All language subtitles for Law and order S14E11 - Darwinian

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.

It's like she expects me to read
her mind, for crying out loud

Well, you're supposed to do it
without her having to ask.

You know, it shows
you're considerate or something.

Shows you're psychic. And by some
miracle, I figure out what she wants,

two seconds later
she changes her mind.

Take last night.
Where do we eat?

She says, “You choose. I don't
care." So I say, “Patsy's.“

And suddenly she does care
and says, “Anyplace but Patsy's."

Am I boring you?

That guy.
What about him?

The weenie-waver Sarge
was talking about?

Likes to flash the old Chinese ladies while
they're doing their morning tai chi Jackie Chan.

Could be.
Hey, pal, talk to you?

Hey, you, stop!
Police.'

Stop! Get back here!

Police! Stop!

Hey, get back here!

Whoa!
What's the matter with you?

Why'd you run, dirtball, huh?
You was chasing me!

Stay down!
C-pop to Central

We have an apparent D.O.A.
at Roosevelt Park.

I tackled him, Richie, not killed him.
Not him. Look.

[Woman On Radio] 10-4, C-pop.
Bus is on the way

White male, mid-20s,
looks like he was homeless.

Sure he's not just
sleeping it off?

Nobody smells this bad. I don't
care how many showers they miss.

Found these in his pockets.
A locker key and some loose change.

Thanks.

What, are you burning the midnight oil?
Man, I was catching up on my DD-5's.

I didn't get home till
almost 2:00 in the morning.

Plus I think I'm coming down with
whatever's going around. [Sniffles]

Ms. Malchiodi, to what
do we owe the pleasure?

Facial contusions, broken bones,
two days' worth of decomp.

Factor in the cold weather,
I'd say he's been dead a week.

How do you get a week?
Bugs don't lie. Don't know how.

Check it out.
Maggots, pupa beetles.

Who was on the buffet line when gives
you your approximate time of death.

Plus, fluid seepage--

Yeah, yeah, we get the picture.

There's no way he's been lying here
a week without somebody noticing.

He was on ice somewhere. So that
means the body was dumped here...

either late last night
or early this morning.

Damn, he took a beating.
Of a vehicular variety.

Safety glass, like from a
windshield, and paint flakes.

And he's got tib-fib breaks
in both legs.

Bumper fractures.

And you thought
you were feeling run down.

[ Woman On Police Radio, Indistinct]

It's definitely a hit-and-run. C.S.U. confirmed
that the glass and the paint are from a car.

Beck's working on both.
I've never seen him happier.

You know what would make me happy?
A name to go with our victim.

What-- “John Doe"
doesn't do it for you?

You ran his prints
through B.C.I.?

First thing we did. No soap.
So no I.D. on the vic,

no lead on the car, no witnesses.
They can't all be gimmes.

The vic had 26 cents and a key from
one of those coin-operated lockers.

He was homeless,
but he had a locker.

It's a safe place to keep his stuff.
It's better than a shopping cart.

After 9/11, how many public
lockers are left in this city?

I mean, uh, Port Authority, Penn
Station, Grand Central took 'em all out.

What about a gym?
A place to shower and change.

He didn't do either. I doubt if he had a membership
to the New York Health and Racquet Club.

How about the Y.M.C.A.? They're,
what, Sixth and Manhattan?

Start with those.

You feeling lucky?
Eh, I was the first three or four places.

Now I'm starting to feel
like one of the Village People.

Next we should buy a lottery ticket.
You gotta have faith.

Yeah, especially if you're a Knicks fan.
Pocketknife, wallet.

Nope. No license.
Why am I not surprised?

Family snaps, maybe.

Hey, I guess this is him. He must
have aged 30 years on the street.

“For Alan, Happy Birthday. Hope you
like this as much as I do. Love, Gina."

We don't know that book is his. He
could have picked it up somewhere.

Well, somebody had a doctor's
appointment, two years ago last March.

I wonder if they kept it.

Two years I've been waiting
for this knock on the door.

That looks nice, honey.

I just have to talk
to these men for a minute.

How'd you find me?
We talked to Alan's psychiatrist.

He told us that your brother
was a schizophrenic.

It started manifesting
his first year of college-

voices, hallucinations.

He had what they call
“suicidal ideation."

He talked about
killing himself.

If he took his meds,
he could function, but--

He stopped taking them?

They made him numb.

