Judge, Jury, & Executioner Boxed Set
Page 4
She had expected to be taken to a cell to wait for the transport to Jhiordaan. Speculation.
The door slid smoothly open, and a man walked in. A soldier, Rivka judged, taking in the toned lines of his body and the hardness of his face. His barrister’s uniform was crisp and well-cut. He folded his arms in front of him.
What does the data tell you? she asked herself.
“You’re not a barrister,” Rivka told him evenly. “Not like the ones I’ve met, anyway. You’re a Ranger.”
Not a question. Don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to. Lawyer 101.
He raised a finger to his lips. “We don’t say that word anymore, Barrister. Nobody does, and one day we hope it will be forgotten.” His eyes were stern, but they held an unmistakable warmth.
Hope. That spider silk-thin tendril she grasped had become a rope, maybe even a ladder, and she felt herself climbing toward a radiant light.
“I see you have a million questions. They’ll get answered in due time,” he interrupted calmly, motioning for her to sit. She did so, leaning forward in her seat, her attention focused like a laser on the man before her. “I’m not a fan of ultimatums, but there are two possible outcomes here. One is completely in my control. The other is outside it.” He grunted and trailed off for a moment, studying her with casual indifference.
Desperately she strained to calm herself. If this were a test, she had to pass. She steeled her nerves and donned a mask of confidence.
“If you wish to keep your position as Queen’s Barrister, you will join us. You will learn how to handle yourself in a fight, and how to use a variety of weapons.” He chuckled ever so slightly. “You’ll become the sort of person I’m guessing your type usually curses as the spawn of chaos—the seed of the universe’s bureaucratic nightmares.”
“’My type?’” She smiled before ducking her head. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve heard stories about your type, too.”
He held a finger to his lips once again and lost his fight to keep his face neutral. His smile flickered and died, and he leaned forward with frightening intensity. “When you see the filth that’s out there you’ll understand why we need proper killers, not just anointed executioners.”
She studied him as if waiting for a punchline. The words raced through her mind but blurting an answer didn’t seem right, not when she hadn’t heard all the options.
“Option two. You face your fate as a prisoner of the Federation, convicted of capital murder. You and I part ways. Your life becomes little more than a document in our legal system, ferried from one desk to the next until the right authority finds an excuse to stamp it out.
“If you choose to join there will be a test, of course––” again his eyes swept her face appraisingly, “but I think you will pass. You have the look of someone with a sharp mind that’s been drowned in too much paper, not a complete incompetent.” He chuckled. “God knows you’ve got the spark of Justice in you, given that stunt that brought you here. You’ll have to interrogate three prisoners to show us how you think. You’ll determine the veracity of the charges against them, and enact the appropriate punishment.”
When he finished speaking he settled back into his chair, evidently expecting a slew of questions.
Rivka didn’t so much as take a breath. There was nothing to ask, really. The man had said it all, and her choice was already made. However frightening the concept of hybrid Ranger-Magistrates, any chance of joining them was far better than being sent to Jhiordaan from which the only respite was death. Or maybe they’d return her to the planet and execute her.
The prison planet option had only been in her vivid imagination. No one else had said she was going there.
She closed her eyes and collected her thoughts.
“I would love to meditate on this issue, but the fact that I’ve never meditated before could be a hindrance to a successful outcome. I suspect you won’t give me time to study appropriate techniques under a guru?”
He started to chuckle, shaking his head.
“I thought as much, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Upon contemplation of my fate and in consultation with my buddy karma, I have decided to accept your offer—with certain conditions, of course.”
He raised one hand and held up his middle finger. She laughed and raised her shackled hands to return his gesture. “I think I might like this side of the law,” Rivka said.
The man pulled a key from his pocket and removed her shackles.
“You aren’t worried that I might try to escape?”
“What the hell for and how? On this side of the law, as you so aptly put it, people try to escape from us, not the other way around.”
She rubbed her wrists and rolled her shoulders.
“Let’s get those tests done, Barrister.” He extended a calloused hand. “And then I’ll welcome you to the team. If you’re still with us, that is.”
Chapter Four
Rivka walked with her head held high as she followed her unnamed benefactor, even though she still wore prison garb. He didn’t seem interested in offering her new clothes, so she didn’t bother asking.
“What’s your name?”
“How about you call me Grainger?” he replied.
Rivka fought against rolling her eyes. “Well, Grainger, I see that you’re no stranger to danger.”
“Is that the best you have, Barrister? I may have to revise my opinion of you and your abilities.”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
“Save it for the perps,” Grainger advised warmly.
“You haven’t exactly caught me at my best.”
He looked down at her. “Holy crotch goblins, you look like an inmate. Right turn, harch!” Grainger made a sharp right down a side passage, and two turns later he used his palm print to open a door that had no signage on it.
Rivka stopped at the doorway, refusing to go in. He saw her hesitation. “You are safe with me, but you can’t be sure until you are.” He pulled a dress and a Magistrate’s jacket from a standing wardrobe.
