mrs. demello? mrs. demello! your car! silence. he sighs. shuts the door and presses a button near the light-switch. there's mechanical grinding noise as the far wall slowly rolls up, letting in daylight and revealing an alley beyond the hanging clothes and cinderblock shelves. he presses the garage-door-opener button again, and hurries across the apartment to duck out under the closing door.
come on, phil: i called you as a courtesy, and you start looking to take advantage?
i'm not knocking it down to a class c. my backlog of open cases does not mitigate the fact that your client tried to kill his brother-in-law with - oh, right, a "golfing accident"? your client owns one golf club and no golf
well, i won't see you in court, but someone from this office will. you take it up with them, i gotta go. willy slocum. oh - hey, hi, yes. assistant district attorney norman chang throws the door open without looking:
no, i didn't. wow. okay. norman mouths "wooton sims?!" repeatedly during:
no - short notice is. fine. no, i can. black tie. sure. what time? okay. yes. thank her. he hangs up, exhales slowly. looks at norman.
please stop saying, "wooton sims" over and over. it's starting to sound like nonsense words.
okay: go back to "wooton sims." as willy gets up and goes out, past norman -
we're just going to pretend he's not talking, okay?
i'm really jammed-up all day, and i need to rent a tuxedo - for tonight.
there must be a place that does that, right - same day? i'm also gonna need a messenger to bring it here. this is my suit size and my shirt size. i really appreciate this. mona nods, taking notes as willy gets out a credit card. other ddas are gathering to soak up some vicarious kicks.
wooton sims buys a whole lot of seats to this charity opera thing every year, because bob wooton is the chairman of this committee -
it's what the man told me to call him.
a style.
i don't know - i just don't want to look like i'm going to the prom.
oh, that's very nice: it's good to be back in high school.
our god?
yes sir.
thank you.
i offered my losing cases in exchange for two or three of anyone else's possible convictions. they couldn't handle their workloads, and i prefer not to lose. lobruto knew this; the question was would willy admit it.
sir?
in two weeks.
my mother didn't have a maiden name. lobruto nods, unruffled by willy's hard calm.
i didn't work this hard to stay where i belong.
i appreciate the offer.
no, i think that's everything - thank you.
willy slocum.
three o'clock is in fifteen minutes.
i can't do it.
just get somebody else for this one.
a real confession?
okay. here's the problem.
sorry, your honor. long story. willy, hurrying to prosecution table, barely glances at the defense table - - but crawford, sitting beside his public defender in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, never takes his eyes off willy, intrigued.
yes, ma'am.
i'm sorry, your honor: we've got the weapon and a signed confession. i really think mr. crawford needs a competent attorney to - frankly - negotiate a plea. crawford reaches up with cuffed hands and adjusts an imaginary bow-tie. willy self-consciously touches where crawford indicated on his own collar, straightens his clip- on.
i - can't - this was supposed to be - with a pro se defendant, this is going to drag out for months - and i'm not even going to be here. the people request a continuance to -
terrific.
all due respect, your honor, i'm worried this may turn into some sort of a - circus -
sure. why not. crawford smiles at him, as the judge opens her calendar.
is that what i'm supposed to be?
i'm sorry to. disappoint you. nunally is silent - frustrated. the concrete walls and ceilings echo from distant cars.
and now you want mine?
are you all right?
yeah. i'm on it. you got a confession. you took the gun out of his hand. it's done.
no. it's okay. willy waits. watching the tortured cop wrestle with demons.
sorry?
if i stopped, i'd be standing around with no one to talk to. at which point, death would be a relief.
"bob" is talking to the governor. do i know you? she puts a hand out, gently amused.
oh - hey, hi. it was your office that called, with the invitation.
listen, i don't. actually know "bob." i mean, i've only met the man once. nikki nods, considering this. and him.
truth is, i haven't really had that much expos-
kind of like a mentor.
okay.
you're trying to scare me.
you're going to have to try harder. she stops walking. studying willy.
sure.
it was a good bust, so calvin came to me for a deal. i told him if he could arrange an interview for me with mr. wooton, i would throw the case. i laid out his arguments and evidence for him - and i showed him how i would lose. calvin set up my appointment for the day after our court date. then he did what i had suggested in court - and i wiped the floor with him. your client got the maximum. next day, i met with mr. wooton. bob. beat.
