All language subtitles for Law & Order s13e02 Shangri La.

NARRATOR:
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 my knee,
I would have been... (WHOOPS)

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 911 a buzz, will you?

Hey, nice of you to show.

Just once I wish the bad guys would
do business at a reasonable hour.

Yeah, like you've 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.

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.

They must have killed
her someplace else,

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

Gets an A+ for neatness.

So, Dr. Brody,
tell me a story.

What we've 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?
No.

Nothing under her nails either.

Looks like Miss 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 video tape.

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

I left with
a two-day suspension.

Me, I couldn't sit
down for a week.

We could use a little more
of that sort discipline

today, if you ask me.

I'm Victor Drayson,
the principal.

Your secretary said
that we could...

I would have been here sooner, but the
Throgs Neck was particularly bitchy.

This is the last thing
I needed today.

Yeah, well, I'm sure Miss 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 come 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 Miss Keenan have
any problems?

I can't tell you much about her.

This was her first
semester here.

Although she came with
so-so recommendations,

she seemed pleasant enough.

Did her job.

You know, it would be a big
help if we could get a list

of all Miss 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 Miss Keenan?

BOB: 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 Miss Keenan?

She just started.

Ninth grade English.
The 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.

Hey, sure, why shouldn't
a bunch of Bible-bangers

brainwash the next generation?

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

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry about that.

You're lucky you don't have any.

Hey, let me ask you something.

If school was such a war zone,

what would make Miss 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?
(LAUGHS)

Well, roommates, one bed.

Hmm. It would have made life
a whole lot easier.

That couch pulls out,

until 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 a while?

Sixth grade.

We were going to
take Broadway by storm.

The, uh, babes from Bay Shore.

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.

ED: She was seeing
another teacher?

At her last gig. 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.

RODGERS: 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.

A scared kid with
a bad complexion.

What? Have you got a crystal
ball up in here somewhere?

Something like.

Here, on the hands,
neck, and face,

a thick cosmetic gel.

The kind used to cover pimples?

Uh, 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 the crystal
ball is not 100%.

I never knew
a dead person before.

Ugh, that's stupid.
What I mean is,

Miss Keenan, she was
one of the good guys.

Was Miss 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.
Bergin's little kingdom,

casting, directing,
the whole deal.

Do I sense a little resentment
buried under there?

Forget it.
No big deal.

Fiona should have 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. Bergin 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 Miss Keenan disagree?

Like it would have
mattered to Mr. Bergin.

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.
Bergin looked at her,

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

You went to high school, right?

Wasn't it always Miss Zahler is
shacking up with Mr. Lefler on the sly?

Mr. Gold is banging Mrs. Kayman 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 of drinks here and there.

But we did work together.

Yo, Boz! Is 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 ball park.

At Shea?

Let's go Mets.

First good thing you've 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 a three-team parlay.

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

Sure, he comes in, dripping wet,

orders a brandy, beer back.

Alone?
Mmm.

You know, it'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's all for the broads.

They eat up that
literature crap.

It makes you wish
you'd finished Moby Dick.

Makes me wish I got past
look, Jane, see Dick.

Meaning, Bergin 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?

Uh, 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 Bergin?

Last couple of weeks mostly.

ED: Did they look cozy?

Cozy?
(CHUCKLES)

Sure, that's one
way of putting it.

So it wasn't just the Drama
Club's hormones running wild.

Oh, 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 someone 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 in the VCR.

That explains why I keep
missing Sex in 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...

He'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, Miss 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.

But why were you there
in the first place?

Miss Keenan was
tutoring me for my SATs.

She needed the money,
and I needed the help.

Well, 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.

BRISCOE: Boz?

Mr. Bergin. 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.
Girl exits empty building.

Now, 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?
Se�or Sanchez.

Is there some reason for this
stroll down memory lane?

Mr. Heinrick. Mr. Sanchez.

Not William or Freddy...

Or Boz.

When we first started
talking to Fiona,

it was Mr. Bergin this,
Mr. Bergin that.

We 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 extracurricular 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.

It 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.

Now 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.

Yeah, I...

She was with him.

Now, normally I 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.

(SIGHS)

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.

ED: 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. Bergin...

He may have taken
advantage of Fiona's youth.

No way. Fiona's tough enough
to stand up for herself.

