"She comes across as bossing Wizard around."
"She's not bossy, but she does need to take control of situations. And that's a direct result of D-T's molestations. Victims like Dreamer never want to be in any situation where they don't have complete control. It's their way of coping. She needed the ritualized cleansing but missed it."
"You saw the damage in her the first time you met, right?"
"Yes. We bonded immediately because we had similar histories. I saw Mac's injuries immediately too. She'll be healed soon, I think."
"Why so quick for her and not for Dreamer?"
"Because of Dreamer's age when she was victimized. Mac had a much worse experience, but she was older. Plus she has a different personality. I think every woman in the world at some point or other in her life becomes the victim of sexual abuse, or abuse in a related way, Stu. Some need help more than others. It's the price women have to pay for being the superior gender, I guess."
"What happened to the shy, retiring gardener? Is she taking shots at the superior gender now?"
"When my companion is near, he energizes me."
"Did he behave himself while I was in prison?"
"He almost escaped once. He scared Winnie when she was being too trusting."
"No harm to Winnie?"
"No. I had enough control. Can you help Lucas?"
"I don't know yet. I'm waiting to receive the information that the Surrey police have on this girl Candi and what she said under interrogation. William, Melissa and TG are working 24-7."
"You brought out the big guns. There's nobody better for this than those three."
"Melissa insisted on being part of the team and is flitting back and forth in time to feed the twins and then continue researching. She has a special feeling towards Lucas. She doesn't believe a thing that has been said about him."
"None of us do. But can you prove his story in a court of law?"
"Remains to be seen."
"Are you acting as battle commander for this operation too?"
"I know the battlefield best."
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Chapter 31
Stu was pushing the trial date aggressively. Lucas had been charged on Monday, May 4. Stu pushed for the trial to be set for Thursday that same week. The judge had expressed some reservations about that early court date, but Stu overrode his concerns. "Every day is torture for the Wiltz family, Judge. The boy is hiding from his own family because of the shame he thinks that he has brought to them. The defense is ready. The prosecution's case rests on the evidence of one person and she'll be eager to share her story."
Surrey's Courthouse was built shortly after the first ice age, or at least that's what most residents had assumed. It was one of those timeless concrete structures that dominate urban areas that were heavily populated before the crisis. Big, stately, and around as long as anybody could remember. Actually, it was built in the mid-20th century and had not changed on the outside at all since its construction. A long, wide set of concrete steps lead to the front entrance. A much shorter, narrower set of steps descended to the basement. That's where Stu took Lucas, Yolanda, Hank, and TG that Thursday morning.
They followed Stu down a narrow hallway with closed doors leading to rooms that were secondary to the main criminal courts in the upper levels. Family Court, Traffic Court, Family Maintenance Court, Small Claims Court, and finally, at the end of the corridor, a double set of doors leading into Juvenile Court.
Juvenile Court was not the courtroom of TV crime dramas. You might visualize a judge sitting high on his bench, a box for the jury, and wooden barriers separating the audience from the main part of the court. Instead, this courtroom was an old, tired, basement room. The judge sat behind a regular table in a swivel-rocking chair, although both were showing signs of wear. (The table and chair, not the judge.) There was no jury box because juries were never used in Juvenile Court. A few folding metal chairs were scattered around the front part of the room – some folded, some set up for witnesses and family who were the only spectators allowed in the room. These chairs could have been relics of some garage sale in the 1920s. Strike that. Not garage sales. These chairs could have been relics of some stable sale in the 1880s. Juvenile Court was where old furniture went to rust, but only if it couldn't be used productively somewhere else. Like for propping doors open.
The prosecution had a long table and three wooden chairs; the defense had the same. The court recorder had a smaller table but she was off to the side. As was the bailiff. Both had discarded secretarial swivel chairs to sit on. There were only two comfy seats in the room. One was for the judge; the other was for testifying witnesses. A large clear water bottle was upended on a white, plastic unit that served as temporary storage for the unrefrigerated water. No glasses or cups of any kind were in sight. Lawyers had learned to bring their own. If they were smart, they brought their own water too. The green tinge of the water in the big bottle was not encouraging. That was one of the reasons why Hank was carrying a large brown wicker picnic basket into the courtroom. TG was carrying its much heavier mate.
The room was empty when they arrived. Stu seated the family at the defense's table while TG unloaded legal reports from his picnic basket. These were organized into twenty packages. Each package consisted of: the original of a legal report intended for the judge; a copy of that report intended for the prosecutor; and a second copy intended for Stu. These twenty packs ended up in a meter high stack of paper on the corner of the defense's table within Stu's easy reach. TJ ensured that the reports were in the order that Stu had designated earlier with a penciled number on the backside of each pack. Judges don't appreciate having to wait while an attorney fumbled through a meter high stack of paper mumbling to himself, "I know I had it here somewhere."
TJ had his own reports to present but these were on a bot which fit easily within his shirt pocket. He took a metal chair to the very back of the room, sat in it, tilted the chair back on its two rear legs, and made himself comfortable. Stu had told him to sit as far from the defense's table as possible so that the judge wouldn't associate him with the defense. TG was a witness for the defense, but Stu was presenting him more as an independent expert.
