Post by cannonlongshot on Sept 8, 2017 9:12:36 GMT
Previous Statement
Statement of John Doe Q.C., regarding a client that he defended in court.
Statement [0030110] begins:
So, a lot of what I tell you is going to have to stay confidential. Professional privilege and client confidentiality is something that is very serious, and, though I'm sure you will do your best to keep this quiet, if it ever gets out that I told you this I'd be disbarred in a heartbeat. Not that I’m doing much work nowadays, but still, there it is. So, I'm going to have to ask that you keep my name out of this, my client's name out of this, and even where this all took place. Given the... singular, nature of the events that led to me defending my client (let's call her Jane Doe, to make things easier) I have to ask that you not look too closely into it, or at least, not in any more detail than I give you.
Firstly, the circumstances that Jane was first arrested under were... weird. She acted like a guilty party throughout her conviction and trial, but she protested her innocence the entire time. Well, I'm not sure that's true. She never, and I noticed this early on, used the word "innocent". It was always "not guilty", even in situations where it didn't flow at all. "Convince them I'm not guilty", she would say. "Does it matter if the judge thinks I'm guilty?". Never, "convince them I didn't do it", or "does it matter if the judge thinks that I'm innocent?". I got the impression - and, here you'll have to take my word that what she was being accused of was not a trivial issue, we're talking 20 years to life, minimum - that she just didn't seem to think that any laws were broken, even if I had the statute open in front of her, or that if they were broken, they didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.
I understand that the lack of details must be frustrating to you, but I'm really here for a sort of catharsis. One or two of my clients have mentioned your Institute before, and I always thought you were part convenient alibi and part self-help group. That was before I saw your archive, you really do have some backlog, don't you? I guess I'm sorry to say that you won't be able to cross reference this case with any other one, if that's the sort of thing you do.
The first time something weird - really weird, not that creeping sense of ominous news you would get just in conversation with her - was in a consultation immediately prior to me deciding to take her case. She'd just finished outlining her recollection of events, such as it was, which really didn't go into much detail at all, so it's the one thing I won't feel bad about leaving out of this statement. I think I'd decided to take the role, partly because I had recently had a slew of easy cases, but also because she was offering to pay my entire fee in cash, and most of the... "interesting" cases are a 50-50 as to if you have to send the paralegal to chase after the money.
I was just clearing up some little details, like how to contact her alibi, when Jane stops speaking and just leans forward in her seat. I can't describe it, but it was like the air became... charged. Not metaphorically, either - I looked down at my hands and the hairs on the back of them were standing straight out. It felt like a balloon was being run over every inch of my body at once. "Tell me, do you believe in a power beyond yourself?" and she used my name. That's a bigger deal than it sounds. I've always made a point of not passing out my Christian name to clients, at least straight away. I feel like it's more professional. If it comes up in conversation, I'll give it (sometimes it helps to establish trust) but I didn't give my name to her - the recordings that were made of our early meetings back that up, though you'll have to take my word on it.
Anyway, I won't say I was shaken, because I'd assumed that she'd heard my name somehow. I made some statement or other about the church I went to and do you know what she said? I can tell you exactly, I have the transcript here. She said, "You don't believe. You don't have the light in you to believe." Personally I think the word sounded closer to “life” when you hear the recording, and that was what I heard at the time, but there you go.
Anyway, like that, the moment had passed, and the strange static sensation was gone. I told the solicitor that I'd take her case, and that was that.
Oh boy, was it a kicker. The alibi that she provided didn't check out - said she didn't even know Jane. Jane wouldn't supply anyone else, kept insisting that her version of events, wildly improbable and unproven as it was, was what really happened.
As the day of her trial drew near, I was more and more frantic to find something, anything, that would go halfway to convincing a jury of Jane's story. I'd just about cobbled together a defence that a half-decent prosecution would rip to shreds - hell, all they would need to do would be read out the dictionary definition of "reasonable doubt" and they'd have a majority on side, as well as the judge, I reckoned.
I relayed this to her, and as I put her chances of avoiding life at what I thought was a optimistic 5%, and begging her to consider changing her plea, she sat up ramrod straight, and said to me "If you don't believe in those around you, you will not see miracles when they unfurl". Now, this was getting a bit too close to the power of positive thinking for me, and I tried to change the subject. I noticed that she just stared at me for the rest of session, giving single word answers.
