Chapter 2

"Prosecutor?" the Judge said gently, yet firmness was evident in his tone. She got up, straightened her skirt and walked over to the accused person. She could see "Murderer" written all over his face. His suit had "Murderer" written on its well-tailored lapels. His fingers had blood dripping from their tips. "How can no one else see all this?" she thought. She could make out the subtle hints of uneasiness on his face. A one-sided smile formed on her face. "He's an easy catch," she said under her breath.

She began. "So, Mr Turpin. On Monday, 16 of December 2012, at around 9:30 PM, you were in bar, you say?" Mr Turpin said confidently, "Yes. I was." She caught the falter in his voice by the end of the statement. "Too easy a catch," she thought.

"What were you doing in the bar?" she asked. Mr Turpin – and everyone else, including the Judge – looked at her in complete confusion. "What kind of a question is that?" Mr Turpin asked. "I was doing what everyone does at a bar. I was having a drink."

"Oh really now?" she said, her tone edging to that of mockery. "Were you really drinking?" Mr Turpin looked at her in complete bewilderment. "Are you a lawyer or a joke?" he said.

She replied, "I'm of the best American lawyers living in London. You know why? Because I don't leave anything to chance. I make sure all the evidences are right in front of me on that table at the right time so that I can bring justice to the rightfully guilty. And so that the victim's family can get some consolation while they watch the culprit rot in hell. So tell me. How could you go drinking in a bar when you're not allowed to?"

This took Mr Turpin by surprise. How had she come to know? It was his perfect alibi. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Oh really now?" she said in her thick American accent. She walked towards the table and picked up a blue file. She held it up and addressed the Judge, "This, your Honour, is Mr Turpin's medical reports. It says right here that he has CHD – Coronary Heart Disease, which he was diagnosed with 7 years ago. He has had two by-pass surgeries since then, your Honour. The first one two years after he was diagnosed and the second one just a year ago. Mr Turpin has been so health conscious, he has avoided alcohol for 7 years now. You don't even drink at elite parties."

She handed the file to the Judge. She looked at Mr Turpin with an eyebrow raised as if daring him to come up with some other excuse. She could the beads forming at his hairline. She had him under pressure. Good. That's what she wanted. That's what she was getting. Her one-sided smile turned into a wide grin. She could not help herself.

"Okay," Mr Turpin said. "I wasn't at the bar." Before he could add another lie to that sentence, she asked, "Then where were you?" She made sure to make it sound inquisitive and also pressing. "Murderer" called out to her again. His palms were smeared with blood. Every second that passed by, she hated this man more and more. She was going to prove him guilty, even if it took the entire day.

"I was…" his voice faded. He had nothing to say at this point. What was more annoying was how had she gotten the information on his CHD. He had given enough money so that the Doctor would stay shut. Oh God! He looked at her. Such a pretty face and yet her skills were so deadly, like a silent knife. Her lips, full and red, were like poison that could topple down the most powerful men when they opened. She had done so. Her eyes. So big, round and blue. Like an ocean after a storm had tossed and turned it. Yet there was always a storm awaiting for anyone she laid those eyes on. Her square face with its soft jawline. What a pretty face with such deadly features. Such a perfect combination of Beauty and Brains.

"You were…." she pressed on. Mr Turpin stayed silent. She waited for two seconds more and then said, straightening up, "I'll tell where you were. You were at your ex-wife's house, shooting her." Mr Turpin started denying it. She just shook her head calmly and said, "Let me explain from the beginning. Who divorced who, Mr Turpin?"

"I…divorced her," Mr Turpin said, feeling it slipping out of his favour.

"So she still wanted to fix it?" Mr Turpin nodded. "So, you Honour, Mrs Turpin would call her ex-husband every day, in the hope that she rekindle things with him. I have the call logs from the telephone company." She handed another file to the Judge.

"Now, you needed some sexual activity because that had gone completely extinct after your divorce. So, you called over prostitutes. Thankfully, you called them from a….posh company. You could afford it, since you're the CEO of a multinational company. And they keep records. What would one do without records?" she said with a smile as she handed another file – a bright pink one – to the Judge. As he took the file in his hand, he looked at the alarming shade of pink and gave a raised eyebrow to her. She shrugged and mouthed, "Prostitutes." The Judge shook his head with a slight smile on his face, then sobered his expression and opened the file.