Soon, a young man dressed in a light gray suit and carrying a briefcase entered the room. He was followed by a young lady in a demure black dress buttoned up to her neck. Sensible black shoes; no make up; no red finger nail polish. Nothing red on her at all. It was Candi with an i. Yolanda had to restrain herself from leaping on her back and ripping the lips off her face as she walked by and took a seat on a chair at the prosecutor's table. Yolanda had read her and saw the happiness that Candi was anticipating for what she was about to do to Lucas.
At 9:00 precisely, the court recorder and an elderly bailiff entered the room. At 9:01 the bailiff said, "All rise," and the trial started.
# # # # # # # #
We'll skip through the opening remarks. That's when the judge reads out the charges, asks for a plea from the accused, and explains how juvenile court works. While he's doing that, let's look at the judge himself.
The judge was Chinese in heritage. Small, wire framed glasses were perched on his nose. He had a full head of black hair cropped tight to his scalp with hints of gray. Perhaps 50? He wore a black judge's robe but with blue jeans showing underneath. Hiking boots on his feet showed signs of mud that revealed how the judge got his exercise. He had brought a large blue thermos with him – double sized. Presumably filled with coffee. Court cases can often be boring, even for judges. Left on their own to determine when they'll stop talking, lawyers tend to drone on and on and on. This judge didn't take kindly to lawyers who couldn't get to the point. There'd be no droning today.
The judge called for the prosecutor to make his opening remarks. Even though they had been told what to expect, Lucas and his parents flinched at the attack and at the anger in the prosecutor's words. Stu had brought a folding metal relic from the audience and had set it
to the side of the table for himself. Lucas had offered to give up his wooden chair, but Stu had said that he wouldn't be sitting for long.
"Opening remarks from the defense?" the judge asked.
"We'll reserve the right to make those comments later," Stu said from atop his relic. He had turned it around so that he was straddling it like he would if he were riding his trusty horse. Make that a trusty, rusty horse. In Juvenile Court, lawyers did not have to stand before talking. Sitting on real horses, however, had been outlawed.
"Call your first witness, Mr. Prosecutor."
"Prosecution calls Candi with an i," the prosecutor said.
While the witness was walking demurely to the chair, and demurely crossing her legs, and demurely putting her dress in place, and demurely placing a small black demure purse on her demure lap, Stu rose, turned his back on the judge and leaned over the table.
"Yolanda and Hank. Put your arms inside of Lucas' arms, hold his hands, and keep hold of each other. This part of the trial will be difficult for all of you. It will probably last twenty minutes. If you can't bear to look at the witness in the chair, look down at this instead." Stu put a large piece of paper with big red letters on the table in front of Lucas.
She's lying. You know it. I know it. Soon the judge will know it. Lucas is innocent of all charges. I will prove it. Ignore me when I act differently than what you've come to expect.
Back to the Table of Contents
Chapter 32
Candi was five minutes into her testimony when she put her hand into her purse and pulled out a white linen hanky. She used it to dab at her eyes as she reached the difficult parts of her testimony.
"I couldn't bear to watch when he beat up that boy."
Sob, sob.
"When he threatened to beat me too unless I started having sex with my students, I tried to resist, but he was too vicious looking. I was afraid for my life, so I did what he told me to, even though, [pause], I was a virgin at the time."
Sobs, tears, breaks in her voice. The judge offered to give her time to compose herself.
"No, I have to tell this story. To protect other women from him. Will somebody stop him if he tries to attack me in this chair?"
"Bailiff."
The bailiff stood up and stared at Lucas.
"I was giving Lucas all the money I received from doing what he was forcing me to do, but that wasn't enough for him. He told me that I had to go back to my apartment with him. Then I had to undress so that he could look at my body. When he got tired of staring at me, he made a fist and said that he'd beat me if I didn't let him do more. I believed him. So we went into my bedroom and all afternoon I let him do what he wanted to do to me. It was rape."
At that point, Candi with an i broke down. She already had been crying profusely into her hanky. Now she began shuddering in her chair too.
Stu pulled out his own hanky. It was royal blue with big white polka dots. Not exactly demure. He began crying too. Sobbing, weeping into his hanky, trying to keep the tears from coming down his cheeks by dabbing the polka-dot monstrosity at his eyes.
"Counsellor?" the judge asked.
Stu waved his hand. "I'll be alright," he said. "It's just so sad."
"Are you (sob) making (sob, sob) fun of me (choke, sob, choke)?"
Stu looked up at Candi from his rusty chair. Tears were clearly streaming down his cheeks. "No (sob). I'm not (sob, sob) making fun of you (choke, sob, choke)." Stu fluttered his hands in front of his face, as people are prone to do when they're trying to say something but they're so overcome with grief that they cannot push the words out. He picked up his trusty steed, took it over to where Candi was sitting, and plopped down next to her. "It's so sad. I see cases like this from time to time, and I can only shake my head. I'm better now. Really, I am." Stu put his hanky to his face to hide his embarrassment, but that didn't work. Again, he broke down. He was bawling freely now. "I thought I could take this. You go on testifying, Candi. I'll just sit here."
