Arrows of Rain
Page 3
“After several sessions with the accused,” began Dr. Mara, “I found him to be quite discerning, lucid and possessed of rational faculty.”
“Is there any way of determining that somebody is deranged even before you’ve had the opportunity to make a clinical evaluation of their mental state?”
“No. You might suspect it, but the determination of neurosis, psychosis and other schizophrenic conditions is usually dependent on clinical examination. That’s the only professionally sound and respectable procedure.”
“You mentioned suspicion. When would you suspect somebody of derangement?”
“When a person appears—and appears is the key word—to operate outside the established and reasonable norms of his society. It could be in his manner of dressing, speaking, eating, or in some other aspect of demeanor.”
“When you first met the accused, did you suspect him of derangement?”
“No, not really.”
“Would you say, then, that his appearance was within acceptable social norms?”
“No, it wasn’t. But I was asked to do a professional evaluation, so I had to approach the task with extreme objectivity.”
“But if you had met him in the street?”
“I certainly would have considered him somewhat peculiar.”
“Why?”
“Because of his appearance. The unkempt and untidy nature of his appearance.”
After a pause, the prosecutor put another question.
“You have positively determined that the accused is not mentally incapacitated?”
“Yes.”
“Beyond the shadow of a doubt?”
“Yes.”
“Briefly, in layman’s language as far as possible, kindly outline to the court the basis of your conclusions.”
“The suspect’s logical coherence. His ability to recall events in an ordered way. His exhibition of mature speculative reasoning. His ability to comprehend information and to communicate in a clear and meaningful sense. Finally, his ability to make connections—in other words, his cognitive grasp of cause and effect.”
“Is there perhaps a chance that the accused suffered a momentary lapse of mental capacity at the time that he committed the alleged crime?”
“I considered that possibility. However, my finding is not consistent with that theory.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the suspect’s near-perfect recollection of the incident. And because of his willingness to discuss the details of the drowning and everything that happened up to his own arrest. When he did not discuss certain details he made it clear he did not wish to talk about them; it had nothing to do with gaps in his recollection. That level of awareness rules out the possibility of a temporary lapse of mental competence—an occurrence that is usually marked by cognitive dissonance and other disassociative symptoms.”
“If the accused was never mentally incapacitated, how would you account for his, as you said, unkempt and untidy appearance?”
“I would describe him as socially maladjusted.”
“And the cause of this maladjustment would be?”
“Maladjustment may spring from a number of factors. There is no need to speculate in this particular case. The most important thing is to underline that social maladjustment is often a matter of choice on the part of an individual.”
“Thank you. No more questions.”
“Mr. X,” said the judge, “I take it you have no questions for the witness?”
“Yes, I do, Your Honor,” Bukuru said. Justice Kayode glanced up at him, surprised. Hushed whispers spread through the courtroom. Dr. Mara, who had half-risen and gathered his papers to leave the witness stand, sat down.
Bukuru stood up and drew a long breath.
“Dr. Mara, how long have you practiced as a psychiatrist?”
“Eighteen years,” answered Dr. Mara in the even, unemotional voice of a man of science.
“And how old are you?”
“Forty-two next March.”
“Before you qualified as a psychiatrist, did you know any mad person?”
“Objection!” protested Okadi. “What the witness did or knew before qualifying is irrelevant.”
Dr. Mara and Bukuru paused, looking to the judge.
“Over-ruled,” said the judge.
“Yes,” the psychiatrist answered.
“Did you ever have time to closely observe the behavior of this mad person?”
“Objection.”
“Over-ruled.”
“Yes.”
“Who was this mad person?”
“A man from my village.”
“He was born in your village?”
“Yes.”
“Was he mad from birth?”
“No. His condition manifested in his adolescence. One day he took to shrieking and dancing—especially at night.”
“Did he continue to live in the village?”
“Yes, sometimes at home but mostly at the marketplace.”
“Did he have relatives?”
“Yes, his widower father was still alive. And he had two brothers and a sister. Some cousins and so forth.”
“Did he still recognize them after he fell into, shall we say, a crazed state?”
“Yes, he often talked to them.”
“Tell us how he related to them.”
“He spoke to his father with appropriate reverence. At least most of the time. When the old man died, he was at the funeral. As the oldest child, he threw the first earth into his father’s grave.”
“Did he laugh at the funeral? Did he dance or ululate? Shriek or make other untoward noises?”
“No.”
“How would you describe his behavior during the funeral?”
“Somber. Sober. Restrained.”
“Like a normal bereaved person?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say then that there was a seeming suspension of his madness during the funeral?”
“Objection. The witness is being invited to speculate unnecessarily.”
Dr. Mara and Bukuru again looked to Justice Kayode. He seemed to weigh the question for a moment.
