with too much time
on their hands?

The best Skoda could come up with was
necrophilia without tears.

Some kind of
domination fetish.

You put your wife
into an insulin shock,

and then you have your way with her every
which way you can.

Until you make a mistake
and she ends up in a coma.

How long had they
been doing this?

At least 10 months,
every couple of weeks.

So he knew exactly how
much insulin to give,

how long to let her
remain unconscious.

To the second,
according to Jeannie Stokes.

Arrest David Moore
for attempted murder.

You have to deal
with the nurses

and none of them are trained... Mr. Moore.

Would you get up?

What?

You're under arrest for the attempted
murder of your wife.

From now on, it's baloney sandwiches for
you.

You have the right
to remain silent...

Down.
We might just be back.

all because he likes to play
naughty games with his wife.

All of that and lying to us. Oh, and did I
mention trying to murder her?

There was no such attempt.
No such intent.

It was just
a horrible accident.

The only accident here
is that he failed to kill her.

His wife was damaged goods.

That's just insane.

I swear to you, I had no idea that Joan
had Parkinson's.

You know, Mr. Moore,
I liked you better

when you were helping
your wife commit suicide.

He admits it,
that was a lie.

I wanted to spare Joan and myself the
embarrassment

of exposing our intimate life
to public ridicule.

Oh, come on.
She's in a coma.

And when she comes out of it,
I do not want her humiliated

for something that she did
strictly to humor me.

David, you don't
have to tell...

No, I want them to understand.

It is my idiocy
that did this to her.

Along with your greed. Maybe you couldn't
wait to inherit her fortune.

Upon her death, her money goes into a
trust for her daughter.

Mr. Moore signed a pre-nup.

At most,
he'd get $1 million.

Hardly a financial motive
in this day and age.

You barely have a case here for criminal
negligence let alone murder.

The tape proves Mrs. Moore was a willing
participant.

Any overdose could only have
been willfully administered.

He pleads to
attempt murder two,

I'll consider
a reduced sentence.

Criminal negligence,
probation.

You push it, Mr. McCoy,
we're ready for you.

Mr. Holden has
already documented

a number of drug-related
issues in the case.

Mr. Friedburgh has worked up
the psychological dimensions.

You'll have briefs
coming out of your ass.

It's a suicide.
It's an accident.

It's a breath mint. This guy gives me a
headache.

Idle rich
and their idle hands.

Well, he wasn't
lying about the trust.

The daughter gets all the money minus some
pocket change.

So what's
his motive again?

Right motive,
maybe wrong crime.

According to these papers, if she's
incapacitated for any reason,

he gets
power of attorney.

Which means as long as she's alive, he has
access to her money.

Gave her just enough insulin to put her in
a coma.

Talk about
threading a needle.

He had 10 months
to practice.

Gonna be tough to prove.

And expensive.

He can spend every last one of her dimes
on his defense.

There's nothing
we can do about it.

Maybe we can't.

We're asking the court to rescind Mr.
Moore's power of attorney

and appoint Miss Mason guardian of her
mother under Article 81.

This is against
Mrs. Moore's own wishes.

According to documents signed at the time
of their wedding and renewed every year
since,

she gave Mr. Moore
durable power of attorney

in the event of
any incapacitation.

She couldn't possibly
have contemplated

being incapacitated by her husband's own
criminal act.

What criminal act?

The District Attorney's Office has
informed us...

There you have it,
Your Honor.

Mr. McCoy put
Miss Mason up to this.

It's a ploy
to strip my client

of the means to defend himself against
baseless charges.

What about that, Mr. McCoy?

It's our position Mr. Moore
put his wife in a coma

for the express purpose of gaining free
access to her accounts.

You have proof?

Mr. Moore admitted injecting his wife with
insulin.

We have videotape
of him doing so.

The tape shows Mrs. Moore was a willing
participant in a sexual game.

A sex game?

Mrs. Moore allowed herself to be put into
insulin shock

for their mutual
sexual gratification.

It's complicated.

I'll say.

The coma is
an unfortunate accident.

Your Honor, may I speak?

Yes.

Mr. McCoy showed me
the videotape.

I... I don't pretend to understand what I
saw. It was

very disturbing to me.

At the very least, my stepfather has a lot
to explain.

I have been with my mother in the hospital
every day,

and it doesn't seem fair that he can
continue to live in her house

and spend her money
while she

lies there in that bed.

I can't believe that's
what she would want.

Thank you, Miss Mason.

May we rebut, Your Honor?

You may not.

I'm appointing Miss Mason guardian of her
mother's estate.

The $2 million bail is recouped to Mrs.
Moore's estate,

along with the $250,000 retainer paid to
Mr. Moore's lawyers.