"Now, your wife was an extremely possessive woman. A reason you divorced her?" Mr Turpin nodded. He wasn't saying anything. Her evidences were having an effect on him. "So, on Saturday 23 November 2012, she called you up at 3:15 AM in the morning to ask how you were and what you were doing. You had a prostitute over that day. "Leia" was her name, right?" she teased Mr Turpin. "You picked up the phone in a daze since you were so tired from all the night's work. That's when Leia spoke. "Don't talk now, baby. It's our time. Cut the phone and love me some more"," she mock-imitated the prostitute. Everyone in the court-room giggled, except Mr Turpin.

"Your wife, she heard it. Big problem. Now you have three children with her who are all dear to you. She called you at 11:30 AM the same day and told you what she will do. And what was that, Mr Turpin?" Mr Turpin had his head down, ashamed or embarrassed. Even still, he said without looking up, "She said she would tell them I'm sleeping with other women."

"Exactly. Now you got scared. You couldn't lose your precious stones. Well, you should've thought of that before you started sleeping with other women. But eventually, your wife went and told your kids the whole thing anyways. And they started hating you. Thinking that you lost the only thing that you could call yours because of her, you planned for, 2 weeks, as to how to kill her. And then on 16 December, at 9:00 PM, you called your ex-wife and asked her if she was at home. She said yes. You took out your custom-made revolver and set out in your black Audi to murder her."

She saw his state of being. "Murdered" was calling out even more loudly. It was everywhere. She could see it in black ink dripping off of his forehead, on his lips where the stitches across his mouth formed the word "Murderer", on his cheeks as an engraving that was fresh and bleeding, on his clothes which were torn and tattered with "Murderer" showing through the tears on his chest.

"At 9:30 PM, you knocked on her door. While she took the time to open the door, you put on the silencer. And when she opened the door, you shot her in the head. Not once, My Lord!" She turned to the Judge. "He shot her thrice in the head. How vile could you get?" she hissed at the murderer.

He finally spoke, surprising her. "How do you know it's my gun?"

She smiled and cocked her head to one side. She walked to her table and picked up a plastic bag. In it was one of the most beautiful revolvers anyone had ever laid their eyes on. All silver, with gold engraving.

"Lucky for me, you're predictable. I knew that after you would've shot your wife, in a hurry, you would go to the banks of the Thames and bury the gun there, since your wife lived so close to the river. It was a little hard to detect the gun, because wet soil is everywhere. But that's what metal detectors are for. We found the gun and to answer your question, at first we didn't know whether it was yours or not. But then I noticed this," she turned the gun to the show the underside of the handle. There were two initials.

"Initials of the maker," she clarified. "We tracked him down and he, too," she said with child-like excitement, "keeps records! You rich people. Getting your things made by known makers. He told me you were the owner of this gun." She went to the table again and took a paper. She handed that paper to the Judge.

She looked at Mr Turpin again. The sound of "Murderer" was becoming more loud. She was so close. "And my last evidence." She went to the table and picked up something small. She hid it behind her back and walked up to Mr Turpin and said, "Mr Turpin, if you were on the other side of town in a bar having a drink, how did your driver's license end up underneath the store-room door of your ex-wife's house?" She showed the license with a flourish of her hand.

Mr Turpin, almost in tears, looked at his final mistake and lost all hope. She moved in close and almost hissed through gritted teeth, "There's no point denying it. Don't tell me you forget it before. It fell as you shot your ex-wife dead. Just accept your crime and finish this off. I need to get away from you."

He considered what she said. She had proven everything. There was no point denying. And so he said through sobs of guilt, "I killed her! I killed her, okay! I lost my children because of her! She had to pay!"

"The prosecutor rests, My Lord," she said and returned to her seat. The Judge said his sentence, "Mr Alex Turpin. For the heinous act of the murder of your ex-wife and in the process, making your own children motherless, I sentence you to 30 years of imprisonment. You cannot be released on bail. Let these days pass by with you thinking about your actions and how they've affected no one else, but your own blood. The court is adjourned."

She stood up and started picking up her stuff and her purse. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned around to see the three children standing behind her, tears surrounding a wide smile on each face. "Thank you," the boy – the eldest – said. "We feel sad that our father did such a thing, but he deserves his punishment." She smiled at his bravery and ran a hand through his swooping honey-blonde locks. "It's okay. Anything you need in future, just ring me, okay?" With a comforting smile, she ruffled the youngest daughter's hair and started walking towards the exit.

Just then, the boy called out. "Ma'am!" She turned around almost instantly at the sound of the boy's voice. "We don't know your first name, Ms Davidson!"

She smiled and said, "It's Sigyn."