Whooo almost forgot to update today? Let's see... Me! It was me! But we won't focus on that... instead, let's get to closing arguments.
Onward!
XI
There were no strange notes waiting for her when she arrived home, only a kitten that appeared highly ready for company. He wound himself about her legs as she fixed her own dinner, and then mewed pathetically until she conceded and placed a bowl of his own down on the floor for him to nibble.
Over the rest of the weekend she discovered that Boo much preferred to be stationed against one of her limbs than make use of the many toys she offered him. He played, to be sure, his colorful mice often brought to her to throw, and after bounding after them as fast as his short legs would carry him, he would deliver them back to her waiting hand.
But all of his naps took place while nestled up against her, tiny snores coming from an equally small nose, warming her heart and healing some hidden part of her that was so desperate for love and friendship.
Therefore when Monday morning came he made it equally difficult to leave, tucked as he was so soundly against her side, warm and cozy and showing no signs of moving for the day.
"Boo, I have to go to court."
As she tried to slip from the bed, one slit of an eye opened slightly, his displeasure obvious at being jostled. She did her best to tuck the covers around him in a semblance of a nest, but her apartment was cold and she was certain the blankets would be no substitute for her own body heat.
But with a heavy sigh he placed his head back down into the curve of his body, a small black lump in the center of her bed that made no other movement as she readied herself for the day.
Ewan hadn't called to inform her that Marjorie had taken another of her shifts so with great reluctance she rolled up a clean uniform and slipped it into her purse. She wouldn't be home until late that night and she hoped Boo would be alright by himself for the entirety of the day.
He had food and water to be sure and toys aplenty—most scattered across the entirety of her floor, but still she worried for him.
"Soon the trial will be over and I'll only have to be gone in the evenings," she promised him, bending to place a kiss on his silky black head. "And maybe we will reach a verdict quickly so no more early mornings for us."
He twitched slightly in his sleep and although she would much rather have stayed to watch him as he dreamed, pondering what visions would play within a kitten's mind as they slept, she forced herself to leave, locking the door behind her and offering a silent prayer that Boo would be alright.
It was raining on the way to the bus stop, large droplets that instantly permeated Christine's coat and soaked her hair. She smiled grimly as she redid her braid once seated within the confines of the bus, certain that if Joe had first seen her in her drowned state, his offer of coffee would not have been so readily given.
The security officer had avoided her since their confrontation the previous week, ensuring that his coworker was the one to search her bag and avoiding eye contact at all costs. She was wondering if she was being imprudent by not speaking with the authorities about what had transpired with the note and her suspicions about the guard, but she decided that surely asking the landlord about changing the locks would be sufficient. It was possible that she had left the door open and a deliveryman had simply walked in, as with the dingy nature of the hallways and some of the more shady characters that lived within the building, she could understand not wanting to leave another rose out on her doorstep.
Not that she approved of his intrusion.
She had never had anything worth stealing and while she was sure to lock her door when she was within her apartment, she easily could have forgotten as she hurried out in the morning to catch the bus for the courthouse.
She waited on her usual step for the doors to open, the rest of the jurors milling about the waiting area, and this time one of the middle-aged gentlemen leaned against the wall near her. He had a newspaper with him that he perused casually, although whatever he was reading about didn't seem to please him if the low grunts and head shaking were any indication.
Eventually he folded the newspaper with a sigh, before he seemed to notice her sitting there. "Happy that this seems to be coming to a close?"
She recognized him as the man who sat in the front row to her left, their positions making it so they had never actually spoken before now, but she realized that if deliberations started soon she would have to begin talking with each of her fellow jurors.
"I am, but I can't help but be nervous about trying to come up with a verdict." She bit her lip, hoping she hadn't said too much. They were forbidden from discussing the case, but she didn't know if merely mentioning the process counted as discussion.
He smiled ruefully. "Afraid it will turn into 12 Angry Men?"
She chuckled. They had watched the film in high school during civics class, and she definitely would like to avoid the arguments and dramatics that it had depicted. "Something like that."
Officer Ryan appeared and motioned them through the double doors of the courtroom, offering Christine a wide smile as she passed him, her cheeks reddening almost immediately in response.
