Suspicion
By Aimael
Betaed by CunningMascara
A/N: Written on my Dad's laptop without an English dictionary or any way to look words up. I'm quite proud of myself =) And yes, I am aware of the lack of plot, thank you. Anyway.
Summary: Frank River has a new client. Accused of: theft. His age: Young, too young. Guilty? Well. Written for The Firm's May Prompt Challenge.
He walked down the murky corridor with folders and important-looking documents under one arm, while sighing and feeling self-righteously self-pitying. The day had been long, the cases not very interesting and he was very, very hungry without a lunch break in sight. A co-worker nodded slightly in passing and Frank River nodded back. The dim light flickered over the shabby broadloom, and River mentally cursed the downsizings that had delayed the restorations.
A balding man called Harold Fleet stood before the door to the court room in a grey, proper suit.
"River," said Fleet when River approached the doors.
"Fleet," nodded River, and halted in surprise when the other man held up one hand with an apologising grimace. "What –?"
"Sorry, River," Fleet said. "It's a confidential case. I can't let you in."
Frank River cursed loudly.
"But I have a meeting with one of my clients in," he checked his watch, "two minutes! The fastest way is through the court room, and I checked, Fleet, it shouldn't be occupied now…"
When Fleet only shook his head with a sympathetic smile, River cursed again, turned around and began to run. This time, the co-workers didn't nod; they stared. Not that strange, he mused, while turning a corner, an almost forty-year-old man in a black suit running seemingly for his life. Not his life, technically, but rather his client.
"I apologize," he finally gasped, trying to stifle his heavy breathing when he opened the door to the small, gloomy room he almost always used. "My other… appointment ran over time."
"'S'okay", a boy's voice mumbled, and River saw his new client for the first time.
The boy, about fifteen, had brown hair and wore a black shirt, which was about all River could see at the moment, since the teenager sat by the small table with his head in his arms. Behind the boy – Rider, he now remembered – stood a man in a grey suit, with grey combed hair and glasses, and that man looked far from pleased.
"Mr River," the man said in a cold voice, "I don't think either of us have all day. Your disrespect for our time is… not flattering."
River barely managed to keep himself from exclaiming "and who are you?", since he'd never seen the man before, and none of his papers said anything about another client in this case. Before he could say anything in response, however, the boy spoke up.
"Leave it, uncle. Can't we just… deal with this and get it over with?"
River noticed the Rider boy's stressing of the noun, and a small curious part of him wondered why. Instead, he said:
"Excellent. May I take your name, sir?" and took out a pen and all this case's papers from one of the folders.
"Ian Rider," the man with the cold eyes replied. "Alex's uncle on his father's side."
"Certainly," River mumbled, while checking his papers again. Indeed; the boy had an uncle named Ian Rider, though there was nowhere a mention about him being at their rehearsal of the trial. "May I also ask, Mr. Rider," he continued, and looked up in the eyes of Ian Rider, "why you are here? I got no mention of –"
"I spoke to a Mrs. Dean," the grey-haired man interrupted Rivers, who thought that very impolite. "She said she would give you the message."
Mrs. Dean – Joanne Dean – did work with Frank. She was, however, ill this week, which could have explained why River hadn't gotten the message. He said as much to the uncle and nephew in front of him, and Mr. Rider nodded. His eyes were still as icy as they had been when River stepped inside the room.
"Perhaps we should then get down to business," River said with false enthusiasm. "Alex," the boy looked up for the first time, and the only thing River saw before he had to look down in his papers once more was a pair of blue, tired eyes, "is accused of stealing computer hardware worth several million pounds from a factory outside from Liverpool the night between eleventh and twelfth of May this year. The whole thing looks quite bad, since he has no alibi for that night, am I right?" He didn't wait for an answer; it was all in his papers. "Alex is suspected since he was seen and recognised in the area earlier that day, and there are camera recordings that show him or someone very similar to him –"
"I already know this," the boy, Alex, interrupted impatiently, and River stopped reading. "And I think you do as well."
