Fly Up into the Night Air (23 page)

"In fact, we can show them to be lying. By their own admission, they left Madam Truman's bordello at two bells, just before the beating. Madam Truman's is no more than two furlongs from the Red Rooster, the business outside of which the beating occurred. The only way to get from Madam Truman's to Hill Street (and return to the upper town) is by Dock Street, which will take you past the Red Rooster. Thus, if the beating took place just after two bells, as all the witnesses agree, then the farthest away from the beating they could have been was a few furlongs. On a clear, cold night, such as the night of the beating, sound would have traveled very well on Dock Street. While it is possible they might not have seen the beating, they would certainly have heard it. Peli will testify that Raf was yelling loudly as he fought with his assailant--" Harte feigned a look at his notes. "--yelling like a banshee--at least until he lost consciousness. Yet, Mr. Greer and his friends swore to the watch that they heard nothing." Harte paused and scanned the faces of the council, then took another breath and continued with a summary of the facts.

* * *

"At the end of these proceedings, it will be my privilege to address you again. At that time, I will merely ask that you do as the evidence argues you must do, and convict Brin Greer of assault causing grievous bodily injury, wanton disregard for human life, threatening a witness to a crime, and lying to the watch. Thank you again for your duty in this court."

Harte briefly met the eyes of each man in the council of court, nodded, then resumed his place at the presenter's table.

"Thank you, Mr. Walford. Councilman Greer, your opening statement?"

"Councilmen, Magistrate, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Walford would make this a case of arrogance. It is. However the story here is not about my son's--the defendant's arrogance, it is the story of a lawyer's arrogance and self-aggrandizing crusade to turn a simple fight, a fight at which the defendant was not even present, into murder. Make no mistake, this young man--" He swept around and pointed at Harte. "--would make this a capital case if he could. But the story of December the sixth is a story of a simple fight, not a murder. As this trial progresses, you will find the cruel and violent man of Mr. Walford's imagination will disperse--" He waived a hand around in front of his face. "--with the fog of half truths and unfounded allegations that he has blown around you, to be replaced by the young man you see before you: a flawed human being surely, as we all are, but not the man of Mr. Walford's fantasy. What happened on December sixth was regrettable, surely. Fighting, however aggravating the provocation, however human the motive, must of course be discouraged. But young men do fight." The Councilman raised his hands, palms upward. "If we were to imprison every participant in a barroom brawl, every unhappy lover who lashes out--" Here Councilman Greer gazed at his son. "--every man who seeks redress when his manhood has been insulted, we would have to build a bigger gaol. In fact, we would have to cage the very flower of our youth."

"Fortunately, we need only examine the meager evidence presented by Mr. Walford to understand our only duty is to dismiss this case as the blatant attempt at self-aggrandizement that it is. The defendant and his friends will tell you that they were on Dock Street, on the night of December the sixth. But that is the closest point of correspondence between their story and Mr. Walford's. Did they ever meet the unfortunate young Raf. No. Were they present at his beating? No. Did they drag his body anywhere? No. Did my--did the defendant lie to the watch about a cloak? Well, he might have confused which of his cloaks he was wearing on the that night: a simple enough mistake. But that is no basis for this ... persecution."

"To put it simply, Mr. Walford's allegations about my son and his friends have no basis in fact. They are nothing more than the wild fantasy of a power-mad presenter advocate." Councilman Greer shook his head sadly at the council of court. "My friends, I'm sorry you must waste your time listening to this sordid drivel. I have no doubt that when Mr. Walford is done soiling this honored hall, you will know how to clean it up." Councilman Greer paced slowly to his seat at the defendant's table and sat down.

"Thank you, Councilman." Magistrate Tine looked at the clerk and sucked air through his teeth. "I think we have heard enough for one day. I think we shall adjourn and meet here again at ten bells, tomorrow morning." He nodded to the clerk.

The clerk rose and brought his staff down three times. "All rise!" Magistrate Tine progressed rapidly out of the hall. "This court is adjourned until ten bells, tomorrow morning."

