With the engine humming wearily and thick puffs of gray smoke billowing upward, the pale yellow, shabby bus pulled away from the bus stop. On a narrow concrete platform, under a light plastic pavilion with an overflowing urn, only a tall, slender woman with a dainty leather briefcase in her hand remained. The light breeze rubbed and flicked her soft, auburn hair against her face, and the glare of the sun blocked her view of the other side of the road, so she put a narrow hand to her forehead.
There, just beyond the crossing, was a perfectly flat, bright emerald lawn, and a narrow tiled path framed by short-cut bushes divided it almost one to three. A little to the right, parallel to the alley, was a narrow driveway, breaking off in about two hundred yards at a massive, lush green gate. Against the imposing walls of gloomy red brick and bright yellow nameplate, the incongruous color of the sashes looked like a new patch on an old garment.
"Hmm! The prison director has no artistic taste! Well, at least he could have repainted the sign for starters!" - the woman grinned ironically. As her slim heels clattered on the slick, monochrome tiles it was time to collect her thoughts.
This prison had long been her usual place of work, and nothing here was disgusting: neither the massive walls, with the towers and barbed wire, nor the barred windows and doors, nor the dozens of guards who looked like two peas in a pod. And it was, of course, not the banal habit of labor. When the perception of injustice is sharpened to the extreme, and the duty before the defendants binds tighter than bonds of steel, compassion is almost the only and indispensable measure of your life. And no one is forcing you to defend not at all "heavenly angels," but you keep coming and coming here, because no one is immune from the brutal arbitrariness of the judges and police setups. Neither is the very, new defendant she, Beckett, was going to.
Here was the gate, familiar to every bolt, with powerful bars and an observation window. At two loud knocks, with a clang and a distinctive clang, the flap swung open, and the laconic guard, recognizing the visitor, lazily rattled the deadbolt.
The window of the pass office was to the right of the entrance, practically three paces away, and the gatehouse itself was as unsightly and gray as many of the rooms in the prison. Only the turnstile was gleaming. The admission procedure had already been worked out, and with the green square of the pass in her hand, Joanna slipped past the unperturbed, heat-swollen guard into the prison's courtyard.
He gave the visitor a weary look, muttered something indecipherable, carelessly pushed his cap down over his sweaty forehead, and thoughtfully scratched the back of his head. It was not the first time he and his colleagues had seen her here, and it was incomprehensible how it was possible to trade a free office job for a long and "heartwarming" conversations with all kinds of rabble? Well, what could be the benefit here, huh? Or is it just such a sadistic pleasure? You wouldn't know it from Beckett. Most likely, money was not the main value for her in life, because such an incorruptible, principled, good-hearted weirdo would be worth looking for. And strange as it may seem, initially hopeless, unsuccessful cases in the capable hands of attorney Beckett were transformed into winnable and complete ones.
"Lucky you, ma'am, for the time being, but you'd better not disturb this rotten swamp," the guard spat angrily on the ground and slammed the door behind him, while Beckett, walking down the narrow mesh corridor between the buildings, ducked into the main building.
Here came another security post. An insistent face control and a silent, approving nod from the guard. The heavy door with its tiny peephole slammed shut behind her, and a familiar stench of disgusting stench hit her nose, seemingly permeating everything around her.
"Pfft, she'll smell it in time!" - And Beckett clattered her heels loudly down the gloomy corridor. There was absolutely nothing to see here; it was more important to gather one's thoughts. When one has already adapted to the horrors of prison, the one thing one can never get used to is injustice. For someone had long ago become the norm of life.
Adjusting her immaculately fitting blouse, Beckett quickened her pace. Her defendants - crooks, thieves, rapists, murderers, and mere losers who had bet on the wrong horse at the racetrack of life - flashed before her day after day, month after month, year after year. And all of them wanted freedom, justice, and for the sake of the slightest bit of truth Beckett did not have to feel sorry for herself. It simply required a hell of a flair and a fantastic work ethic, which Joanna had in abundance.
None of her surrounding colleagues and acquaintances could deny that Beckett's business acumen was unmatched. Greedily, painstakingly digging through cases, studying every letter of the police reports, every figure in the examination reports, every paragraph in the indictments, Joanna got roughly the result she had hoped for. Of course, with such physical and mental effort, the only thing that saved her was coffee. A couple of fragrant cups, a few appetizing croissants or muffins, a short, anxious nap, and she would again not feel sorry for herself in pursuit of the truth. And that was what so unspeakably upset and disturbed her husband.
Of course, Jim was guided solely by care and love, but he never tired of telling her to look soberly at the real world, where the seeds of meanness, malice, and hatred were thickly planted. Intrigue ruled it and still does, and, given her social circle and the secret layers of her clients' lives, it was easy to get caught up in some unsightly story from which there was and would be no way out.
