Law & Order (1990–2010): Season 7, Episode 12 - Law & Order - full transcript

Detectives Briscoe and Curtis investigate the murder of Shelley Ganz who is found in her coop's parking garage shot in the back. Ganz was a financial analyst and apparently well-liked by everyone. She did work as the treasurer for her coop building but the police are unable to find any resident - or prospective resident - who might have an ax to grind. The do note that one of her neighbors, Susan Tashjian, bears a striking resemblance to the dead woman and wonder if she might have been the intended target. When she's gunned downed a few days later, it's obvious they were right. They quickly find the shooter and a pattern that leads them to unsolved murders. The common thread among all the victims is that they owed money to the Beechwood Loan Company owned by Sam "Bunny" Russo - who also had insurance policies on all of the victims.

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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.

Look at it. Right there.

Please, Mark. Can we just go up?

Well, I gotta see
how deep it is.

Okay, you're right. So the
big, bad parking attendant

put a teeny, little scratch
on your beautiful new car.

Now get over it.



I understand accidents happen.

I just wish they
wouldn't lie about it.

I told you we should have
taken a cab. Now come on.

What's that smell? Firecrackers?

That's Shelly's car. What's
she doing parked there?

She probably has packages.

Yeah, but she knows she's
not supposed to park there.

Why not? You park there
when you have packages.

Mmm.

Oh, Mark, look. Oh, my God.

They found her around 8:45.
They could still smell the gunpowder.

They know her?
They live down the hall.

Shelly Ganz. 33. She's
some kind of financial planner.

Is there a Mr. Ganz?
She's divorced.



They said she lives
with her parents.

They're in Connecticut
for the week.

Find their number.

That's a hell of a way
to treat a camel hair coat.

Shotgun. One round.

I make it from about a foot away

from the burn marks
and the spread pattern.

What's in the trunk? Groceries.

Cash and credit cards
are still in her purse.

So, she pulls in, pops
the trunk, steps out... Hello.

The shot came
from this direction.

The shooter might have
been hiding behind those pipes.

We got shoe prints in the
grease there and one here.

Size nine-and-a-half work boot.

Well, that rules out
Shaquille. Thanks.

I took out the
trash around 7:00.

It was the last time I came down
here until Mr. Poletti buzzed me.

Have you noticed anyone
hanging around the building?

No. Nobody.

Has anybody been
working over by those pipes?

No. Who all parks down here?

Just the people
who live in the co-op?

Yes. But there's not
enough parking spaces.

Some of them have
to park on the street.

What about that security gate
over there? Is that usually closed?

Yes. You open it with a pass
card. But any credit card will do.

It was like our little secret.

Not anymore.
Okay, you take that,

you give me a call, you
remember anything else, all right?

Yeah.

One shot to the back. No
robbery, no sexual assault.

You know what this looks like.

Yeah. Looks like somebody
gets a parking space.

I don't understand it.

Shelly didn't have
an enemy in the world.

She volunteered at a
food bank for the homeless.

She did walkathons for AIDS.

She was always helping people.

It just doesn't make any sense.

We were told she'd been married.

Yes. She was divorced
almost a year and a half ago.

That's when she
moved in with us.

We're gonna need her
ex-husband's address.

He lives in Utah.

Any problems with him?

No. They spoke together once
or twice, maybe, in the last year.

Was she seeing anyone recently?

Yes. There was
someone she met at work,

Peter something.
She said he was nice.

Peter Messina. They broke
up a couple of weeks ago.

She was pretty hurt.

She was working
up to telling you.

He doesn't work for
that firm anymore.

Shelly said that he
left after they broke up.

We're ready for
the identification.

Maybe I should just go. No.

No, I want to see Shelly.

I haven't talked to Shelly
since I left Danielson and Quirk.

You just stopped seeing
each other cold turkey?

Right, that's how
mature people handle it.

Getting yourself fired,
that's very mature.

It was my decision to leave.

We're all ears.

Shelly found out I was sleeping
with her mutual fund analyst.

You burn the midnight oil in my
line of work. You date what's handy.

Anyway, it was time
to get out of Dodge.

Yeah, well, just for drill, cowboy,
where were you last night?

Home, with a cold.

I ordered some hot and
sour from Szechwan Village.

So, it was just you, a bowl of
soup and the mutual fund analyst?

No. She broke up with me
after she heard about Shelly.

In his short,
brilliant career here,

Peter cut a wide swath
through the office pool.

He saw the writing on the wall.

Nobody had to nudge
him toward the exit.

And after he left, it was
one big happy family again?

Yes. Boy toys aren't worth
fighting over, Detective.

Can you think of anyone
who'd want to hurt Shelly?

No. Shelly was one of the nicest
people who ever worked for me.

Nobody had a beef with
her? Maybe she forgot

to say hello to
the mail-room boy?

