FORTY TWO
ME AND THE DEVIL BLUES
Sunday 3 January 2009
Jason Smith sighed as he surveyed the carnage in his living room again. The CDs were still scattered all over the floor. Luckily these bastards had crap taste in music, he thought as he collected the CDs together. They all seemed accounted for. There was an empty space on the cabinet where the television once stood but, apart from the TV and his guitar, nothing else seemed to be missing. He boiled the kettle. While he waited for it to boil, he checked the rooms upstairs. Draws had been left open in one of the rooms and clothes were strewn on the floor but nothing seemed to be missing there either. He checked the room where his Gran used to sleep. His heart sank when he noticed that the old bureau opposite the bed had been prised open. He quickly looked inside and saw that his Gran’s jewellery box was gone. He took out his phone and dialled Whitton’s number.
“Whitton,” he said, “do you feel like going shopping tomorrow?”
“Shopping sir?” she said,
“Yes, shopping. We’ve both got a couple of days off. I want to check every pawn shop in York; they took my Gran’s rings and my Grandfather’s watch.”
“Shopping it is then,” she said, “I’ll be at your house at nine.”
There was a knock on the front door. Smith quickly ran downstairs and opened it. Dave, the taxi driver was standing there with Theakston in his arms. The puppy was really starting to get fat.
“Delivery from Marge,” Dave beamed, “she thought she would save you a trip and I was coming this way home anyway.”
Dave put Theakston down and he trudged up to Smith and jumped at his legs.
“Thanks Dave,” Smith said, “how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing Mr Smith,” Dave insisted, “Like I said, I was coming this way anyway.”
Smith suddenly thought of something he needed to ask Dave but quickly forgot as Theakston started to sniff at his empty food bowl.
“Thanks again Dave,” he said.
“Any time,” Dave said, “goodbye Mr Smith, enjoy your evening.”
Smith closed the door and went to the kitchen to make the coffee. He put some food in Theakston’s bowl and the puppy ate greedily. Smith looked at the clock on the microwave. 19.40. He piled four heaped teaspoons of coffee into the cup.
“I’m not going to sleep much tonight anyway boy,” he said to Theakston.
The puppy had emptied the bowl of food and was begging for more. Smith smiled and put one more cup of food in the bowl.
“As of tomorrow boy,” he said, “you’re on a diet and a strict exercise routine.”
Smith took the coffee through to the living room and placed it on the table. He selected a Robert Johnson CD, put it in the machine and pressed play. ‘Me and the Devil Blues’ meandered out of the speakers. Theakston raced into the room and tried to jump onto the couch. He almost made it. He rebounded off the side and landed flat on his back. Smith laughed, picked him up and sat with him on the couch. He crawled on Smith’s stomach and made himself comfortable. Robert Johnson’s woeful voice sang out, ‘You may bury my body, down by the highway side, so my old evil spirit can get on a greyhound bus and ride.’
Within seconds both Smith and Theakston were asleep.
Smith woke to a dog barking. Theakston was barking at the coffee table. Smith’s phone was vibrating and moving itself around on the table. Theakston was trying to catch it; he thought it was a great game. Smith rubbed his eyes and picked up the phone. It was Whitton. He answered it.
“Are you alright sir?” Whitton asked, “I’m standing outside your house, the curtains are drawn and the lights are on.”
Smith looked at the clock on the wall.
“I’ve never felt better,” he said, “I’ve just slept for thirteen hours. The doors open, you can let yourself in.”
“Did you sleep in your clothes sir?” Whitton said as she walked in.
“I fell asleep on the couch,” Smith replied, “me and this fat fella slept here the whole night. Do you want some coffee?”
“Love some.”
“You know where everything is. Would you mind warming this up for me in the microwave too?”
He handed her the untouched cup of coffee from the previous night.
“I need a shower and a change of clothes, I haven’t changed since Tenerife.”
FORTY THREE
VERDICT
Wednesday 20 July 2005
“Mrs Mae Lin,” the defence counsel began, “you said that your employer, Mr Passman verbally abused you at work?”
“All the time,” Mae Lin replied.
“And on the day in question, you claim that he grabbed you by the arm. What did you think when he did this?”
“I was terrified; I thought he was going to hurt me.”
“And so you merely acted in self defence?”
“I had to get him off me; I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Thank you Mrs Mae Lin,” he said.
He addressed the jury.
“I think it is clear,” he began, “that my client is in fact a victim, not a perpetrator of a crime. She merely acted in a way any one of us would have under the same circumstances. What we have here is a tragic accident, nothing more. I have nothing further your honour.”
Judge Briggs consulted his watch.
“Prosecution,” he said, “do you have anything further to add?”
The tall thin prosecutor stood up.
“I’d like to call one more witness if I may your honour,” he said.
“Is it relevant?” Judge Briggs asked.