Our father had stomach cancer.

We had to sit here
and watch him die in stages.

Alan said he couldn't
feel anything.

Said he wanted to be able
to mourn Daddy's death,

feel something
when he said good-bye.

After the funeral,
we all went home to sit shivah.

Alan never showed up.

Next day, I filed
a Missing Persons report.

Nothing happened.

So I started looking
for him myself.

Did you ever find him?
I saw him once.

A few months ago--
Tompkins Square Park.

[Sobbing]

My little brother, looking like someone I
would normally cross the street to avoid.

I couldn't get him to come home.

He was so far gone, I'm not
even sure he recognized me.

[ Green ] His name is Alan Fisher.
You know him?

What happened to him?
He got hit by a car.

Well, why didn't you say so? I got
my BMW parked right over here.

Man, that ain't funny.
Sorry.

He okay?
He died.

Oh.
I know this guy.

Got in my face a couple times
at the mission.

- Got in your face?
- Yelling about this and that.

Spitting and screaming.
Scary dude.

[Cell Phone Ringing]
When was the last time you saw him?

Hey, Beck, what's up?
I don't know. Couple weeks ago, maybe.

All right, thanks.

Hope that's good news.
It's Beck. He's got a line on the car.

The paint's a shade of green.
Uh, Pentland Green, specifically.

But I couldn't match it
to an assembly line model.

Must be a custom job.
How 'bout the glass?

A garden-variety automotive,
not unique to manufacturer.

Thanks for bringing us all the way down here.
It was a lovely trip.

Let me finish.
Now, the high-end automakers...

use lasers to microscopically etch
the VIN number on the windshield

[Green] How cool is that?
Now this is just a partial,

but it's enough for the D.M V.
to I.D. the car that it came from...

as an Aston Martin V12 Vanquish.

An Aston Martin who?

Vanquish, man.
James Bond's car.

You know, in the last one,
Die Another Day?

Sorry. I haven't seen a Bond movie
since Sean Connery hung up his rug.

So if James Bond lived in New York and
wanted to buy a Vanquish, where would he go?

The V12 retails for $236,000
plus options.

More than my last house.
But that includes delivery to your door.

And you get to pick your color just
bring us a chip, and we'll match it.

So, it's a custom paint job.
No two alike.

It's a must buy.
You got an installment plan?

My great-grandchildren
can pay it off.

Yeah, that and the national debt. At a
price like that, you can't sell that many.

We're targeting a select clientèle.
You wanna give me a number?

Mm, this model year, roughly 50 in the
tristate area, 10 or 12 in Manhattan.

I don't suppose one of them
was in Pentland Green.

Quarter of a mil is a little
extravagant, I know, but trust me,

imagewise, it's a bargain.

And how much does image
go for these days?

My time goes out
at $500 an hour.

Damn, you must be
one hell of a publicist.

“Publicity” is just what's on the letterhead,
but you know what I'm really selling. Image?

That's why you guys are the detectives.
Speaking of which--

I certainly haven't been
in an accident.

Do you have any idea
how much I pay for collision?

Believe me, I get the teeniest little
door ding, and I wear black for a week.

Well, I guess you won't mind us
taking a look at your car.

Be my guest.

Parking level three.
Don't forget to lock it up.

[Alarm Chirps]
Mama, I'm home.

Looks in pretty good shape.

Hurting a car this fine,
that should be a felony.

Wanna take it for a spin?
Yeah, I can just see the headline:

“Cops Take $200,000 Joyride."

I got a home address--
Bank Street.

That's not so far from where
the body was dumped.

Well, it's not so close either.

There's not a scratch
on this puppy.

So how many body shops do you think
are authorized to repair this puppy?

Actually, we're the only certified Aston
Martin bodyshop in the entire Northeast.

And the only one with the Blackhawk
Korek body alignment system.

Don't leave home without it.
Mock all you like.

Sure beats entrusting
your most prized possession...

to a couple of neighborhood
knuckleheads with a ball-peen hammer.

True. No question.
So this Blackhawk Korek gizmo--

did you use one on a Vanquish
owned by a Carrie Salter?

Carrie Salter? Sure. Yeah, she
hit a deer up in Connecticut.

We replaced the windshield pounded out
the hood repainted the whole thing.

Oh, that's convenient.
Hey, it's open. I'm going in.

Detective,
was there something else?

Well, there's a few
“somethings” actually.

