That Strange Man

          Today was Ed’s challenge, but it rather turned out to be mine. I was representing a man accused of murder, but when I say ‘accused’ I really mean ‘guilty’. He had stabbed his previous co-worker over forty times in the middle of a department store in the South of England (for obvious reasons I cannot be more specific). He was completely insane and therefore fitted the Insane Clown Posse challenge perfectly. I was only doing a very early preliminary hearing. His trial (on the issue of insanity) would be conducted by Queen’s Counsel further down the line.

            This morning on the train I began to get cold feet about the whole thing. The plan was for Ed to just hang around at the back of court and then take a moment to talk to the Defendant before the hearing started properly. The problem was that if he did something stupid (which is likely in any circumstances) then I could be brought up before the Disciplinary Committee for associating with him and encouraging activities that bring the profession into disrepute. I told Ed to sit in a different carriage of the train.

            “You’re kidding me.”

            “No, shouldn’t you be at school anyway?”

            “School holidays mate.” He grudgingly trudged off to the next carriage.

            I frowned. School seems so long ago now I can’t even remember when the holidays are.

 

*

 

            In court I donned my wig and gown and proceeded down to the cells below the court. When the guards discovered that I planned to meet the murderer they made me empty out my pockets and hand over absolutely anything that could possibly be used against me. I wasn’t even allowed a pen.

            The cell itself was tiny. There was a little table with two plastic and metal chairs around it. The table and the chairs were all screwed into the floor. My client sat on one side and looked up as I came in, a calm, plain expression on his face. He didn’t look like a murderer. He was only 20. He looked relatively normal, if perhaps a little geeky.

            I’d read his file carefully and discovered that he’d been carefully analysed by psychiatrists. He didn’t regret his actions, indeed he thought that the lady he’d killed would simply go to heaven faster. He, meanwhile, had responsibly taken himself out of society so that he couldn’t be a danger or a burden to those around him. I scarcely knew where to start with the contradictions.

            We spoke for twenty minutes during which period I tried to explain the procedure of the hearing. He was not interested but kept asking which prison he’d be taken to afterwards, and whether or not he’d have access to computer games.

 

*

 

            Once in court I looked about and spotted Ed lurking at the back, dressed in his suit. It was one of his teacher’s suits and it showed; he was plainly no lawyer. At this point I realised my critical error. Because of the severity of the case my client would only be brought into court at the same time as the judge. He’d then be guarded closely throughout the hearing. Ed would never get close.

            The Judge came in, dressed in his red and purple robes (he’s very important). The Defendant was brought in quickly from below the dock. I turned to watch, one eye carefully monitoring Ed. I saw him rise gamely from his seat and sidle up to the dock. I inwardly tensed. This particular Crown Court has open docks (not surrounded by bullet proof glass) so it would be possible for Ed to get right up to him. No one would expect it. I saw Ed lean over and whisper something to my client. I speedily turned around and looked at the Judge, in the hope nothing would happen.

            “What was that? Can I what?” said my client, very loudly.

            “What on Earth is going on?” asked the Judge.

            “I’m sorry Your Worshipfulness,” said Ed, nervously backing away. I cringed. Fortunately the Judge didn’t make anything of it and the hearing proceeded according to plan.

 

*

 

            Afterwards, back down in the cells, I explained the outcome of the hearing to my client. He clearly didn’t care. Curiosity got the better of me and I asked what he’d been asked by That Strange Man.

            “I think he said he wanted to know my favourite song. I wasn’t sure.”

            “How truly singular,” I said. “What would your answer have been?” I added, as though an afterthought.

            “‘Top of the World’ by the Carpenters, there’s nothing to beat it,” he said, gleefully.