The next few days... I don't know how to explain what went down in that courtroom, so I'll say what happened and you can tell me I'm crazy, and then I'll put the transcript on the desk in front of you and you'll be amazed that every word is true. The case started exactly as I expected, the prosecution had plenty enough evidence, and in fact the only reason that the jury wasn't called by the first day was the sheer volume of information they were presenting.
By the end of the day I'd given my opening argument, which took less than half the time of the prosecution's. By day two I'd concluded the defence. It relied on coincidence, rampant speculation that I'm surprised the judge let me get away with, and appeals to reasonable doubt that stretched the meaning of the term. As we summed up our arguments, I looked to the jury. Their faces were utterly unreadable, and I felt a sinking in my stomach as I realised they weren't convinced, for a moment, by my words. I'd expected it, of course, but when they walked out of the jury box and onto their deliberation, I slumped back in my seat. I looked to Jane, and she was staring at me with a look of utter hatred on her face. I don't know what more she was expecting - I'd asked her for more information, she'd refused, and I'd had to make the best of a bad job.
Once I'd gathered my papers together, I took the opportunity to head outside for a cigarette. I'd barely got halfway through by the time the bailiff found me. She said that I'd need to head straight back. I assumed there was some paperwork that would need to be filled in, or something, but no - apparently the jury had already come to a conclusion. This was unusual - even the most open-and-shut cases I had seen always had at least one stubborn member of the jury that would drag the whole thing out. Obviously, that's not my experience as a barrister talking - my partner was called to do jury duty a decade or so ago, and it shone a light on the goings on behind the scenes, and probably made me much better at building a defence for it. I thought that we'd probably just been particularly unlucky, and gotten 12 people who were very happy to convict.
By the time we were back in court and the jury had taken their seats, I think I could describe the look on Jane's face as "resigned". She was clearly coming to terms with the fact that the evidence just didn't give her a good chance of getting off free. Which is why I was shocked when, as you probably guessed, the jury came back with a verdict of not-guilty.
I was speechless. The judge asked them to repeat themselves, disbelieving, and the call came back in again. Not guilty. The prosecutor looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself in time.
We all filed out of the courtroom in silence. I had a small amount of paperwork for Jane to fill in, so I made my way to where she would be picking up some things from holding. As it was, she was approaching the door at the same time that I arrived there.
As I approached her, I realised her expression was softer than it had been a few minutes earlier, her eyes staring into mine and I remember feeling… disconnected, as if my legs kept moving of their own accord. They brought me to a stop before her, and she gave me a patronising smile.
“Don’t worry about your performance.” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “I‘m sure you’ll have plenty of time to practice in the future.”
Just as I was processing this (was she really that familiar with the quality of my line of work outside of tv dramas?) my head began to feel fuzzy. I swear the temperature in the room must have jumped ten degrees, and I felt like I hadn’t taken my insulin. I must have reached out to steady myself against a wall, because the next thing I remember is a shock going through my hand, and blackness as I hit the ground.
I woke up to a crowd of people fussing over me. An ambulance arrived thanks to an over-zealous ombudsman, but there was no sign of concussion, so I was let go with instructions to head in if I showed any signs of trauma caused by the swollen bump on my head.
I’d decided to take the following day off to recover, and it was my plan to sleep in the next day. I have a pretty distinct memory of the dream I had last night. I was back in that courtroom, but instead of the case being open and shut, it dragged on, and on, and on. Every detail was picked apart, analysed, and I think at some point some of the jurors themselves ended up standing up and asking questions. The heat in that room was overwhelming, and the water I had before me was barely enough to keep my throat from drying up.
Do you want to know how long it lasted, that second time? Seventeen days. I remember it, it’s not like I was in some kind of half-asleep dream state. I was stuck in that courtroom for seventeen days without food, with only the water that kept being refilled in front of me to keep me going. Finally, the verdict came, and I woke up. The verdict, by the way, was not guilty. It is always not guilty.
Because it wasn’t just that night. It’s every night. Sometimes I’m lucky, and I only have to argue the case for two days before I’m allowed to leave. I’m mostly stuck there for a week at a time. Obviously, I’m struggling to want to sleep any more. I’m down to a short nap every 36 hours or so - but I have no idea how long I’ll be able to keep this up. I can barely work any more. I’ve seen a dozen different specialists, and all agree that there’s nothing wrong with me physiologically.
Maybe I’ll start taking the medication they’ve prescribed and just accept I’ll be working night shifts from now on.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes:
Why is it that everytime I open up one of these statements, it’s not only unverifiable, but called out as such? It’s like they’re taunting me.
No follow-up address, no leads on the case, no evidence that there was a “curse” put on anyone. Damn.