yes.
well - i wasn't entirely honest with calvin. his cell-phone rings. he ignores it.
everyone i need to talk to is here. they are both feeling the electricity in the air between them. they wait the phone out, enjoying the forbidden insanity of it. but then:
all right.
no problem. she studies willy, trying to make sure he understands:
i'm good at trials. even by fire. beat.
i'm looking forward to when i can afford the luxury of having some. nikki sighs, smiles. enjoying him, somewhat reluctantly.
thanks. boss. he watches her head off into the night. he remains, alone, in his tuxedo, looking at the elegant glittering arts plaza. then he checks his cell-phone. dials.
it's willy slocum. what's up?
how can the gun be "no good"?
it's the gun from the scene?
and between the shooting and arrest, this guy was locked inside his house.
no, i mean, just: what's the point? playing games with the gun. he's alone in the house with the victim, and he confessed - it's not like the gun's gonna get him off the hook.
look, our weapon is in that house somewhere. get a team out to search it tomorrow morning.
thank you. he shuts the phone. takes a moment, looking around again at where he is. absently tugs at his tie and vest, lets the case go. heads in to the opera.
yeah.
the idea here is we're trying to take boxes out - not bring more in.
whoa - wait a second, this is a screw- up. i already have these documents. i sent this box: to the defendant, at county.
where are we on this gun?
i'm in trial on monday.
you said you'd get a team out a week ago -
do i need it?! the weapon?! he takes a second. sighs, exasperated - but honest:
i don't know. probably not. defendant's a whack-job.
yeah. just when you think they're not really stupid, they defend themselves.
yeah, okay. don't worry about it. sorry - got a lot going on.
hey, i had to sit through an opera last week.
i don't know.
not yet.
i beg your pardon?
what the hell have you been doing.
not to investigate me!
you shot your wife.
look - i don't want to play games with you.
is this some form of - communication?
it's called discovery. the state has a legal obliga-
not yet.
no. crawford nods. pleased. leans forward.
i'm - prosecuting you.
are you out of your mind?
i don't need the gun to convict you, by the way.
it doesn't matter what she did. tom. what you did is a crime.
great. take the stand. tell your story. i'd appreciate it.
except your confession. crawford watches him go to the door.
is this gonna be about how you had a rough childhood?
looking for mine?
illuminate me. crawford considers how to put it.
huh. well. joke's on me then, i guess.
i'll see you in court, mr. crawford.
just want to be ready for chicago. i'm all closed-out, downtown. last trial starts monday. beat. not pleased:
yeah: attempted murder.
the man confessed. and he's pro se.
you want to hear his witness list? nikki nods. willy is silent. she frowns.
it's kind of clever: this guy is trying to provoke the system into declaring him insane. i think he thinks we'll call in the doctors and he can fake 'em out by refusing the defense. he's acting out this really - organized plan to appear crazy. beat. nikki considers willy.
i'm almost halfway through these. and i think i've already found about six disqualifiers in delaware, ohio, and florida. i have to check case law in each state, but it looks good. i'll get the rest done over the long weekend. nikki sighs, smiles a little, against her will. he's won her over. again. willy shrugs, grins. in the silence, the impossible electricity returns. after a moment - to defuse it:
no. she studies him a moment, thoughtful. careful.
really? she nods. smiling a little, knowing her family and starting to know willy:
yeah. okay, thank you.
so the house was completely surrounded within how long of the first shots? crawford sits alone at the defense table. he wears an expensive suit and no handcuffs, but two deputies sit behind him. he's barely listening to the testimony - drawing on his legal pad: intricate, dense complex diagrams of "rube goldberg" contraptions.
and when you arrived at the sc- crawford noisily tears a page off his pad. looks up - sees willy, and everyone else, turned to him.
when you arrived on the scene, was there a crowd?
and from what you could ascertain, no one went into or came out of the house until swat and the negotiator arrived?
thank you. no further questions.
so this bullet inflicted serious injury?
dr. kang, is it safe to say that someone inflicting this kind of wound intended to kill? judge robinson gives willy a warning look.
thank you, dr. kang. crawford tears off the page, starts another.
so after you put down your gun, what did mr. crawford do?
he confessed. did mr. crawford appear confused or in any way intoxicated, impaired?
