Previously on The Practice: William Hinks only kills women with pet dogs. Jeannie testifies to his delusions. A jury sets him free. A judge issues a restraining order so that Mr. Hinks is not allowed to go anywhere near Lindsay, Lucy, or Helen. Someone sends Lindsay a cute little puppy. Oh, and Scott Wallace shoots his boss six times in the chest.
Courthouse. Ellenor, in time with The Symphony Of Scott Wallace, is explaining to a police detective what happened the fateful night Harry Duvall was murdered. She explains that Scott "snapped" and that he "seemed a little outside of himself." Richard hangs desperately on her every word. Ellenor continues, "At first, it seemed like he was just going to kill himself, and then he turned on Duvall, and he just started shooting." She takes a deep breath, looks up at the detective, and sighs, "I'm just thankful he didn't shoot me." Richard asks Ellenor to confirm whether she knew Scott had brought a gun to their meeting, and she can't.
The Symphony continues to bleat as Jimmy tells his story. He sees the episode quite differently. The detective asks The Lump about Wallace's demeanor, and Jimmy responds, "Well, he was building into this rage. It was building up and up. Then we thought he was going to kill himself." Jimmy pauses so the music can catch up to him: "Then a kind of calm came over him." The Runt's ears perk up: "Calm in what way?" The Lump responds: "When Duvall said 'don't do it, don't kill yourself,' and Scott said, 'you're right, you're absolutely right,' he said it, it was with this evil revenge kind of calm." The fake drums are stuck in some unbearable rhythm. Jimmy replies to the detective's question regarding Scott's intent: "Oh. He didn't snap here. He made a decision. He decided to kill this Duvall guy and he did it." According to Jimmy, this was an execution. Oh, don't get me started on executions.
Horrible, unbearable credits threatening to send me straight to hell for wanting anyone and everyone responsible for the damn thing executed. See, I told you not to get me started.
People are skating in Boston. How nice. Helen's office. Some guy named Mitchell is rejecting her offer. She sits down at her desk. "Come on," she threatens. "You can't be expecting to win this." Her chicken-finger arms spread out: "He was caught in a van with a hundred grams of heroin." Mitchell paces back and forth as he explains that his client is a chemist whose only mistake was to fall asleep against the wheel. Yeah, right -- and Helen doesn't have an eating disorder. Apparently, "he had no idea those drugs were there." She quips, "Mitchell, we used to date, you forget, I could always tell when you were lying." Gross. Ms. Bony Malone and Mr. Crooked Face -- now there's a thought I'd part with happily. They flirt. Double gross. Helen explains that she's not after the little drug maker but the big drug dealer. Mitchell's not buying the line from Ms. Prosecutor of the Year because, well, "[his] client is innocent." Sigh. Aren't they all?