Fly Up into the Night Air (17 page)

Hearing

The courtroom was decorated in dark wood from the coastal shires. It had a carved balustrade to separate the spectators from the participants, and another in front of the council box. The judge's bench had the usual heart and holly motif. When Harte was a child, he had come to this room to watch his father hear cases. He was allowed in strictly on the condition that he be silent. Any noise, and the privilege would be revoked. At that time, it had not been the beauty of the room or its decorations that had impressed Harte, but rather the choreographed formality of the proceedings. Each movement and phrase had a reassuring inevitability to it. His father presided, always at the center, comfortable in this role as in no other. Here, Councilman Senior Magistrate Gastir Walford was the sun around which all planets rotated. It was his expression, his muttered comment, his intonation, that determined the day's course.

When Harte stepped into the courtroom, the magistrate had not yet made his appearance. The clerk was there, preparing his papers. There were a few persons in the spectator gallery. At the presenter's table, one of the town's other presenter advocates, John Satir, prepared for a hearing. They greeted each other as Harte took his place at the table. Harte tried for warmth but fell into small talk.

"John, how are you?"

"Fine, fine. And you Harte? Your mother's well?"

"She'll outlast me I'm sure. How are Margaret and the boys?"

Sartir smiled. "They are determined as ever to see me to an early grave."

"Perhaps so, but you look well. Family life suits you, I think."

"Have you no plans to marry?" Sartir smiled, but Harte imagined censure in the light tones.

"Me? It would not be fair."

"It might be good for you."

This was too sharp for Harte's thin skin. "Is that the consensus, then? That I need the influence of a wife to--"

"Are you here today on Council business?" Sartir hastily interrupted. "I was not aware of any sponsored cases."

"There is no need to be coy, John. Surely, no one in our little community is unaware of the case I pursue."

"No, I suppose not." Satir lowered his voice. "For what it's worth, I wish you well. Brin has long needed his claws clipped."

"Thank you for that," said Harte, fire doused.

There was a commotion at the door as several people entered: Councilman Greer, his wife, Megan, and Brin. Pointedly ignoring Harte, they settled themselves in the first row. Councilman Greer looked grim as he leaned close to Mrs. Greer and conversed in a language of grunts and monosyllables. Megan looked around with interest, as various other persons filed into the room. A number of other councilmen took seats in the rear. Brin sat a little apart from his family with his arms crossed and stared at Harte.

Harte tried to read his notes, but was distracted when the door opened again to admit Sister Grace, followed by Griff and a member of his patrol. Griff's man took a seat at the back of the room, near the door. Griff seated Sister Grace, then settled at the end of the first row, near the door to the magistrate's chambers. It was almost time for the hearing. Harte thought it odd that no lawyer had arrived to represent Brin. Could the council have voted to sponsor Brin's defense and hired John Sartir to advocate?

Today's preliminary hearing had two purposes: the first was to give the magistrate an opportunity to ask the presenting advocate questions about the summary of evidence that had been submitted to the clerk of court along with the complaint. The second purpose was to give the accused a chance to formally respond to the complaint. At this point, Brin could plead guilty, in which case the magistrate could either dispense summary justice--not likely considering the magistrate was Harte's father--or schedule a hearing to listen to arguments for punishment. Brin could also plead not guilty, in which case the magistrate would decide whether there was sufficient evidence to justify a trial. If Harte failed, and the magistrate determined that there was insufficient evidence for a trial, the matter would be closed.

The clerk of court slipped out the door to the magistrate's chambers. After a moment, he returned with his staff of office, an ornate carved stick about seven feet long. He pounded on the floor three times. "All rise! The court of the Town of Walford's Crossing is in session. Councilman Senior Magistrate Gastir Walford presiding." Councilman Walford made his way rapidly to his seat and took up the papers placed there by the clerk. "You may be seated," intoned the clerk.

"I see that we have two matters before us, today." Looking up at the spectator gallery, Councilman Walford added, "And I observe a number of persons here whose time I would not impose upon for too long. Let us proceed with the Greer matter, first. Mr. Walford? You are representing the town?"

