From the Chrysalis (42 page)

“Wait. Did you see that? Davo …Devereux … How do you say his name? He just signalled the girl with his eyes. There she goes. She’s sitting down in the third row, close enough to smell him and count hair follicles on his clean-shaven neck. Christ, if that were my daughter, I’d wring her neck. What do girls like that see in guys like him?”

“A big dick going to waste.”

“Well, he
is
one helluva a good-looking kid. Doesn’t exactly look the part.”

“Oh, sure he does. Not looking the part, that’s just part of his con.”

“What’s Devereux’ story, anyway? We’ve gotta know a little bit about all of them, don’t we? Has anyone done homework on someone other than his own client?”

“You’d better kick some ass. Didn’t your new cutey-pie brief you?”

“She was too busy briefing someone else.”

“I can’t keep track of all their sob stories. I’m here for my client and that’s it.”

“C’mon, fellas, this judge is a fucking dinosaur and he’s hungry for meat.”

“D’Arcy “Dace” Devereux, he’s my boy,” Hubert Gold volunteered affably. “Phenomenal IQ, but so far he’s never used his brains for anything except crime. He might have had some learning problems when he was a kid. You know, that Einstein disease, dyslexia. But he either got over it or he was misdiagnosed. Otherwise a normal childhood, our psychs are claiming. Until he was eight or nine, anyway. Then he went away to school.”

“Priest run?” somebody inquired sharply.

“Yeah, sure, most of those places are priest run, aren’t they?”

“Well, I’ve been hearing those priests got caught up in some lurid deeds.”

“As a matter of fact, I think both D’Arcy and his kid sister
were
abused at this particular school. There’s a lot of stories coming out. A class action suit, but that’s decades in the making.”

“Oh, horse shit,” a female lawyer interrupted. “Those kids were no angels, but I’m the Crown. I did a little extra homework on everybody. This is strictly off the record, because he
was
a juvenile, but D’Arcy Devereux was charged with assault at ten.”

“Wait a minute. Why was he sent to this school? Was it a training school?”

“Mom keeled over from the Big C. Dad couldn’t take charge of his kids, you know the story. How was the poor bugger supposed to look after two brats and work, too? The parish priest probably recommended the place.”

“Well, apparently you’re superwoman, with your three kids and a law degree. Who’s raising your kids? Your mom or the Filipino nanny?”

“Stick to the facts, guys. At least I’m having kids before my eggs are totally dated. Where’s your spawn?”

“Look, I’m running out of time. I don’t feel like reading a book on this Devereux character or the rest of the stupid fucks, for that matter. After he graduates from the Little Shoppe of Horrors, what then?”

“He never graduates from anywhere. He skips school and the next thing he knows he’s plugged somebody with a bullet, except this time he’s over sweet sixteen and the judge decides he’s ready for the Big House.”

“So he’s a killer then?”

“Well, he got away with manslaughter, though he’s been nothing but trouble Inside. The kid’s got a big mouth.”

“And during the riot he gets a big bullhorn …”

“And directs the murders in the Dome below …”

“And has good reason to feel he’s doing society a favour …”

“Well, I’ve spoken to him a few times,” Hubert Gold interrupted. “Very articulate. And he’s not really a murderer. Strange as it may seen, he didn’t intend to kill anybody the first time. It was
an accident. May I remind my esteemed colleagues, that’s what manslaughter is under our British penal code. He wanted to protect his friend. Similar situation this time. He was protecting the hostages three floors away.”

“Except he had a clear view.”

“What do you mean, protecting the hostages? Is that what you call tying up officers and letting them starve? What are we doing here, rewriting the past?”

“Oh, shit, I don’t know. Let’s just get this farce over. You know what’s going down here. Thirteen beating victims, thirteen men, thirteen defence attorneys. Each con’s lawyer doing his best to get his guy off. Careers are going to made here, boys and girls. What about the rest of the psychos? The ones who aren’t here today. What role did they play? We can’t get everyone on murder and we know from interviewing witnesses there’s about forty more men who should have been charged.”

By now, Dace had stopped listening. If he heard another word he’d go berserk. More people slammed in and out through the doors. A court officer told Liza not to drape her coat over the back of the bench, adding for good measure, “And mind you don’t take notes, either. You don’t look like no court reporter to me.”
 

Dace smiled. It was either that or go for the guy’s throat.

Liza stood up and rearranged her coat, almost stepping in front of the prisoners’ box.
Don’t smile,
she telegraphed him.
Remember not to smile.
 

At last the Jury filed in, no doubt unhappy about it. They were fine, upstanding citizens who hadn’t been able to avoid conscription. Several looked confused about where they should sit. Only the thirty-eight-year-old high school teacher chosen as foreman looked vaguely excited. He viewed this as both an opportunity to learn the workings of a criminal trial and a chance to perform a public duty, although he probably would have found it difficult to support his family on ten dollars per diem if the Board hadn’t been augmenting his salary.
 

