“ The entire thing will barely last two hours, I had thought to myself.
Laura Peyton had been arrested for the assassination of Wall Street banker Paul Van Zale, where she herself worked as a junior partner
An old lady named Mrs. Greene working as a receptionist had happened to work late into the night and had claimed to have seen Ms. Peyton exit the bank through the backdoor, wearing a blood stained white shirt.
Down the street, Mr. Steve Buchannan, who was also an employee of the bank claimed to have seen her stagger down the road with a knife in her hand.
Mr. Van Zale’s personal bodyguard who had been dismissed for the day, had returned precisely at that time had claimed to have heard muffled shouts from the Chairman’s room and had immediately run upstairs, only to find Mr. Van Zale’s dead body. When he had called Laura for backup, she had arrived almost instantly, wearing a well pressed shirt, different from the one she had worn in the evening.
It seemed as if the murderer had been caught all but without the body. When the Crown counsel outlined her case, nobody believed she had any chances at all.
As an attorney of the Crown counsel, criminals like her irked me the most. Petty criminals with utter lack of self-discipline and organisation were not worth my time. I had read over the files a hundred times believing there to be some sort of mistake. Ms. Laura Peyton, at just thirty one, was a junior partner at one of the most prestigious banks of the country. Her crime had scandalized the masses and made the economy drop a few notches, and yet it had been carried out with the mindlessness of a child building sand castles.
It almost seemed like a waste of talent. Criminals, as I learnt from early on in my profession, are very fascinating.
They know certain things regular people don’t – that you’ll escape scot free for most of crimes you commit – unless you’re careless or stupid enough, that prison is nothing to fear – you can easily escape it if you know the right people.
Oh yes, they are a mesmerizing breed once you find the right ones. Minds so sharp, senses so delicate, every move calculating, every word carrying a story. All you had to do was defend and weed out the right one.
I was a lawyer who led a life of crime.
Over time, I had realised that there is no one better suited to get things done which you wouldn’t want to dirty your hands with, than a seasoned criminal. Tax evasion? They know. Entry into high security file archive? They’ll do it for you. Want to stop someone from spilling the beans? They’ll take care of that too.
I’m a lawyer, but I’m not law-abiding. Sure, most of us have at one point or other of our lives, defended criminals and won. But I’ve always taken the extra measure to make sure they’re in some way or other, indebted to me. I’ve defended serial killers and heist gangs, people who’ve been caught red handed, and turned their words into an innocent lullaby for the jury to fall asleep to.
It’s not that difficult. And it lets me have my very own assortment of people whom I can rely upon whenever I need things…cleared.When needed, I have depended upon their very skills to get me where I am today – a senior attorney for the Crown counsel, among the youngest on board at just thirty five.
Long things short, I cultivate them, allow their skills to flourish, prevent them for rotting in prison where all their capacities would simply go to waste, and rely on them to keep my image untarnished.
Yes, I’m a lawyer.
***
She looked plainer than in paper. Limp black hair and watery grey eyes that shimmered in the light. A pleasing oval face and a femininely delicate body. She walked towards the dock as if she were strolling in the park – with an air of studied nonchalance, a kind of defiant stance which seemed to shout “I will escape”. Captivating, really. The slight tilt of her face and the way her lips always remained slightly parted. I laughed internally. What a messy crime! I couldn’t think of any other criminal who had had as many witness or clues leading to him! However what stunned the judges was that the lawyer she had chosen to defend herself was no other than her own brother who had just started out as a criminal defense lawyer – this was his first case! Whether this was a sign of affection between the siblings or whether she knew that she would be cast in prison at any rate and wanted to save on legal charges is debatable. However one look at her gawky attorney made me sure that he was an absolute nutter.
However, it was really the outfit she wore that beguiled me. She was immaculately dressed in all of her banker glory. Khaki flannel pants and a white shirt, the sides of which had patches of red drawn on it. An artistic impression I’m sure, but which could easily have been mistaken for blood stains in the dark, by an old receptionist in her seventies.
I winced a bit as I struck Mrs. Greene’s name off the witness list. I had a feeling Ms. Peyton would claim she had worn the same shirt that day and that Mrs. Greene needed to get her eyesight checked.
“That’s okay,” I mumbled to myself, “Steve saw her with the murder weapon after all!”
As the counsel finished their recounting of the events, I rose to cross examine her.
“Ms. Peyton,” I began, “Were you at the office at 11:34pm on 15th July when the murder took place?”
“Yes,” she replied calmly looking straight into my eyes which made me feel strangely uneasy. She just didn’t seem like the type of person who’d go around killing people. She spoke in a calm, steady voice with no trace of self-importance or malice.
“Where were you during that time?”
“I was in the photocopy room directly above the Chairman’s room.”
“And you were wearing a cream coloured shirt, yes?”
“Yes.”
“However earlier that evening, Mrs. Greene claimed to have seen you wearing another shirt. Perhaps the one you’re wearing now?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any particular reason for this sudden change of outfits?”
“I had a date,” she said simply.
“After 11pm? Isn’t that a bit incredulous?” I exclaimed.
“Both of us work until late nights, sir,” she replied, “Not everyone has time on their hands all day.”
“Very well. Describe the events of the evening to your arrival at the scene of crime.”
“I had been working with Mr. Van Zale until 8pm in the Chairman’s room. Mr. Buchannan was present with us till then. Then I headed to the fourth floor to my own office. At 11, I went out for a late dinner nearby, returned, changed my outfit and was about to head to the plaza after finishing some last minute photocopies when Peter called me and I entered the room to find Mr. Van Zale’s body.”