There was one thorn in her side.
She was treasurer of her parents' co-op.

Every other week she got
a nasty call from someone

about co-op business.

For example? You name it.
Contractors, repairmen, owners,

people who would
like to become owners.

How bad did the calls get?

She said she was
threatened a few times.

It's the nineties.
People play rough.

Our last treasurer, Mr. Fields, passed
away about a year ago. He was 80.

It took Shelly, oh, a good
month working with the auditors

to get the books
back into shape.

What other kinds
of things did she do?

Oh, she kept track of the
maintenance, she paid the taxes,

she interviewed
prospective buyers.

We relied on her for everything.
She did a wonderful job.

She screened prospective buyers?

Yes, well, we can't let
just anyone move in.

The board does vote
on every prospect.

And she'd break the news to
the people you turned down?

Yes. She said some people
would not take no for an answer.

Do you happen to remember
who any of those people were?

No, she never mentioned any...

Oh, my God. Oh, my
God. You don't think that...

Are the applications
still in the co-op records?

Yes, but those
records are confidential.

Mrs. Keenan, they might
help us to find Shelly's killer.

Well, I suppose it
wouldn't do any harm.

The sad thing is, Detective,
this is just the kind of thing

that I would have asked
Shelly's advice about.

Profaci checked with the
doorman at the boyfriend's building.

He logged in a Chinese delivery

at about 7:30 on the
night of the murder.

Too bad. I would have loved
nailing the boy toy. So to speak.

And Forensics ID'd
the shoe print as coming

from a Danner work
boot with Vibram soles.

So, unless somebody put down
their shoe size on their application...

Yeah, they put
down everything but.

You'd have to be a
saint to get into this place.

Or at least not Puerto Rican.

They turned down the Vegas,
the Lopezes, the Castillos...

Mmm-hmm. I get the idea.

We have a Mr. Hoffman

who claimed on his
application that he was single,

but Shelly Ganz found out he had
an ex-wife and two kids in New Jersey.

He was buying a co-op with
undeclared marital property?

Not to mention the 50 grand
he owes in child support.

Maybe Ganz
threatened to report him.

I was turned down because
I run this establishment.

Only 10 adult bookstores
left in Times Square,

and I'm the only owner
born in this country.

Well, I hate to burst your red,
white and blue bubble, Mr. Hoffman,

but you were turned down
because you lied on your application.

I told them I was in the
entertainment business.

You see these videos?
That's entertainment.

I don't see Hello,
Dolly! up there.

Shelly Ganz found out you
were hiding money from your ex.

She did?

This is news to you? Yeah.

She must have called
my ex-wife, that little bitch.

That application was
confidential. I'm gonna sue.

Don't bother.

Goes to show, no good
deed goes unpunished.

Yeah. One man's do-gooder
is another man's busybody.

I mean, being treasurer, she
knew everybody's business.

Maybe not everyone in the
building is sorry to see she's gone.

Here we are. I hope I made
it strong enough for you.

Now, is there anything
else I can get for you?

Well, maybe just a blood
pressure monitor. Oh, you.

Mrs. Keenan, I noticed the co-op

is a secondary lender
on some of the units.

Well, yes. Our old
treasurer, Mr. Fields,

approved mortgage
loans for our residents.

But Shelly put a stop to that. She
thought it was financially unsound.

I can see why. Some
of your neighbors

are delinquent
on their payments.

Yes. We told Shelly to do
whatever she thought best.

Yeah. Looks like the people
in 3-D are feeling the heat.

Ah, yes. The Tashjians.

They wanted Shelly's help
getting a loan someplace.

Yeah. There's a letter
here asking her approval

to use their co-op as collateral,
but I don't see an answer.

Well, I don't know
what Shelly decided.

Maybe the loan company does.

Mr. Russo will be back
in the office this afternoon.

You should really talk to him.

Oh, we'll have more
fun talking to you.

We just want to know
about the Tashjian loan.

Loan information
is confidential.

Yeah, you know,
we hear that a lot.

But most of the
time it's just not true.

If you could
just pull their file.

You ask the questions. If
I can answer them, I will.

Whoa! That's quite a brick. The
Tashjians long-time customers?

Uh, they've had a
loan with us since 1995.

For how much? 1.2 million.

Really? What did they
do with all that money?

They own an ad agency. They
pay employees, freelancers,

commercial production houses,
anything as it pertains to their business.

We understand they were
applying for a new loan?

Actually, they're renegotiating
the terms of this loan.

They're behind on repaying it.

Seems to be their habit.

They wanted to use their
co-op as collateral, is that right?

Yes, but they're waiting for
approval from their co-op's treasurer.

Shelly Ganz? Uh, yes.

They were supposed
to get it three weeks ago.

And if it doesn't come
through? We call in the loan.

Shelly told us there was a problem
because of the co-op bylaws,

but she said she'd run
it by the board again.