He's on his way back to Rikers
till he can raise more bail,

and his dream team's
down to one lawyer.

Lucky that judge
had a heart of marshmallow.

I'll take them
any way I can.

You might want to
give this one back.

In turning over guardianship,
Mrs. Moore's estate

included a profit and loss statement for
the last year.

The money Debbie
told the cops her mother

had been investing
in her business?

Mom turned off the tap
nine months ago.

Well, it's back on,
thanks to us.

We were supposed to publish limited
edition coffee table books.

One a month.
That was the business plan.

That turned into one a year.

Debbie just didn't
have the contacts.

What did Debbie say she was going to do
about the money problem?

She said her mother had these mood swings
and she was hard to talk to.

But I knew Debbie
was jerking me around.

She was desperate to
make this thing work.

And desperate people...

Do desperate things.

She put all her eggs in this.

Her father's remarried, has a new family,
lives in Europe.

All she has is her mother
and her business.

Both in need of life support.

She tried to raise money at a venture
capital conference.

The Draven-Kessler Group.
No go.

After she cut off the funds, how did
Debbie pay the phone bill?

Her stepdad. She said
he felt sorry for her.

He chipped in some bucks.
Not nearly enough.

I thought I was going to
have to get a real job.

But as of yesterday,
we're back in the black.

She denied knowing her mom had
Parkinson's. She lied about the money.

She's 0-for-2
and counting.

Getting her paws on that money is a pretty
good motive for a murder.

Except it's her stepdad
who pulled the trigger.

Well, what a cozy little family this is
turning out to be.

Once you're into necrophilia,
incest doesn't seem so bad.

Moore must be feeling pretty stupid
sitting in Rikers

while Debbie's out
spending up a storm.

He might be
in a mood to deal.

I'm not.

Get a search warrant
for her office and home.

We find evidence they had an affair, they
can both rot.

Please, if you'd just tell me what you're
looking for.

I've got nothing to hide.

Maybe a mash note
from your stepfather?

Don't be disgusting.

Oh, we've already been down
that road.

You people have fantastic imaginations.
I've done nothing wrong.

Lennie.

What's this?

I'm betting it
ain't Sweet'N Low.

Well? You gonna tell us?

I don't know what it is.
It's nothing.

Really? Have some.

Figures. Bag it.

It's methyl-phenyl-tetrahydro- pyridine.
MPTP for short.

It's a compound once
used in herbicides.

About 10 years ago, it was found in a
batch of designer heroin.

A number of addicts
had severe reactions.

What kind of reactions?

Loss of motor control, rigidity in the
limbs, tremors...

Same kind of symptoms
as in Parkinson's?

Some of the addicts
ended up in a coma-like state.

The M.E. ran a mass spectrometry on a
blood sample from Joan Moore.

She found the same chemical compound in
her blood.

So that's what put her in a coma, not the
insulin.

Apparently,
a single large dose

can cause severe,
irreversible Parkinson's.

Didn't Joan Moore start having
symptoms months ago?

At lower dosage, MPTP can induce less
severe symptoms.

This girl poisoned
her mother how?

My best guess, she knew about
her parents little hobby

and contaminated
their stash of insulin.

It built up in her mother's system until
the last dose

of poisoned insulin pushed her over the
edge.

So that makes David Moore
just an innocent player.

Innocent, yeah.

You arrested his girl?

Not yet.

You waiting for an invitation?

What are you doing here?

Debbie Mason,
you're under arrest

for the attempted
murder of your mother.

No, this is a mistake.
Don't fight me.

No, you can't do this. You have the right
to remain silent.

No. No, please...
Anything you do say

can and will be used against you in a
court of law.

You have the right
to an attorney.

If you cannot afford one,
one will be...

The charges against David Moore have been
set aside.

We might have to do the same thing with
Debbie Mason

unless we can prove
the MPTP is hers.

I don't see any record of purchases from
pharmaceutical companies.

No gardening supplies,
no doctors visits.

You check for wire transfers overseas?
This stuff's easier to get there.

I've checked. No transfers.

Did you ask David Moore if his
stepdaughter was aware of their insulin
kick?

Yeah. As far as he knew,
she wasn't.

This job gets easier every minute. What
are you doing?

I'm going to where
anyone who wants to

poison their neighbor
goes to first these days.

The Internet.

MPTP, Parkinson's...

If there are any relevant articles, maybe
we can find out

if Debbie Mason
downloaded them.

How To Poison
Dear Old Mom dot com.

Yeah, most of these are at least five
years old.

Joan Moore's neurologist.
Can you check his name?

Dr. Shipman?

