Credits. I'd like to take this moment to apologize in advance for this recap. I'm really, really sick with some wicked flu/cold/consumption type thing, and it makes me type crazy-ass shit. For example, I seem to be forgetting to put nouns in my sentences. Also, I keep falling asleep. So if I say anything untoward in the next few pages, forgive me.
This week, because, apparently, the time/date stamp is super important, it gets to be in the middle of the screen, instead of shuffled off to the bottom. It's Thursday, December 7th, 8:23 AM. In other words, twenty-four hours to the minute before the shooting. Joe Morton (hee hee. In my disease addled state, I typed "Joe Moron." I'd leave it like that, except I like him. See -- this sleeping sickness thing has made me soft) wakes up, again, in his jail cell. He sits up and grabs his neck. No gunshot wound. He unzips his orange jumper and looks at his chest. No injuries. He looks confused. He looks at the spider, which is still scurrying around on its little web over his pillow. The door to his cell slides open with a bang, but this time it's no guard, it's Doggett and Scully. Joe Morton seems relieved to see "John," but Doggett just looks peeved and Scully will have none of these tiresome pleasantries. She holds up, encased in an evidence bag, an electronic key card, the same kind of which I use everyday to gain access to the building where I labor at the day job I hate with the passionate intensity of an infinite procession of eternally burning suns. She snippily asks if he recognizes it. "Yes," he replies slowly, before asking Doggett who Scully is. "Don't even, Martin!" Doggett Ricki Lakes, turning his head away in disgust. Martin, for that is Joe Morton's name, informs the agents that he has no idea why he's in this cell and what he did and what the hell is going on and why him, why, why?! Doggett disgustedly spits that he won't be party to "some half-assed, eleventh-hour insanity defense." Martin sputters. Doggett yells at the top of his lungs that "it's time" for Martin to start telling him the truth. Martin looks stunned. Scully grimaces, and continues with her line of questioning; telling Martin that the bagged key card is his, and that it was found in "the dumpster behind the Strand Motel." Doggett spits that Martin threw it away himself so he could claim it had been stolen in order to provide himself with an alibi. "What murder? What is he talking about?" Martin asks. Doggett shoves crime-scene photos of Martin's poor dead wife, her neck slashed, under Martin's nose. Martin sits, stunned, on his bunk. He starts to cry. Doggett's face softens, as the guard comes to tell them that a van has come to take them to court.
Baltimore Circuit Court. 10:12 AM. Martin is led into the courtroom, to stares from onlookers. He's sat down next to a woman I can only assume is his attorney. She's very pretty, but the way she's coifed her French twist makes her look like she has a conehead. She leans over and hisses at him to "play his strong suit," dignity, and snips at him not to lower his eyes, because it "makes him look guilty." Martin looks around the courtroom, finding Al in the audience. "He shot me," Martin says, shocked. "Your father-in-law?" Conehead asks. "What are you talking about?" The bailiff announces the Judge, and, in doing so, mentions that it's Thursday, December 7th. Martin, confused, says that it isn't Thursday, it's Saturday, because yesterday was Friday. Conehead looks at him, askance, tells him that it is indeed Thursday, and reminds him that court is not in session on Saturday. Unless, of course, it's the U.S. Supreme Court, telling Florida not to recount the ballots, and handing Dubya the presidency on a silver platter. But I guess that it's a special circumstance. And I suppose I ought to leave my politics out of this. Ahem. Anyway. Gavel. This is the bail hearing. Conehead exposits that Martin is a well-known prosecutor, and as such, is in danger in jail. The DA tells the judge that she has the assurance of the prison authorities that Martin is safe as houses. Conehead snips that Martin is a respected member of the community. The DA waves the murder weapon around ---in an evidence bag, of course -- and reminds the judge that Martin killed his poor dead wife in cold blood. Martin looks perturbed. Blah bling blah, bail is denied, and Martin is "transferred to a more secure facility." Martin gets up, gets in the judge's face, and tells the judge that if they try to transfer him, "he'll kill me," meaning, of course, Al. Everyone in the courtroom looks at Martin as though he'd lost his mind, which, surely, they believe he has. He's dragged from the courtroom, screaming and begging for the judge to believe him. Way to play that dignity card, dude.