The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «You can't be sure», Caroline disagreed. «You'll see, the truth will come out but, in the meantime, you have to live your life. Your father unfortunately will not come back, even finding the culprit.»

  «Oh, that's great!» William shouted again. «Just the same words used by that guy at Road Crimes Office! Are you two in this together, by chance? Maybe you don't care about my father, but I do!»

  Then he got up and hurried off to his bedroom, slamming the door angrily.

  After a routine week - breakfast, work, dinner, sleep - without exchanging a single word nor looking at each other, Caroline found the strength to tell William that their romance had come to an end. The young woman renewed her affection for the person with whom she had spent almost three years of her life, but stated that it was time for the both of them to turn the page. She pointed out that she had tried to support him and help him in any occasion, but apparently William had to find his own way by himself, and no one else - at least not her - could share that path. A decision she had made long before Dominic's passing, but which she postponed due to obvious reasons. She made him dinner for one last time - beef cutlet with baked potatoes - then she wished him well and left forever, taking away all the beautiful memories she had of that place, even though she never really considered it her home.

  William broke the unnatural silence that suddenly had fallen by throwing the dishes away and so spreading their contents on the kitchen cabinets; then he rested his head on the table and closed his eyes in the hope of falling asleep and forgetting everything.

  Chapter XIX

  Still bruised and sore, William stood up yelling to provide adequate response to yet another diabolical trill. The times he was allowed to get out of bed fresh and rested were increasingly rare. «I'm coming, I'm coming!», he shouted to his communicator, well aware that he would not get any apology from that cold device. The wickedness of inanimate objects , he once heard someone say somewhere and thought that that expression was more than appropriate at the moment. He picked up the insensitive item, but it seemed completely lifeless. The screen was off and nothing flashed. A new trill cut through his mind like a blade. It came from behind: it was the front door. «Oh no, I can't believe I got fooled again», he regretted. So he headed staggering towards the door, while thinking about the urgent need to replace the ringing tone of his communicator with a sweet melody that was impossible to confuse. While trying to recall his still asleep body the unlocking procedure, the reptilian part of his brain made him notice that it was not dawn yet and street lighting was still on. That semi-darkness caused a strange feeling to come over William's mind; bad thoughts that all materialized at once as soon as he opened the door and found two militiamen waiting for him. The adrenaline rush activated his brain function with the speed of a supersonic jet. «No, no, it can't be real, it's way too soon, they assured me that they would let me know...» William began to stutter and complain, leaving the two officers a little puzzled.

  «What? What are you saying, Deveux?», an unusually small militiaman asked him.

  William then took a deep breath and luckily regained the ability to formulate a question that made sense. «What do you want?», he said, already knowing the answer.

  «You know it well. Or at least you will have understood by now. The trial resumes today.»

  «But... Delegate DiFraia the other day assured me that I would be informed the day before, that it would take some time...»

  «No, no, I really doubt it», the militiaman interrupted drastically. «I do not believe the delegate told you anything confidential, it is simply a figment of your imagination. The trial continues when we think it is appropriate.» He paused to emphasize the word 'we'. «And it just so happens that His Excellency, Judge Roberti, decided to speed up things. He is in a hurry to finish.»

  Dejected and demoralized, William Deveux put his hand to his forehead to wipe the sweat, he then went back into the house to collect the communicator and other personal belongings. Only then did he remember he could not take any objects with him. He put everything back and went to the bathroom to rinse his face. When the small militiaman saw William put on his pants, he shouted at him: «The wetsuit!» William recalled that even the previous time a militiaman kindly urged him to wear that orange costume: on the other occasion, the request shook him like thunder; that new order issued by that small-sized militiaman, on the contrary, sounded more like a cat's wail.

  Another race at the first light of dawn. That too was becoming an inconvenient practice. William was beginning to feel more tired than worried. He would gladly be done with it. Aims, hopes, ambition: everything was put on hold; he yearned for inner peace much more than anything else. The car was running fast, more than the first time he was summoned. The judge was really in a hurry to finish.

  No queuing that time. William was taken directly to the courtroom where Delegate DiFraia and Prosecutor Visser were already waiting for him, as well as a small brand new audience. Garreth Thomander was missing. His presence was likely no longer required.

  Accompanied up to his place, William sat, as usual, to the left of the delegate. Alfred DiFraia not only did not greet him, but did not turn to him even for a second, continuing to read his notes and, from time to time, to look towards the door from which the judge would enter. The delegate still bore a grudge against him, it was obvious. It would be better in his interest to clarify before the resuming of the trial. Arguing with the court-appointed defender would not be the best prerequisite to reach a verdict of not guilty. It was necessary to explain that it was just a misunderstanding, that he enjoyed the conversation they had at the end of the first session and that he had never given too much weight to rumors. Unfortunately the anxiety and the fear of being unjustly condemned did not make him think clearly, that's why he made that gaffe. He therefore was ready to begin his harangue to convince DiFraia, but there still was a small yet hard obstacle to overcome: he had no desire to justify himself. He had fallen into a spiral of abuse, false accusations, threats and even physical violence, with the prospect of spending most of his life locked up. No, he would not ask for any forgiveness and to hell with the trial. He would not bend, even with the risk of a conviction on his shoulders. He had been pushed beyond his limit of endurance.