How perfectly she lied! I was beginning to admire the pleasant face plastered with ennui, like a marble statue – clear and cold.
“Can you explain why Mr. Buchannan saw you carrying a knife in the middle of the night?” I plodded on.
“Self defense, sir. The streets aren’t very safe at night, are they?”
What a crude excuse, I thought as I smirked at her casual flitting aside of the remark. I knew she wouldn’t think twice about it. What she didn’t know was about the card up my sleeve. She was still looking at me with those expressionless, steely eyes, betraying nothing.
Turning away, I asked permission for admission of a witness – Steve Buchannan. What she didn’t know was that Steve Buchannan had seen her emerge from the room at exactly the time of crime and then go to the photocopy room and return later upon being called by the bodyguard – an information he had withheld for the longest period of time. With Steve on the stand, she was already behind bars.
Steve Buchannan was someone I had disliked from the very first meeting. He was a pompous, squat man whose physical attributes as well as mannerisms reminded me of a pig. He probably had brains or he never would have ended up as a senior partner at Van Zale’s, but that didn’t dissuade him from being an utter slob.
For a moment I glanced at Laura and thought I saw a shadow flash across her face as Steve assumed the stand and took the oath. Customs, customs. How many truths are told in a court of law?
It didn’t take long for Steve to come out with the startling revelation that caused a ripple throughout the courtroom.
“Are you sure, Mr. Buchannan that you saw Ms. Peyton exit from the room at the exact time, armed with a knife and stained with blood?” I asked again. Steve wiped sweat off his forehead for the nth time. He quickly glanced at the jury, the judge, at Laura, stiffened and said, “Y-yes, I did.”
“That will be all,” I said satisfied. “The defence may now examine.”
The gawky youngster stood up and made his way towards Steve whose eyes nervously kept darting between him and Laura. From a corner of my mouth, I saw Laura flash him a tiny smile and mouth something incomprehensible. It was over before it began and I couldn’t say anything. Probably imagined it.
“Mr. Buchannan, are you positively sure you saw Ms. Peyton exit the room at 11:34pm?” Her brother asked in as ceremonial a voice he could muster.
“Y-yes, I did.”
“How old are you, Mr. Buchannan?”
“Fifty three.”
“Do you drink?”
“N-no.”
“Smoke?”
“Uh, n-no,” Steve stammered, “I don’t understand –“
“For someone working as a senior partner, it must be a really stressful job,” Laura’s attorney went on. What’s he aiming at? Child talking nonsense!
“Indeed it must be very stressful, especially for someone not relying on any other devices...,” He trailed off. Mr. Buchannan sweated and wringed his hands together. “I – “
“Do you have any addictions, Mr. Buchannan?” he finally asked.
“NO!” Mr. Buchannan yelled. This sudden outburst again caused a hushed ripple throughout the courtroom as Laura’s lawyer pressed on. “There is no need to yell, Mr. Buchannan. As it was made clear, you were working with Ms. Peyton and Mr. Van Zale until 8pm in the Chairman’s room. Is that right?”
“Y-yes…”
“And do you remember sifting through some money handed to you back then?”
“Uh yes, I had been counting some notes…”
The courtroom was dangerously quiet. Laura was lightly tapping her fingernails on the wooden varnish. It irritated me. But I could see it have some psychedelic effect on Steve. He kept glancing at her in quick bursts on apprehension.
“Are you prone to hallucinations, Mr. Buchannan?” the young lawyer asked in a low voice.
“Sorry?” Mr. Buchannan looked genuinely scared now. His stammering kept getting worse. And I saw a sly smile itching to spread across Laura’s face.
“Because I believe, Mr. Buchannan that what you claim to have seen – Laura exiting the crime scene at exactly 11:34 – might have been just a hallucination caused by you frequent use of the drug Phencyclidine, traces of which were found on the very notes you had been handling, according to this forensic report.”
That was it. The courtroom went into an uproar. The judge had to bang thrice for order to be restored. I was on my feet, my face swiftly shifting between Steve Buchannan having a nervous breakdown and Laura Peyton flashing her brother a shy victory smile.
Oh, she was smart. I had understood exactly what she had done. I could very well understand the undercurrent feuds going on between the senior and junior partner.
Paul Van Zale had just been a sacrifice. It had been Steve she was actually after.
By claiming him as a schizophrenic, she had just voided all his testimonies. Not only that but she had charged him with illegal possession and use of a drug which would open up a completely different case – in other words, considerably clear her succession path. She had refuted the other witnesses by sheer logic alone.
Yes, she was smart. It was no hallucination Steve had seen, I was sure. Infact I doubted Steve had even so much as touched Phencyclidine. Who had handed him those notes? Her?
It had been her, damn right. She had made sure all those people had seen her, but never with enough evidence. She had made sure Steve broke down under the interrogation by her brother, the glares, the silence, the light tapping, all a ruse to wake the schizophrenic in him. She had somehow found out his secret and appallingly wielded it to carve his path to destruction. The fact that it also eliminated Mr. Van Zale along the way was just a bonus. It had really been Steve whom she had been after, after all.
There, in the hustle of the courtroom, stunned by the revelation, I saw Laura for what she was truly capable of.
She looked towards me and smiled, those grey eyes crinkling at the edges. She would be acquitted due to lack of evidence and she knew it.
What a brilliant player, I thought to myself. What a valuable asset.
A smile spread across my face as I looked towards the woman who had defeated me in what I had thought would be the simplest case of my life. I had undermined her. Captivating, really.
And that, kids, is how I met your mother. “