END NOTES
Statement of John Doe Q.C., regarding a client that he defended in court.
Statement [0030110] begins:
So, a lot of what I tell you is going to have to stay confidential. Professional privilege and client confidentiality is something that is very serious, and, though I'm sure you will do your best to keep this quiet, if it ever gets out that I told you this I'd be disbarred in a heartbeat. Not that I’m doing much work nowadays, but still, there it is. So, I'm going to have to ask that you keep my name out of this, my client's name out of this, and even where this all took place. Given the... singular, nature of the events that led to me defending my client (let's call her Jane Doe, to make things easier) I have to ask that you not look too closely into it, or at least, not in any more detail than I give you.
Firstly, the circumstances that Jane was first arrested under were... weird. She acted like a guilty party throughout her conviction and trial, but she protested her innocence the entire time. Well, I'm not sure that's true. She never, and I noticed this early on, used the word "innocent". It was always "not guilty", even in situations where it didn't flow at all. "Convince them I'm not guilty", she would say. "Does it matter if the judge thinks I'm guilty?". Never, "convince them I didn't do it", or "does it matter if the judge thinks that I'm innocent?". I got the impression - and, here you'll have to take my word that what she was being accused of was not a trivial issue, we're talking 20 years to life, minimum - that she just didn't seem to think that any laws were broken, even if I had the statute open in front of her, or that if they were broken, they didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.
I understand that the lack of details must be frustrating to you, but I'm really here for a sort of catharsis. One or two of my clients have mentioned your Institute before, and I always thought you were part convenient alibi and part self-help group. That was before I saw your archive, you really do have some backlog, don't you? I guess I'm sorry to say that you won't be able to cross reference this case with any other one, if that's the sort of thing you do.
The first time something weird - really weird, not that creeping sense of ominous news you would get just in conversation with her - was in a consultation immediately prior to me deciding to take her case. She'd just finished outlining her recollection of events, such as it was, which really didn't go into much detail at all, so it's the one thing I won't feel bad about leaving out of this statement. I think I'd decided to take the role, partly because I had recently had a slew of easy cases, but also because she was offering to pay my entire fee in cash, and most of the... "interesting" cases are a 50-50 as to if you have to send the paralegal to chase after the money.
I was just clearing up some little details, like how to contact her alibi, when Jane stops speaking and just leans forward in her seat. I can't describe it, but it was like the air became... charged. Not metaphorically, either - I looked down at my hands and the hairs on the back of them were standing straight out. It felt like a balloon was being run over every inch of my body at once. "Tell me, do you believe in a power beyond yourself?" and she used my name. That's a bigger deal than it sounds. I've always made a point of not passing out my Christian name to clients, at least straight away. I feel like it's more professional. If it comes up in conversation, I'll give it (sometimes it helps to establish trust) but I didn't give my name to her - the recordings that were made of our early meetings back that up, though you'll have to take my word on it.
Anyway, I won't say I was shaken, because I'd assumed that she'd heard my name somehow. I made some statement or other about the church I went to and do you know what she said? I can tell you exactly, I have the transcript here. She said, "You don't believe. You don't have the light in you to believe." Personally I think the word sounded closer to “life” when you hear the recording, and that was what I heard at the time, but there you go.
Anyway, like that, the moment had passed, and the strange static sensation was gone. I told the solicitor that I'd take her case, and that was that.
Oh boy, was it a kicker. The alibi that she provided didn't check out - said she didn't even know Jane. Jane wouldn't supply anyone else, kept insisting that her version of events, wildly improbable and unproven as it was, was what really happened.
As the day of her trial drew near, I was more and more frantic to find something, anything, that would go halfway to convincing a jury of Jane's story. I'd just about cobbled together a defence that a half-decent prosecution would rip to shreds - hell, all they would need to do would be read out the dictionary definition of "reasonable doubt" and they'd have a majority on side, as well as the judge, I reckoned.
I relayed this to her, and as I put her chances of avoiding life at what I thought was a optimistic 5%, and begging her to consider changing her plea, she sat up ramrod straight, and said to me "If you don't believe in those around you, you will not see miracles when they unfurl". Now, this was getting a bit too close to the power of positive thinking for me, and I tried to change the subject. I noticed that she just stared at me for the rest of session, giving single word answers.
The next few days... I don't know how to explain what went down in that courtroom, so I'll say what happened and you can tell me I'm crazy, and then I'll put the transcript on the desk in front of you and you'll be amazed that every word is true. The case started exactly as I expected, the prosecution had plenty enough evidence, and in fact the only reason that the jury wasn't called by the first day was the sheer volume of information they were presenting.