Maybe you thought
she was the problem.

The way we heard it, the board
rubber-stamped everything she told them.

Okay, I confess.
I killed Shelly.

Then I was going to kill
everyone on the board,

get myself elected and rewrite
the bylaws. Makes a lot of sense.

Very funny. Humor us
some more, Mr. Tashjian.

Where were you Monday
night? I got home about 6:30.

I was on the phone with clients

until I heard the
sirens outside.

You were by yourself?
Yes. My wife was at the gym.

What's going on, Steven?

These are New York City police
detectives, Susan. I'll explain in the car.

Is this your parking space?

When someone's
not using it. Why?

Shelly Ganz was shot right here.

We know.

It's been nice talking to you.

You thinking what I'm
thinking? Those cars look alike.

She's got the same color
hair, same age, same build.

Easy to mistake
one for the other.

Hey, in this light I'm
lucky I recognize you.

This is Susan Tashjian's
driver's license photo,

and this is Shelly Ganz.

Hmm. There's a resemblance.

So somebody wanted
Mrs. Tashjian dead

and hired somebody who'd
never seen her to kill her.

Is this what I'm hearing?

The shooter sees a
dark-colored luxury import

roll into Susan Tashjian's
parking spot. A brunette gets out.

Now, he's not going to ask her
for ID before pulling the trigger.

Well, what happened to
Steven Tashjian killing the girl?

Well, LUDs confirms that he was on
the phone when the shooting happened.

Anyway, killing Ganz doesn't
get him the instant jackpot.

On the other hand, having his
wife clipped might be the way to go.

If there's a nice, fat insurance
policy at the end of the rainbow.

Well, if they have insurance,
they have premiums.

The Tashjians use an outside
bookkeeper to pay their bills.

They've been clients for the last
seven years. It's been quite a ride.

Yeah, mostly downhill,
from what we hear.

They won this big luxury car
account a couple of years ago.

They took out a business loan, moved
to a new building, buy new equipment.

So far, so good.

Yes, well, the bottom fell
out of the luxury car market.

The company cut back on advertising.
The Tashjians lost the account.

But they still have
to pay back the loan.

Here we go. There are two yearly
premiums to the Dominion Insurance Company.

One for Steven's policy
and one for Susan's.

We're going to need those
policy numbers, all right?

Yeah, they're on
the check stubs.

Correct me if I'm
wrong, but, um,

do you suspect Steven
of wanting to hurt Susan?

You've known them longer than
we have. Do you think it's possible?

Well, the last time they
came in to do their quarterlies,

they barely spoke to each other.
But I'm no marriage counselor.

Susan Tashjian's got a $300,000
policy payable to her husband.

He has got a $500,000
policy payable to her.

So she's got 200,000
better reasons to kill him.

Yeah, unless the
shooter is Mr. Magoo,

I doubt he mistook Shelly
Ganz for Steven Tashjian.

This whole notion that my
husband killed Shelly Ganz is absurd.

Well, we happen to agree.

You admit you're wrong? That's
refreshing, coming from a city employee.

So, you're here to apologize?

Oh, let's not get carried away.

No, the thing is,
we think it's possible

that whoever killed Ms.
Ganz really meant to kill you.

Why would anyone wanna kill me?

It's just a theory.

Your husband told us you
were at the gym last Monday.

Is that a regular thing for you?

Yes. I work out with
a personal trainer

three nights a week for the
last year. I go from 7:00 to 8:30.

How long does it
take you to get home?

Ten minutes. The gym's on 61st.

But Monday I gave a friend a
lift home and went up for coffee.

So, normally you
get home by 8:45.

Did you call your husband, tell
him you were going to be late?

No. Wait, you think...

We're just covering all bases.

What a ridiculous idea.

Steven and I have been married
11 years. We love each other.

Well, if you can
think of anybody else,

uh, an ex-employee,
a client, a relative?

The last big argument I
had was with my dry cleaner.

There's nobody out
to kill me, Detective.

Well, maybe you remember
somebody following you,

somebody waiting
outside the building.

The only thing I can think of

is last week the super said a man
tried to deliver an envelope to me.

Who was he? I don't
know. I wasn't home.

I never heard about it again.

I'm sure you're
wrong about this.

His hair wasn't that curly. More
wavy. And he had a windbreaker.

Did it have a logo,
like a uniform?

No. You know, come to think of it,
it might have been a leather jacket.

Big difference.

Yeah, well, I wasn't paying
attention to his clothes.

I was mopping the floor.

His eyes weren't that far
apart. And his chin was fatter.

What about this envelope,
what did it look like? I didn't see it.

It must have been in this
little duffel bag he had.

I told him Mrs. Tashjian wasn't
home, she was at her office,

then he went back to his
car. Did you see his car?

Yeah. I went outside to dump the
mop bucket, and he got into a Mercedes.

