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She still remembers the case. Patricia Andrews, September of 2000.
A few short weeks ago, Alexandra Cabot was appointed to work with the Special Victims Unit—simply a stepping stone on the way to higher aspirations. It was a minor setback in her five-year plan, but she was determined to continue her upward mobility. This was glorified babysitting of some rogue detectives in a new unit—something smoothed out with ease; this would be a short stint on the way to her next rung on the proverbial ladder.
“How do you sleep?” Alex asked Detective Benson one night at the precinct. “I… haven’t been able to. Recently.”
“I’d say you get used to it, but… you never really do.” The detective shrugged and glanced over to the coffee machine. “Do you like chamomile, Alex?”
Alex was caught by surprise—the detective didn’t usually show this kind of familiarity toward her. “Oh—I… I do.”
“That helps me sometimes, but it doesn’t put me to sleep.” Benson stood and walked over to the coffee machine to start a pot of hot water. “Although… I doubt either of us will be getting much sleep tonight.”
Alex sighed and stood, stretching for a moment before following her to the corner. “You’re telling me.”
“You’re on the Andrews case, aren’t you?” Detective Benson asked, pouring water into two cups and adding two tea bags.
“They don’t call you detective for nothing, huh?” Alex smiled as Benson offered her a cup of tea as it steeped, finding a shred of comfort in the paper cup. For a brief moment, they weren’t pursuing especially heinous criminals, they were instead two new acquaintances sharing tea on a chilly autumn evening. They sat in silence for a while, sipping away, giving their minds a moment’s respite from their work. Eventually, it was Alex who broke the silence. “I’ve got more research materials in my office. And—thanks for the tea, Olivia.”
This was all considered in the darkness of another sleepless night spent poring over cases in any Northeastern Reporter that Alex could get her hands on—any political ideas were far from her mind now as she cracked open yet another volume. The evidence was there, but case law wasn’t supporting her. This would be a risk, saving Patricia Andrews… but this could be one for the books.
The case was hard-fought, but not hard-won. “The defendant is free to go.” This gave rise to a new feeling, dramatically different from the gut-wrenching sensation she typically endured on a defeat—this was no longer about a conviction rate, this was about changing for the better. A function of the law is social change, she thought, that’s criminal justice 101. She was the first ADA to get spousal rape past the grand jury—a process naturally slanted toward the prosecution in the first place—and today, that was enough.