But Beckett, smiling indulgently, merely shook her head. It seemed to her that Jim was constantly exaggerating. When you know people's psychology like an open book, and you know how to do things right, the right line of defense is built up by itself. Coolness, self-confidence, and courage to tell the truth to her face were the core credo of attorney Beckett, though they were only part of her self.
"And the other half of me is even better!" - Beckett smiled contentedly. Yes, not only was she a professional lawyer, she was also a caring, loving wife and mother. Determined to follow in her footsteps, Kate inherited almost every trait of her character, but was more communicative and open. Something Joanna herself could not boast of. In her nineteen years she was so reserved, distrustful, and cautious that Jim had to work hard to win her heart.
The spiraling iron steps led Joanna up to the next floor, directly to the interrogation room. At the entrance stood a guard, tall and thin as a nail. Holding his hands behind his back, he was disastrously bored, but at the sight of his visitor, he smiled in duty and let her in. She thanked him with a slight movement of the edges of her lips, added an appreciative nod, and took a seat at the metal table in the center of the room, bolted firmly to the floor.
The lock of the briefcase clicked softly, and a letter from the convict, which had started her new case, was placed on the table. Behind it came a weighty folder of various reports, certificates, photographs, and certificates, arranged chronologically, and Joanna confidently arranged them in large and small stacks. She took the letter in her hands and carefully reread the text, lingering longer on the pencil marks. She sighed heavily. Frowning and indignant, she mechanically bit her lower lip. Though her client was no angel, that was not what today was about. According to him, he was about to be tried for something he hadn't really done. And this was their first meeting.
Beckett put the letter aside, rubbed her temples wearily, moved the stack of expert reports toward her, and at that moment the doors on the opposite side of the entrance opened. Two guards led a short, stout, handcuffed man into the room. The guards seated the man on the other side of the table and removed the clinking "bracelets" without command. The man kneaded his iron-abused wrists and gave his visage an unkind and suspicious look.
- Here you go, ma'am," the young but beginning to go bald kid clapped the prisoner on the shoulder unceremoniously, "here's your client.
- Thank you, Ryker," Joanna thanked him with a shake of her head. - You are dismissed.
Turning as if on cue, the cops walked out, and Beckett took the front page of the case to verify the identity of the defendant, then smiled sincerely and kindly.
- Hello, Mr. Pulgatti," she gently brushed her fingers over the silky strands that had fallen to her forehead and were obstructing her view. - I'm your new lawyer, and my name is Joanna Beckett.
With a wicked grin, Pulgatti shrugged nervously, as if he'd been suddenly and painfully kicked. He seemed accustomed to distrusting no one, and the scowl on his unfriendly face was proof of that.
- Have you been exiled here for some misdemeanor? - Pulgatti, not saying hello, threw him sharply, but Beckett was not at all embarrassed. With a cheerful arch of an eyebrow, she put the page of the file in front of her.
- I was struck by your letter, and I came here out of the goodness of my heart. Can you tell me anything?
Pulgatti wrinkled his nose incredulously and twitched his eyebrows nervously.
- I don't know yet, and in fact I'm not sure that it really is," he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, still hesitant. He had a wry look in his eyes, but something about him had subtly changed, and not for the worse. Pulgatti even seemed glad.
- It happens," Joanna smiled confidentially. - With some of us.
- So you've already read my letter?
- Yes, but not only that. According to the case file, you have been charged with the death of an FBI agent. Is that true?
- Pulgatti went down in a moment, wrapping his arms around his head. He even melted down in his chair like a sourdough fish. From beneath thick, dark-brown eyebrows, Beckett's eyes looked frightened, but she did not seem afraid of anything or anyone. Her posture was confident and relaxed; a welcoming smile never left her face; a pleasant melodious voice and manner of communication bribed her with its sincerity, but most importantly - with her appearance Beckett inspired a complete and unaccountable confidence. Throughout his unjust life Pulgatti had seen all sorts of lawyers, but this was the first time such an open and friendly person sat before him. And it was no posturing. After fidgeting in his chair, the condemned man made his hard choice. He glanced cautiously at the door behind him, chewed his lips thoughtfully, covered his mouth with his hands, and whispered hoarsely and softly:
- Ma'am, my case smells very, very bad. I could use a stronger deodorant!
- Don't worry," Beckett replied in a low voice, unperturbedly fluffing her unruly bangs. Their faces were so close that Pulgatti could see the color of her eyes. A beautiful green, with sparkling beige speckles. - I have the power to clear the air. I hate injustice.
Pulgatti's face brightened slightly; he swallowed, licked his parched lips, and leaned back in his chair relaxed.