“Sustained.”
“Let me rephrase the question,” Bukuru persisted. “Did this madman appear during the funeral to—forgive the phrase—suffer a relapse into sanity?” There was suppressed laughter in the courtroom.
“He seemed to have a reprieve from his condition, yes,” answered the psychiatrist, removing his glasses and wiping, with the back of his hand, the sides of his eyes.
“How long did the funeral last?”
“Six days—that is the tradition.”
“What happened after the funeral?”
“He resumed his abnormal behavior.”
“You mean his normal behavior?”
There was another round of restrained laughter among the spectators. Even Justice Kayode bit his upper lip to keep from laughing.
The psychiatrist answered, “You could put it that way.”
“Could you tell the court the oddest thing you ever saw this madman do?”
“Objection. The court’s time is wasted by the accused asking the witness to tell unnecessary stories.”
Pause.
“Over-ruled.”
“I once saw him speaking to two ants in a threatening way.”
“Go on.”
“Apparently he’d been stung by an ant as he slept. Later on he came upon two ants going about their business. ‘Stop!’ he said to the ants. ‘I want to know which of you stung me in my anus while I slept under the baobab tree.’ The ants continued on their way. He addressed the faster ant. ‘Hey, you, stop! You appear strong-headed. Perhaps it was you who stung my anus. Confess and I’ll let you free—only with a
warning.’ The ant continued to move. So the madman brought down his big toe and flattened the ant. He then turned to the other ant and said, ‘Well, you’ve seen what happened to your headstrong brother. Now, stop and tell me, was it not he who stung my anus?’ The ant continued to move. Again in anger the madman crushed the ant flat on the ground with his foot. That was the oddest thing I ever saw him do.”
The crowd in the courtroom chortled at the story. Bukuru stood straight-faced waiting for a return to order. Justice Kayode took a slurp of water, cleared his throat and asked whether Bukuru had exhausted his questions.
“No.”
“Proceed,” the judge commanded.
“Have you ever been stung by an ant?” Bukuru asked the witness.
“Yes, on a number of occasions.”
“Did you ever kill an ant on account of that?”
“Yes.”
“Were you sure in every instance that you had killed the ant that had stung you?”
“I can’t say that I was. Not in every instance.”
“Is it right, then, to surmise that as far as ants go, you believe in retribution?”
“Objection. The question is irrelevant and frivolous.”
“Over-ruled.”
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” said the psychiatrist.
“You have no problem with killing an ant that has stung you?”
“No, I have no problem with that.”
“Nor do you have a problem with killing an innocent ant—one that hasn’t stung you?”
“I don’t think of ants as guilty or innocent,” answered the psychiatrist.
“But apparently your village madman was concerned with that principle, wasn’t he? He was interested in finding out which ant was responsible for stinging his anus, wasn’t he?”
“Apparently,” Dr. Mara answered, with a confounded look.
“And he was apparently willing to forgive the quote and unquote ‘guilty’ ant—if only he got a confession of guilt, wasn’t he?”
“Apparently.”
“If you saw a man who went about killing every dog in sight simply because one dog had bitten him, would you consider his action sane?”
“Objection! This is an egregious abuse of the court’s time and courtesy.”
“I don’t see how,” retorted the Elephant. “Over-ruled.”
“No.” Dr. Mara wiped a trickle of sweat off his face, like one wiping tears.
“Returning to part of your earlier testimony, why do you think the madman remained restrained during his father’s funeral?”
“Perhaps because his socialization had become strong before the onset of his psychiatric symptomatology. Perhaps he remembered how people were expected to behave at funerals.”
“Perhaps, then, he had not been socialized about dealing with ants. Or perhaps that part of his socialization had been weak, would you say?”
“Objection. This is argumentative. It’s not a question but a tendentious suggestion.”
“Sustained.”
Bukuru stroked his chin. Dr. Mara fiddled with the pile of files in front of him. A smile spread over Bukuru’s face as, turning to the judge, he said, almost in a whisper, “I have no more questions.”
Open laughter broke out in the courtroom as the psychiatrist descended from the stand. In his confusion he dropped a number of files and papers and knelt, flustered, to recover them.
“Easy does it, Dr. Mara,” said Justice Kayode. “Take your time.” The psychiatrist bared his teeth in a smile that seemed a mixture of apology, gratitude and self-pity.
The judge’s gavel fell three times, conjuring silence. “The court will recess until three p.m.”
Chapter Four
When the proceedings resumed, Lieutenant Lati took the stand as the prosecution’s last witness.
“Identify yourself to the court.” Jerome Okadi spoke in a subdued voice.
“My name is John Lati. I head the homicide division at Madia police headquarters.”
“Before we address specific issues, do you have any general observations on this case you wish to share with the court?”