Harte stood. "Yes, Magistrate."

"Who is representing the defendant?"

"I am," announced Councilman Greer, rising to his feet heavily.

Councilman Walford looked pinched. "Gentlemen, would you approach, please?" Harte and Councilman Greer went forward to the judge's bench. "Now, Martin, do you think this wise? You have not practiced for many years."

"Wise?" Councilman Greer pointed at Harte. "
He
is your son."

"Martin, have you read the Summary of Evidence?"

"I have spoken to my son. I know there's no basis for this persecution."

Harte started to protest, but a sharp look from Councilman Walford changed his mind.

"Perhaps you would have done better to consult with others, as well."

"Are you calling my son a lier?"

"I am suggesting that there may be more to the case than you know. I am suggesting that someone more inclined to consider the
facts
of the case impartially might be more appropriate counsel for your son. You are Brin's father. It is right that you should believe in him and want to protect him. But such a stance does not necessarily support clear thinking."

"Do you mean to tell me, Gastir, that you intend to send this case to trial?"

"You overstep, Councilman. I will rule in due time." Councilman Walford softened his tone. "Will you not take a friend's advice and find more appropriate counsel? I will delay this hearing if you wish to do so."

"I am quite capable of handing a simple case of mistaken identity."

Councilman Walford closed his eyes. "Very well." He raised his voice. "Step back. Clerk, what are the charges in the matter of Greer vs. the Town of Walford's Crossing?"

"The defendant, Brin Greer, of Greer House, Walford's Crossing, is charged with assault causing grievous bodily harm and wanton disregard for human life. In addition, Mr. Greer is charged with threatening a witness to a crime and with lying to the watch."

"Who was the victim?"

"He is described as Raf of Walford's Crossing."

Councilman Walford looked at Harte. "The victim was known only as Raf?"

"He used no other name."

"How does the defendant plead?"

Brin Greer leaned back in his seat. "I have never heard such absurd, trumped up--"

Councilman Senior Magistrate Walford's voice was sharp. "You will rise when addressing this court, Mr. Greer! You may plead guilty or not guilty. You may
not
make a statement at this time."

Brin rose slowly to his feet. "I plead not guilty to these absurd charges."

Harte watched, fascinated, as his father's face reddened. "Councilman Greer. If I were you, I would advise my ... client on proper courtroom etiquette. He risks a charge of contempt of court. Mr. Walford, in the Summary of Evidence, you suggest that Mr. Greer was with three friends on the night in question, yet none has corroborated your account of the events of that night. In fact, all have denied that they saw or heard any beating."

"Indeed, Magistrate. Yet, they all confirm that they were within two furlongs of the place where the beating took place--as reported by other witnesses--at the very time when the beating took place. Their denials are not credible."

"You accuse them of lying?"

"They protect their friend."

"There is other evidence to support a conviction?"

"Yes. We have witnesses who will testify that the man who beat Raf was wearing a woolen cloak with a distinctive black and white collar, and that Mr. Greer owned such a cloak. In his statement to the watch, Mr. Greer said that he was wearing a black,
fur-lined
cloak on the night of the beating. We can prove, however, that he did not purchase that cloak until a week after the beating. Why would he lie in his statement, if not to cover his tracks?" There was murmuring from the spectator gallery at this.

"Circumstantial evidence." Councilman Walford looked down at his papers.

"Yes, but there is more. One of our witnesses will also testify that Mr. Greer threatened him. He will testify that Mr. Greer told him, 'If you know what's good for you, you'll forget you ever knew anyone named Raf.'"

Harte heard Sister Grace's voice amongst others from the back of the courtroom. "He may occupy a pauper's grave, but he will
not
be forgotten."

"Quiet!" The clerk of court thumped his staff on the floor again.

Councilman Walford raised his eyes to look at Brin Greer, but he addressed his son.

"Mr. Walford. Do the people request that the defendant be placed in custody?" The watchman at the back door came to attention with a look of surprise on his face.