By the end of the day I'd given my opening argument, which took less than half the time of the prosecution's. By day two I'd concluded the defence. It relied on coincidence, rampant speculation that I'm surprised the judge let me get away with, and appeals to reasonable doubt that stretched the meaning of the term. As we summed up our arguments, I looked to the jury. Their faces were utterly unreadable, and I felt a sinking in my stomach as I realised they weren't convinced, for a moment, by my words. I'd expected it, of course, but when they walked out of the jury box and onto their deliberation, I slumped back in my seat. I looked to Jane, and she was staring at me with a look of utter hatred on her face. I don't know what more she was expecting - I'd asked her for more information, she'd refused, and I'd had to make the best of a bad job.
Once I'd gathered my papers together, I took the opportunity to head outside for a cigarette. I'd barely got halfway through by the time the bailiff found me. She said that I'd need to head straight back. I assumed there was some paperwork that would need to be filled in, or something, but no - apparently the jury had already come to a conclusion. This was unusual - even the most open-and-shut cases I had seen always had at least one stubborn member of the jury that would drag the whole thing out. Obviously, that's not my experience as a barrister talking - my partner was called to do jury duty a decade or so ago, and it shone a light on the goings on behind the scenes, and probably made me much better at building a defence for it. I thought that we'd probably just been particularly unlucky, and gotten 12 people who were very happy to convict.
By the time we were back in court and the jury had taken their seats, I think I could describe the look on Jane's face as "resigned". She was clearly coming to terms with the fact that the evidence just didn't give her a good chance of getting off free. Which is why I was shocked when, as you probably guessed, the jury came back with a verdict of not-guilty.
I was speechless. The judge asked them to repeat themselves, disbelieving, and the call came back in again. Not guilty. The prosecutor looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself in time.
We all filed out of the courtroom in silence. I had a small amount of paperwork for Jane to fill in, so I made my way to where she would be picking up some things from holding. As it was, she was approaching the door at the same time that I arrived there.
As I approached her, I realised her expression was softer than it had been a few minutes earlier, her eyes staring into mine and I remember feeling… disconnected, as if my legs kept moving of their own accord. They brought me to a stop before her, and she gave me a patronising smile.
“Don’t worry about your performance.” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “I‘m sure you’ll have plenty of time to practice in the future.”
Just as I was processing this (was she really that familiar with the quality of my line of work outside of tv dramas?) my head began to feel fuzzy. I swear the temperature in the room must have jumped ten degrees, and I felt like I hadn’t taken my insulin. I must have reached out to steady myself against a wall, because the next thing I remember is a shock going through my hand, and blackness as I hit the ground.
I woke up to a crowd of people fussing over me. An ambulance arrived thanks to an over-zealous ombudsman, but there was no sign of concussion, so I was let go with instructions to head in if I showed any signs of trauma caused by the swollen bump on my head.
I’d decided to take the following day off to recover, and it was my plan to sleep in the next day. I have a pretty distinct memory of the dream I had last night. I was back in that courtroom, but instead of the case being open and shut, it dragged on, and on, and on. Every detail was picked apart, analysed, and I think at some point some of the jurors themselves ended up standing up and asking questions. The heat in that room was overwhelming, and the water I had before me was barely enough to keep my throat from drying up.
Do you want to know how long it lasted, that second time? Seventeen days. I remember it, it’s not like I was in some kind of half-asleep dream state. I was stuck in that courtroom for seventeen days without food, with only the water that kept being refilled in front of me to keep me going. Finally, the verdict came, and I woke up. The verdict, by the way, was not guilty. It is always not guilty.
Because it wasn’t just that night. It’s every night. Sometimes I’m lucky, and I only have to argue the case for two days before I’m allowed to leave. I’m mostly stuck there for a week at a time. Obviously, I’m struggling to want to sleep any more. I’m down to a short nap every 36 hours or so - but I have no idea how long I’ll be able to keep this up. I can barely work any more. I’ve seen a dozen different specialists, and all agree that there’s nothing wrong with me physiologically.
Maybe I’ll start taking the medication they’ve prescribed and just accept I’ll be working night shifts from now on.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes:
Why is it that everytime I open up one of these statements, it’s not only unverifiable, but called out as such? It’s like they’re taunting me.
No follow-up address, no leads on the case, no evidence that there was a “curse” put on anyone. Damn.
END NOTES