“Yes,” Lati answered. He cleared his throat deeply, then turned in the judge’s direction. He stated that in his twenty-one-year career he had never investigated a case that baffled him more. Then, in a soliloquy, he asked a series of questions, answering each in turn.
“Did we find any motive for this homicide? No. Did we see any physical evidence that tied the accused to the prostitute’s death? No. Is it unusual to find homicide cases without apparent motives? No. Do some people kill just for the sake of the thrill? Absolutely yes. Is the circumstantial evidence against the accused strong? Without a doubt.”
Mr Okadi nodded vigorously throughout this speech and paced the room, two steps in one direction, then two in another, his chin held up. He stabilised himself on one foot, then pirouetted to face Lati.
“On a scale of one to ten—ten being the strongest—how would you rate the circumstantial evidence?”
“Without a doubt, at ten.”
“Outline for the court, detective, the nature of this evidence,” the prosecutor urged.
“First of all, independent corroboration places the accused in the proximate area where the drowning death occurred. The lifeguard has testified that the accused was at the scene of death. Second, he admitted knowing that the deceased was a prostitute. He would not have been in possession of that information were he and the deceased not acquainted prior to her death. Third, he admitted under interrogation that the deceased drowned while running from him. He also revealed that she shrieked as she ran. People only run from danger, from those who have harmed them or are intent upon harming them. Fourth, the lifeguard on duty testified that the accused hindered the resuscitation of the deceased.”
“Is that all?” Okadi asked, with the confidence of a man aware that there was more.
“No. We also found the accused man’s explanation of the woman’s death highly suspect.”
“Could you explain to the court what you mean by suspect?”
“Yes. His account was implausible, full of holes.”
“Kindly describe them for the court.”
“Yes. The accused falsely claimed that the deceased was raped by a gang around four a.m. He said he couldn’t see the faces of the attackers because it was too dark. He further claimed that the unknown assailants abandoned the deceased and left in a truck. He stated that one hour after the assault ceased, he approached the site of the assault to offer help to the victim. Then, according to him, she screamed with terror and ran into the waves.
“In the course of our extensive and thorough investigation we interviewed several vagrants who sleep less than two hundred meters from the spot where the deceased drowned. None of them had heard any screams around the time of the alleged gang rape—four a.m. But they were able to corroborate the suspect’s story of a shriek closer to seven a.m.—the estimated time of her death.”
“What conclusion did you draw from that?”
“That the accused spoke the truth only in admitting that the woman was running away from him at the time of her death.”
“Tell the court, Lieutenant. Did the accused make any other doubtful statements?”
“Yes, indeed. He claimed that he ran after the deceased to save her, but found her too afraid to be rescued.”
“Did your investigation find this to be true?”
“Absolutely not. In fact, the lifeguard indicated that the suspect hindered his effort to resuscitate the deceased.”
“Are there other falsehoods the court should know about?”
“Yes. The accused tried to malign the reputation of the Madian armed forces by claiming that the deceased was raped by soldiers, specifically members of the vice task force. He also falsely accused a me
mber of the Armed Forces Revolutionary and Redemptive Council of being a rapist and murderer. He alleged that twenty-three years ago, this distinguished officer raped and killed a woman.”
“And your findings?”
“That the claims were totally baseless. We could not establish that soldiers were anywhere near B. Beach on New Year’s Day. As for the accused’s retrospective allegations against the member of the AFRRC, we could not find that such a prostitute ever lived, much less that she could have been raped or killed by the said officer, who is a venerable public servant.”
“Your testimony to the court, therefore—and correct me if I am wrong—is that the accused raped the deceased, a prostitute, and caused her death?”
“Yes, that is my testimony.”
“Then he invented an elaborate hoax to deflect attention from himself?”
“That’s my testimony,” repeated Lati.
“And you are prepared to aver to the court that this testimony is truthful, that you arrived at your conclusions after an exhaustive, thorough and professional investigation?”
“Indeed, I am,” said the detective.
The prosecutor smiled. “No more questions, Your Honor,” he said, slowly turning to the judge.
Lati stood up, bowed slightly to Justice Kayode and made to leave the witness box. Bukuru’s raised hand caught the judge’s attention.
“Yes. Do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Yes.”
Justice Kayode made a gesture of assent. “Good. You seem to have woken from slumber. The witness is all yours.”
A tense silence fell in the courtroom. Bukuru and the detective stared at each other, braced. Bukuru narrowed his eyes.
“You have wilfully lied here today, haven’t you?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” shouted one of the prosecutors. “The question has prejudicial intent.”
“Sustained!” Justice Kayode fixed Bukuru with a censorious eye. “You may not use language that blatantly questions the integrity of a witness.”
“But he spent his entire testimony calling me a liar,” Bukuru protested.