what did mr. crawford say? nunally looks at crawford, enjoying the fatal blow:
your honor -
your honor -
oh - shit.
your honor.
your honor, the people request a - nunally suddenly launches himself over the witness box rail to attack crawford - as the deputies leap forward to stop him - all of them flailing and cursing in a tangle -
he had my witness list. he should have filed to suppress.
i don't know. i only heard about it five minutes ago.
we can't put him back on now! not after what the jury just saw. your honor, i told you this would turn into a circus. first he provokes the witness with an outrageous allegation -
okay - um: i'll stipulate that my witness was less than forthcoming . and that can more or less cancel out the fact that the defendant withheld a crucial -
no way. your honor -
oh - come on!
you want to get into it?! crawford raises his eyebrows. awkward silence. willy takes a deep breath. turns to the judge.
sorry. he dictated and signed his confession, after that incident.
this is insane!
he set this up! don't you see what he's doing?!
willy slocum.
do i?
yeah. i'm just trying to figure out what that is.
no.
i let him?
i can't just - walk away.
i guess. that would be the smart way of looking at it.
no. thank you. i've got some stuff to take care of.
i won't. he hangs up. considering the empty eggshell. but then he looks up: district attorney lobruto is in his office doorway, trying to decide whether to be angry.
he - threw me off. look, crawford knew he'd be the prime suspect, so he gave us everything - but he made it all radioactive. the night this went down, it was over.
are you taking me off?
i'm starting to get a sense of this guy.
i can take him now: he thinks he's smarter than i am.
yeah, it is. he made it that way. he likes me.
let me do this. i won't make you look bad. beat.
if i lose.
you said "when." lobruto grimaces. he shakes his head. sighs.
you're not easy to find. i had to call internal affairs.
what the hell were you thinking. you're on the job and you get called to your girlfriend's house -
it was her name!
did you get the feeling she had rules because she had done it before? with other guys?
you were supposed to tell me!
you thought nobody knew - so maybe you could just walk away clean.
yeah? well, he's not. nunally won't look at willy. he just sits there, numb.
is there anything else you can give me. anything that might get us some evidence. nunally shakes his head. willy grimaces. goes to the door.
you warned me he was smart. you didn't warn me you were stupid. nunally winces. takes it. willy feels a little badly. two guys in a shabby motel room, in terrible trouble.
we don't.
shake the boxes.
the cereal boxes - shake 'em. and there's a chicken in the freezer. thaw it out, check inside. the deputy stares like he's nuts. willy doesn't blink. the deputy goes to shake the boxes, eyes on willy: okay? willy nods. moves on.
the garage? washer-dryer?
what about the door frames? the floors?
what about the neighbors' property? he could have thrown it over the hedges.
this isn't an accomplice sort of guy. he slows. looking across the room at the big rube goldberg device. as he moves toward it:
this is a. guy who likes to show off. he examines the intricate workings, eyes travelling the clutter of metal and wires and motors. checks marchand - who shakes his head.
you sure?
it's a physical object. it can't just vanish. we're missing something - some step in the story. he begins walking through the crime, "the stations of the cross" - re-enacting it, starting from the front door, methodical, reciting it to himself:
the neighbor sees her get home. he's already inside. she lets herself in. a minute or two later: blood-pattern says she's standing over there - he's somewhere around here. willy stands where crawford was. raises a finger-gun.
boom. as willy goes to where jennifer fell:
because he's gonna need time. to confess. when she's alone with the cop. willy stops in the alcove, looking down at the dried blood, the discarded paramedic-supply-wrappers.
crawford shouts, "leave us alone" and fires three more rounds: boom-boom- boom.
so they'll call the negotiator. now he's got about ten minutes. and that's it. he stands there with the imaginary gun in his hand. looking around. trying to think like crawford. he can't.
do you dare stay out? do you dare go in? studying framed photos: jennifer - now and then with crawford - in italy, bermuda, colorado. always a bit posed and formal when they're together.
and if you go in - should you turn left or right? or right and three-quarters? or maybe not quite.
you can get so confused that you'll start in to race, down long wiggled roads at break- necking pace no longer really looking for the gun. he's looking for insight. contact. a way in.
