jurors who aren’t priapic come over all parental when she touches her eyes with that little white handkerchief she’s got in her bag.
“That was the usher,” said Patrick, returning to the group and breaking the momentary silence. “We’re wanted inside.”
“I’ll be here at lunch, Greta,” said Peter. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” replied Greta as she turned to follow the lawyers through the swinging doors of the courtroom.
“It’ll be all right,” he added. “Just you see.” But she did not reply. The doors had closed behind her, and he could not follow.
Chapter 6
THE FIRST THING that Greta was aware of on entering the courtroom was the sound of many voices suddenly becoming still. The benches on the left of the court were thronged with the same reporters who had surrounded her outside. There was to be no escape from them, although the cameras and sound equipment were absent.
Before her arrival the court had been just another room, but now there was the beginning of drama, the certainty of action to come. Everything was lit by bright artificial light because this was a place removed from the outside world. There were no windows, and the soundproofed walls were bare except for the extravagant lion-and-unicorn emblem behind the judge’s empty chair.
Miles Lambert came to a halt beside the dock. This was a dark wooden enclosure at the back of the court, which Greta had had to occupy once before when she came to court in the spring to plead not guilty. Now a security woman with cropped black hair and a sallow face bent to open the low wicket gate and stood aside for Greta to enter the enclosure. The latch of the gate clicked behind her.
“Now, Patrick’ll be watching to see if you need anything,” said Miles in a soothing tone. “Have you got plenty of paper and pens? You can pass me a note if you think of something important, although I doubt we’ll get much beyond the prosecution’s opening statement this morning, and you don’t need to worry about that. It’s not evidence.”
Greta nodded and bit her lip. As if paper would help her. With all these people looking at her and strangers deciding her fate.
“We ought to get a jury fairly soon. Remember not to look at them directly. They don’t like that. But let them look at you. There’ll be a bad minute or two with the photographs of the body. I can’t stop Sparling showing them those, but it won’t last long. The judge’ll see to that. Granger’s all right. We could have done a lot worse.”
Greta smiled wanly. She was grateful to Miles Lambert for trying to make things easier for her.
The security woman tapped Greta on the shoulder, interrupting the conversation.
“You need to surrender to custody. It’s the rules.”
“But haven’t I just done so?”
“No, I’ve got to search you. Check your bag.”
“Oh, all right,” said Greta, offering her handbag up for inspection.
But this wasn’t enough.
“It’s through here,” said the woman, touching Greta’s arm this time as she guided her through a door in the side of the dock out into a small holding area. The once white walls were covered with obscene words and pictures drawn by rapists and murderers raging against their fate. Greta thought how strange it was that such a place should exist within a few yards of the judge, sitting in all his pomp and glory. But neither the graffiti nor the stale smell of urine emanating from a lavatory cubicle with a seatless toilet in the corner really bothered Greta. She’d seen worse.
It was the staircase in the far corner that sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t see more than the first three steps from where she stood near the door to the court, but it was enough to know that they went down and not up. Down to the cells below, from which
“That was the usher,” said Patrick, returning to the group and breaking the momentary silence. “We’re wanted inside.”
“I’ll be here at lunch, Greta,” said Peter. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” replied Greta as she turned to follow the lawyers through the swinging doors of the courtroom.
“It’ll be all right,” he added. “Just you see.” But she did not reply. The doors had closed behind her, and he could not follow.
Chapter 6
THE FIRST THING that Greta was aware of on entering the courtroom was the sound of many voices suddenly becoming still. The benches on the left of the court were thronged with the same reporters who had surrounded her outside. There was to be no escape from them, although the cameras and sound equipment were absent.
Before her arrival the court had been just another room, but now there was the beginning of drama, the certainty of action to come. Everything was lit by bright artificial light because this was a place removed from the outside world. There were no windows, and the soundproofed walls were bare except for the extravagant lion-and-unicorn emblem behind the judge’s empty chair.
Miles Lambert came to a halt beside the dock. This was a dark wooden enclosure at the back of the court, which Greta had had to occupy once before when she came to court in the spring to plead not guilty. Now a security woman with cropped black hair and a sallow face bent to open the low wicket gate and stood aside for Greta to enter the enclosure. The latch of the gate clicked behind her.
“Now, Patrick’ll be watching to see if you need anything,” said Miles in a soothing tone. “Have you got plenty of paper and pens? You can pass me a note if you think of something important, although I doubt we’ll get much beyond the prosecution’s opening statement this morning, and you don’t need to worry about that. It’s not evidence.”
Greta nodded and bit her lip. As if paper would help her. With all these people looking at her and strangers deciding her fate.
“We ought to get a jury fairly soon. Remember not to look at them directly. They don’t like that. But let them look at you. There’ll be a bad minute or two with the photographs of the body. I can’t stop Sparling showing them those, but it won’t last long. The judge’ll see to that. Granger’s all right. We could have done a lot worse.”
Greta smiled wanly. She was grateful to Miles Lambert for trying to make things easier for her.
The security woman tapped Greta on the shoulder, interrupting the conversation.
“You need to surrender to custody. It’s the rules.”
“But haven’t I just done so?”
“No, I’ve got to search you. Check your bag.”
“Oh, all right,” said Greta, offering her handbag up for inspection.
But this wasn’t enough.
“It’s through here,” said the woman, touching Greta’s arm this time as she guided her through a door in the side of the dock out into a small holding area. The once white walls were covered with obscene words and pictures drawn by rapists and murderers raging against their fate. Greta thought how strange it was that such a place should exist within a few yards of the judge, sitting in all his pomp and glory. But neither the graffiti nor the stale smell of urine emanating from a lavatory cubicle with a seatless toilet in the corner really bothered Greta. She’d seen worse.
It was the staircase in the far corner that sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t see more than the first three steps from where she stood near the door to the court, but it was enough to know that they went down and not up. Down to the cells below, from which
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