Dr. Richard Shipman.

There's an article here by a J.R. Shipman
and a K.M. Molo.

"MPTP-Induced Dopamine Reductions in the
Striatum."

1997, Hamilton James College.

There wasn't anybody
working on Parkinson's

who didn't leap on MPTP
when the news came out.

I mean, freak accident. Somebody mixes a
bad batch of designer drugs,

comes up with
something that produces

the same effects
as Parkinson's.

And Dr. Shipman leapt along with everybody
else?

Richard hasn't done
anything wrong, has he?

Well, not as far
as we know.

But a friend of his
might have poisoned someone.

Oh, gosh.

A female friend?

Yes. Why?

He had a bit of a reputation around here
with the young research assistants.

What about Richard and MPTP? Had that love
affair ended?

We spent eight years examining every atom
of MPTP

to find out how it acted
on the nervous system.

It proved to be a dead end. Richard left
research. He had to make a living.

Did he ever mention
knowing a Debbie Mason?

No. Uh, everyone Richard knows
is in research. Well, was.

Most of them are in biotech start-ups,
making millions.

Except Richard.

I think Richard feels he missed the train.
He called me last winter.

He said he had an idea
for a genome start-up.

He said he was going to the Left Coast to
a venture capital conference

and was I interested.

Do you remember the name of the group
holding the conference?

Uh, Davon... Draven.

Draven-Kessler?

Yes.

You and Dr. Shipman were at
the conference together.

You stayed in the same hotel.

You were seen together.

A call was made to your office from his
hotel room.

The implication's obvious.

You both coveted
your mother's money.

You concocted
a scheme to kill her.

No, no. That's not true.

I'm going to say
this once, Miss Mason.

We've got you
dead to rights now.

You can cooperate or you can stand trial.
Your choice.

If you say no, I'll make the same offer to
Dr. Shipman.

Assault one, six years.

Ten years.

And we won't refile for murder if Mrs.
Moore dies.

I didn't want
my mother to die.

I didn't want her in a coma.

You spiked your mother's insulin by
accident?

No.

I was furious when
she took away the funding,

but it was Richard's idea.

You met a man at a conference,
and before you can say boo,

he's talked you into
killing your mother?

Oh, God, I'm sorry.

You wanted her money.
You both wanted her money?

Yes. But then I... I saw what the drug was
doing to her,

how much she was
suffering, and I...

I couldn't go through with it.
I wanted it to stop.

Even after she
went into a coma,

you wanted control
of her money.

No... No, that...
That was your idea.

To get it away
from my stepfather.

She looked so
frail and defenseless.

I got rid of
the contaminated insulin,

and then I told Richard he had to give her
something that would

make it stop,
and he said he would.

He did? When?

The day she
went into the coma.

He had my mother come to his office in the
early evening.

He said he was going
to give her Sinemet.

That was supposed to
stop the effects of the MPTP.

Instead, two hours later,
she was in a coma.

He must have given her something that made
it worse.

Do we have a deal?

Give me a couple of days.

I did not conspire with Miss Mason. I did
not give her any MPTP.

I did not help
make her mother sick.

But you know Debbie. You admit that much,
right, Doc?

I mean, we have the hotel bills, the phone
calls,

all that good stuff.

Yes, I know her.
We met in San Francisco, yes.

We've seen
each other on and off.

So what?

You keep any MPTP in the office or around
the house?

I kept some around the office for research
purposes.

Debbie ever ask you about it?

No.

I don't know. I mean, she knew about my
research.

How did her mother
become your patient?

Debbie called me, told me her mother was
having tremors,

difficulty getting out of bed, would I see
her. That's it.

Why didn't you tell us
all this way back when?

It was privileged and we didn't think it
was relevant.

Look, Debbie was at my office a few times
late at night.

She'd come visit when
I had reports to do.

For what? A midnight snack?

Something like that.

She may have taken the MPTP then without
my knowledge.

All I'm saying is it's possible that's
what she did.

Or she got it from another source. I don't
know.

All I know is,
I am innocent.

The last time
you saw Mrs. Moore?

I told the police. Two weeks before she
went into a coma.

You're sure about that?

Yes. Yes.

I didn't do anything wrong. All I did was
treat the poor woman.

We haven't found
any place Debbie Mason

could have gotten this drug except from
Shipman's office.

That's not the same as proving she got it
from him.

Well, that's the good news.

No one saw Mrs. Moore in Shipman's office
the day she went into a coma.

If she was there,
it was after hours,

and the receptionist
and nurses had gone home.

David Moore didn't
notice his wife was out?

He didn't get home
until 8:00,

and the doormen don't
remember seeing Mrs. Moore.