I thought we covered
everything.

Well, why don't we talk about it
down at the precinct?
Hey, Lennie.

That ain't motor oil.

Well, well, well,
a garage in mid-November.

It must be, what,
about 45 degrees up in here?

A natural refrigerator.
What the hell is going on?

We'll talk about it downtown.
What about my car?

I'm gonna call a tow truck.
They're gonna take it to Impound.

Impound?
A tow truck?

Oh, don't worry.
He slows down for deer.

I was turning
onto my street.

Hey, don't I have the right not to worry about
some drunken bum stumbling in front of my car?

Scaring me half to death.

Oh, yeah, how dare they
wander into your neighborhood.

It was an accident.

He just-- It was late,
and he just--

he just stepped out
right in front of me.

He just came out of nowhere,
and I hit the brake,

but he just flew
into my windshield.

And he was just hanging there like...

half in and half out.

I just-- I panicked, so I-- I just turned
the car into the garage.

And I don't suppose calling an ambulance for
the poor bastard ever crossed your mind

It wasn't like that. Was he
still alive when you pulled in?

He was moaning and--

I just-- I went inside for a few minutes
to calm down because I was so scared.

And I just-- I sat there trying
to figure out what to do.

And I could... I could hear him
calling for help.

You heard him calling for help.

Yeah. When I went back
to check on him...

Oh, God.

He was dead.

Carrie, stop talking right now.

Sanford Remz,
Ms. Salter's lawyer.

Oh, what a shame. If you'd have
come in 30 seconds earlier,

you could have heard
your client's confession.

Then I have my work
cut out for me, don't I?

In the meantime, I want Ms. Salter processed
through Central Booking immediately.

On the way, you don't
say one word to her.

Don't even ask her what her favorite color is.
We already know...

Pentland Green.

It was dark. It was late.
She was tired

She didn't expect some deranged
vagrant, who, by the way,

had a well-documented history of suicidal
tendencies, to jump out in front of her car.

And I'm sure the four apple martinis
she drank that evening...

had no effect
on her expectations.

Fine. Suspend her license.
She does some community service,

and you get to go back
to prosecuting real criminals.

Like people who commit vehicular
homicide, tamper with evidence.

And let their fatally wounded victims
die a slow death in the garage,

while they sit in their living room
and have another drink.

See, this is
what I was afraid of

You 're twisting an unfortunate accident
into an act of cold-blooded murder.

Leaving a man to suffer and die
is cold-blooded, Sandy.

No question. But did he suffer?
I really don't know.

And neither do you, because
there hasn't been an autopsy.

But let's rectify that, shall we?

My motion to disinter
Mr. Fisher's corpse.

You want the body?

Well, it'd certainly be
difficult for my expert...

to conduct an independent
autopsy without it.

This was a car accident,
not a suspicious death.

Moreover, the family's Jewish.
They're observant. They don't want an autopsy.

And when necessary, religious doctrine
should be trumped by the law.

Bringing me to my next point. There's
no precedent allowing a defendant...

to conduct her own autopsy
of the victim.

[Remz] Maybe not, but there's no
precedent prohibiting it either.

On the contrary,
I submit an independent autopsy...

is perfectly acceptable
pretrial discovery.

When the evidence
is arguably relevant.

You seem to forget
that your client confessed.

And you're looking to paint her
as an uncaring, callous bitch,

who allowed
this poor soul to suffer.

Well, that sounds like
a pretty accurate portrait to me.

Just what I'm talking about.
And to rebut this,

I need the opportunity to conduct
an independent autopsy.

You have the medical examiner's report.

And the medical examiner
is employed by the city.

I'm sorry. When I said “independent
autopsy," was I being too oblique?

Has your M.E.
finished her examination?

That's the point.
She's not my M.E.

But she's done with the body, right?
[ Scoffs ]

Then I don't see the prejudice to the People by
allowing the defendant access to the victim.

Defense motion granted

You gotta admit, it's a brand-new spin on the
time-honored defense strategy of beating up on the victim.

Remz had a very compelling argument.
He's a good lawyer, Jack.

The best that money can buy.

Poor victim, rich defendant?

Well, Lady Justice may be blind, but
nobody ever said the old broad was fair.

[Phone Ringing]

Branch.

When? Thanks.

Well, that expert must have found something,
'cause Remz is moving to dismiss.

Judge has scheduled an evidentiary
hearing for 10:00 in the morning.

