False Witness by Dexter Dias Page B

not?”
    “Possibly,” said Davenport who was all at sea without Justine to prompt him. She was still outside.
    The judge huffed mightily and moved her wig toward the space where her eyebrows should have been. “What do you say, Mr. Fawley?”
     She always pronounced my name, Folly. I never really decided whether it was deliberate or not.
    “In my submission, the defendant should be admitted to bail pending the retrial.”
    “And when is the retrial to be?”
    “In two weeks,” I said. “Or so the list office says.”
    Hilary was unimpressed. “Hasn’t Kingsley been convicted of a number of sexual offenses?”
    “He pleaded guilty,” I said.
    “Perpetrated on young girls?”
    “He’s spent a year in custody.”
    “And he still faces murder?”
    “The evidence is weak.”
    “And he’s confessed?”
    “He is presumed innocent, Your Honor.” I tried once more. If Kingsley was granted bail, he might have absconded before the
     retrial and I would be free of the case. “This prosecution is very dubious.”
    “So is your submission, Mr. Folly.” Hardcastle’s tongue was her sword and she ensured it did not rust. She lacked the art
     of conversation but, sadly, not the power of speech.
    “My client is a man of good character,” I said.
    “
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good character,” she snapped back. Her eyes flared, the lids palpitated.
    I was angry at myself for giving her such an easy opportunity to score.
    “Bail is refused,” she said.
    “But I haven’t finished—”
    “Yes, you have,” she said with her wig overhanging her face like a jagged rock.
    I braced myself for a final assault. “One witness disappeared yesterday—”
    “Sit down, Mr. Folly.”
    “The other has lost her—”
    “You have been warned.”
    “The forensics are inconclusive.”
    “Bail is
refused
,” she said. There was now little forehead between her wig and her eyes.
    Emma got up beside me. “Your Honor, we are all a little upset.”
    “I’m sure we all admired Mr. Justice Manly,” the judge said. But Leonard once told me over a pint of northern bitter that
     Hardcastle resented a black man, such as Ignatius Manly, being elevated to the High Court Bench ahead of her. His death would
     do nothing but advance her ambitions. “Yes, Miss Sharpe, we all admired Judge Manly,” she continued. “But common decency does
     not fly out of the window at times such as these.”
    “No, Your Honor,” said Emma, trying to elbow me into my seat.
    “Thank you, Miss Sharpe.” Hardcastle blinked several times. Her wispy eyelashes were almost invisible. “Bail is refused.”
    From the corner of my eye, I could see Justine talking to Inspector Payne by the back door. “I wish to be heard,” I said.
    “But I do not wish to listen.” Hardcastle enjoyed that.
    “This is outrageous,” I said, waving one of Emma’s pens melodramatically.
    “Not another word from you, Mr. Folly.”
    “It is disgraceful.”
    “Sit down.”
    “I haven’t had the opportunity to—”
    “This is your last warning.”
    “I have a right—”
    “You’ll have the right to be represented by counsel before the conduct committee, if you continue.”
    “But I—”
    “And stop pointing that pen at me.”
    “But
you
,” I said, aiming the nib somewhere between her dilating pupils, “but you haven’t had the courtesy to listen to all my arguments.”
    Hardcastle raised her nose and peered down at me coldly. “You will be reported,” she said.
    “I’ve been in far higher courts than this and my conduct has never been criticized,” I replied.
    “Perhaps you weren’t impertinent there,” Hardcastle said.
    “Perhaps I had no need to be.”
    Justine had by then come back into court with Payne. She conferred with Davenport, her eyes red and puffy. He stumbled to
     his feet holding something that was obscured by his gown.
    “Your Honor,” he said, “this was found in the defendant’s cell while he was up here in court.” Davenport passed me a