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed i fear, toward a most useless place. he idly surveys the vanity, cluttered with cosmetics, skin- care products. lifts her perfume, sniffs.
the waiting place.  for people just waiting. waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go notices a storage box on the floor, left partly-open in the search. he shifts the lid aside.
or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow a high-school yearbook. an old photo album. a teddy bear. a snow-globe. a well-worn book by dr. seuss.
or waiting around for a yes or no or waiting for their hair to grow. everyone is just waiting. willy stares down at the souvenirs of a lost life.
waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for friday night or waiting perhaps for their uncle jake jennifer crawford lies with her head wrapped in gauze, eyes shut, plastic tubing down her throat held in place with tape. willy sits beside her bed, reading dr. seuss:
or a pot to boil, or a better break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls.  or another chance. he stops reading a moment. watching her:
i heard it might - help - if somebody talked to her.
the man who shot her. the resident looks up at willy - who shrugs, uncomfortable.
is there any chance. she might come out of this?
sorry. i'm with the district attorney's office. we don't have any other witnesses.
i know. but you hear about people waking up from comas. after everybody said pull the plug - they wake up. you hear stuff like that all the time.
it's not impossible, though. is it? i mean - why else are you keeping her like this? beat. the resident sighs.
when i was here alone before, she moved a little.
that's how it works with the law.
so this is all exactly how he left it.
and he was - distraught.
but he was working on this. he stands over unfinished rube goldberg device. tools laid out on the work table - meticulous, organized.
all distraught and everything. it's not evidence.
tell him i said no thank you.
how long do you keep the tapes?
can i get a copy of october 9th?
i'm kind of under the gun here.
right. okay.
anything is fine, your honor.
so - is everyone in this family involved in the law?
i don't think so, sir. it's where the money is.
times have changed.
i don't mind; i get this kind of thing now and then. almost always from people with money.
my mom od'd fairly frequently, so they put me in a group home. my younger sister is dead and my older brother is doing twenty-five-to-life.
i usually do.
it's not over 'til it's over.
i wasn't. nikki looks at willy.
taken off.
i asked him not to. silence. nikki is staring at him. angry.
i'm - getting new evidence -
did it ever occur to you i might be good enough to still win?!
the man shot his -
yeah, i'm just -
look - i'm sorry - can we not talk about this here?! nikki stops. refusing to look around. ashamed at losing control, turns back to her food:
thank you. everyone eats in silence a moment - then nikki tosses down her napkin:
look, i'm sorry i didn't tell you -
wouldn't it be better than damage control if i actually turn it around?
what am i supposed to do?
yeah. okay. nikki watches him dealing with it, sympathetic. the impossible feelings always running under the surface for them have developed a darker, aching tone. if anything, stronger.
i think maybe i'm gonna go now.
i've got some work to do. i need to call a cab. gardner nods respectfully, but doesn't move quite yet. studying the torn-up young man.
shit! - by nunally, on the other side of the glass. catching his breath, willy stares. he unlocks the french doors and nunally steps in, uneasy, haggard.
the hell are you doing here? nunally looks around - taking a pint bottle from his overcoat pocket, uncapping it.
thank you, professor einstein. it would also be good to find a couple of
i've had three different teams here -
well - we can't! you want to move on? nunally tosses something from an inside pocket of the coat - - willy catches it. a heckler & koch nine-millimeter in a plastic bag. willy stares down at it. then at nunally, who holds up: a bullet, deformed by impact.
it's a crime.
go home.
i'll find a way.
guns don't just walk out of crime scenes. marchand waves copies of crawford's evidence - stills printed from home-video dick took at a hostage negotiation: nunally doing his job, his methods, his routine.
then what is this: willy uses the remote. on the tv, in black-and-white: jennifer and nunally come out of their room and head for the pool - indistinct figures zip jerkily in and out of rooms on fast-forward - - until he slows it: crawford comes to let himself in.
hotel surveillance. from that day. he was there. why? marchand watches over willy's shoulder. shrugs.
see what? they were out at the pool.
yeah. worked up. marchand gets his jacket, pulls it on.
yeah. maybe. can i ask you to do something for me this morning?
write down your cell number. once my trial is in session, wait outside. i might call - and just hang up. if i do, i want you to come into court and whisper to me that we got a tip about the murder weapon.
