of man. Woe betide you if you do. William has known it happen. There have been police officers; ambitious, zealous, eager to pursue corruption where suspected. Mysterious things happened to them; they could find themselves disgraced, destroyed: a career broken.
He felt pretty sure, now, that what happened to Ray Valdez was along these lines. But a physical attack – that was uncharacteristic. More likely would be some massive smear upon a reputation. Upon a doctor, some accusation difficult to disprove; that he dealt in drugs, illegal abortions… Smashing him up seemed oddly crude. But Janine had been given a huge fright. That might be the idea. Careful, girl. Getting the nose broken – could happen to you.
You find something out, and you reach a barrier, telling you that you aren’t getting any further. When this happens you think about it, and perhaps you find out what your friends think about it.
Bernadette and Albert Martin are good friends. Of good counsel, and so they should be, since she is a judge and he is an accountant of whom people say, ‘Shrewd you know, a long-headed chap.’
An investigating magistrate does not preside over a tribunal but is next door. Their job is to decide whether there is a case to answer: it is the first and perhaps the most important filter in the judicial process. They can be very good; and sometimes they are very bad. The young ones have often clean shining ideals about law and justice. ‘In such a world as this’ she says after twenty-five years of experience ‘an idealist – perhaps it’s only a sentimentalist – must be stoned to death’.
“Oh my dear boy…” Those famous words, that judgment be justice, administered ‘without fear or favour’… “I could dine outfor a year, on what I hear in a week.” The obligation to secrecy, and the Palais leaks like a sieve. The private lives of the Bench! The police, undermanned and undertrained. And as for lawyers… “Principles of good and evil are totally irrelevant. I am there to serve the Law. God asks of us to do our daily work; everything else is sentiment.” To suggest cynicism would be ludicrous. Instructing judges are mostly firm believers in sending people to prison while awaiting trial, often for months on end. Keeps them safe and cools their heels. An admission of guilt will come the readier. It is notorious around the Palais that Madame Martin never sends anybody to prison if she can possibly help it.
In Strasbourg there’s a smack, still, of the independent mind. Betimes French and betimes German, and people have never taken kindly to either. As though a faint memory persists of being a free-imperial-city, tyrannized by bishops, distressed by local nobilities, periodically besieged-burned-plundered by warlords, remaining bloodyminded. Here you find the ‘Steckelburger’, an old boy with a stick and a funny hat, who stumps about poking his nose into everything and complaining about it. He knows where the beer is best and the tarte-flambée ;he is scathing about the municipal authority and the football team. Albert is imbued with this antique civic spirit.
‘My young friend,’ he calls William.
For the young man has remarkable qualities. A great pity to see him at a loose end like this. Police officers are hopeless intriguers and many are crooks. But the Protection Service was élite material. One had little respect for their masters – politicians! – but plenty for those who looked after them. Ideals, devotion: shocking to see that go to waste. This wife – frivolous and irresponsible young woman. Illness is a dreadful misfortune to a young man in splendid physical condition. One may hope: Rupprecht is well known to be a good doctor. People say things like ‘avoid worry’. Just the thing to make you worry. Mr Martin fulminates against many things which worry him. This is a dreadful country. What have we done to deserve it?
“I know some prosecutors,” said Bernadette pouring herself a
He felt pretty sure, now, that what happened to Ray Valdez was along these lines. But a physical attack – that was uncharacteristic. More likely would be some massive smear upon a reputation. Upon a doctor, some accusation difficult to disprove; that he dealt in drugs, illegal abortions… Smashing him up seemed oddly crude. But Janine had been given a huge fright. That might be the idea. Careful, girl. Getting the nose broken – could happen to you.
You find something out, and you reach a barrier, telling you that you aren’t getting any further. When this happens you think about it, and perhaps you find out what your friends think about it.
Bernadette and Albert Martin are good friends. Of good counsel, and so they should be, since she is a judge and he is an accountant of whom people say, ‘Shrewd you know, a long-headed chap.’
An investigating magistrate does not preside over a tribunal but is next door. Their job is to decide whether there is a case to answer: it is the first and perhaps the most important filter in the judicial process. They can be very good; and sometimes they are very bad. The young ones have often clean shining ideals about law and justice. ‘In such a world as this’ she says after twenty-five years of experience ‘an idealist – perhaps it’s only a sentimentalist – must be stoned to death’.
“Oh my dear boy…” Those famous words, that judgment be justice, administered ‘without fear or favour’… “I could dine outfor a year, on what I hear in a week.” The obligation to secrecy, and the Palais leaks like a sieve. The private lives of the Bench! The police, undermanned and undertrained. And as for lawyers… “Principles of good and evil are totally irrelevant. I am there to serve the Law. God asks of us to do our daily work; everything else is sentiment.” To suggest cynicism would be ludicrous. Instructing judges are mostly firm believers in sending people to prison while awaiting trial, often for months on end. Keeps them safe and cools their heels. An admission of guilt will come the readier. It is notorious around the Palais that Madame Martin never sends anybody to prison if she can possibly help it.
In Strasbourg there’s a smack, still, of the independent mind. Betimes French and betimes German, and people have never taken kindly to either. As though a faint memory persists of being a free-imperial-city, tyrannized by bishops, distressed by local nobilities, periodically besieged-burned-plundered by warlords, remaining bloodyminded. Here you find the ‘Steckelburger’, an old boy with a stick and a funny hat, who stumps about poking his nose into everything and complaining about it. He knows where the beer is best and the tarte-flambée ;he is scathing about the municipal authority and the football team. Albert is imbued with this antique civic spirit.
‘My young friend,’ he calls William.
For the young man has remarkable qualities. A great pity to see him at a loose end like this. Police officers are hopeless intriguers and many are crooks. But the Protection Service was élite material. One had little respect for their masters – politicians! – but plenty for those who looked after them. Ideals, devotion: shocking to see that go to waste. This wife – frivolous and irresponsible young woman. Illness is a dreadful misfortune to a young man in splendid physical condition. One may hope: Rupprecht is well known to be a good doctor. People say things like ‘avoid worry’. Just the thing to make you worry. Mr Martin fulminates against many things which worry him. This is a dreadful country. What have we done to deserve it?
“I know some prosecutors,” said Bernadette pouring herself a
Similar Books