You see the license plate? No.

It was a newer Mercedes,
though, dark green.

But the right front fender
had that gray primer paint on it.

Did you tell him where
Mrs. Tashjian worked?

Yeah.

His ears are too big.

He might have asked for Mrs.
Tashjian from the ad agency.

You know, people come in and out of
here all day. I don't focus on their faces.

This was last week.
Look at the picture again.

He drives a green Mercedes
with gray primer on it.

Maybe you saw it
parked on the street.

No, that wasn't a Mercedes.
It was a red Beemer.

Looked new except for
the primer on the hood.

You saw this guy in the car?

Yeah, it could have been him.

He looked Hispanic.
I saw him get out.

What did he do? Checked the
street numbers, then he split.

Okay, thanks.

If it's the same guy, it sounds like
he gets his cars from Rent-A-Wreck.

Or a body shop.

We don't do body work
here. We farm it out.

Get in, Detective.
See how it fits.

The body shops you use
specialize in Mercedes?

They also do BMW's and Porsches.
They all have the same requirements.

We use two places. One on the
Upper East Side and one on Avenue C.

Well, how does it feel?

Like I can't afford it.

And those are the
only two in Manhattan?

The only two places that I use.

There are about
three more I don't.

What would it take to get
you into this car, Detective?

Next week's lotto numbers.

Would you just take
a look at the picture?

Yeah, one second.

People. They buy a German car, all of a
sudden they think they're driving a tank.

What's this about?

It's about identifying
the guy in the picture.

Well, I gotta know
what you want with him.

Hey, you keep stalling us,

we're going to
forget about this guy

and take a serious
interest in you.

Okay, okay.

It kind of looks
like Enrique Flores.

He's got a little shop
out in Hunts Point.

He does some overflow
work for us sometimes.

No.

Just tell him to call
me back. Thanks.

He's still out in
Brooklyn picking up a car.

Would you look
at those girls, Rey?

Thirty degrees, freezing rain,

they haven't taken a
break since we got here.

Politicians who complain
about the vanishing work ethic

should meet these women.

I bet they have.

So, you find a place yet?

Still looking.

Might not need it. Yeah? Good.

Listen. You know, I've been down this
road a couple of times. If you wanna talk.

Yeah, thanks. We're
getting counseling.

Well, shrinks can be helpful.

It's a priest.

Whatever works.

Hey, Lennie,
that looks like him.

Unit two, go in. Go in.

I don't know, man. We'll
take a look at it inside.

Enrique Flores.

What's going on? What did I do?

You pissed me off, that's what.

Hey, man. I don't know you.
Why you doing this to me?

Enrique Flores, you're under
arrest for the murder of Shelly Ganz.

I don't know Shelly Ganz. I
don't know these Tashjian people.

I don't even know
what I'm doing here.

You heard him. He didn't do it.

Two witnesses have him
sniffing around Susan Tashjian.

We have his boot print in
her garage. He's the guy.

I was set up. It has to be.

It's because I'm a Latino.
They have it in for Latinos.

Hey, the only people we got
it in for are dirt-bag murderers.

Detective, there's no need
for ad hominem attacks.

Screw your ad hominem.

This guy blew a hole the size
of my fist through a girl's back.

Who put you up to it, Enrique?

You have to believe
me. I didn't do it.

If you wanna stay alive,
you better start talking.

No way. This interview is over.

It's number four.

No. No, maybe not.

You know, if I could
get a closer look.

Can I go in there?
It's against the rules.

I didn't know. Well, those
two in the middle could be him.

Is that good enough?

Right now he's in
Central Booking.

But if he goes to arraignment
and makes bail, he's gonna run.

What do you have on him?

He was wearing nine-and-a-half
Danner boots when we picked him up.

They're fairly new,
so the wear pattern

is not unique enough
for a conclusive match.

Fingerprints, murder
weapon, anything?

No prints. We're still processing
the body shop and his house.

Unless we get something conclusive
to dazzle the arraignment judge,

don't count on high bail.

I'd just like to know
we have the right man.

Hey, we didn't get
Flores by mistake.

Somebody ID'd him from a sketch.

Yes?

It's for you.

They want us to lose his
paperwork for a few days.

By then, we might have enough
evidence to get him remanded.

Yeah.

Susan Tashjian.

She was shot dead a half
an hour ago outside her gym.

I was at the front desk
when I heard the shots.

By the time I got to
Susan, she was dead.

Did you see anybody
out on the street?

Not at first.

Then people started coming
out of that bodega over there.

It's such a waste.

Yeah, well, if you remember
anything else. Thanks.

She just wouldn't believe
somebody was out to get her.

Times like these,
I'd rather be wrong.

She was tapped
three times in the back.

Nine millimeter. We
have the casings.

Witnesses? Nothing yet.

Find the husband. Bring him in.