  Judge Roberti entered the courtroom almost running. Everything supported the assumption that he wanted to shorten the time and reach a verdict as soon as possible. When the audience stood up to pay homage to the Court, DiFraia forced William Deveux to do so without any delay, harshly pulling him up by the arm. He was clearly angry. Once the formalities were over, the judge invited Prosecutor Visser to proceed with the charges. Visser attempted to summarize the first day of trial, in which the accusation of sabotage had been analyzed, but Michael Roberti immediately stopped him, explaining that the report of the first session was already on the record and there was no need to start again from the beginning. Visser bowed as usual and then moved on to section two of the long series of allegations. Theft of confidential information. He reminded the audience that two of the notorious dates in which William Deveux had perpetrated sabotage actions, that is, April 21 and 29, were also useful in that case. It was more than plausible, according to the prosecutor, that, by coming into contact with confidential data for the purpose of altering them, the accused seized the opportunity to copy them in whole or in part, to appropriate them before proceeding to damage. In that regard, Visser confessed that going back to the precise moments in which Mr. Deveux had collected confidential information was not yet possible. The peculiar nature of the work carried out by the accused did not allow to immediately identify the object of desire, nor the circumstances in which he had decided to steal data. He agreed that the work of a computer operator, a system administrator, necessarily included copying, moving or manipulating thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of files and information of all kinds. Discovering the corpus delicti, in that case, was a bit like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. The prosecutor confi
rmed that it would take weeks, even months, to find some useful connection, assuming that the defendant's employer, Leigh Madison Enterprise, gave maximum cooperation and did not slow down the investigation.

  Alfred DiFraia, who until then had listened with great attention, put aside his usual calm for a moment and stood up, asking the colleague prosecutor which part of his speech included a charge against his client, because, though he tried to follow his reasoning, he could not locate it. He added that the prosecution should not present a theory that just because the accused had the chance to steal secret files, he actually did it, and then consider it as an evidence. Besides - DiFraia concluded – the prosecutor himself had just stated that it would take weeks to obtain unquestionable and overwhelming evidence. So, rewinding the tape, the delegate asked again: «What are we talking about, my esteemed colleagues?»

  DiFraia's reaction evidently caught not only Visser by surprise, but Judge Roberti as well. The two looked at each other embarrassed, each hoping that the other would say something and solve the question. The judge got the prosecutor out of trouble eventually and, with a gentle tone, invited the delegate to calm down and asked him to sit down again. DiFraia obeyed, but first he let several seconds pass, still waiting for a reply from the prosecutor. Michael Roberti, judging Delegate DiFraia's grievances undoubtedly legitimate, therefore turned to Visser for explanations, ordering the prosecutor to clarify precisely what they had found out up to that point or, at least, what clues irrefutably linked the accused to the crime. Kasper Visser's face turned purple. He returned to his place to re-read the notes he had brought with him. In the end he found something of a certain utility: inside William Deveux's personal computer there were three large encrypted archives, named WIL1, WIL2 and WIL3. According to the prosecutor it was right there that the defendant had hidden the stolen data. They had not yet managed to access them because those three containers had an extremely high level of protection. Besides, Deveux was an expert, Kasper Visser confirmed with feigned bitterness, but he assured the Court that, in a week or two, they would be able to get to the bottom of that situation and expose the vile crime.

  «In my work computer», replied Alfred DiFraia, with more subdued manners and leaning back in his chair with his hands intertwined, «there is a folder where I keep some working documents; I called it Fred23 and it's encoded. I think it would be appropriate to inspect that too, Colleague Prosecutor. Who can assure us that it does not contain stolen information?»

  Judge Roberti turned the same color as the prosecutor, so he tried once again to reassure DiFraia, urging him not to make it personal. It was obvious, the judge pointed out, that the moral integrity and professional skills of the delegate could not be questioned and he would challenge anyone to do so. Turning again to Prosecutor Visser, he informed him that the charge of “theft” would be temporarily dropped until something useful emerged from those encrypted archives; otherwise he would quash it and erase it from the list. He suggested, then, to take a short break, but Delegate DiFraia asked him to continue: they had already taken more time than necessary from his client. Judge and prosecutor looked at each other again. If that courthouse had witnessed heated debates, it certainly had not happened in recent years. Therefore, Judge Roberti, clearly embarrassed, informed the prosecutor that he could go on.

  «Very well, Your Honour! So, let us move on without any delay to next...»

  Kasper Visser started babbling and rummaging through his leather bag until he pulled out an inhaler, which he vigorously shook and then sprayed its contents down his throat twice.

  «As I said, Your Honour, let us now move on...»

  He continued to stutter, while with one hand he put the drug in the bag and with the other he tried to slide the pages on his little computer, to resume the thread of the discussion. Judge Roberti, as if stepped back in time up to school days, reminded him in a low voice what was the next indictment: sale of confidential information.

