Trouble Don't (File Two of The First Responders Files)

Chapter Seven

"Yeah," Sam nodded, a small smile on her face. "Did a good job, too."

She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, and she departed to her own office to continue working. Nolan watched her go, fingers drumming against his sleeve as he mulled that new piece of information over in his head. There were several tricks he had learned as a defense attorney that he now turned against them as he was a prosecutor . . . but there was one trick he had never pulled before, and it was one he wasn't going to use now.

***

"This case is front page news, Nolan," Jack reminded him later as they walked into his office.

"I get it," Nolan nodded, watching Jack close the door. "But, with all due respect, that's not relevant. When you asked me to come here, you said 'I need someone who sees the world through a different lens, someone with the guts to make hard decisions.'"

"I remember," Jack frowned. "I still feel that way. But it's a legal confession, Nolan. Cops are allowed to lie."

"They are," Nolan allowed with a scowl. He was friends with Olivia and Elliot, and he had no problem with the police most of the time . . . but this was one sore spot he would forever butt heads about with them. "But it makes the confession less reliable, less ethical."

"No," Jack countered. "If it's legal, it's ethical. So where do we draw the line, Nolan? One lie? Two lies? Or do we analyze the severity of the lie? Do white lies count? Do we examine how charming a detective is? What about embellishments? Do they count?" Nolan couldn't help but snort in amusement as Jack continued to rattle off the questions as he rounded his desk. "What if a cop says we have five witnesses instead of four? Do we throw it out?"

"I think we need to analyze it on a case-by-case basis," Nolan answered diplomatically, to which Jack gave him a knowing look. "But to be clear, in this case, it wasn't one little lie or embellishment. Cosgrove spun the suspect upside down. He practically promised her immunity, told her that no one in the DA's Office would ever consider prosecuting her, exploited the fact that she was a rape victim, that she shot the man who assaulted her. Why let the defense tear him apart on cross, shift the focus away from the evidence and onto her sympathetic client and the big bad police department?"

Jack sighed, thinking over his words as he sat in his chair. "Like it or not, Nolan, 'the big bad police department' is our partner. And, in case you haven't been paying attention, they're under attack. Every decision, every arrest, is scrutinized. There are people trying to defund them, for God's sake! And here you are, asking me to castrate them?"

Nolan narrowed his eyes. "That is not my intent," he denied vehemently. "Not after what members of this department, in particular, has done for me and my family." Jack's expression didn't change, but his gaze became more understanding. Nolan sighed and rubbed his forehead, wrestling down the need for a fight. "I just wanna do what is best for this case," he finished quietly.

Jack considered him, then asked, "Can you win this trial without a confession?"

Nolan nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Your call," Jack reminded him. "As long as you're willing to live with the consequences."

"I am," Nolan confirmed. After the clusterfuck of cases that had made him decide to no longer be a defense attorney, he was absolutely willing to live with not using a coerced confession.

Jack nodded. "OK. Then it's out."

Nolan let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said and turned to walk to the door.

"Nolan." He paused and turned expectantly, and this time it wasn't his District Attorney boss who was watching him. It was Jack McCoy, the same man who had often checked in on him while Sylvie was recovering in Cedars-Sinai. "Have you heard anything from Chicago or Portland?" he asked gently.