I would like to see her. I
mean, can I at least do that?

Oh, don't worry, Steve. This
time the job got done right.

I don't know what
you're talking about.

We're saying you found somebody to
finish off what Enrique Flores started.

I did not have my wife
killed. You're crazy.

You're practical. You throw the
insurance money at your creditors,

maybe they leave
you alone for a while.

You think I had her
killed for $300,000?

Look, forget I loved
Susan. She was my partner.

She did all of
the creative work.

Without her, the
ad agency's just...

I can't believe that
you're accusing me of this.

You're on the hook for
two murders, Mr. Tashjian.

I didn't do it.

Damn you, I did not do it.

Now, I have answered your
questions, and now I wanna see Susan.

You want us to put
him up for the night?

There's no evidence
to sustain an arrest.

Take him to the
morgue, then let him go.

Do we know for certain how many
policies Tashjian had on his wife?

The bookkeeper mentioned
the one policy with Dominion Life.

You don't think Tashjian
would kill her for 300,000.

I think he'd make
it worth his while.

Well, he can't
collect on any policy

without a copy of
the death certificate.

I'll tell the Department of Health
to notify us if they get any requests.

Meantime, let's connect
him to Enrique Flores.

Well, if Flores ever did work on Tashjian's
car, I can't find a record of it.

There's nothing in
Tashjian's files, either.

They weren't Army buddies,
they didn't go to the same school.

Who would you ask if
you needed a hit man?

I'd find an old cop, preferably
one with a lot of alimony.

Where did Tashjian
get his business loan?

Uh...

From the Beachwood
Loan Company in Brooklyn.

Flores borrowed $90,000 from them
last year to buy a frame straightener.

How many red and how many green?

No, I don't want
Santa on the roof.

Just give me the lights
over the whole house.

Right. Fax me the contract.

You believe that? $15,000
for Christmas lights.

So, uh, who were
you asking about?

Enrique Flores and
Steven Tashjian.

They both borrowed
money from you, Mr. Russo.

Call me Bunny.

Lynne, pull out
the files, will you,

on Steven Tashjian
and Enrique Flores.

You know, I put out between five and
seven million dollars in loans every month,

so I don't know
everybody by name.

Flores has a body shop in
Hunts Point. He owes you $90,000.

And Tashjian has an ad
agency. He owes you 1.2 million.

I see.

And I hear his wife was
killed a couple of days ago.

Thank you, Lynne.

So why do you wanna
know about these two?

We suspect Tashjian had his
wife killed and Flores is involved.

They might have met
through your company.

Well, it's not like I have
socials for my borrowers.

Why would
Tashjian kill his wife?

For the life insurance.
He needed money.

Who doesn't?

Oh, look, I'm not
defending the guy,

but a lot of people had
a beef with the Tashjians.

How come?

They stiffed their clients,
suppliers, freelancers.

Every time one of them sued, I'd
get the call as the primary creditor.

There are two photo studios in
Chapter 7 because of the Tashjians.

The Tashjians settled
with one photo studio.

The other one went out of business
when the photographer was sued

for sexually
harassing his models.

What about their
other creditors?

They either wrote off the debts

or they're waiting
for their turn in court.

Doesn't look promising.

This does. The
Department of Health called.

They got two requests for
Susan Tashjian's death certificate.

One from Dominion Life

and one from an agent of the
Champlain Insurance Company.

Mr. Tashjian doubled
up. Mmm-hmm.

Steven Tashjian?
Never heard of him.

You pulled his wife's
death certificate.

He's the beneficiary on
her life insurance policy.

Well, let me look here.

You have disability insurance?

- Yes, with the city.
- Yeah, right.

The BOW policy.
Better Off Working.

You should think about
additional coverage.

Oh, here it is.

Susan Tashjian. Champlain
Life. $600,000 payout.

That's nice for Mr. Tashjian.

Well, he's not the beneficiary.

No, the Beachwood Loan
Company is. They own the policy.

Why would they have
life insurance on her?

Well, didn't she co-sign
for a loan with them?

Yes, she and her husband.

Well, Beachwood has policies on
all their borrowers. Good thing, too.

Last year, they had
four people die on them.

Four claims worth over
three million dollars.

One of the borrowers
died of a heart attack.

The other three were shot
dead. The crimes are unsolved.

Coincidentally, all three were in default
to Beachwood. Same as the Tashjians.

Susan Tashjian gets killed,

Beachwood gets back half
the money it loaned them.

Loan companies seize assets, they
don't kill people for insurance money.

Bunny Russo is not your
friendly neighborhood lender.

In 1992, he got two years’
probation for aggravated harassment.

He took a baseball
bat to a client's car

while the client
was still in it.

And you think now that he
uses Flores to murder his clients?

Flores and whatever
accomplice shot Susan Tashjian.

We looked at
Flores' bank records.

