I hate the closing arguments. They are redundant. They are annoying and redundant. They are annoyingly redundant in their annoying redundancy.

Joey's argument is good. He's quirky, stylish, and full of vim and vigour. Joey understands the prosecution's case. But he argues that the evidence needs to establish reasonable doubt, and they haven't. Didn't rule out that they made love, alibi, home alone, can't prove otherwise, blah. Joey blames the husband. Then he blames the son. Then he calls on Freud. Freud does a two-step. The judge is impressed, and so am I. Then Joey goes off on this other tangent, seemingly out of nowhere: "Suppose Danny Carrington had another lover. No evidence to be sure, but they didn't even investigate that. But is it really that farfetched? The other lover gets wind of the little session at the club, goes to the victim's house, threatens her, forces her to make that phone call to implicate Danny, then he or she kills the woman and dumps the body in the alley knowing full well who the police will blame." Blah plants the blood speck blah. Danny is the obvious suspect. But it could have been anybody. It could have been one of you. Maybe the judge. Joey pauses. Then he says flippantly, "Maybe me?" Bobby and Ellenor look knowingly at one another. Joey continues, "Could it have been a bonehead stupid murder by Danny, or one of the more perfect variety by somebody else to frame him?" Blah husband, blah stepson, female lover, sick gay lover, blah anybody. Beyond all reasonable doubt, we just don't know. And with that, Joey Heric sits his big gay ass down, turns to Rod, and smirks his undeniably freaky smirk. Ah, Joey, you and your narcissistic disorder rock.

The Firm. Mark comes slowly into the office. Jimmy ambushes him at the front door: "They sent you with the cheque?" He replies that the cheque is coming by messenger -- but he'd like to see Jimmy in private.

Bobby's Office. Mark announces that he's a man of conscience. Yesterday was tough, for him, being a man of conscience and all. He lied in his deposition. Jimmy replies, "I had a hunch." Mark says, "I don't think you had this particular hunch." He starts to pace. He met Jennifer Cole about six weeks ago at the Palmer House. Apparently, she passed herself off as a young advertising executive. They made love. Then Jennifer told him she was a hooker. And if he didn't give her ten grand, she'd tell his wife or tell the police he raped her. Jimmy looks stunned. Mark hands over a copy of his cheque. Then he says, "There's nothing to be done now, your case is settled, but these are people with families, Mr. Berluti, and it's tough for me to keep quiet knowing she's going to do this again." Mark leaves, and Jimmy sits there staring at the cheque. Because all johns give their blackmailing hookers personal cheques. It's the way they do business. You know, because wives never ask why husbands make out cheques to strange women they've never heard of before. Why didn't Mark just put the ten grand on his credit card while he was at it?