Madame Juror.

Chapter 4

"Your point being?" the judge enquired dully, after listening to the same lecture I just had. The squeaky man cleared his throat.

"I haven't reached my point yet, Your Honour, I was merely establishing a few basic facts in order to set the scene" he explained, and I could have sworn I heard a collective sigh of annoyance from the room. I would have joined in, had it been loud enough.

"When this has been looked at" the squeaky man carried on, and I swore at that time I could have murdered him, "These points and one more, the fact that their son, Marcus, who due to an unfortunate accident as a child now resides his young adult life in a wheelchair, surely proves that the only person with the means to commit this heinous crime is the woman standing in that box!" he finished, or at least, I hoped he finished, pointing an accusing finger at Marta Harrison, who made no defensive motion at all, I noted.

At this point, there seemed to be a change in speaker, as the squeaky man sat down with a flourish and a rather pallid, sombre looking gentleman replaced him, his barrister's wig hanging loosely as it was really too big for him. I hadn't the faintest idea what it all meant, but I was perfectly happy taking the whole lot at face value. He seemed to take a lot of time before he spoke.

"Your honour, I beg to differ" he said slowly, speaking very calmly and firmly without rush. "I fear I am at a loss of where to start picking holes in what you have been shown."

Just from the way he spoke I reckoned he was lying for one, and also walking on thin ice. It suddenly struck me that maybe nobody had picked up on what I had picked up on instantly. I shook my head. No. People surely weren't that blind.

"I believe your statement about nobody being in or around the house is decidedly based on assumption, for one. Since barely any witnesses were present, you have barely any evidence to suggest there was no outside intruder" the sallow man pointed out. He didn't seem keen to say any more.

The squeaky man leapt to his feet instantly.

"Your Honour!" he screeched, and I really did try not to laugh, but I failed. Mr. Brenkley looked across, and put a sneaky finger to his lips to shush me. I began taking deep breaths, attempting to calm myself, as the squeaky man continued to speak/squeak.

"The defence argues there is no evidence suggesting an outside intruder. I ask them to find me evidence suggesting there is before they make such claims!"

The sallow man sighed heavily.

"Explain to me where the weapon used to deliver the beatings went, then."

I couldn't help but nod in agreement. The lack of beating weapon as of yet seemed truly to point to the intruder being from outside.

The squeaky man seemed to gather his thoughts a little, and I could see he was going to have to be mightily clever to worm his way out of this one unscathed. The judge sat up, leaning forward. He obviously thought it was an excellent question. I, even, was undeniably impressed with this sallow man, though, and I was glad of his presence. Without him, it made up for far too much stupidity in the room.

"What difference does it make?" the squeaky man finally snapped. "The fatal blow was delivered with the envelope knife, so I'm sure the court will agree that that anomaly is entirely irrelevant!" he added, his temper rising.

"So you say, sir, that a man with broken ribs, fractured skull and broken collarbone wasn't already on his way to Death's door?" the sallow man argued, keeping very, very calm under the circumstances.

I made a note of that. Collarbone. That was the one I had missed the first time around. That was also interesting. Collarbones were tricky to hit if you were hitting someone, whatever angle you hit them at.

"Well we have no reason to believe that the beatings were delivered by a third party, and since the wife was the one who used the knife, nobody else had to be involved" the squeaky man reasoned, and I saw the trap, it seemed, before the sallow man did.

"Do we have proof of that?" he asked, and I winced as the squeaky man smiled triumphantly.

"We do indeed" he announced, to hushed whispers all around. "The relatively new forensics department in Scotland Yard are adamant that Mrs. Harrison's fingerprints are on the knife handle, proving, I think, beyond belief, that she was the one to plunge it in!"

There was a minor uproar, during which I saw the sallow man look disbelievingly at the Spanish woman. I sensed a friction, a miscarriage of information, had gone on previously. I then realized I had steadily been gravitating towards the side of the sallow man, just due to the fact his character was more my cup of tea, so I quickly attempted to sever all ties. I had written down in my notebook the basics of everything that had been said, and I had to admit, it was looking pretty grim for Marta Harrison at that point.

"You can't base a murder conviction on such new technology as this so called forensics, Your Honour!" the sallow man protested. "And as of yet, this is the first real evidence they have produced in order to prove their point!"

"Forensics is the cutting edge of a new detective era, Your Honour!" the squeaky man squeaked. "It is completely trustworthy!"

"Silence, the both of you" the judge rumbled. "I have heard of these forensics, and I deem in this case they can be used as backup evidence but shall not be used to convict alone, that is my decision and I refuse to be swayed. Continue."

I bit my lip. That seemed reasonable, but all the same, if people believed in these forensics it meant curtains for Marta. I settled myself, pen in hand. I realized I had rather used up a good chunk of Mr. Brenkley's notebook. I hoped he didn't mind. This was turning out, I realized, to be more interesting than I had first thought. Everything the squeaky man and the sallow man said seemed plausible in context, and it was working out who was actually right that appeared to be the problem. I amused myself as people shuffled and chatted amongst themselves by thinking about what doing that job would be like. What happened if you knew you were fighting the false side? Did you just make it up? To what extremes could you go to in order to bend the facts? What happened if people realised you were bending the facts? Could they call you out on it? I reckoned it would be quite fun, but truth be told I always preferred the truth as opposed to having to make up my own version of the truth to get my paycheque. Keep my facts neat and clean and straight, thank you.

It seemed after that short and decidedly pointless interval we were ready to go again. Ah well, I sighed. Ding ding, seconds out, round two.

The sketch (possibly the one I am most proud of) is the lovely Isabel. Sadly I don't have many more left to show you:(