He hasn't made a payment
to Russo in two months.

He's probably working off
his debt by shooting people.

The mother of all loan
sharks. Hell of a bedtime story.

Right now, that's
all it is. A story.

Reopen the old cases.
Find something on Mr. Russo.

My dad was supposed to meet
me at the Garden for a hockey game.

He called to say that he was having
a drink with a business acquaintance.

The next morning, they found
his body near Battery Park.

Ten months, they still
can't tell me what happened.

Your father borrowed
money from Beachwood Loan?

Yes. For his dress-making
business. $900,000.

But it was paid back by an
insurance company after he died.

Why do you ask?

Did he ever discuss his
dealings with Sam Russo?

Bunny? Sure.

They had shouting
matches over the phone.

My dad was behind
on his payments.

His business was in trouble.
He owed money everywhere.

Did Mr. Russo ever threaten him?

Everybody threatened my
dad. He threatened them back.

He ran a sweatshop,
not a nursery school.

Wait. Is that bastard
Russo a suspect?

Have you ever seen this man before
or heard his name, Enrique Flores?

No. Who is he? Is he
mixed up with Russo?

Do you know who your father had
drinks with before he disappeared?

No. Look, my mother's been waiting 10
months. If you know something, tell me.

I can't discuss it, Mr. Kaiser.
I'm sorry. Thank you for coming in.

And I advise you to stay
away from Mr. Russo.

Waxman was a PI, specialized in
matrimonial and missing persons.

You can imagine, I had
suspects coming out of my ass.

Unfaithful spouses,
bill skippers,

not to mention two ex-wives
hawking him for alimony.

What about Beachwood Loan?

He owed them close to 450 grand.

They took a big
bath on that puppy.

They did fine. They
had life insurance on him.

I didn't know that.

His name's Enrique Flores.

He's a suspect in another
murder involving Beachwood Loan.

I never heard of him.

What's his connection
to Beachwood?

He borrowed money from them.

He owns a body shop in
Hunts Point. That rings a bell.

We found license plate
numbers in Waxman's notebook.

We figured it had something
to do with his cases.

You traced the cars? Yeah.

One guy said he had an accident

and didn't even have his car
the week Waxman was killed.

We thought Waxman got
the plate number wrong.

Here. The car was getting
fixed at a place in Hunts Point.

You used one of your customer's
cars to follow him, Enrique.

But Waxman made you.
He wrote down your plate.

No. No, it's a mistake. Doesn't
make sense any other way.

That's two killings with
your name on them.

It's a coincidence.
I'm the wrong guy.

What do you want with him?

He knows what we
want. Sam Russo.

But it's not me.
No way I did it.

Enrique, listen to
what they have to...

I don't want to listen.
I want to go home.

Starting tonight, Mr. Flores,
home is a four-by-ten cell.

You can't do that. I have bail.

We're re-arresting you for
the murder of Jason Waxman.

This time I guarantee
you won't get bail.

Please, I gotta go home!

You better listen to
your lawyer, Enrique.

You don't talk, you're
never gonna go home.

Oh, God. My God. What,
what, what? Take it easy.

It hurts! Lay him down.

I can't breathe. JACK:
Lay him down. Easy.

I'll call EMS. Who knows CPR?

After you.

Mr. Flores, can
you hear me? Yes.

You've had a mild heart attack.

Please. I don't want to die.

You're gonna be fine, but
your heartbeat is still irregular.

So we're gonna keep you
overnight for observation.

I want to go home.

We'll talk about
that later, Mr. Flores.

Now, we're going to give you
a sedative to help you relax.

But I need to ask
you a few things.

Where did you
feel the pain first?

In my head. I felt
a lot of pressure.

And what were you
doing when it started?

The police were asking
me questions. I see.

Because I killed
two people, Doctor.

I killed them, and
I'm going to jail.

Well, is he gonna
live? Better than that.

He just fessed up
to the two murders.

You heard him? I was
standing three feet in front of him.

He didn't happen to say
Russo put him up to it, did he?

No.

It's enough that he
admitted to the murders.

It's bedtime for Mr. Russo.

You have the right to a lawyer.

If you cannot afford one, one will be
appointed to you. You understand all that?

Nothing I haven't heard before.
Lynne, call David Sheehan.

Where are you guys taking
me? The 27th Precinct.

Tell him to meet me
at the 27th Precinct,

and page him if you
have to. Come on.

Hey, wait a minute. You
mind swinging by my house?

They just put up the
Christmas lights today.

I'd really like to see
what they look like.

We'll have Santa
bring you a picture.

Five murders? What
are you doing, McCoy?

Cleaning out your
desk for the new year?

I was hoping he might
want to clear his conscience.

My conscience?

We know miracles don't
happen without a little help.

We have the shooter
for Ganz and Waxman.

You tell us who
did the other three,

you plead to murder one, and
I won't seek the death penalty.