"Good morning everyone," the judge greeted, his tone cheerier than usual. Christine hoped that meant he had a restful weekend and that he was not merely glad that Erik's trial was coming to a close.
"Now, I am given to understand that both parties have stated their cases and are ready to proceed with closing arguments, is that correct?"
Both Mr. Sorelli and Mr. Chagny rose and affirmed that they were indeed prepared.
"Very well, but first I would like to speak to the defendant."
Mr. Chagny glanced warily at Erik, but Christine supposed there was nothing he could do to keep the judge from addressing his client even if he so desired.
"Mr.… Erik. Can't say I've used anyone's first name in the court before."
Erik wasn't looking at the tabletop but Christine got the distinct impression that he wasn't looking at the judge either. His gaze appeared more fixed upon the seal behind the judge, large and imposing and crafted from materials Christine could not even begin to identify.
They didn't use real gold in such things, did they?
"The law does not require that you speak in your own defense, but you understand that by waiving this right you will not receive another opportunity to do so. Are you certain that you would not like to take the stand?"
When Erik made no effort to answer, Mr. Chagny intervened. "Your honor, my client's… ability to speak does not appear to always be… consistent. I can assure you that I have explained the functioning of the court and that he has verbally declined to testify. Vehemently in fact."
The judge frowned and his eyes narrowed as he regarded Erik, and Christine wondered once again if Erik was truly competent to stand trial. There were certainly people who lacked the ability to talk, but for it to simply come and go seemed more a matter of willingness to her rather than lack of capacity.
But regardless, she still cringed thinking about having to answer the interview questions during jury selection, and to have to relate personal information, especially given how blunt Mr. Sorelli could be…
She could easily understand his reticence.
"I'll accept a nod then, Erik. Do you understand that you forfeiting your right to speak on your own behalf?"
The nod, if it could in fact be called that, was only the barest incline of his head in the judge's direction, which caused the judge's frown to deepen. "Fine. Let the record reflect that the accused does not wish to provide testimony. Mr. Sorelli, would you like to commence with closing arguments?"
He rose, buttoning his suit coat perfunctorily. "Yes, your honor."
He carried no papers as he approached the jury box, he only walked slowly in front if it before looking each juror in the eye.
Christine thought it very uncomfortable.
"Ladies and gentleman of the jury," he began, his face a mask of solemnity. "You have heard a great deal of testimony over the past few weeks, with differing explanations for how the evidence could be interpreted. So let me state for you the facts."
Christine held her pen at the ready, prepared to write down the apparent facts once more and compare them to her previous notes.
"On the third of April a man was shot to death in his study, the handgun his own. Ballistic experts state that the trajectory could not have been by Mr. Poligny's own hand. A threatening note is found, one of a series of letters that progressively worsen in the level of threat as the victim refused to give in to the extortionist's demands."
He moved slightly to the side, ensuring he made eye contact with a different set of jurors as he did so. "Fact. We have video evidence of a masked man causing an 'accident' to the theatre shortly after another letter is ignored. Fact. We have DNA evidence that the mask found in the accused's possession was in fact worn by the accused, the very same type seen in the video. In addition, we have another victim who testified that a man in that identical mask attempted to kill him after he witnessed the delivery of a note."
He turned slightly and glanced at the defense table. "Now, my esteemed colleague would have you believe that the handwriting of the notes indicates at least four different people, yet also claim that the accused is of exceeding intelligence. Is it therefore beyond belief that he changed his handwriting according to avoid detection? Is it so difficult to believe that the defendant, hoping that one manager would prove more malleable than two, dispensed with Mr. Poligny to have his instructions met?"
He paused. "But I digress. I promised you facts. The fact is that the only man that is actually acquainted with the accused, considers him a friend, knows the priority that the defendant places on musical excellence. Perhaps he was truly trying to make the theatre great—that his suggestions would have improved the quality of the theatre if the mangers had listened. But as owners, it was their right to run the opera house as they so chose. It was their right to refuse to pay money to a man who promised disaster if he was not obeyed. It was Mr. Poligny's right to live."
