of déjà vu reality that is not really reality. It literally short-circuits the whole process, resulting in false positives.”
“Is that all?” asked the judge, who actually yawned as he said it.
“Well, I could go into more detail, but that’s the long and short of it, yes, My Lord,” said Grant, looking up at the judge.
“Does the prosecution have anything to add, or wish to question the accused?”
Sir Healey stood and stared down Grant. “A very interesting theory. Have you any proof?”
“Well, I – uh, not immediately at hand, no. I was actually accumulating my data at the time Mr. Finchley was killed. I was to present my findings the next day, but instead I was dragged in for questioning, and haven’t been able to return to the lab because I was charged and incarcerated.”
“Convenient.”
“Actually, it is very convenient for whoever killed Finchley,” said Grant. “My findings would’ve put ReflecTech in quite a bind – maybe even shut them down.”
“Then you’d be out of a job,” said Sir Healey.
“A small price to pay for promoting truth.”
“Truth,” boomed Sir Healey, “has already been established in this case. I have nothing more.”
“Not in this case, and not, perhaps, in thousands of other cases that have relied on BR!” shouted Grant as Sir Healey turned his back and returned to his seat.
The gavel slammed down. “You will control your tongue,” the judge snapped, his eyes wide with fury and his face a stone. He immediately resumed his previous, placid state. “Anything from the defense?”
Roland James stood and approached the stand. “So, Mr. Grant, are you insinuating that someone at ReflecTech is behind this crime? Have you additional information that could shed light on this belief?”
“I’m not sure,” said Grant, scratching absently at his chin. “Whoever did this had some stake in ReflecTech, either directly, or indirectly. Perhaps a company principal, a stock holder, someone who benefits from the business. I dunno. But Alan Finchley died because someone did not want my research exposed. Not because of some concocted motive of professional jealousy on my part, as Sir Healey has tried to convince this jury. Finchley and I were colleagues. I respected him. And I am not a killer.”
“My Lord,” Sir Healey broke in, “the court is becoming increasingly bored. The defendant’s repeated denials of guilt and groundless speculation are merely prolonging the inevitable conclusion of these proceedings. I move to strike Mr. Grant’s recent meanderings from the record and advance to the closure of this case.”
“Why the hurry?” said Grant from the stand. “Afraid the truth will come out and spoil your perfect record of BR convictions?”
“That is enough!” yelled the judge. “One more outburst from you and I’ll be inclined to be unforgiving in my sentencing decision.”
“You’re threatening me with a stiff sentence, when I haven’t even been convicted? Aren’t you supposed to remain impartial until the jury decides my fate?”
Judge Rodd cracked his gavel three times in quick fashion as the faces on the jury screens began to come to life. His long nostrils flared. “Silence! You are walking on thin ice, Mr. Grant!”
Roland James read another of the anonymous messages I’d sent to his screen, and appeared to have an epiphany. He leapt to his feet. “My Lord, the defense requests an adjournment till tomorrow.”
“On what grounds? My court is a court of swift justice, Mr. James, not delays.”
“My Lord, the defense requires a few hours for research.”
“Research?” Judge Rodd frowned, but then shrugged. “Very well. We will convene at nine in the morning.” He slapped the gavel down and stood.
The bailiff, defendant and lawyers stood, along with me. The jury screens switched to court screensaver mode, and I saw James make eye contact with his client followed by a quick escape from the room.
I followed him as he made his way out of the court house and down the street to his office. I stood outside in a doorway and used my credentials as a Scotland Yard contractor to tap into his private screen and watch his activity as he began an extensive search.
He began with a search for “thin ice.” He frantically tapped the keys and dug in, deeper and deeper, uncovering the layers of the conspiracy that I had seeded to his mind.
I camped out in the cold as James sat at his computer all night. The gray morning sky brought fatigue and hunger with it. I rubbed my stubbly face and popped a nutritional capsule to see me through what was bound to be an eventful morning at court.
I watched as James finally found the answer. He uploaded the findings to his account in the court’s web-base, then grabbed his papers and ran out the door. I followed him back, keeping back a few paces.