You must be Saint
Bernadette of Lourdes

if you think I'm gonna
plead to anything.

Life without parole,
Mr. Russo. Take it or lose it.

Enrique Flores has already
confessed to two killings.

Honey, if you had the brains
to go along with those looks,

you'd know you're being played.

Sam, let me handle
this, will you, please?

Dave, shut up. Nobody's
making cases against me.

I'm an honest businessman
making an honest living.

By threatening people
with a baseball bat?

Did you learn that at the Meyer
Lansky School of Business?

People borrow money from me
and they pay me back for one reason.

Because they have to.
Not because they like to.

And if they don't
pay, you kill them.

I never killed
anyone in my life.

Dave, you deal with this. Guard!

I'm not going to testify
against him. Forget about it.

Enrique, calm down. You
know what the doctor said.

If I take the stand
against Russo,

I might as well have
a big heart attack.

If you don't testify, Mr. Flores,
you'll be facing something

far more lethal
than a heart attack.

Assuming he testifies,
what do you propose?

Murder two, two counts,
concurrent sentences.

That's not much of a break,
considering your evidence.

A spontaneous admission
in front of a police detective?

Isn't anybody listening to me?

I don't care if they kiss
my ass, I'm not talking.

We have your statement from
the hospital. We'll see you at trial.

You're not there yet, Mr. McCoy.

The statement's
protected. You can't use it.

My client was responding to a
question by the treating physician.

His answers are protected
by the doctor-patient privilege.

The presence of a third party,
in this case Detective Curtis,

shatters the privilege.
It's black letter law.

Except where a police
officer's presence

is required to guard the
patient. People v. Sanders.

My client didn't have the option

of a private session
with his doctor.

Flores knew the
detective was there.

He knew to keep his mouth shut.

Mr. McCoy, I hope
you're not suggesting

he had to give up his right
against self-incrimination

in order to get
medical treatment.

Your Honor, the information
that he had killed two people

was not necessary to
his medical treatment.

There's no privilege. I
can cite People v. Bostic...

My client had a heart attack,
he was hooked up to an ECG,

he didn't know if
he would live or die.

He was in no condition to decide

what's necessary
medical information.

I wouldn't expect him to.

Your Honor, this was
an excited utterance,

it was voluntary
and spontaneous.

And it's inadmissible.

The doctor-patient privilege was not
waived by the detective's presence.

Defense motion is granted.

All we've got is a boot print

and a license plate
number on a note pad.

Thanks to Judge Meathead,
we couldn't convince Flores

to hold our hat,
let alone testify.

Okay, forget the judge. How do
you propose to convict Mr. Russo?

Flores confessed. We
can't use it against him,

but maybe we can
use it against Russo.

Yeah. He lent money to
someone who killed two people.

Now, since when is that a crime?

It proves one element
of the fact pattern.

The only pattern here
is you have no facts.

Susan Tashjian shot dead
right under your noses.

Two other murders unsolved.

Find those killers and connect
them with the loan shark.

Maybe they were doing the same
thing as Flores, working off a loan.

Check the company records, see
who's been getting a break lately.

If you wanna go, go. I'm fine.

Don't you have a
babysitter waiting at home?

She's a live-in.

I know you like working with
people who can put in long hours.

You talked to Adam.
What makes you think that?

Now, if you wanna
go... I'm fine.

Don't you have a bar to visit?

Edward Kaiser. The one who
didn't make it to the hockey game.

I don't know how he
ever qualified for a loan.

He went through a Chapter
11 bankruptcy six years ago.

A lot of his accounts receivable

were more than 120 days overdue.

Kaiser had default
written all over him.

Why would Russo lend him a dime?

Here's one reason.

Kaiser was referred to
Beachwood by Steven Tashjian.

Strange how he never
bothered telling us

one of his friends was murdered.

Is this Tashjian's file? Yeah.

Two weeks after
Kaiser was killed,

Tashjian had five percentage
points shaved off his loan,

retroactive to
the first payment.

That was always in the cards. Once
the loan reached a certain amount,

I got a rebate on
the interest rate.

A rebate worth $200,000.

I don't understand,
Mr. McCoy. Have you joined

some regulatory
commission on interest rates?

I'd like to know
what Mr. Tashjian did

to warrant such
special treatment.

I didn't do anything.
You're listed as a reference

on Edward Kaiser's
loan application.

Why didn't you tell
us you knew him?

Your wife is shot.
Mr. Kaiser is shot.

You all owe money to Mr. Russo.

And you never
say anything to us?

I met Kaiser once or
twice at business functions.

I might have mentioned Beachwood.
I didn't know he had taken out a loan.

You never talked to him? No.

Somebody in your office did.

Your ad agency's phone records

show three calls to
him the week he died.

One was made the
day he was murdered.

He told his son he was meeting
somebody for drinks. Then he disappeared.

