The two helmets recited their piece in identical
monotones, halting here and there to refresh their minds by
referring to their notebooks. After each had made his statement Mr
Bono jumped to his feet and cross-examined them on every tiny
detail. The two helmets were implacable, their evidence impeccable,
and they would not be budged from their stated version of
events.
At this point in the proceedings
there was a rush of murmurings between the prosecutor and Helmets
One and Two, who had been moving in and out of the courtroom as
quietly and inconspicuously is their incredible bulk would allow.
The prosecutor eventually crept up to the bench and muttered to The
Beak: “We were going to call the owner of the bike to establish
ownership, but he appears to have gone missing temporarily.”
“Is he essential to the case?”
asked The Beak.
“Only in establishing
ownership.”
“Well, his absence is holding up
the whole court. I want to get on with things. If ownership becomes
an issue you can call him later.”
And so the owner of the bicycle
in question was not called to give evidence. Instead, Icarus was
asked to the stand. He walked to the front of the court and stepped
into the witness box. Inside he noticed a chair. In a moment of
panic he asked himself: Do I sit if I take the stand, or do I
stand? No one had explained this to him. What was he to do?
“Sit,” said The Beak.
Icarus sat.
Mr Bono stood up. “Now Icarus,”
he said, “tell us what happened on the day in question, just as you
remember.”
Icarus related the events of the
day exactly as they had occurred, up until Helmet Two had thumped
him on the side of the head. “And that’s all I can remember,” he
told The Beak, “until I woke up in the police cell.”
The Beak looked at Mr Bono more
sternly than before, if that was possible, and asked: “Is your
client alleging police brutality? Why was this not brought up in
cross-examination?”
“Er, um, it’s the first time
that he’s mentioned it,” said Mr Bono. “I wasn’t briefed about
this, I had no idea …”
“No one asked me about it,”
Icarus volunteered. He did not want to get Mr Bono into trouble, or
the two policemen.
The Beak was clearly put out by
this disclosure – it was about to ruin her efficient dispensation
of justice, and she did not like it one little bit. Helmet Two, who
had been sitting at the back of the court fully expecting to have
the pleasant duty of taking the young felon down, when ordered to
do so, suddenly decided that it was time to leave. He had just
reached the door when he heard The Beak: “Stop, constable. Where do
you think you’re going in such a hurry?”
Helmet Two stopped, one hand on
the doorknob. He had an urge to just push open the door and make a
quick escape, but the door, apparently, would not budge. He froze.
He was a big, big man, who had taken on many of the big, bad people
who populated this corner of the world, and nothing frightened him.
Nothing, that is, except this stocky little woman with a voice as
sharp, as stern, as cutting as his mother’s. The hair on his very
thick neck bristled.
“Is this true?” The Beak
demanded of Helmet Two. “Did you assault this young man after you
had arrested him?”
Icarus felt a prickle of pride
deep within his chest: it was the first time that anyone had ever
called him a man.
Helmet Two turned around slowly
to face the bench: “Er, um, I was just stopping him from escaping,
Your Honour.”
“So you hit him?” The Beak
asked.
“Just enough to stop him getting
away,” said Helmet Two.
For a moment The Beak appeared
to be flustered, an appearance that she did not like one bit. “This
is all getting a bit too much,” she said to the prosecutor. “I
think this young man’s response to your charges is entirely
feasible, and I tend to believe him. You charged him with theft and
receiving.” The Beak did not like acquitting people, and she wasn’t
going to spoil her record here.
monotones, halting here and there to refresh their minds by
referring to their notebooks. After each had made his statement Mr
Bono jumped to his feet and cross-examined them on every tiny
detail. The two helmets were implacable, their evidence impeccable,
and they would not be budged from their stated version of
events.
At this point in the proceedings
there was a rush of murmurings between the prosecutor and Helmets
One and Two, who had been moving in and out of the courtroom as
quietly and inconspicuously is their incredible bulk would allow.
The prosecutor eventually crept up to the bench and muttered to The
Beak: “We were going to call the owner of the bike to establish
ownership, but he appears to have gone missing temporarily.”
“Is he essential to the case?”
asked The Beak.
“Only in establishing
ownership.”
“Well, his absence is holding up
the whole court. I want to get on with things. If ownership becomes
an issue you can call him later.”
And so the owner of the bicycle
in question was not called to give evidence. Instead, Icarus was
asked to the stand. He walked to the front of the court and stepped
into the witness box. Inside he noticed a chair. In a moment of
panic he asked himself: Do I sit if I take the stand, or do I
stand? No one had explained this to him. What was he to do?
“Sit,” said The Beak.
Icarus sat.
Mr Bono stood up. “Now Icarus,”
he said, “tell us what happened on the day in question, just as you
remember.”
Icarus related the events of the
day exactly as they had occurred, up until Helmet Two had thumped
him on the side of the head. “And that’s all I can remember,” he
told The Beak, “until I woke up in the police cell.”
The Beak looked at Mr Bono more
sternly than before, if that was possible, and asked: “Is your
client alleging police brutality? Why was this not brought up in
cross-examination?”
“Er, um, it’s the first time
that he’s mentioned it,” said Mr Bono. “I wasn’t briefed about
this, I had no idea …”
“No one asked me about it,”
Icarus volunteered. He did not want to get Mr Bono into trouble, or
the two policemen.
The Beak was clearly put out by
this disclosure – it was about to ruin her efficient dispensation
of justice, and she did not like it one little bit. Helmet Two, who
had been sitting at the back of the court fully expecting to have
the pleasant duty of taking the young felon down, when ordered to
do so, suddenly decided that it was time to leave. He had just
reached the door when he heard The Beak: “Stop, constable. Where do
you think you’re going in such a hurry?”
Helmet Two stopped, one hand on
the doorknob. He had an urge to just push open the door and make a
quick escape, but the door, apparently, would not budge. He froze.
He was a big, big man, who had taken on many of the big, bad people
who populated this corner of the world, and nothing frightened him.
Nothing, that is, except this stocky little woman with a voice as
sharp, as stern, as cutting as his mother’s. The hair on his very
thick neck bristled.
“Is this true?” The Beak
demanded of Helmet Two. “Did you assault this young man after you
had arrested him?”
Icarus felt a prickle of pride
deep within his chest: it was the first time that anyone had ever
called him a man.
Helmet Two turned around slowly
to face the bench: “Er, um, I was just stopping him from escaping,
Your Honour.”
“So you hit him?” The Beak
asked.
“Just enough to stop him getting
away,” said Helmet Two.
For a moment The Beak appeared
to be flustered, an appearance that she did not like one bit. “This
is all getting a bit too much,” she said to the prosecutor. “I
think this young man’s response to your charges is entirely
feasible, and I tend to believe him. You charged him with theft and
receiving.” The Beak did not like acquitting people, and she wasn’t
going to spoil her record here.
Similar Books