I began by pickling the deceased's
brain in a formalin solution.

This was done to harden the brain,

like boiling an egg,
so it could be dissected.

And when you dissected it,
what did you find?

A subdural hematoma. The decedent had bled
into his brain from the sagital sinus.

[Remz] What happens when one
incurs a subdural hematoma?

Blood slowly seeps into the brain
eventually killing the subject.

It can take hours, even days.

Often, the victim doesn't
even know he's dying.

He wouldn't feel sick enough
to get medical attention?

He might feel woozy,
sleepy, nauseous, unwell.

To a homeless person like Mr. Fisher,
who's probably already in poor health,

possibly intoxicated,
this would be a familiar feeling.

Fair enough. But Mr. Fisher was struck
at 2:00 a.m. and dead by 3:00.

Isn't it reasonable to assume,
as the medical examiner has,

that this accident
caused Mr. Fisher's hematoma?

Reasonable, but in this case
mistaken. May I?

Your Honor, if I may,
defense exhibits “A” and "B"

Given the size
of the ruptured vessel,

an hour between
trauma and death...

would have produced bleeding in the
brain of, at most, 10 c.c.'s of blood.

Approximately this much fluid.

However, I siphoned five times that
amount from the decedent's brain.

Fifty c.c.'s. There's simply no way this much
bleeding could have occurred in only an hour.

[Remz] So, what you're saying is...

Ms. Salter hit someone with her car
who was already fatally injured.

But if the car crash
didn't kill him, what did?

Judging by the three contrecoup injuries
he sustained to the back of his brain,

he was beaten.

I want to see Rodgers
in my office.

Damn.
That doesn't sound very encouraging.

It's not meant to be.

Now I wish I'd insisted
on an autopsy.

Sounds even less encouraging.

The family didn't want one. And I wasn't about
to waste the city's time and money on--

On a homeless person?

On someone who obviously died
from head trauma,

which I assumed he sustained when he
was struck by Carrie Salter's car.

So what's your expert opinion?

I'm afraid I have to
agree with Geller.

The car didn't kill him.

It doesn't matter.
Doctrine of intervening causation.

A man leaps off a building, gets hit by a bullet
on the way down, it's homicide, not suicide.

Except in this case, it wasn't
the bullet that killed him.

The car accident
didn't cause the hematoma.

Hell, it didn't even exacerbate it.

Expert testimony
is for a jury to evaluate.

Except I can't let it go
to a jury on these facts.

Come on, Jack.
Give me something to work with.

The defendant left this man
in her garage to die.

If she'd gotten him
medical attention

the doctors might have detected the hematoma,
stopped the bleeding, saved his life.

[Remz] I count at least
three "maybes” in there.

My client is prepared
to plead out on tampering,

obstruction, failing to report an accident...

the crime she actually committed.

[Judge Mizener] What do you have in mind?
First offense?

I think probation's warranted.

Three years,
plus community service.

Your Honor!
I'm sympathetic, Ms. Southerlyn

but as much as I'd like to,
I can't order jail time.

The criminally negligent
homicide charge is dismissed

I'm accepting the defendant's pleas
on obstruction and tampering.

Mr. Remz, have your client see
Probation, then she's free to go.

Dead man walking. Just when you
thought you'd seen everything.

We still have a victim
in search of a suspect.

Salter's expert give us
anything new to go on?

He said someone beat Fisher up about seven
hours before Salter struck him with her car.

So, 2:00 a.m.?
Which would mean he took a beating...

around 7:00
the night before.

Well, beyond that, we still got
a grand total of zero leads.

So, we start with square one.
Tompkins Square.

I already told you.
I didn't know him.

We're just trying to figure out
who beat on this guy.

I thought you said
he was hit by a car.

He did, but he got beat down first.
You ever see a boxing match?

The dude takes one too many hits. He walks
out of the ring, and two days later he dies.

Is that what happened to him?

Huh. I'm sorry.
I don't know anything.

But I can make a guess.

See, all you had to do
was concentrate.

Yeah, I seen, uh--
What'd you say his name was?

Alan.
Yeah. Yeah.

I seen this Alan guy bumming spare
change outside a bodega on Avenue

And?
Really pissed the owner off.

And how do you know that?

'Cause I saw the dude run him off
with a baseball bat.

Threatened to bash his brains in.