“Extremely your honour. I took the liberty of having a very well respected psychologist interview Mrs Mae Lin and he came to some very interesting conclusions.”
“Very well,” Judge Briggs conceded, “then I’ll allow it, but please make it short; it’s my wife’s birthday and I told her I’d take her somewhere nice.”
“Thank you your honour,” the prosecution said, “I’d like to call Martin Willow, Professor of Psychology at York University.”
“Objection,” the defence counsel shouted, “your honour, how is this relevant?”
“Mrs Mae Lin’s state of mind is highly relevant,” the prosecutor argued.
“I’ve already said I’ll allow it,” Judge Briggs was becoming impatient.
“I would like to call Martin Willow to the stand,” the prosecutor repeated.
Martin Willow walked up to the witness stand.
“Professor Willow,” the prosecutor began, “you are a Professor of Psychology at the University of York?”
“That’s right,” Willow said
“And you are considered an expert in this field”?
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Willow said, “I’m more a scholar of behavioural patterns; the human brain is a complex thing.”
“But you are more qualified than most to understand what makes the human brain work?”
“I suppose so,” Willow said, “I’ve written many theses on the brains actions and reactions to various outside stimuli.”
“Objection your honour,” the defence interrupted, “where are we going with this?”
“Yes,” Judge Bridge agreed, “where is this leading?”
“Please humour me a moment your honour,” the prosecution said, “Mr Willow, you spoke with Mrs Mae Lin did you not?”
“I did, yes,” Willow said.
“And what, in your professional opinion did you deduce?”
“I did a number of standard tests with Mrs Mae Lin. You must understand that Psychology is not an exact science like say Physics or Chemistry but there are definitely certain constants in what can be considered normal reactions to certain forces.”
“Once again in English please,” Judge Briggs said.
“Sorry, your honour,” Willow said, “let me put it this w
ay. When subjected to outside stress, the human brain adopts a defence mode; it’s a primeval defence, fight or flight. Mrs Mae Lin in nine out of ten of the tests displayed an unnatural tendency toward the fight phase.”
“And this is not considered normal?” the prosecutor asked.
“No,” Willow replied, “not at all. As humans have evolved their self preservation has centred mostly on getting the heck away from the apparent danger.”
“The flight phase?”
“Exactly. Mrs Mae Lin’s brain does not function that way and to be quite honest, God help anybody who triggers her fight response.”
“Would you consider her to be dangerous?”
“She’s volatile,” Willow said, “but I believe she can be stabilised.”
“Objection your honour,” the defence said.
“What now Counsel?” Judge Briggs was getting quite angry now.
“This so called expert is painting my client as a homicidal maniac. Volatile? The woman acted in fear of her life that’s all.”
“Please just bear with me,” Willow insisted, “I don’t believe she’s homicidal, I just think she needs help.”
“You mean with medication?” the prosecutor asked.
“Not just medication,” Willow said, “I believe that Mrs Mae Lin would benefit from a period of observation in a medical institution.”
“A psychiatric hospital?”
“Yes, I do not believe in her case, jail would be beneficial. In fact, it would have the reverse effect.”
“My skinny prosecutor friend,” Judge Briggs interrupted, “Isn’t it normally the responsibility of the defence to argue diminished responsibility?”
“Your honour,” the prosecutor said, “Is it not our duty to rehabilitate, not to punish those in society who break the law?”
“My God,” Judge Briggs exclaimed, “the legal world has gone soft. In my day prosecutors were only out for blood. Very well, how long are we talking about here Professor Willow?”
“A year at least,” Willow said, “We cannot ascertain exactly how long it will take but I’d definitely say a year to begin with.”
“This is highly unorthodox,” Judge Briggs addressed the jury, “and I’m sorry to have wasted your valuable time but if we are all in agreement I will pass judgement. Any objections?”
There was silence in the courtroom.
“Good,” Judge Briggs said, “Mrs Mae Lin, on the charge of manslaughter, I find you guilty. However, under the circumstances and based on your evidence and that of Professor Willow’s I believe that incarceration is not the answer. I therefore sentence you to no less than two years in a psychiatric unit for suitable treatment. Case closed. Now, I have to go; Mrs Briggs gets grumpy when I’m late.”
As the defence lawyer was leaving the court building he was approached by a man.
“What the hell happened in there?” the man asked, “I thought you said she would be found not guilty?”
“Mr Lin,” the defence counsel said, “she would have been. The prosecution knew that; that’s why they brought in their so called expert.”
“That bastard is going to pay for this,” Mr Lin sneered.
“Mr Lin, a mental hospital is not jail; you’ll have more visits and she’ll be very well looked after.”
“Can I speak to her before they take her away?”
“I’m afraid not, you’ll have to arrange a visit when she’s settled in.”
“Martin Willow,” Mr Lin said, “He’s going to pay for this.” He walked quickly away from the Court House.