Wanted
Prologue
“May the defendant please stand”
The judges voice was deep and loud, he spoken with a somewhat certain authority. This was a man who was clearly more than comfortable with being the figure which everyone obeyed, as his gaze fell over the jury, those with a more experienced eye could see the fear run through them and the trembling of their hands. Even those who knew nothing of the court or indeed the judge could have seen the colour drain from the jurors faces.
“Does the Jury have its verdict?”
A small man who could best, if not only, be described as timid stood, faced the judge and spoke loudly, a credited attempt to hide the quiver in his voice. “We do your honour”
“What say you?”
“In the case of Ridley Chaucer Vs the people of New York, on a charge of 1st degree murder, we find the defendant” A moments pause, one long enough to convince Ridley he was on one of those shows, he stifled a laugh, fear it would seem inappropriate “guilty.”
He did not cry, nor smile, he did not feel numb, happy or sad. Despite all he had been told, Ridley did not feel everything drain away. He smiled politely to the guard and almost didn’t hear his lawyers cliché as he called ‘We’ll try for appeal, don’t worry.’ Ridley Chaucer had known, he was no fool, only the dumbest of people would have expected to walk out of that court room with any other verdict, he smiled to the judge with a look which said it all. His family would not be harmed, but he knew before Ridley left the court room. This would be the last case he would ever witness, and this would be the one sentence he never made.
The judges voice was deep and loud, he spoken with a somewhat certain authority. This was a man who was clearly more than comfortable with being the figure which everyone obeyed, as his gaze fell over the jury, those with a more experienced eye could see the fear run through them and the trembling of their hands. Even those who knew nothing of the court or indeed the judge could have seen the colour drain from the jurors faces.
“Does the Jury have its verdict?”
A small man who could best, if not only, be described as timid stood, faced the judge and spoke loudly, a credited attempt to hide the quiver in his voice. “We do your honour”
“What say you?”
“In the case of Ridley Chaucer Vs the people of New York, on a charge of 1st degree murder, we find the defendant” A moments pause, one long enough to convince Ridley he was on one of those shows, he stifled a laugh, fear it would seem inappropriate “guilty.”
He did not cry, nor smile, he did not feel numb, happy or sad. Despite all he had been told, Ridley did not feel everything drain away. He smiled politely to the guard and almost didn’t hear his lawyers cliché as he called ‘We’ll try for appeal, don’t worry.’ Ridley Chaucer had known, he was no fool, only the dumbest of people would have expected to walk out of that court room with any other verdict, he smiled to the judge with a look which said it all. His family would not be harmed, but he knew before Ridley left the court room. This would be the last case he would ever witness, and this would be the one sentence he never made.