He stepped forward and placed his hands upon the railing of the jury box, leaning forward slightly, his expression one of firm sincerity. "It is the State's contention that on that spring night, the very man who terrorized the opera house entered the Poligny home, and in an attempt to do away with a man who no longer would bow to his demands, staged his murder to appear as a suicide before disappearing back to the theatre he claimed to love. This speaks to premeditation. It speaks to motive, and it certainly speaks to skill.
"While the defense may argue that the defendant is too intelligent to be caught," he glanced at Mr. Chagny with barely contained derision, "I would remind the jury that there is no such thing as the perfect crime. There are always loose ends, there are always questions, but what is important is that we base our decisions on the facts and the most logical interpretation of that evidence. And in the case of first degree murder and extortion, I must posit that the accused is guilty; therefore it is your civic responsibility to hold him accountable for such actions."
He stepped back, his shoulders dropping slightly, his performance almost at an end. "If you find this man guilty of extortion it is because the facts support this conclusion. No evidence provided by the defense provides a definitive alternative, and as such, ladies and gentleman of the jury, I recommend you find this man guilty of all charges and bring justice to Mr. Poligny and those he left behind."
Christine found herself half wanting to applaud, but occupied her hands instead with scribbling down final notes and bullet points about the apparent facts. She supposed to a point it was true, Mr. Chagny did not provide another suspect with evidence on how they might have committed the crime, but she didn't think that was his job. She hoped the judge would explain soon about what they were actually supposed to base their decision on.
The judge nodded that Mr. Sorelli could sit and motioned for Mr. Chagny to take his place. Christine was mildly surprised by the subdued nature of his attire, his suit fitting much better than before and his shirt a mellow blue with a corresponding checkered tie that had not at all the flare of his previous selections.
Christine wondered if this meant he now had a girlfriend that not so gently pushed him in a more aesthetically pleasing direction.
If Mr. Chagny was nervous he hid it remarkably well, walking with confidence before the jury box, his smile warm and seemingly genuine. "Good morning, jurors, I hope this foul weather has not soured your moods for today's proceedings."
Christine gave a half-hearted smile in return, and she noted others made the same attempt at levity.
He sobered quickly enough, although he did not appear nearly as stern as Mr. Sorelli had.
"The State would ask you to convict my client on supposition—on conclusions drawn more from circumstance rather than fact. In reality, the prosecution has provided no direct evidence of my client's presence within the Poligny home. They have found no fingerprints on the letters, and my client has not even submitted a handwriting sample to be certain he penned any of the notes. Their DNA evidence links him to a mask found in the basement of the theatre—hardly the smoking gun they would have you believe it to be."
He walked the length of the jury box, his stride confident and his expression untroubled, so Christine supposed the pause was to allow them time to digest his words.
"I would ask you to consider something while making your decision. If you find yourself leaning toward a guilty verdict, take a moment to ponder the reason why. Are you doing so because the evidence, direct and indisputable proof, is leading you to believe that my client is guilty? Or is it because you think him a recluse—that surely he must be guilty of something, and that the police and the prosecution would not have invested the time and expense of a trial for no reason. If it is the latter, I remind you that it is the prosecution's responsibility to prove their case beyond a reasonable doubt. And furthermore, I would submit that they have not succeeded. My client is a mysterious man to be sure, and he does suffer from a very great deformity, but by no means does that automatically prove him guilty of the crimes put before him. As his psychiatrist affirms, my client is not lacking in empathy, which the very nature of these charges implies."
His voice grew in earnestness, and Christine couldn't help but glance behind him to Erik, who remained as passive and unattached as ever.
"So please, think carefully as you deliberate, putting aside assumption and bias, and looking at the nature of this case for what it is—the attempt for the prosecuting attorneys' office to place blame based on circumstantial evidence alone. Thank you."
Mr. Chagny sat and the judge cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the jurors. "The court thanks you for your service, counselors."
He turned to the jury, and Christine decided she much preferred when his attention was on the attorneys. "And now for the one of the most important parts of our system, wherein I get to try to explain the nature of the charges and what constitutes guilt. I shall try to remember that all of you have your own professions away from the law and shall therefore try to keep it as simple as possible."
He looked at them all expectantly, and Christine gave another small but confused smile, wondering if he was trying to be humorous.