He was meeting you, wasn't he?

You killed him
on Russo's orders.

No. Uh... Steven,
let me talk here.

Unless he tells
me what happened,

I'm having him arrested
for first-degree murder.

Based on what?

Steven, let's go.

Russo had your wife killed, Mr. Tashjian.
Don't you think he ought to pay for it?

In return for his
testimony against Russo,

he gets full immunity.

Let's hear what he has to say.

I, uh...

I was having trouble
paying Russo.

He said if I did him a favor, he
would make things easier for me.

He asked me to arrange
a meeting with Kaiser.

What happened at the meeting?

I don't know. I wasn't
there. I was with my wife.

I swear, I didn't know
they were gonna kill him.

You went through this subterfuge
just to have a cup of coffee with him?

I thought they
might rough him up.

I didn't think that
they would kill him.

When you found out, why
didn't you tell the police?

Russo's people
would have loved that.

Where do you think he gets
the money to give his loans?

Golden age investment clubs?

He puts the mob's
money to work, Mr. McCoy.

Along with immunity, my client expects
police protection. Do we have a deal?

You said you were with your
wife when Mr. Kaiser was killed?

Yeah, that's right. Yeah.

He was killed on a
Wednesday night.

Your wife told the police she had
a session with her personal trainer

every Wednesday night.

Susan didn't go to the gym
that night. She was with me.

Mr. McCoy, full immunity,
or you don't have a witness.

Not unless he can prove
he was with his wife that...

Deal. He has immunity.

My office will send
you the paperwork.

What the hell was that?

What the hell was what?

His alibi doesn't hold
up. In your opinion.

We can ask Susan Tashjian's
trainer if she was at the gym.

You'd rather give
immunity to a murderer.

Jack, he's gonna take
the stand, he's going to lie,

and you don't care? What
are you accusing me of?

Looks to me like you're
about to suborn perjury.

Suppose you're
right about Tashjian.

How would you make
the case against him?

Only four people know for sure
where he was that night 10 months ago.

Tashjian, his wife,
Kaiser and Russo.

You'll never prove he was lying.

The choice is not convicting
Russo or convicting Tashjian.

The choice is Russo or
nothing. He's a five-time killer.

And Tashjian is telling
enough truth to convict him.

If you're not
comfortable with that,

someone else can fill the
second chair on this one.

When I heard Kaiser was found
dead, I was stunned. I was scared.

What did you do? Nothing.

I tried hard to keep
up with our payments.

I didn't want to be
next on Russo's list.

Objection. Is there a list
in evidence? Sustained.

Did you discuss the status
of your loan with Mr. Russo?

Yes. My wife and I
tried to renegotiate it.

But Russo just wanted his money.

He said he was
calling in the loan.

What did you think
he meant by that?

It sounded like a
death threat to me.

Objection. JUDGE: Sustained.

What did you say to Mr. Russo?

I begged him for more time.

Then Shelly Ganz
was killed in our garage.

I warned my wife he's after
us, but she didn't believe me.

So Russo killed her.

Objection. He's speculating.

Mr. Tashjian, what's the
factual basis for your allegation?

I know how he ran his business.

That's what I'm trying to get
to. How do you know any of this?

Kaiser is dead. Shelly Ganz is
dead. My wife is dead. I just know.

Did you see or hear anything
linking Mr. Russo to these crimes?

The objection is sustained.

The jury will disregard the
witness' unfounded allegations...

No, it's true. That's
enough, Mr. Tashjian.

May I, Your Honor?

How do you know it's true, sir?

You weren't with your wife on the
night that Kaiser was killed, were you?

What did you do that night that
was worth $200,000 to Mr. Russo,

the man you claim
killed your wife?

Mr. McCoy, unless you
have other questions...

I killed Kaiser.

Russo told me to.

I had to do it, or he
was gonna kill Susan.

God forgive me.

I didn't know what I
was getting myself into.

I didn't know who
I was dealing with.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

No more questions, Your Honor.

So, that moron Flores,

he did Waxman and
the girl in the garage,

and Ray Mayeri, he's
in the carting business,

he did Susan Tashjian.

That's everybody.

Now, if you want to
talk about your investors,

I could see to it that you're
incarcerated in a medium-security facility.

Get out of here, will you?

I got a wife and a
kid to worry about.

Just thought I'd ask.

You knew all along Tashjian
killed Kaiser, didn't you?

Don't worry, I'm not gonna
run to the Ethics Committee.

I didn't know with
absolute certainty.

One way or another, I had
to get Tashjian on the stand.

Well, hats off.

Sometimes you have to
make deals with the devil.

Just as long as you don't
get your eyebrows singed.

Anyway, Tashjian owes
somebody half a million dollars.

I'm sure they'll be around to
collect it one of these days.

And as for the Ethics
Committee, you owe me one.