Ever since this clinic opened

this block has been crawling
with all “wackjobs.“

Well, we're interested in the “wackjob"
that you threatened with a baseball bat--

skinny white kid.
Why? Did he complain?

I never touched him, huh? Uh,just waved
it around a little. Told him to get lost.

Is it possible he didn't get
the message and came back?

I'll tell you what. Just for fun, why don't you
tell us where you spend your Thursday nights.

Thursday night? Right here. All
night, every night. Ask anyone.

We will. Meanwhile, just keep
that baseball bat in the dugout.

Huh?
All right. so I'm Alan Fisher-

schizophrenic, homeless,
wandering the streets.

Persona non grata at the local bodega.
Where would I go?

I might get a warmer reception
at my friendly neighborhood clinic.

Alan was one of those guys-
loving family,

plenty of money,
smart, good education.

All the support in the world,
how did he end up on the street?

Schizophrenia
does not discriminate.

Did he come here a lot?
Yeah, time to time.

We worked like hell
to get him back on his medication.

And when he did,
he felt so much better,

he'd think he didn't
need them anymore.

See, that's the Catch-22 of modern meds. They
work so well, patients stop taking them.

On the night of November 13,
was he here?

Yeah. Stopped in around 6:00,
just as I was getting ready to leave.

Hit me up for a couple of bucks for food.
I did my usual song and dance.

Tried to get him back on his regimen.
Fat chance.

You know where
he went after here?

Yeah, Gerald came by. They went off together.
Probably a liquor store.

And where can we find him?
Gerald?

He lives with a couple other homeless guys
over in Stuyvesant Town, 15th and First.

Yeah, I know Fish.
That's what we call him-- Fish.

I do, anyway.
He got that fish-eye look.

Me? I got the 1,000-yard stare.
What you got?

We got a dead friend
of yours, Gerald. Huh?

Fish.
Fish died?

Somebody killed him. Killed him?
Somebody killed Fish.

Yeah, and you were
the last person seen with him.

Dr. Emmerich said he saw y'all
leaving the clinic together.

Yeah, I remember that.

We bought us a Mickey, went to
the park and passed it around.

Yeah, right after that,
he got his head bashed in.

[Chuckles]
I know. I saw it go down.

You saw what happened?

Guy comes up to Fish.
They trade words.

Start wrestling around,
arguing about something.

Next thing you know, they duking it out.
Guy gets Fish down.

He's bashing his head
into the sidewalk.

You didn't try to stop it?

Are you crazy?

Besides, cops broke it up.

This other guy have a name?

I'm sure his mama give him one,
but I'd be damned if I know.

Another homeless guy, I've seen him around.
Big white guy.

When we got there, one guy had
the other guy in a headlock.

Broke it up, asked who started it,
they pointed fingers at each other.

And you didn't do anything?
We got a call on a domestic.

Guy using his girlfriend for a punching bag.
What are we supposed to do?

Tell 'em flag on the play while we process
a couple of skells through the system?

God forbid, the girl gets hurt.
We're dealing with these lice-heads.

Come on. You know what it's like. Triage.
Taxpayers first. So sue us.

And only taxpayers get a ride to the E.R.?
[Male Officer] Those guys?

Not in my car.
Never get the stink out.

They weren't hurt.
No harm, no foul.

Actually, one of them was. He died
later that night. A tall white kid.

No kidding?
[Briscoe ] What 'd the other guy look like?

None the worse for wear.

A description, genius.

On, six feet, 6 '2", uh, old
raincoat, orange wool cap.

We didn't take any names.

Lucky for you,
I think we've met the guy.

[Van Buren]
Now, just take your time, Gerald

[Gerald]
What if he gets off?
You know, gets out? Comes after me.

Don't worry. He can't see you.
That's one-way glass.

Neat.

Come on, Gerald, focus.

That guy, five.

Number five.

Uh, sorry, Max.
I got bad news and worse news.

A witness identifies you
as the one who introduced
Alan Fisher's face to the sidewalk.

And two cops picked you out
as the one who'd been
fighting with him.

Now I know that math's
probably not your strong suit,

but even you can see
how this adds up against you.

Only question is which story
is the judge gonna hear,
our version or yours?

Now our version is
that you attacked some
poor defenseless kid,

who was a little touched
in the head.

Shut up!
J-Just shut up!

Let me think.

You don't get it.
You don't get it.
You just don't get it.

Why don't you explain it
to us, Max?