  «Sale of confidential information, Your Honour!», Visser said firmly. The prosecutor stood up without taking his eyes off his mini computer. It was not clear to William Deveux and his defender what he was looking for so frantically, but it seemed clear that he had failed to find it since, once in the middle of the courtroom, he began to stammer and improvise again.

  «So, sale of confidential information. A crime even more heinous than the previous one, because appropriating something without consent is already enough serious; but taking advantage of it to make an improper profit, it is the most petty...»

  The Prosecutor Visser resumed his pantomime by repeating a plot line used dozens of time, but it was obvious to everyone that he was just stalling and avoiding getting to the point. He clearly needed more time to compose himself. DiFraia had unexpectedly caught him off guard. It was uncommon for a delegate to argue with the prosecutor. Michael Roberti, in order not to offend the intelligence of Alfred DiFraia, who looked rather edgy that morning, interrupted the harangue and asked the prosecutor if he had further evidence besides the suspicions related to the encrypted files they had discussed before: fraudulent bank records, expensive purchases, telephone tapping, computer trail, any footage in which the accused had been seen in compromising position or in the company of shady characters. The judge made a complete list so as to provide his colleague – who was in obvious difficulty – the most possible help. Kasper Visser explained that it was just what he was trying to extract from his document archive and, if the Court gave him a few more minutes, he would submit “hard evidence” against the defendant. Judge Roberti made a long and noisy sigh, so he imposed a five minute break on everyone.

  William remained seated in his place and so did Delegate DiFraia, who wanted to take advantage of those few moments to re-read the material he had prepared for the trial. William had kept silent until then and promised himself that he would continue to do so, but the curiosity to understand something more was too strong and he therefore asked DiFraia what was going on and why the judge and the prosecutor looked so in distress.

  «Because I love justice and I hate when it's raped like that.»

  That answer seemed to William even more unclear than those notorious encrypted archives Visser talked about. However, he dropped the thing, there was no time to go deeper. Judge and prosecutor returned to the courtroom together, just as they had left a few minutes earlier. Their faces regained a color more suited to their role and they looked much more relaxed. The judge immediately spoke again.

  «Prosecutor Visser, you were talking about irrefutable evidence, before the break. I invite you to clarify.»

  «Of course, Your Honour! Indeed, for the sake of completeness I have to add that, as we speak, visual proofs and testimonies are already on the way and they will confirm that the accused has been in several parts of the city in the company of shady individuals, with the clear intention of reselling the fruit of his filthy work. I have been even assured that in a recent footage... I mean the last twenty-four or forty-eight hours at most, to be precise... the defendant was seen getting into a fight with a well-known fence in the eastern suburbs. It is very likely that they did not agree on the price.»

  The prosecutor looked at William, nodding and showing off a defiant smile. His eyes was saying: I cheated you.

  «And I wish to point out, Excellency», he went on right after, «something perhaps even more serious: despite the pending criminal proceeding, Mr. Deveux found the boldness to persevere in his criminal conduct, making a mockery of Our Most Excellent Institute! Scandal and ignominy, Your Honour! Scandal and ignominy!»

  William Deveux turned to his lawyer for help, then stretched out his arm to protest the absurdities the prosecutor had just reported. Kasper Visser pretended to ignore him and, with an even more elegant pirouette than those exhibited during the first session, he returned to his seat.

  «Serious charges, Mr. Deveux. Do you have anything to tell us?», Judge Roberti asked him. Alfred DiFraia for the first time during that second session in the courtr
oom spontaneously turned to his client, asking him to stay calm because it was not clear what evidence the prosecutor was talking about and, until they actually produced it, it would be better to stall.

  «I repeat my invitation, Mr. Deveux», Roberti said after a few seconds. The delegate squeezed his client's arm tightly to warn him to keep quiet, even though it was the judge who asked him. So it was the prosecutor who chose to speak on his behalf. Visser seemed to have been reborn after that brief pause that allowed him to regroup.

  «Excellency, what could Mr. Deveux possibly say?»

  The prosecutor got up again and approached the judge's bench.

  «Your Honour, with your permission I would like to express a brief personal opinion of Mr. Deveux, not to be recorded.»

  «Granted!», shouted the judge, pounding his fist on the counter.

  Kasper Visser moved with slow, measured steps until he was no more than three or four feet from the defendant. Seen up close, the prosecutor looked even uglier and more slimy, William thought. His long face and narrow eyes reminded him of a lizard or a snake, or whatever animal that used to lurk in the shadows and strike at the first chance.

  «Mr. Deveux, you obviously can't have anything to add about it, because you would have to accuse yourself, in that case. And your lawyer is rightly begging you not to do it. Nothing to object, it's his job. I'm just sorry that a person of prestige and integrity like Delegate Alfred DiFraia has to defend someone like you. Forgive me if I trivialize the concept, Mr. Deveux, but you are a sociopath!», the prosecutor concluded, laughing. Then he went back to sit, all smug. Visser was not sat yet when William Deveux suddenly decided he had enough and replied to the prosecutor by doing a perfect impression of him.

  «Forgive me if I trivialize too, prosecutor, but you are a real asshole!»