i haven't decided yet. mona studies willy - then accepts it's don't-ask-don't-tell, hands him her number. willy nods, grateful. turning for the door, she remembers the envelope in her hand.
so - between the time you heard the first gunshot and called 911, and the time of mr. crawford's arrest - you had the crawford house in view?
no one but thomas crawford came in or out?
thank you, mr. gifford. no further questions.
re-direct, your honor. but crawford is standing too - with his handful of pages:
objection - i'm on re-direct! the judge hesitates. both men standing.
i'm in the middle of presenting -
may i have a moment, your honor? the judge nods. willy nods down. trying to focus. he's got nothing, and everyone in the room knows it. he can hear it, he can feel it. there's a restless, hungry edge to the crowded courtroom. he stares into his open briefcase: the cell phone. next to it: the first class ticket and nikki's note. willy glances back at the gallery. nunally's eyes burn into him. in the back: lobruto frowns, concerned.
i have no further evidence at this time, your honor. crawford begins to smile. lobruto looks down. a buzz rises in the gallery - - as nunally gets up, furious - stalks to the doors, slams out.
hey.
i don't know what i thought. awkward silence. she tries to get past it:
hang on - we move with willy as he shuts the phone and heads for the doors - faster, pushing out -
your husband said something. that i can't seem to shake loose of. he said i'm a winner. and he's right. i can't lose. i can't stand people who lose. i may have been working so hard to put some distance between me and. people like you - that maybe i messed up. i don't know if did anything wrong. or what i should have done. i really don't know, any more. what i'm supposed to do. but i feel like i let you down. somehow in the. process. and if i did, i'm sorry. that's all. i just - i hope you. have. just, some.  anyway. he feels stupid. takes a breath. looking at her pale, drawn, comatose face. he stands, goes to get his jacket, lying folded on a table by the door. pulls it on, settles the shoulders, tugs at his cuffs. gets his briefcase.
she was looking at me.
no, she was looking at me.
she's reacting. the resident ignores him. pricks her forehead - her chin - her big toe. each time she twitches. he runs his thumb along the sole of jennifer's bare foot. it arches up.
you see?
she's in there. she was looking at me.
can we do other tests? like an m.r.i. or something? and i want a coma specialist to see her.
i'll get you authorization. first thing tomorrow. the resident studies willy. reluctantly:
just. visiting.
no?
oh - right. that's my weak spot. ever think about what yours might be? your flaw?
you sure do know a lot, though. got everybody all figured out, everything set up, like one of your contraptions. then you just sit back and watch it all fall right where you want it to. must be kind of. boring. at that point.
but you had to, right? you needed time to set it all up. your "crime of passion."
yeah. there are. so - thank you. crawford frowns. starting to feel wary. willy sees it. enjoys it.
for sharing your wisdom. all your little helpful bits of information. you were right.
talking to her. beat. willy winks. he goes past crawford and out the doors. crawford doesn't move - except to turn and watch willy. uncertain, for the first time since we've met him.
hi, i'm just - - going directly to the key-card slot by the glass double- doors to the rest of the floor. he swipes his card and pulls the handle - - but it stays locked. willy swipes his card again. no go.
excuse me - i'm new, i just started - and there's something wrong with my card. can you buzz me in?
i work here. willy slocum. i'm new - he stops, realizing how he must look.
nikki gardner. willy slocum, for nikki gardner. as he calls in, willy sees nikki through the doors - one of a half-dozen associates trailing in the wake of bob wooton. they all carry expensive business luggage, except wooton - who is powerful, perfectly groomed, and two decades older.
wait a second - never mind, here she is, thank you. willy goes toward the glass doors as wooton comes through - nodding deferentially to the boss, semi-apologetic:
hey. bob - can i talk to you for a second? wooton glances back at nikki, eyes saying: don't take long. she nods as wooton and the team continue to the elevators - staying back by the glass doors to talk with willy:
you let him know what happened last night?
great - who do i work with on it while you're gone?
nikki: the man has power-of-attorney and a health-care proxy, he can disconnect her life-support whenever he wants. if we don't move fast - nikki explodes - but quietly, not wanting the team to hear:
i told you - we bring a civil suit -
it doesn't have to stick: we just need to get a court order for now - to keep crawford from pulling the plug! with all the brain-power here, i'm sure somebody can come up with a pretext or call in a favor. then we can tie this up in court while we arrange a state- appointed conservatorship - so we can protect her while we fight him on -
the point?! willy stares. because she's drawn a line in the sand. one he already crossed, without truly understanding. and now he's standing out there alone - feeling the sand slither away under his feet.