Tell us why you killed this kid.
I can't.

I can't explain it to you.
[Green] Why?

Because you don't know
what it's like out there.

All right? [Chuckles]
You don't get it.

You-- You think that you do,
but you don't.

What I don't get is why you killed
some poor guy who's just as down
on his luck as you are.

He wasn't like me!
He was a selfish bastard!

He wouldn't share!

He... wouldn't share.

All I wanted was a piece,
just one little piece.

And I asked him nice.

Piece of what, Max?

An orange.

One little crappy orange.

You have to appreciate the irony
One defendant hits a man
with her car,

while another defendant
hits the same man
with his fists.

Defendant Number One
gets off with the help
of a blue-chip mouthpiece,

while Defendant Number Two--
Gets the assistance of the Director
of the Urban Justice Center,

which beats a funding-challenged
public defender any day.

Agreed. But it still
begs the question...

how there can possibly
be equal justice, when defendants
aren't treated equally.

Carrie Salter didn't kill Alan Fisher.
Your client did.

Have you ever gone for months
without a shower?

Scrounged for dinner
in a garbage can or begged
for change on the street?

Life on the street is tough.
So that gives your client
the right to commit murder?

No, his fundamental right
to survive does.

Thankfully, the law says otherwise.
Oh, did they change it?

I haven't been keeping up
with my reading. Is the necessity
defense still on the books?

Not when the necessity is an orange.
So you say.

Let's see what a judge says.

It's black letter law.
To make out a necessity defense,

the defendant has to be able to show
that the need outweighed the wrong.

Which it does if you're homeless,
and you do whatever you have to do
to survive in their world.

So it's survival of the fittest
Go ahead, scoff.

It only illustrates
how ignorant all of you are.

Fortunately we have laws
to pre vent society from descending
into Darwinian anarchy

Except we've evicted
the homeless from society.
We've made them outcasts.

We look at them
as less than human.

We shun them from society,
then tum around and hold them
accountable to society's laws,

not the laws they have to live by.
Your Honor.

Don't judge a man
until you've walked a mile
in his shoes, Mr. McCoy.

I don't see any problem
with letting the jury
take a little stroll.

She was basically arguing that as a matter
of law, the homeless are less than human.

Fido takes a bite out of Joe Citizen--
he gets put down.

Fido bites another dog--
that's just life in the urban jungle.

Well, let's face it.
We all say the right things,
but at the end of the day,

we see them as scary,
smelly, subhuman people
we'd rather not deal with.

That's exactly the guilt
Gardner is leveraging.

Well, don't let her.
Plead this out.

When I've got a confession
and two witnesses?

And a defense attorney
turning the courtroom
into a soapbox.

For the money we'll end up
spending on this trial,

we'll be able to build
our own soup kitchen.

But we won't, will we?

Ms. Gardner, where's your client?

On his way, Your Honor.

Jack.

Sidebar, Your Honor.

What is this?
The defendant is dressed like--

A homeless person.
Imagine that.

His appearance violates
basic standards of courtroom decorum.

[Gardner]
Which aren't codified anywhere in the C.P.I.

The defendant can dress for court
any way that he wants.

You mean, how his attorney wants.
This is a transparent ploy...

to get the jury
to see him as homeless first
and as a human being second.

Actually, it's about letting
the jury see him as he truly is.

Either way, I'm not inclined
to order a wardrobe change.

Now step back
and let's get on with this.

You say the defendant
was banging the victim's head
against the sidewalk

[Male Officer] That's right.
Why didn't you arrest him?

Wasn't clear who started it.

We just sent the parties
on their way.

But I suppose, in hindsight,
maybe we should have
picked the defendant up.

What about medical attention?
Why didn't you take Mr. Fisher
to the emergency room?

I asked him if he wanted to go.
He said "Hospitals are where
they brain wash you. ”

And besides, he looked okay.

Is that your usual practice--
no arrests, no trip to the hospital,

so long as everyone's looks okay?
I don't have a usual practice.

It's case by case.
I use my judgment.

Then let's chat
about your judgment.

The past year, you've handled...

domestic disturbances,
bar fights, traffic disputes.

And in many cases,
you've made arrests,

and/or requested medical attention
for the parties involved

- If counsel could ask a question.
- My question:

What made those cases
different from this one?

I'll give you a hint.

The parties weren't homeless.

I don't treat them any different.
Really?