And smart. Top 2%
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 mom 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 a 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, the girl had legs up
to here, the body was like, padow!

I mean, what's 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've 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?

BRISCOE: Because her mom says her
scores were touching lvy League.

(SIGHS IN FRUSTRATION)

A dead teacher.
No hard evidence.

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

And if you haven't been
reading the Post lately,

there's a new D.A. 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've got another one.

So, her sex life is 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 10-year sabbatical in Ossining

for statutory rape, Mr. Bergin might
tell us all sorts of nasty things.

What's this guy Bergin teach anyway?
ED: 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.

BERGIN: Yeah?
ED: Police, Mr. Bergin.

We have a warrant.
Open the door now!

I guess we better
do this inside.

Now's not a really good time.

Wait, 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, it sounds
like statutory rape.

Let me guess,
Oh! Calcutta!

Boz? What's happening?

Put your clothes on.
You, too.

Hey, that's mine.

Yeah, I'm just going to shake it
up a bit and see what falls out.

Looks like blood.

Gary Bergin, you're under arrest
for rape in the third degree.

Same goes for you, sweetheart, only
instead of rape, substitute murder.

You got to stop by 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 council 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.

(LAUGHS)

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.

SHEETS: Okay, we both know Fiona
should be tried as a juvenile,

so what say we
skip the hoop-di-doo,

ship the case down the street,
and save the long, drawn-out

song and dance for another day?

JACK: Your client committed a
premeditated murder, Jessica.

All the hoop-di-doo
notwithstanding,

for that she gets to
play with the grown-ups.

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 Bergin.

The felony here is what
happened to my client.

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 astray would
be more appropriate.

(SCOFFS) 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
loquitur, Mr. Bergin.

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

It's Italian hocus pocus for,
"They've got a bellyful of bubkes. "

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 under-age...

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 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.

(SIGHS IN FRUSTRATION)

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.

JACK: We tried a first come,
first served, Arthur.

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 S.O.B. 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.

Now 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 statutory rape.

SERENA: Only, we don't have
any proof of that.

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

Fiona Reed, madly in love with Bergin,
finds out he's two-timing her.

She kills Val Keenan out
ofjealousy, 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
Bergin 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, under-age.

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 Bergin did with Fiona
Reed doesn't even make the top 10.

I hope you never have
a daughter, Serena.

I think the problem is that you're
acting like Fiona Reed 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 Bergin 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 Reed's
case to Family Court.

Actually, Fiona isn't
my real daughter.

SHEETS: 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.

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

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.

We're...

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 does
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?

JACK: 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 Miss 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?

It's how law has 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 Bergin 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 Bergin, 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,

because tomorrow morning I
have to explain the equities

of our wonderful system
to Gary Bergin.

She's going to
testify against me?

You've 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. Bergin.

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

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

(SIGHS)
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 is 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, Bergin did.

She called him. He drove up there
in the middle of the night

and paid the bartender $1,000.

So? That still 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.

Reed, you say?

That's right. Fiona Reed.

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 Reed up in Milford.

I didn't say she wasn't there.

Recognize anyone?

It's Fiona Reed.

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.

SERENA: 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's 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.

(EXCLAIMS) 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 Bergin.

No longer good enough.

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

That's right.
In Family Court.

Fiona Reed 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 Ms. Sheets was
completely unaware

of her client's
deception, Your Honor.

Fine. My clerk will instruct
you as to the trial date.

Your Honor, as my client will surely be
prejudiced being tried jointly with Mr. Bergin,

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, then get back to me.

Your Honor?

What the hell, we'll let Bergin
be someone else's problem.

SKODA: 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...

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.

Would 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 is another story.

This girl seems to have
gotten under his skin.

You think?

CARSON: 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 Reed.

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 conflicts...

Actually, I said
intolerable conflicts.

You say tomato, I say...

SHEETS: Objection!
Mr. McCoy!

JACK: 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.

SHEETS: When's
your birthday, Fiona?

May 16th, 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.

(SCOFFS) Well, there
has to be a mistake.

Why do you say that?

Because I'm Fiona Reed.

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. Bergin, 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!
TAYLOR: That's it, Counselor.

You'll 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.

(BANGS GAVEL)

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 Bergin.

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. Bergin, 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.

JACK: 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'd 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.

It's carried me
this far in life,

I doubt it'll 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. Bergin
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.

That'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 Reed is 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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