* * *

Harte tapped his foot impatiently as he waited at Watch House for Griff to return from escorting the Greer family home. When Griff entered, he wasted no time with greetings. "It was nothing but attack and deny, attack and deny, Griff, but all too effective, I fear. Never mind, we have work to do tonight."

"He barely addressed your evidence and made no mention of your witnesses."

"No doubt he will have much to say about them, later."

Griff put up an arm and leaned against the frame of the ready room door. "For that matter, why did
you
make so little mention of Mr. Ghast? Surely he's your best witness now, not Peli."

"I'm not sure. I--we'll talk of this later. First, I need you to do something for me." He placed a small note on the table in front of him. "I must speak to these people tonight. Take your men. Insist, if you must. If they ask, you may explain that I want to prepare for tomorrow's testimony." He placed his index finger below one name. "Leave him to me. Bring the others here at six--" He smiled wolfishly. "--make that seven bells. Have a man ready to take notes, in the clock room."

Griff pointed at another name. "He will not want to come."

Harte shrugged. "I no longer care what he wants. Go. Please, Griff, I must bring my thoughts into order."

* * *

"Thank you, Griff. Please ask Mr. Ghast to join me here. Have the others wait in the ready room. I'm sure they will appreciate the fire, tonight." Harte was seated with his back to the clock, which displayed seven bells and five. There was an oil lamp on the table near him, and two more in sconces on the wall behind him. Their flickering orange flames made the room into a living thing.

"Where is P--"

Harte spoke sharply. "Let's not keep these gentlemen waiting any longer than necessary, Griff. I am ready to proceed now." Griff's eyebrows rose just a fraction, but he bowed and left without comment.

"Mr. Ghast, thank you for coming. Would you care for something hot to drink? Tea perhaps?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Walford. I'm not fond of the muck, myself."

"You prefer stronger brew?"

"Well. When the horses are settled for the night."

"Yes, of course. A teamster's first priority is always his team. Perhaps you will understand, then, when I tell you that a Presenter Advocate's first priority is always his witnesses. Rarely is a case won without solid witnesses. Would you consider yourself a solid witness, Mr. Ghast?"

"Well, I think so. I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

"Indeed. Why wouldn't you be?" Harte watched the dancing flame of the oil lamp on the table as it seemed to reach and grasp for something unseen. He tried to soften his tone, a little. "Some witness are easily led than others. That is to say, they are easily persuaded to believe they saw things they didn't. Others may lie outright, to protect themselves or others." Harte returned his gaze to Mr. Ghast. "You wouldn't have any reason to fall into either of those categories, would you?"

Mr. Ghast began absently pulling at his beard. "No, I shouldn't think so. Now, what's this about? I were given to understand that you were lookin' for a witness to the beatin'."

"Indeed I was, Mr. Ghast. I just have some additional questions for you. What were Mr. Greer's friends doing, while he was fighting with Raf?"

"They was watchin', I guess. Can't say as I recall."

"Did they speak to or engage with anyone else, besides Mr. Greer and Raf?"

"Not that I recall. Everyone was concentratin' on the set-to. I sure was."

"Did anyone try to intervene and stop Mr. Greer from beating Raf?"

Mr. Ghast's eyes wondered around the room before settling on his hands. "There were a bit of a commotion at one point, but I can't say as I paid it much mind."

"I see. When did Mr. Greer first kick Raf? Was it before or after the boy fell down?"

"Oh, I'm sure it was after."

"And did Mr. Greer stamp on Raf before or after Raf stopped fighting back."

Mr. Ghast sat back in his chair and pulled his beard. "I can't be sure of that. I weren't so close as to be sure when the boy quit fightin' back."

"You were close enough to be sure that it was Mr. Greer who hit and kicked Raf?"

Mr. Ghast put his hands on the table. "Oh yes. I'm sure that it was Mr. Greer."

"How is it that you know Mr. Greer?"

"Seen him before, down on Dock Street."