- Okay, almost ready to believe it, but still, I'd give it some more thought. Do you mind?
- All right, but don't forget that time is working against you," Beckett's clean smile was simply disconcerting. - And after all the procedural niceties have been met, I'll get on with drafting the complaint. Okay?
...Her class ended only two hours later. In the excitement of biting her lower lip, Kate was about to make a U-turn when Castle, with a sudden and meaningful chuckle, slipped the watch under her nose and clicked lightly on the dial with his fingernail:
- Excuse me, miss! It gives me great pleasure to watch you hunt for worthless hubcaps or stands placed inappropriately, but unfortunately your time has already expired! - And Rick's pointing finger turned toward the parking lot.
- All right! - Kate nodded in agreement as she slowed down. Surprisingly, for those two hours she was completely out of reality, and, frankly, it was thanks to Castle. Also. Beckett couldn't shake the feeling that it was no accident that they had met. But, was that really how it happened in life? And wasn't she, Kate, jumping to conclusions? A little sad, Beckett glanced at Rick, who had already pulled her card from the glove compartment. Castle's good-natured smile was still on his face, and his large hand, quickly and confidently, was filling in the appropriate boxes in neat, clear letters. Hearing a sigh of regret, Castle cheerfully played with his eyebrows, encouraging his lip-biting student with a facial expression.
- No need to get upset, miss, but from now on be more careful, because leveling the curb is an awfully time-consuming process.
Beckett, realizing it was all a matter of misaligned pedals and mistaken entry into the lawn, laughed miserably.
- I swear to be careful!
Slowly and smoothly she steered and parked near the edge of the parking lot, but the right front fender still went out of line. Kate was about to back up when Castle instantly, but very gently, put his palm over her hand.
- Don't, miss," Rick asked politely, and then he jerked his hand away, as if he had touched not a maiden's skin but red-hot steel. You'll get it right some other time.
Kate agreed with him without a shadow of a doubt, swooning at the tenderness of his fingers, the smoothness and quickness of his movements. Was this how Castle behaved with the other students, too? Feeling something akin to jealousy in her soul, Kate squinted her eyes suspiciously. For sure Castle had been working here for a long time, which meant that his communication skills and powerful charm attracted ladies to him like a magnet. And he clearly had and has an understandable choice. So does that mean Mandy wasn't wrong about...? Oh, my God!
Nervously biting her lip, Kate shut off the engine, signed the statement with a careless scrawl, and leaned back, resting the back of her head against the headrest. Where had this sudden tension come from? After all, until now everything had been just delightful! Not knowing how to calm down, Beckett patiently listened to Castle's brief and precise remarks. What can I say, Rick knew how to explain - succinctly, colorfully, and to the point, omitting unnecessary details, dwelling only on the mistakes and how to eliminate them. The pleasant, warm, even caressing tones of his voice relaxed and soothed her, and Kate closed her eyes peacefully. The tension was slowly fading.
The girl's strange reaction didn't escape Castle's watchful eye. He faltered in half a word, and convulsively snapped his belt, jumped up in his chair so hard that he nearly smashed through the ceiling.
- Miss?! - it looked like Castle was scared out of his wits. - Is something wrong? Are you all right?
She critically "shot" at him through clenched eyelashes. Castle seemed worried in earnest, and then Beckett slowly straightened up.
- Yeah, it's okay! - While Castle was enjoying her open, grateful smile, Kate was already kicking herself for her unwarranted suspicions. - You are an excellent teacher, and there is nothing to worry about. It's the absolute truth!
- Phew," exhaled Rick, "I was beginning to worry.
The gratitude in her look was replaced by incomprehension, and Castle frowned. It looked like he didn't really want to share his thoughts, but a series of pleading, disposing looks made him surrender. Admitting defeat, Castle threw his hands out in front of him.
- I didn't want to tell you, but one of my students suddenly blacked out right on the move. It's a good thing the speed was slow.
Rick was quiet for a while, rolling his cheeks in a frown, but when Kate gave him a reassuring smile, he calmed down:
- Are you sure you're okay?
- I'm sure! - Beckett raised her eyebrows affirmatively. - I'm sorry, but I have to go. I don't want to be late for class.
She unbuckled, reaching for her purse and leaning over the back of her chair. Her blouse slid down her side a little, visibly teasing her with a strip of matte white leather. The thin fabric of her pants, already dangerously accentuating the slimness and beauty of her hips, stretched even more dangerously. Unable to contain himself, Castle sighed noisily and, flushed with red, lowered his eyes in embarrassment.
"Like a child, honestly!" remarked Kate to herself with pleasure. Giving him a sly look, Beckett made her way outside.