The jurors were followed by Judge Walter Silverton, standing head and shoulders above most of the boys in the prisoner’s box. He looked regal in his dark, flowing robes, and he knew it. He dwarfed the huddled lawyers, too.
 

Aw Christ,
Dace thought.
Silverton
.
Should have known.

The entire courtroom breathed again. The trial was about to begin. Knowing Silverton liked formalities, both the Crown and the defence attorneys stumbled over themselves, genuflecting, referring to the judge as
Your Worship,
motioning behind their backs to their audience:
All rise.

The spectators rose clumsily as Silverton sat in his leather maroon chair behind the Bench. Many were uncertain about courtroom etiquette, although the court officers, retired army men from the local base, were happy to advise.
 

It was almost a relief when Judge Silverton shuffled some papers and cleared his throat. “This trial is a huge waste of the taxpayer’s money,” he intoned, after dispensing with a few legal formalities. “Since we are obliged, however, let’s proceed.”

Court officially began with the Crown counsel offering his version of the events of the riot, comparing the events to a kaleidoscope that no two people would have viewed the same way. It took the better part of the morning for the Crown to relay what had happened.

Liza left her seat at noon recess, reaching Dace just before he was marched off to enjoy a lunch of Kraft cheese slices on white Wonderbread. One of the courtroom guards tried to stop her, but several spectators were in the way.
 

“Go back to school, Liza,” Dace whispered out the side of his mouth the minute she reached the prisoner’s box. “This is none of your business.”

“The press is here, Dace. The CBC is televising.”
 

“I don’t want you listening to this bullshit.” Although he was staring straight ahead, he knew her eyes had filled with tears. “Oh baby,” he mumbled, “Stay away.” He was quiet, reluctant to share their conversation with the two cell mates between which he was leg-chained, so maybe she didn’t hear him. She reached for him.
 

Suddenly the guard was there. “You stay away from the prisoners, Miss, or I’ll have to ask you to vacate the courtroom,” he barked as Hubert Gold approached.
 

“You’re Mr. Devereux’ …?”

“Cousin,” Liza confirmed stiffly, reluctantly taking her eyes off Dace.
 

“Ah, I thought so. Like you, he likes to hold his cards close.”

Dace couldn’t help himself. He shook his head.

“But whatever he says, he needs you here,” Gold said. He brought out his left hand from beneath his black robe, clutching manila folders to his chest with his right. “I guess you know I’m his lawyer, Dace’s defence. And your name is?” he asked, although Dace suspected from the look in his eyes that he knew her name and more.

Seeming flustered, she accepted his smallish hand, but she must have held on a little too long because he let go first. “Elizabeth Devereux. Liza,” she said, then dove straight to the heart of the matter. “Dace did his best during the riot but he was caught up. Is he going to be all right?”

“Well, to be honest, I was just transferred to his case in time for the preliminary,” Gold said, apparently unwilling to lay all his cards on the table.
 

“He didn’t do it,” she said, laughing nervously. She shot a quick glance at Dace, who was careful to reveal nothing. “I guess you’ve heard that one before.”

“I’m afraid the jury might find out he had a reason.”

“To do what?” she demanded, then grabbed the side of the bench when her legs buckled slightly.

“Are you all right, Miss? Don’t get the vapours on me now, please. I mean he had a reason to kill two men like that. Two men who were
pedophiles
.”

Liza closed her eyes. “His sister …”

“And Dace, too.”

“You’re not saying he was sexually abused, are you?” she whispered with a frantic glance at Dace. He stared straight ahead, showing nothing in his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry. It’s an all too common story these days, but there are a lot of stories coming out of the school where he stayed.”

“Still. He didn’t do it. I have a letter, written right after the riot.”

“I’d like to see the letter. Even so, there’s still a lot of witnesses who say he did.”

“What kind of witnesses?”
 

“Other prisoners.”

“Have they been granted immunity, by any chance? Are they murderers, thieves and robbers?”

Good girl,
Dace thought.

“Well, that’s the kind of people you’re cousin chose to live with, my dear.” For a moment, Hubert Gold looked genuinely regretful that his client had evidently made such bad decisions. “Look, I’m going to go back to the office to catch up on his case, but for the record I think he’s innocent this time. Liza—may I call you that?”

“Yes, of course. I—” Liza answered warily.
 

Gold touched her shoulder with his right hand. “A little discreet crying is okay, a hankie dabbing your eyes, but anybody can tell by looking at you that you’re wound pretty tight, so you’ll have to be careful.”

She blinked at him, calculating. “You want everyone to think he comes from a good family, don’t you?”
 

“I also don’t want our boy upset. His co-defendants are going stir crazy. Sure, they look pretty calm now, but these boys aren’t too stable. Given the conditions they’re living under, there’s bound to be several outbursts. Some of them have just got out of solitary. D’Arcy has been in and out.”

“I know, I couldn’t—”

“The reporters are just waiting.”

She nodded. “And salivating.”

Gold permitted her a small smile. “And Judge Silverton is very formal. He’ll have them gagged or put out of the courtroom. I’ve seen him do it.”