“Those clash,” she told him.
He tossed her the jacket. “Makes no difference to me.” She looked at the dress that he had laid over the back of a chair.
“Give me a minute.”
He left the room, and she went in and closed the door. Trusting, but he’s right. Why would I try to run? She quickly surveyed the place. There was nowhere to go. She threw her prison clothes on the floor and stood on them as she put on the dress. It was a little big, as if they’d had her size before her brief incarceration and hadn’t anticipated that she would quickly lose a great deal of weight. She left her prison sandals on the floor, opting to go barefoot before wearing anything that reminded her of jail.
She opened the door to find the corridor beyond empty. “What the hell?” She hurriedly retraced their steps to find Grainger waiting in the main corridor. “Is everything I do going to be some kind of test?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He looked over her head. “Not as far as you know, anyway.”
She felt her middle finger quivering as if it had a mind of its own, ready to jump into action. He watched her wrestle with her thoughts for a moment before tipping his head in the direction they’d been going.
She needed to clear her mind for the upcoming test, so she focused on his back until it became a blur. As with any case, she would study the information she had, taking care to note any and all anomalies. Did the statements match? What about timelines? Were the elements of the crime present, and what could be proven? But in this case, she would have to learn all of that from the interrogation of a single person.
“Will I see any materials regarding these cases before I interview the suspects?”
“No written materials, just a verbal brief. Here’s your brief, counselor. Perp number one is accused of capital theft of a piece of artwork. There is a datapad you can access to ask specific questions regarding procedural issues and such, but your focus must be on the perp.
Rivka held up one finger to interrupt the briefing. “Not so open and shut. I will be the final arbiter of Justice in his case.”
“You will. The third case is capital murder. A Yollin. There’s video,” Grainger ended abruptly. “Here we are. Good luck. If you need anything… Well, don’t need anything. This is your test, not mine.”
Three interrogations. Three separate determinations of Justice, and then deliver the appropriate punishment.
He opened the door and a man within hastily rose from behind the table. He couldn’t stand up straight because of his shackles. Grainger touched Rivka’s arm, stopping her. She turned to find a key dangling between his fingers. “Your call about removing the shackles before, after, or never.”
“You’re not being unreasonable.” She winked at the Magistrate. With a flair, she strode into the interrogation room, flipping the door closed behind her.
She motioned for the man to sit and tapped the datapad to see what she had access to. Rivka hoped that the man would start talking; establish a baseline she could use to ask other questions. Anything he had prepared for her would be of no value except telling her what seed he was trying to plant.
“I took it,” the man admitted softly.
Rivka stopped accessing the pad but didn’t look up.
“Didn’t think it were worth that much. No way, Jose!” he blurted.
Finally Rivka met his gaze. His eyes were wild, like a trapped animal’s. She looked at him without blinking, making him think she was peering into his soul. He rocked back and looked away.
“Capital theft means that the death penalty attaches. There are multiple elements to your crime. Actus reus has been satisfied since you just told me that you did it. The mens rea, the mental aspect of this crime, is that you intended to permanently deprive the owner of his property, which is valued in excess of one hundred thousand Federation credits. Since you tried to sell that painting, I believe the mens rea has also been satisfied. You intended to permanently deprive the owner of his property. How do you plead?”
“What?” The man pulled against his shackles. The wildness returned to his eyes. “I’m not pleading to any theft that kills me!”
“You’ve chosen ‘no contest’ then?”
“What the hell does that mean? This is a rail job. I’m being railroaded. Fuck off!” His voice rose to a high pitch as he approached hysteria.
“I think you need to settle the fuck down.” Rivka glared at him.
He started to bounce up and down rattling his shackles against the eyelet to which they were attached. Rivka stood, leaned across the table, and punched him in the forehead, driving him into his seat. He glared as she slowly sat down.
“That’s better. Let’s take a good look.” Rivka accessed the case file that Grainger had led her to believe didn’t exist. She studied a picture of the painting’s rightful owner, who looked like a bureaucrat. We hate bureaucrats, don’t we?
“Ricciardo Domesta owns the painting. Let’s see how he acquired it...” She tapped a few spots on the screen and mumbled to herself as she got lost tracing the painting’s provenance.
She canted her head at the screen. “What made you steal this painting in particular?”
“I looked around. It seemed valuable, in a nice frame and all, and it was easy to get.”
Rivka rubbed her chin. “Did you see any other artwork that looked valuable?”
“No. The other doors were locked. This one was in the hallway.”
“Does that make any sense to you?” she asked.
The man’s lip curled as he started to get angry. “You calling me stupid?”
“I make no accusations. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, and you’re not helping. The easy answer is for me to declare you guilty, which you are, and walk out. Some nice gentlemen will collect you and flush you out an airlock. That’s the easy answer, and if you keep giving me shit you’ll be out the airlock before you can say ‘boo.’”
He leaned his head almost to the table so he could scratch his scalp with his rough and dirty nails. It made Rivka wonder how long the man had been in custody.