Harte's breath was harsh in his ears. "Then--"

"The defendant will stand trial. Does the presenter advocate request that the defendant be placed in custody?"

Harte had not really thought beyond presenting his evidence. "Yes. We believe the defendant to be a danger to our witnesses, and we request that he be placed in custody ... at Watch House."

"That is an unusual request. Why does the town request Watch House?"

"Due to the defendant's station within the community, our concern is that he might be mistreated at the hands of other prisoners in gaol. We feel Watch House to be more suitable."

"The town's concerns are admirable," said Councilman Magistrate Walford, dryly. "Request denied." He took a breath. "The defendant will return home and remain there under house arrest, until such time as this matter is resolved. Patrol Leader Tarren, you will assign one of your men to see that he stays there." He shifted his gaze to the clerk of court.

Harte jerked to life. "Magistrate! There is another matter. You have before you an application for a warrant to search Mr. Greer's home. The people request that you grant our request, and that Mr. Greer be detained until the watch have carried out the search."

"You add insult to injury," whispered John Satir.

"I protest! There can be no justification for an invasion of my home!" said Councilman Greer.

"The cloak with the black and white collar is key to our case, Magistrate. We have reason to think it might still be present at Greer House. If we are to go to trial ..."

Councilman Walford stared at his son. Harte stood straight and held his father's gaze. The Councilman sighed. "Patrol Leader, detain the defendant here while you search Greer House. However, you may search only Mr. Greer's rooms and those parts of the house where outer garments such as a cloak might reasonably be stored. You will not disturb Councilman or Mrs. Greer in any way." Councilman Walford shot a look at Harte, then continued. "We will adjourn for one hour." He looked again to the clerk of court and nodded.

The clerk of court thumped his staff on the floor again. "All rise!" Councilman Walford left the room. "This court is now adjourned and will reconvene in one hour." A swell of commentary from the crowd, some of it angry, accompanied his exit from the room.

John Satir spoke to Harte again. "I don't think Councilman Greer is all that fond of his son, just now." He shook his head. "But you! Take a look around. Enjoy it while you may."

* * *

After stopping briefly to give instructions to Griff regarding the search of Greer House, Harte went to his father's chamber and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

"Father?"

Councilman Walford was seated in a leather-covered chair by the window with a glass in his hand. "Sit down, Harte." He waived an arm around. "Will you let the proprietor of this establishment stand you a drink?"

"No, I don't think I want--"

"Come on boy. Have a drink with your dear old dad. It's the least you can do. You were right you know. I should have recused myself from this case. I have trod in shit today."

"Why did you do it? You could have just--"

"That arrogant little pup made me mad." Councilman Walford took a sip. "No, it wasn't just that. The standard for sending a case to trial only requires--" He stopped. "Forgive me. Clearly, you know the standard. You didn't have to prove the case; you only had to supply enough evidence to show there was a reasonable possibility that the man was guilty. The trial, that will be another story. I've done you no favor today." He looked at Harte tiredly. "A better father would have stamped out this spark before the rug caught."

"You followed the law--as I have."

"What is the law for fathers, the precedent for progenitors?"

Harte wondered if this was his father's only glass of wine since the hearing. "I did not need a father today. I needed a magistrate. You know, I realized today, why your chamber is here with the magistrate's and not with the councilmen's."

Councilman Walford smiled ruefully. "You slide me a compliment along with the knife. Perhaps you
have
learned something from me. I would rather be a father to you than a magistrate. But it seems I cannot be either. I cannot take the case, when it goes to trial. You are right about that. It's a pity that your judge veritor isn't here to help you. It will be lies, lies, and more lies, at the trial, won't it?"

"Judge Cast was needed by his family."

"And what are
you
to him?"

"I am ... nothing to him. We are friends."

"That's a strange definition for friendship, Son. Perhaps you should choose your friends more wisely."

"Who are your friends? The Council?"

"Well placed." Harte's father swung his hand over his heart, splashing wine on his shirt. "Go now. Leave me to bleed in peace," he said, looking down at the spreading red stain.