Because it seems the only time
you do arrest a homeless man or woman...

is for vagrancy, public intoxication
or when they bother a citizen.

But as long as they're just
beating up on one another-

I didn't think an arrest
was warranted in this case.

Didn't matter
if they were homeless or not.

Homeless.
Is that what you call them?

What else should I call them?

It just when you were speaking
to Detectives Briscoe and Green,

you used other terms.

That was just--
We use a lot of slang
on the street.

It doesn't mean anything
Then you won't mind telling us...

what those slang terms are.

One of them was "skells. ”

What was the other?

[Sighs] Lice-heads.

And to think you're
a duly sworn representative of the law.

They were pushin ' and shovin'
First, Fish gave as good
as he got.

But when he got him by the neck
and threw him on the ground,
it was game over.

[McCoy] Game over?
Game over.

He was bashing his head
into the sidewalk.

And Mr. Fisher
couldn't fight back?

That guy was too big.

Which makes me wonder
why he started yelling
at Mr. Edgars in the first place.

He couldn't help it.
It was the way his brain worked

See, Fish would talk tough and such,
but he wouldn't hurt nobody.

[McCoy]
In your opinion, did Mr. Fisher
pose any type of threat to the defendant?

Hardly.

Worse Fish could do to anybody
was spit at 'em a little.

So if the fight was so one-sided,

why didn't you try to stop it?
Two guys in a beef?

You don't get up
in the middle of it.

You stand back and watch.
just the way it is.

In your world.
Right.

Then let's talk a little bit
about your world.

Have you ever been attacked
on the street?

When I was a newbie.
That's when you're new
to the street.

Guys come by,
beat me with a pipe.

Take my stuff
And when did that stop?

When I fought back.
See, when you hit back,

they look for somebody else
who won't.

You look nice today.

Do you dress like that
on the street?
No.

New coat, new tie.
Courtesy of Mr. McCoy?

Yeah.
Where'd you sleep last night?

At the Clinton Hotel.
Where do you usually sleep?

Heating vent.
Did you have a shower this morning?

Yeah. It felt good.

I bet. Before that,
when was the last time
you had a shower?

Don't remember.
Must be nice, living in a hotel,

not on the street.

It was heaven.

[Gardner]
So when you're
living on the street,

not in a hotel,
what do you do when you
have to go to the bathroom?

Wherever I can.
Sometimes behind a car,
in a doorway,

In the park.
Like a clog.

- Your Honor.
- Look behind you, Ms. Gardner.
There's the line.

My apologies.
And I apologize to you, sir.

I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.
I ain't embarrassed.

Living on the street,
I done a lot of things
I never thought I'd do.

Why is this mess
still on your docket?

Because Gardner thinks
she can get him off...

and wants to make
a statement doing so.

And you don't think
she has a point?

That the homeless are animals
and don't have to follow
the same rules we do.

They don't live the same lives we live.
We've turned our backs on them.

I think that's
overstating things a touch.

I mean, there are shelters
and soup kitchens.

And all these so-called solutions
just hide the problem
instead of solving it.

Nobody wants a shelter
in their neighborhood

When's the last time
you picked up a ladle
at a soup kitchen?

Every Thanksgiving,
as a matter of fact.

One day a year.
You and all the other
limousine liberals...

so you can look at yourself
in the mirror.

The sad fact is a lot of these people
aren't gonna get any better,

no matter how much time and money
we throw at the problem.

You might as well try
sweeping sand off the beach.

Careful, Arthur. You'll make
Gardner's case for her.

She shouldn't have a case at all
Make a deal.

Perhaps you haven 't been
paying attention, but this case
isn't just about Max Edgars.

It's about every homeless man,
woman and child in this city.

Depicting your client
as an animal?

Locked in a savage dog-eat-dog
daily struggle for existence?

This is how you advocate
for the homeless?

I never once said homeless people
were animals.

I said society
treats them like animals,
forces them to live like animals.

They still have choice,
free will.

Oh, do they?
After we cast them
into the outer darkness.

Relegate them to a world
that's more Lord of the Flies
than the civilized one we live in.

Believe me. I'm not denying
any of man's darker instincts,
which is why--

We have laws. I know.
Brings us right back
to where we started, doesn't it?

The homeless, shunned
from the very society
that makes those laws.

People need to realize
we are all just two steps away
from becoming Max Edgars.

I used to work construction.

High steel.