this man is going to kill his wife.
no, this is insane.
you're not really just gonna let this happen, are you?!
my problems?! wait a second - this is not about my anything any more - willy grabs nikki's arm to stop her, turn her around - and she shoves him away, hard, tears welling in her eyes - - willy letting her go - as the receptionist quietly calls for help - - and nikki hurries into the waiting elevator. the associate holding the doors lets them go.
this is about taking a couple of goddamn weeks off to try and save a woman's life! the doors begin to close. willy stands facing the cluster of lawyers in expensive suits, their expressions ranging from pity to contempt - - except nikki, whose eyes are full of shame and guilt and defensive anger. as the doors shut across them. willy doesn't move. confused, humiliated, frustrated. he turns when a bunch of other lawyers emerge from the offices, ready to act as bouncers. people gawk from behind the glass doors. beat. willy holds up his palms.
don't bother. i got it.
people wake up out of these things.
they said. there's no way to really know. i'm trying to get them to run more tests - but i was there, and i'm telling you.
what about his wife?! what's
i'm sorry - but nobody else seems to give a damn that sooner or later this guy is gonna finish what he started. beat.
no - i've been trying to get some-
what?
against me.
can you do anything for her? beat.
can i use your fax machine?
move it if you need to! - running through the automatic doors.
what?
how long ago. did she die?
he's - moving her by helicopter?
then just hold it - for a couple of hours! have it inspected!
she's not gonna get there! he looks at crawford: reading - amused, thoughtful.
this man is a mechanical engineer with expertise in air crashes! he has access to airfields and he knows exactly how to make it look like an accident! you know what he did! you know why she's like this! lunt hesitates, feeling a tiny edge of doubt. crawford checks his watch. looks into willy's eyes - - then gestures for willy to join him, and turns back to walk across the pad to the helicopter. climbs in. willy stares, stunned. lunt looks at him: case closed. the rotors whirl faster, engine noise rising to a scream. from the open chopper doorway, crawford looks at willy again and gestures for him to get on. willy doesn't know how to react. slowly, he starts to walk toward the helicopter.
why are we going out over the ocean?
we have to turn back!
he's doing something - we have to turn back!
he is! you have to get us down!
i'm telling you, we have to turn back! he's doing someth- an alarm begins to shriek - on the ventilator. everyone turns as the med tech hastily kneels next to it -
what's happening?!
what is it?
what? the med tech looks up at willy, scared.
there's a restraining order - she's protected - i'm authorizing you to do it! the med tech turns to crawford, uncertain -
wait! wait - look! willy is pointing at jennifer - shocked - - as the med tech lets him up and they kneel by her, the med tech taking her pulse - willy, staring down at her, intent: she's breathing.
yes. yes. willy whirls around to crawford. who's frowning.
you messed up. with all your plans and games. willy turns back to jennifer. delicately strokes the side of her face. her eyes flutter open -
shhhh. it's okay. it's all right. - she stares into willy's eyes. he takes her hand. silent awe in her eyes. yearning. fear.
you're gonna be okay? she squeezes his hand. very weakly. crawford is looking daggers: die, bitch. jennifer's eyes - fixed on willy - roll back. she fights it.
jennifer? hang on. something sad in her wordless gaze. as it starts to fade.
jennifer?! jennifer?! she's slipping. her eyes gone empty. her hand becoming lifeless in his.
no. come on, jennifer. fight back. tears well up in willy's eyes, but he struggles against them - feeling crawford's gaze, refusing him the satisfaction.
don't let go. but she's gone. he stares down. mourning her. letting his grief slowly burn into rage. he gently reaches up and closes her eyes. then he looks up at crawford, who smiles sympathetically.
that's kind of an answer in itself, isn't it? willy heads back in, starts to pack again.
haven't decided yet. just someplace else. lobruto nods. willy packs.
yep.
that's not what i was doing.
i need to - get to know myself better.
i didn't just lose a case! i let a man get away with murder. lobruto nods. respecting his pain. shrugs, accepts the decision, with regret. willy nods his thanks, and turns back to packing. lobruto starts to leave. but from the alley door:
his wife is dead! lobruto turns. uncertain what willy is getting at.