“I don’t know how rich people live. It was the first house of that type I’d ever been in.”
“How did you get in?” she wondered.
“I was at the bar having a drink. Just one, because I been down on my luck and all, then this butler type shows up all pissed off at his boss. He says it’d serve him right to get rolled.”
Rivka was incredulous. “That was all it took?”
“Fuck, no! How easy do you think I am, lady?”
The Queen’s Barrister bristled.
“He bought me a couple drinks, and next thing I know I’m in the house. Everything looks shiny and new, just like the song.”
Rivka’s mind had been drifting. She was thinking through the crime as if she were trying it in court. His statement caught her attention as if someone had physically tapped her head.
“How did you get into the house?”
He shook his head. “Can’t ‘member.”
“So you say,” Rivka replied, taking everything a suspect asserted with a grain of salt. They were incentivized to lie. But he had admitted to taking the painting.
“The doors in the hallway were locked. I assumed you tried them all before deciding to take the painting?”
“Yuppers. All locked and bolted; they wouldn’t budge.” The man raised his arm as much as he could with the shackles and flexed to show a larger than average bicep. Rivka shook her head and looked back at her datapad. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
She activated the voice command override. “AI, I could use your help.”
“I am Lexi Malachi at your service. How can I make you smile today?” a pleasant young man’s voice asked.
Rivka and the perp looked at the datapad.
“I want to know the provenance of the painting on the screen, please. It’s owned by a Mister Ricciardo Domesta.”
“Working,” the happy AI reported. “There’s nothing I like more than answering questions, solving riddles, or getting to the bottom of a troubling conundrum.”
“Just report when you can give me the chain of custody for at least two owners prior to Domesta.” Rivka looked at the pad, but there was nothing new to see. She lifted her head and locked eyes with the suspect. “What was the man’s name who bought you drinks?”
The perp shrugged.
“Did you ever see him outside of the one night in a bar?”
“Never before. Never after, although after was limited to the cops hauling my ass in here.”
“Yours could be the worst one-night stand story I’ve ever heard. What did you do after you took the painting?”
“Went to the pawn shop to sell it.”
Rivka rubbed her temples to ease the growing pain behind her eyes.
The man started pulling at his shackles again. “Settle down,” Rivka ordered in a tired voice, finally feeling the ill effects of prison life. She wondered how much sleep she’d gotten as the lack thereof suddenly caught up with her.
“You and your types trussed me up like a prize bistok calf, serving me up for slaughter to feed to the homeless. Ain’t that some crap? Well, lady, you can suck my balls!”
Rivka’s eyes narrowed. She could feel the fire rising within, so she reached across the table and grabbed him by the throat. Images rushed into her mind. The man at the bar, a blackout, waking in a chair in the hallway, the only thing not nailed down was the expensive painting, a hole-in-the-wall resale shop, the painting getting destroyed when the police came for him, and then being led away in handcuffs.
She let go. “I believe you. Lexi, what have you found?”
“Working,” the AI replied once again.
Rivka leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms to wait. The man started to look around frantically.
“Calm down,
” she told him for the third time.
“When in the history of all humanity has anyone calmed down because they were told to?” the man shouted in a hysterical voice. “Let me go!”
“You already admitted to the crime, and you understand that I am authorized to mete out punishment up to and including your execution. Are you in such a hurry for that to happen, or maybe we can wait a little bit longer and see if we have our facts straight?”
The man slumped into his chair, head hanging as he looked at the floor.
“Mister Domesta purchased the painting from the artist for five hundred credits eighteen months ago,” Lexi reported. “He insured it for over one hundred thousand credits immediately thereafter, using an appraisal from an individual whom I believe is not real.”
“What does that mean?” the perp asked.
“It means that the elements of the crime of which you have been accused have not been met. Stealing a painting worth five hundred credits is a misdemeanor, and a minor one at that. I’ve already punched you in the head, and I don’t feel like doing it again. Do you promise not to steal?”
The man vigorously nodded, eyes wide and eyebrows raised to show his sincerity.
Rivka went around the table to unlock his shackles, and he jumped to his feet. The Queen’s Barrister kicked him behind the knee and slammed him back into his chair.
“I’m not finished,” she said calmly as she returned to her side of the table. “If I see you in here again it will not go well for you. Keep your nose clean, and don’t accept drinks from strangers. And one final note, if it seems too good to be true, it is. Now, fuck off.” She stabbed a thumb at the door. The man ran out.
She wondered where he’d go, since they were on a ship or a space station. She wasn’t exactly sure.
“Lexi, issue a warrant for the arrest of Mister Ricciardo Domesta on felony insurance fraud. Use your research to build the case file to share with the local Magistrates.”
A slow clap sounded from behind her. “Looks like you’re one for one, although I have to question the oft-tried calm-the-fuck-down technique. Appealing to the wisdom of the perp has never worked. We’re usually a little more hands-on, but hey…you may help us to see the errors of our ways,” Grainger mused, leaning casually against the wall.