My conscience was feeling better, but not good enough to implicate myself in this mess. I took a short cut through the pub on the corner of Bow Street – out into the back alley and up the rear stairs of the court house. I arrived moments before Roland James.
Sir Healey eyed James suspiciously as he rushed into the court with wet hair, unshaven face, and wrinkled suit.
The disheveled attorney tossed his briefcase on the table and leaned over to whisper in his client’s ear, then sat up straight, looking suddenly composed and confident.
I knew Sir Healey was an expert at reading people, and this did not bode well for his case, and his perfect record. That explained the look on his face – like he’d just sniffed a particularly pungent cheese.
“The court will hear from the defense,” said Judge Rodd blandly.
James stood, holding his portable screen and glancing down at it. “My Lord, I would like to bring my client to the stand once more.”
“Very well.”
Harold Grant moved to the witness stand, looking unsure.
“Mr. Grant, please describe the ownership structure of ReflecTech.”
“Uh, well, it’s a privately owned corporation with strong public oversight. It’s almost a pri-pub, but the investors own fifty-one percent, so ultimate control is not in the hands of the government. To my knowledge, there are three main investing entities. A group based in Germany, a very wealthy duke from Wales, and a consortium called TIL, which stands for Thin Ice Legal.”
“What do you know about the principals of TIL?”
“Not much – pretty anonymous group from what I hear. Lots of money, lots of connections to government. Been around for a couple decades at least. They do hold the majority share out of the three main investors. But I don’t know much about them – I never deal with them directly in my position at ReflecTech.”
“Thank you.”
Grant returned to his seat.
Judge Rodd seemed frustrated. “Is there a point to this oblique line of questions, Mr. James?”
“Oh, yes, My Lord. My next witness is, you My Lord.”
“What? You cannot call me as a witness – I am presiding over this trial!”
“Actually, My Lord, I can. According to the Full Perspective Act 2019, I am able to call any person of relevance to the stand, and, if such person causes a vacancy in the court proceeding’s officers, a temporary substitute may assume the vacated post during the witnessing.”
Judge Rodd glared at James. “I will not be lectured on the rules of my own court, Mr. James. But you had better have a blasted good reason for bringing me down from my seat to be subjected to your questioning.” He turned to a uniformed man. “Go get Judge Tainton to sit in for me while I indulge this idiocy.”
Rodd rose and took the stand, the large, robed man looking quite odd at the lower height of the witness box, crammed in there like a common criminal.
Shortly, Judge Matthew Tainton arrived and sat at the bench. “Proceed,” he said.
“Judge Rodd,” said James, “are you, or are you not, a principal of the company TIL – Thin Ice Legal?”
Rodd’s eyes widened for a moment, betraying his surprise. “What is the relevance?” he blurted
. “That information is private. All TIL investors are protected by privacy rules.”
“Please answer the question,” said James, looking to Judge Tainton for support.
Rodd looked at Tainton, too, and Tainton slowly nodded once, a silent signal that Rodd was obliged to testify. Tainton then said, “A yes or no, please Judge Rodd.”
Rodd looked like he’d swallowed something awful tasting. “Yes, I am a principal of TIL.”
“Does TIL have a financial interest in ReflecTech, which is Her Majesty’s government’s provider of BR technology?”
“TIL has a broad array of financial interests – I could hardly rattle off which companies it does or doesn’t invest in. Besides, the portfolio changes all the time.”
James tapped some buttons and the lights dimmed slightly as an image of a document appeared in the air. “This record indicates that the investments don’t change all that often, Judge Rodd. In fact, ReflecTech has been on the TIL books for twenty-five years – almost since its inception as the court’s most ‘reliable’ form of evidence. Do you wish to clarify your statement?”
Rodd was looking very uncomfortable. “I’d like to know where this witch hunt is leading!”
“Where most witch hunts lead, I imagine,” said James, gaining confidence and momentum. “To a very public bonfire.”
“Please restrict your answers to the questions, Judge Rodd,” said Judge Tainton, “and you restrict your commentary,” he said to James.
“Yes, My Lord. Judge Rodd, over how many cases have you presided where BR was the sole determining evidential