"Calm down, Alex," said Mr. Rider in the same cold, indifferent voice he had used earlier. Frank began to think that it was his usual tone of voice. "I would very much like to hear what we're up against."
The teen muttered something about "knowing all," but still sat back in his chair and folded his arms, clearly resigned to wait.
River cleared his throat.
"Well, there isn't much more," he frowned and searched among his papers. "The camera recordings, as I said, show Alex or someone similar in the factory earlier that day – the eleventh – without a guide, something which is clearly forbidden. Sometime in the night between the eleventh and the twelfth, probably around three o'clock, three boxes with valuable hardware went missing. It's the director of the industry who has pressed charges."
The small room was silent for a while when River stopped talking. The uncle didn't take his eyes from Alex once, and the boy didn't take his eyes from the table. It seemed to River he was thinking hard.
Finally, Alex spoke up.
"Is there enough evidence for a conviction? Whatever I say, I mean?"
"Sadly, perhaps there is," River admitted. "I can only see two ways out; either we find you an alibi, or we find the boy who's guilty. What is worse is that there is solid proof you were in the area earlier that day. If there weren't… well. What were you doing there?"
Alex opened his mouth, but the cold-eyed uncle was faster.
"That is of no importance to the case."
"Of course it's of importance," River said impatiently. "It's the whole importance. If we can bring light on that, perhaps there's a chance to clear Alex on all charges."
"Is of no importance to the case," Mr. Rider repeated. River noticed the boy throwing him an almost… pleading look, but Mr. Rider ignored it.
"Very well, then, but I tell you, Mr. Rider, this will look bad," Frank warned them. Ian Rider didn't seem to care, but River paid closer attention to Alex Rider this time, and the boy seemed to be on the verge of saying something. When the boy met River's gaze, he blurted;
"Can I speak to B… my uncle alone for a moment, please?"
"Certainly," River said with a pleasant smile that masked his impatience and annoyance with the boy's uncle. "I'll be right outside."
As soon as the door was closed behind him, he dropped his nice mask and almost groaned. The uncle wasn't the one he was here to help, for God's sake! He had no right to speak for the child, who was the one who may or may not have committed the crime. Such things made Frank River ever so irritable. And he had no doubts Alex Rider could speak for himself, if just given the chance. He heard two voices from inside, probably debating, but soon, the voices merged together and became a murmur that soothed the headache River had gotten.
After a few more minutes, the voices from inside began to rise.
"…just let me…" someone said, probably Alex.
"…have to think of… not only…" The uncle.
"The proof's… Maybe you can… but I won't!"
"Alex! Remember…"
And then, loud and clear, and River suspected Alex to stand right next to the door.
"You got me into this mess, Blunt, and so help me if you don't get me out of it too!"
Then the murmurs came back.
While River still was wondering why Alex was calling his uncle "Blunt," and maybe feeling a bit guilty for eavesdropping – even if it was completely unintentional – Alex opened the door, gave him a tired smile and sat down at the table again. River let go of a small sigh, and the conversations started once again.
OOOOO
"Joanne", River said a week later to his colleague, "have you heard anything from two Messrs. River lately?"
Joanne Dean looked up from her documents.
"Never heard of them, why? Should I have?"
River sighed and sat down on a chair next to her.
"They were a case of mine, and they didn't show up this morning for our next meeting, and no one seems to know… wait," he interrupted himself, when what she had said became clear to him, "didn't Ian Rider contact you last week?"
Joanne thought about it for a while, but then shook her head.
"Ian Rider, you say? No, I've never spoken to an Ian Rider."
"That's strange," Frank River muttered, as Joanne stood and went to her next meeting. "Odd."
OOOOO
Frank River never met Alex Rider or the man that had presented himself as Ian Rider again. There never was a trial, and when he, confused, spoke to the director that had wanted the hearing, he said that the hardware was back in perfect condition, and that he saw no reason to continue the process.
At that, Frank River dropped the matter. After all, he had a new case. He couldn't spend too much time thinking about the last one.
He still couldn't help but wonder who that boy had been, and if he had been guilty or not.
A/N: So. Eh. Please review? (And how did I do with Blunt?)