we can still get him. we can take him back to court.
double jeopardy doesn't apply! we bring a new charge - of homicide.
no: he shot her and she died. the fact that it took time - the fact that he went to trial in between, just for shooting her - doesn't matter. he fired a gun and caused her death, and that's murder. if he can twist the law around - then so can we. lobruto thinks it out. wary.
a man burns down a house; we charge him with arson. there were people sleeping upstairs - and after weeks in the hospital, they die. we'd charge him with murder. right? lobruto nods. on the fence, but seeing it now. impressed with the young man's fervor, and his logic. but he shakes his head.
i'll get something new.
you don't want to know.
i don't work for you. right? beat. lobruto sighs, as willy nods and turns to start back to the garage. with work to do.
what else have we got left? willy disappears inside.
i need a favor.
uh-huh. the clerk stops, checking a number against a slip of paper in his hand - pulls down a box for willy.
you ain't seen nothin' yet. he presses the police emergency button, then turns to crawford.
i want the gun.
i want the gun you shot your wife with. now. crawford doesn't move. willy raises his gun, points it at crawford's face.
one way or another, i'm going to see to it you receive justice tonight. crawford studies willy.
oh, yes.
gonna be a whole lot less funny in about a minute. crawford nods. considering the game. unruffled.
i don't work for the d.a. any more. i'm just a guy who broke into your house. when the police arrest me - they'll inventory anything in my possession. if that happens to be crucial evidence in another case, well: some prosecutor just got lucky. silence. crawford studies willy's eyes, over the muzzle of the gun between them.
i guess you'd know that.
you don't know me.
it's nunally's. crawford is thrown by this - but conceals it well.
yeah. really. he has backed himself into a corner, and he's getting scared. because all of a sudden the threat he came to fake crawford out with - - is starting to seem like his only way out. even crawford sees it. in willy's eyes. the uncertain edge of the idea. he could just do it. end the game. blow crawford's brains all over the wall.
there i was, with a perfectly good weapon just sitting in the evidence warehouse. it would be so easy. with his life already a shambles. with everything already lost. at least he would have this.
i thought you might appreciate the . irony. willy's finger tightens on the trigger.
"a perfectly good. heckler and koch nine-millimeter."
the exact same type of gun you bought your wife, a month before. he looks up at crawford. getting it.
that's why you went to the hotel.
that's why you went into the room.
you took his gun.
and you left him yours. crawford replaces nunally's gun with his own matching pistol, which was tucked into the back of his belt.
yes you did.
after you'd used it. crawford holds out the gun, to nunally: making the offer -
then you told nunally you'd put it down - if he put down his. nunally setting down his pistol on the chair, as crawford, across the room, sets down his on the table.
that's why you moved her back there -
and all you had to do was switch the guns back - in the commotion - crawford picks up his gun and sets the murder weapon on the chair in its place.
- and then wait - he then comes back to put his gun on the table, where it will be mistaken for the murder weapon. straightens, done.
- until nunally walked the murder weapon right out of the house. a detective drops jennifer's gun into an evidence bag - - as nunally walks out.
brilliant.
this caveman's gonna put you in prison for the rest of your life.
no. that would be true. except for all those eggs.
with all those little cracks and weak places. like nunally. shooting himself, right there in the courthouse. i didn't think he was going to do that. did you?
i mean, we all knew he was going to fall apart sooner or later. that was part of your plan, right? like a bank shot, on a pool table: you kill your wife - and destroy her lover. with one bullet. well: four bullets, actually. right? crawford frowns. trying to see what willy's getting at.
first bullet goes into your wife.
then three more out the front of the house, to get some attention. - and fires three times at the transom.
then while you're waiting for the show to begin - you have to reload nunally's gun.
i mean, you don't want him wondering where the hell four bullets went, considering he never fired his gun that night.
and i'm betting you didn't worry about fingerprints.
i mean, why would you? nobody's going to be looking at his gun.
and sooner or later, life goes on, those four incriminating bullets would get used, and be gone forever.
except nunally only fired one of those bullets. into himself.
which means there are still three left with your fingerprints on them - tom. in this clip.
everybody has a weak spot, right? some place they break.