I got hurt on the job,
and I blew through all my savings.

And by the time I was back
on my feet again, I was broke,
behind on the mortgage.

And eventually I lost
my house, my family.

Then where did you live?

For a little while, in my car.

But then I sold it, to eat.

Then I started living
in doorways.

A.T.M. vestibules were the best.
Then the mayor started cracking down.

So where did you go?
For a few months,

I lived in this
empty subway tunnel.

There were a lot
of other homeless there.
And rats.

If you didn't wear gloves,
they would nibble on your fingers
while you slept.

[Gardner] Sounds awful.
You got all these people...

living in their own filth.

You-- You go in there,
the stench would knock you back,
like three feet.

And you couldn't go to a shelter.
They're not safe.

A lot of people,
crazies and junkies, looking to
steal your stuff, or do worse.

[Gardner]
Did that happen to you--
people steal your things?

Yeah. I've been mugged.

I lost count how many times.

One time, these-- these two guys
rolled me for my shoes...

and-- and gave me smileys
all over my body.

Th-That's when they hit you
with a chain and a padlock,

and the lock leaves a bruise
like a smiley face.

I want to turn your attention
to the night of your altercation
with Mr. Fisher.

He was crazy.
I just asked for
a piece of his orange,

and he just started
screaming at me.

And I told him to back off
And he pushed me.

And-- And kept putting
his hands on me.
He was a lunatic.

So why didn't you just walk away?

I couldn't.

Word got out that I'd backed off,
I would be fair game.

[Gardner]
Fair game for who?

Anybody.

That's how it works.

If you're vulnerable,
if you're weak, you're a target.

And I wasn't gonna be
a target ever again.

So, you admit...

assaulting another man,

because he refused
to share his orange.

It's not that simple.

The law of the jungle.

That's right.
And your lawyer suggested...

that you live like an animal
in that jungle.

Yeah, well, maybe she's right.

Then what are we doing here?

We don't put animals
on trial, Mr. Edgars.

We put them down.

Fine. Put me down.
You'll be doing me a favor.

Tired of living
in the street, are you?

You think I chose this
for my life?

I think you have more choices
than Alan Fisher did, don't you?

He was held hostage
to his own delusions.

But you could control yourself.

You could have looked for a job.

I had a job. I told you.

And a house.
Yeah.

And a car.
That's right.

Friends, family, possessions.

And I lost them!

I lost it all!

You don't know
what that feels like,
to be a failure.

To go to bed
on a piece of wet cardboard
every friggin' night,

wondering,
“How did this happen to me?”

I didn't want this.

I didn't choose this life.

This is something
that happened to me.

And it's like this thing in my chest
that's killing me.

[Thumping Chest]
It gets me right here.

Sounds...

human...

to me, Mr. Edgars.

Most of us woke up this morning

punched the snooze button
of our clock radios,

before eventually willing ourselves
out of our nice warm beds...

and stumbling into the kitchen
for an English muffin
and a hot cup of coffee.

But others,

people who most of us
will never know,

woke up in a subway tunnel,

surrounded by rats
and human excrement.

We all pay lip service.

We all say the right things
about the homeless,

as long as we don't have to
get too close to them.

We blame them
for their own misfortune...

and say we cannot understand
why they live the way they do.

We can't comprehend
their existence.

We can't possibly ever know
the fear and desperation...

that drove Max Edgars
to kill Alan Fisher that night

We cant'. So we should
all go home tonight,

crawl back into our nice warm beds...

and thank our lucky stars...

we don't have to.

The law exists to protect,

as well as to punish.

So, if you say...

that society's laws don't apply...

to defendants like Max Edgars,

you're also saying
that society's justice...

doesn't apply to victims
like Alan Fisher.

If that's your verdict,

then society truly has turned
its back on these people.

They have no food.

No shelter.

No money.

Don't deny them justice as well.

[Judge Daniels ]
Jury foreman, have you
reached a verdict?

[Foreman]
We have, Your Honor.

On the sole count of the indictment,
manslaughter in the first degree,

we find the defendant... guilty.

[Gavel Bangs]

[Whispering, indistinct]

[Southerlyn]
Twelve years in Ossining.

At least he'll have
plenty of food and shelter.

Careful, Jack. That almost
sounded like sympathy.

Don't get me wrong.
He killed a man for an orange.

He deserves to be in prison.
But?

We just moved him
from one jungle to another.

[Howling]