If so, it wasn't working.
The moment she had dreaded since learning of the charges was fast approaching and already the nerves that had long since quieted due to the length and repetitive nature of the trial returned tenfold. She didn't know how to do this, to take her notes and determine guilt, to fight with conviction if needed—not when her own thoughts were muddled and so very uncertain.
"The accused is charged with extortion. This involves a threat posed either to the person or the property of the victim. The intention must be to take money or assets that do not belong to said individual, and the victim would feel inclined to sacrifice those items so as to assuage the threat. It is important to note that within this state, the property is not required to have exchanged hands in order for the defendant to be found guilty, the objective of the accused must simply be proven."
He waited, and Christine wrote furiously, trying to jot down as much as she could. It wouldn't do to proclaim the man guilty simply because she couldn't remember precisely what the charge meant.
"As to the charge of first degree murder, intention is also a critical matter. The accused must have planned, implemented, and intended the death of the victim. This is not simply an accident, or a fit of temper, but includes premeditation. This does not necessarily mean that a conspiracy must be concocted, but before the murderous act is committed, it must be proven that the defendant deliberately set about to end the victim's life."
He paused again, and Christine felt the crushing weight of what these charges truly meant.
"Are there any questions regarding the specifications of these charges?"
Christine's mind was reeling from the gravity of it all, and the rest of the jurors were silent also. She wondered if they would be allowed to seek clarification later once they began discussing the case and they sorted out their thoughts.
"Alright then. Now, when deliberations commence you are obviously allowed to begin discussing the specifics of the trial with the jurors. If you have any questions you can direct them to Officer Ryan, as he will continue to see to your needs while you reach your decision."
Christine glanced his direction and didn't miss the way he grinned at her, his thumbs tucked in his belt loops, his pride in his job readily evident.
"I would like to clarify for you that the defendant may be guilty of one charge but not the other, so do not think that if you feel that the prosecution has not adequately proven his guilt on one matter that you must declare him innocent overall. However, it is also important to vote with your conscience. While of course you are to base your decision on the facts presented to you, your own personal beliefs and life experiences will influence your decision—that is merely a fact of life. Discuss the case in its entirety and reach the best conclusion that you can."
The judge tucked some papers into an open folder of his desk before turning back to the jury. "Now, I tell this to all of my juries, and I want to be especially clear on this one. To be guilty of a capital offense the jury must be unanimous lest a mistrial be declared, but do not allow that to sway your decision. You are not failures if you cannot reach consensus. It simply means that the prosecution will have to try again at proving their case in future."
His gaze swiveled to Mr. Sorelli and Christine couldn't help but notice something rather pointed in it. Was he suggesting that something was lacking in the prosecution? Perhaps she was not so misguided about thinking there were some holes in the witnesses' testimony after all.
"The bailiff will now take you to the jury room where you will sit and talk. The amount of time it takes you to reach a decision is entirely up to you, but I urge you to be thoughtful and ensure you've spent enough time looking over the evidence before forming any conclusions. Officer Ryan, please escort the jury into deliberations."
The jurors all rose and made to follow the bailiff from the main courtroom, but Christine couldn't help but glance once more at Erik, hoping that she could glimpse some manner of truth from him so she would know what decision to make.
For she did not want her opinion to rest solely on the interpretation of facts presented by Mr. Sorelli and his smirks and lack of compassion.
She wanted it to be based upon the truth.
And if Erik had indeed hurt Mr. Poligny, if he had fully intended to cause harm to the theatre workers as some of the letters seem to indicate, then he should face those consequences.
But as he met her gaze and gave a little half smile before nodding for her to hurry along, all she felt was more confusion—both for the way her heart beat faster at his attention and the way her thoughts grew all the murkier.
And as they all settled around the table, notepads scattered across the tabletop and people eyed one another nervously, she didn't have the first idea of how she could do this.
"Now, who thinks he's guilty?"
Sooo… Christine is settling into life with Boo, the attorneys have rested their cases, and now it's up to the jurors. Is anyone disappointed that Erik didn't take the stand? Any ideas of why he would have refused?
Next up, deliberations! And then after that… Are we all ready for a verdict? Is it too soon?