"What does he look like?"

"What?" Mr. Ghast's eyes went wandering again. "Well ... he's a big man, I suppose." He paused, looking at Harte. Harte made no sign. "Dark hair, I think. Dresses like a toff--a bit like you do ..."

It was enough. Harte spoke coldly. "Mr. Ghast, did you actually see Mr. Greer beat Raf? Have you ever met Mr. Greer?"

"What's the point o' this? I'm meant to help your case, right? Why question me so hard?"

"Why indeed, Mr. Ghast?" Harte spoke softly. "Why muddy the picture with facts, when accusations will do. Why bother at all? Do you think the advocate for the defense will not question you?" Harte lifted his voice. "Griff? I believe we're done for the moment." Harte let his attention return to the flickering lamp.

Ghast shifted and had half risen from his seat when Griff returned to the room. "Mr. Ghast, will you follow me?"

Harte drew a long breath and stood, briskly. "Keep the three of them company in the ready room for a moment, will you, Griff? I'll come for them when I'm ready to continue."

Harte waited until Griff and Mr. Ghast were out of sight, before stepping quickly to the small room from which one could look through the clock. "Peli. How are you doing? Are you warm enough?"

"This rug is warm. Is it the one from the sleigh?"

"Yes, it is." Harte put his foot on the lower rung of the stool on which Peli sat, wrapped in the rug. The room was so small he had to leave the door ajar, in order to fit. "What did you think of Mr. Ghast?"

"I don't like him. He's oily, like a fish. Did you notice how he smelled when you questioned him?"

Harte dropped his foot to the floor and examined Peli's face. "Not exactly. Did he look or sound funny to you?"

Peli made a face. "No, but I thought I was going to spew at the end, when you asked him if he'd ever met Mr. Greer."

"Spew? Why Peli?"

"It was his breath, when he opened his mouth to answer."

"Huh." Harte looked at Peli, and let his mouth stretch into smile. "You are a wonder, Peli."

"What did I do?"

"You have been a great help."

"I don't understand."

"I will explain later, Peli. Will you go to the ready room and tell Griff to bring Soloni to the clock room?"

Peli's thin shoulders hunched a little, but he did not move from his stool. "Don't you want me to watch some more?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Leave the rug and go tell Griff what I asked. You'll be warmer in the ready room. I'll come get you when I'm done. You've done very well today."

"But I haven't
done
anything."

"Peli. You've been very helpful. I will explain later. Go. I must speak to Soloni now."

Peli finally slid down from his perch on the stool, his face tight. Harte backed out of the little room. A watchman leaned against the wall, picking his teeth.
How long has he been there?
Harte motioned to Peli to stay where he was. "Please tell Patrol Leader Tarren that I am ready for the next witness. Thank you." Harte waited until the watchman had left before speaking. "Peli, I don't think I want that man to see you. Quick now, go out around the other way and wait in the kitchen for Griff to come and get you." Peli must have heard the urgency in his voice, because he did not argue, but turned and ran down the corridor.

Harte took his seat again under the clock to wait for Soloni. Griff ushered him in a minute later. "Anton. Good of you to come. You are well, I trust?"

Soloni was dressed elegantly and expensively as usual, but he seemed to have new wrinkles around his eyes and a new crease between his eyebrows. "I was very well, thank you, until your friends rousted me from my home and business. I take it you have not
invited
me here to toss dice with the watch."

"No, I have not."

* * *

The broadsheet screamed the next morning. "Prosecution using canny mind reader to interrogate witnesses!" Harte would have a talk with Griff about the watchman he'd seen in the corridor.
Thank God he didn't identify Peli.
The town hall steps were even more crowded today. There were more men and fewer women and children. Catcalls and epithets started as soon as he was recognized.

"Traitor!"

"Keep the Canny out of Walford's Crossing!"

"Leave Walford to the real Walfords!"

"Stay out of our heads!"

Harte pushed through the crowd without commenting and made his way to the presenter's table to wait for the magistrate.