"Well, I think I'm finished." Candi squeezed out a few more tears but only to be sure the judge got the point.
"Prosecution rests."
"Counsellor?"
"Can you give me a minute, Judge?" Stu stood up, wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, had a long blow into his hanky, and put it away. He sat down and patted Candi's hands sympathetically. Those were the hands that were once again demurified into her demurific lap and holding a demuristically wet hanky.
"Oh, no," Stu gasped. "I thought I was finished. May I borrow your hanky?"
Candi didn't have a chance to say No.
Stu stood up with the hanky in one hand, grabbed his portable steed with the other, and brought both back to the defense's table where he placed Candi's hanky in plain sight.
"I have a few questions for the witness, but first a comment. The problem with a tearful courtroom breakdown is that it is so easy to imitate and so hard for others to know whether it's real or not. I'm sure this court has seen its shares of real tears. In my case, I was acting. The sobs, the choking, the halting voice – all were an act. My tears weren't real tears. They came from this bottle of saline solution that I had hidden inside my hanky and which I squirted into my eyes to create the tears that would roll down my cheeks."
Stu pulled out his blue and white polka-dotted hanky, produced a plastic vial from within it, and held it up in the air. "Behold. Now let's see what Candi had inside her hanky."
Stu opened it up for all to see. "My goodness. How did that get in there?" Stu held Candi's bottle of saline solution up for all to see. "There's even a little pocket sewn into the hanky so that it can't fall out by accident. Gosh. I wonder if she's done this act before. That's what I thought was so sad. Her acting."
"Court will take a two minute recess. Everybody stay where you are."
# # # # # # # #
During the recess, Stu opened Hank's picnic basket and poured glasses of water for the people at the defense table, removing the paper sign of bold black lettering in the process. He put a big plate of chocolates on the table and sat down while mind-messaging the following instructions:
Each of you should have a chocolate nearby. When you see Candi looking your way, all three of you should simultaneously put the chocolate into your mouth, take a bite, and hold the unbitten part in the air for her to see. Finish the chocolate slowly and enjoyably. Do not take your eyes off her when you do this. This is a little psychological warfare. She's going to be unbuttoning the top of her dress soon. We'll fight fire with fire, or in this case, we'll fight boobs with chocolates.
The judge returned at the appointed time, composed and looking suitably judicious. Most judges try to avoid snickering publicly during a trial.
"Judge, I brought chocolates. Have a plate. Mr. Prosecutor? No? I'll put it here in case you change your mind." TG is going to keep an eye on the prosecutor. When he starts to eat the chocolates, that'll mean that he knows that he's lost the case. Stu looked up at the judge who had placed two chocolates on his desk next to his gavel. A third chocolate was currently being taste-tested. Looking good.
"Judge, do you mind if I take off my jacket? It's going to get warm in here."
"Go ahead. Going to get warm, you say?"
"Definitely warm."
The judge took off his robe, revealing a plaid, woolen shirt with similarly coloured suspenders. He leaned back in his chair and pulled the plate of chocolates closer. Stu, now in his shirtsleeves, approached the witness chair and began rolling up his sleeves. Slowly. Asking Candi with an i questions while he did.
"Do you understand what perjury is?"
"Yes."
"What's your name?"
"Candi. The i is just something that I say so that people will know how I spell it."
"Do you use any other names?"
"No. Of course not."
"Did you work as a prostitute before you met my client?"
"No. I was a virgin. He took that away from me."
"How do you make your living?"
"I tutor students on the ecological balance in forests."
"Study that in high school, did you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Graduate from high school, did you?"
"Yes."
"How old are you?"
"I am 22 years old."
"When did my client allegedly rape you in your bedroom?"
"April 24th. From about 1 o'clock to 3 o'clock. I'll never forget it."
"Have you ever been convicted of a crime?"
"I'm not on trial here," Candi said angrily.
"Objection," the prosecutor said. "The witness is not on trial."
Stu went back to his table, lifted the first pack of paper from the mini-tower, unclipped the copies, and handed them out as they had been designated. Both the judge and prosecutor began reading. Seeing everybody's attention on the document, Candi took the opportunity to undo the top button of her demure black dress. Solely because it was getting a little warm in the room.
When the judge's head lifted, Stu began talking. "Judge, as you have read, this is a list of precedents that provide that a defense attorney can inquire into the character of a witness when said witness is the sole source of information in the trial and when said witness has shown that his or her testimony may have dubious accuracy."
"Objection," the prosecutor said. "My witness has shown no cause for such doubt."
Stu took a second document from the stack, similarly clipped, and made the rounds. "Judge, as you'll read, this is a list of precedents that stipulate that trying to elicit sympathy in a court case through trickery and sham is sufficient for the judge to rule that the witness is hostile within the legal definition of that term. That ruling is sufficient grounds for the opposing lawyer to be given latitude in his or her questioning."
The judge read the three pages and ruled. "The witness is declared to be a hostile witness because of her use of fake tears. Any further objections, Mr. Prosecutor?"
The prosecutor saw Stu standing at the corner of his table, a clipped document in one hand, and another clipped document in the other. "No, Your Honour."