So who do we believe,
Shipman or Debbie Mason?

I've never liked doctors.

I don't like people who
pick on their mothers.

I don't like people we can't
make a case against.

Yes?

Thank you.

It's the M.E.
Something that can't wait.

I've been consulting with Johns Hopkins
and UCLA about MPTP-induced comas.

What they told me
makes my hair stand on end.

First of all, Joan Moore may not be in a
coma, after all.

At least not what we normally understand
to be a coma.

The term the UCLA
people used is frozen.

Frozen how?

The heroin addicts who took MPTP by
mistake 10 years ago?

Several of them
ended up completely conscious,

but trapped inside a rigid body over which
they had no control.

They could hear, see and feel everything
around them,

but they couldn't move or communicate in
any way whatsoever.

So Joan Moore's just lying there like a
zombie,

aware of everything
that's going on?

If, in fact, we're looking at an overdose
of MPTP.

Could she be
brought out of it?

Well, they've had
some success with L-dopa.

What does that mean, some
success?

There's a risk the L-dopa might make her
psychotic.

There's a small risk of death.

Assume the best.

Would she be able to talk?

Yes.

The effect of the L-dopa
is almost instantaneous.

She'd be able to
move within minutes.

They do not know
for a certainty

what put Mrs. Moore
in her present condition.

If they're wrong, administering L-dopa
could be fatal.

Her own doctors feel
she has very little to lose.

They don't expect her to recover from her
condition on her own.

Since the charges against him
were dropped,

Mr. Moore has regained
guardianship of Mrs. Moore.

It's up to him to decide
what she has to lose.

Mrs. Moore could be an important witness,
Your Honor.

She could implicate the person who put her
in this state.

That's Mr. McCoy's interest,
not Mrs. Moore's.

She's just a piece
of evidence to him.

He has no regard
for her welfare.

The only person who cares what happens to
her here

is her husband,
David Moore.

That's not true. Please get my mother out
of this hell.

Come off it, Debbie.
You put her there.

You're the one who made her do all those
perverse things.

You don't care about her.

Please, that's enough.

I look at all of you fighting over this
woman like hyenas over a corpse.

Mr. McCoy, I don't care what the State's
interest is here.

Nor do I see much merit in your position,
Mr. Moore.

I can only be guided by Joan Moore's
welfare here.

If her doctors think this procedure is
appropriate,

then I have to go along with their
assessment.

I'm dismissing your motion,
Mr. Moore.

We heard about
the judge's decision.

My sources at
the hospital tell me

the procedure's
scheduled for today.

That's right, as soon as we get to the
hospital,

so let's make this quick.

My client wants to
talk about a plea bargain.

Plea to what?

Assault two.
A term of one-to-three years.

I'm not going to play this
game with you, Mr. Streim.

I'll have all the evidence I need against
your client within the hour.

All right,
assault one, three-to-nine.

You're wasting our time.

You think L-dopa's some kind of
magic bullet?

I've done the research,
Mr. McCoy.

I know the odds on Joan Moore coming out
of the deep freeze.

What about the odds
of her dying, Doctor?

Maybe not today,
maybe not this month,

but she will.
And when she does,

I'll be coming back at you with a murder
charge. No pleas, no deals.

And what if she
ends up psychotic?

What kind of witness
will she make?

Doctor...

You haven't seen the addicts who were
treated with L-dopa. I have.

They don't show very well.

I've seen just about every shade of
grotesque behavior

in this case, Dr. Shipman,
but yours takes the cake.

Attempt murder two,
eight-and-a-third-to-25 or we're out of
here.

Wait.

We'll take it.

Done.

Now, Dr. Shipman,

did Joan Moore come to see you the night
she went into a coma?

Mmm-hmm. Yes.

What did you do to her?

Debbie was backing down.

All of a sudden,
she'd developed some

filial devotion
to her mother.

But we had an agreement,

and I intended to
make sure she lived up to it.

I told Debbie I
was going to give her mother

a shot of Sinemet
to stabilize her.

Instead, I gave her
an oral dose of MPTP.

Mrs. Moore, I'm giving you a
shot of L-dopa.

She's not responding.

It hasn't been long enough.

If there was going to be an effect, it
would be immediate.

Maybe in combination
with the insulin,

the MPTP had an effect
we hadn't anticipated.

Please, try again.

I'm sorry,
we can't risk another dose.

Mom, I'm so sorry.

I didn't mean...

She pled to assault one. She'll do at
least three years.

Good for us.
Not so good for Joan Moore.

Considering what her life was like with
David Moore...

She slipped from one
nightmare into another.

It's cases like this that make me take a
long hard look at my pension plan.