Authors: Gabriel Boutros
“Bobby. It’s so good to see you again,” he said in a slightly British accent. He gave Bratt a firm handshake and a squeeze on the arm, which were the extent of the displays of affection that he allowed himself toward other men.
“Good to see you again, sir.”
The senator directed Bratt to one of the deep sofas next to the fire, then headed straight to the well-stocked bar.
“Something to warm you up?”
“Yes, please. Whatever you’re having.”
“Some brandy, perhaps? Your father, God rest his soul, was always fond of a snifter on these cold winter evenings.”
“
Yes. My mother often mentioned that,” Bratt answered none too warmly.
Madsen paused as he poured the drinks, his eyes briefly getting misty, before coming back to himself with a shake of his head.
“He was a fine man, your father,” he said, clearing his throat. “Despite it all.”
“Yes sir,” Bratt replied, not nearly meaning it, and feeling a little embarrassed at witnessing Madsen’s momentary emotional lapse.
“Well, enough of that. I didn’t ask you to come here so that we can act like a couple of weepy old women. There’s some news you need to hear.”
This must be the “particularly pleasurable” part he had mentioned,
Bratt thought, taking his drink from Madsen while hiding all outward signs of curiosity.
“I understand you applied for the opening on the Superior Court last year,” Madsen said, straight to the point, as always.
Bratt sat up in surprise. “That’s supposed to be confidential.”
“Of course it is, Robert. I’d never mention it to anybody else.”
That didn’t tell Bratt how the senator had heard about it, but he supposed the man had his connections.
“The selections take so long before they’re announced,” Bratt said, “I pushed it to the back of my mind. I applied when I heard Mike Dickson was stepping down. His kidneys are shot, I think, and the timing seemed just right for me.”
“And timing is everything, because since Dickson retired they’ll want another Anglo to replace him in Quebec City.”
Bratt felt his pulse quicken at the news. He didn’t want to jump the gun, but what Madsen was saying was obvious: they were going to make him a judge! For just a moment all memories of seeing Jeannie in the prisoner’s dock were pushed aside.
“The Judicial Selection Committee has a list of likely candidates, of course,” Madsen continued. “And it has come to my attention that your name is number one-A on it.”
“One-A? Is there a one-B, then?”
“Allen Schneider; with Roux, Perreault.”
“Oh,” Bratt said, trying to hide his disappointment at learning there was a strong rival for the
appointment. “I know who he is. Does mostly family law.”
“That’s him. They haven’t really decided if they need another criminal man on the bench or not. Not many English jury trials in Quebec City these days. Still, it wouldn’t look good if they didn’t have any English-speaking judges for the criminal side out there, would it?”
Bratt took a deep breath in order to keep his thoughts rational and his voice calm.
“So, what’s their next step?”
“They’re going to give their recommendation to the minister next month. So don’t do anything stupid the next few weeks.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my nose clean.”
“Of course you will, Bobby. I wasn’t really worried. Tell me, are you working on anything interesting right now?”
“A murder case. Double murder, actually.”
“
Double
murder, eh? Sounds gruesome. Your client, not some sort of society big-wig, by any chance?”
“No, nothing like that. A working class kid; maybe in a street gang.”
“Street gang? Dear Lord, Robert, the people you represent!”
Bratt couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m sorry, Senator. Westmount doesn’t have a monopoly on criminals.”
Madsen grunted, obviously not appreciating the joke. “Well, I guess your clientele hasn’t been held against you, or they wouldn’t even be considering you for the position. You think you’re going to win this one?”
“The kid’s in tough, but I’ll certainly give it my best.”
“Give it more than your best, my boy. You never know what’ll tip the scales in your
favor when it’s time for them to make a selection. Better to win it, and win it brilliantly. Believe me, you’ll leave that Schneider fellow in your dust, if you do.”
“I’ve had a twenty-year career. Is this one case going to make such a difference?”
“It sounds shocking, but it just might. It’s all such a show now, you know, especially political appointments. Everything’s slanted for the media, and the papers don’t care who you are or what you’ve done in the past. It’s all ‘what have you done for me lately.’”
“I’ve done a lot of work for the Party…”
“Much appreciated, you can be sure, Robert. But so has Schneider. All things being equal, and they really are between you two, you don’t want to have them make their pick just after you’ve blown a murder case. Everyone loves a winner, especially politicians.”
Bratt looked down at his drink, unhappy that the Small case could have any kind of role to play in his future. He wondered if he could muster up enough enthusiasm to win it, especially with the sorry excuses for alibi witnesses he’d met so far. He gulped down a bit too much of his drink, burning his throat as he did so and setting off a series of jagged coughs.
Shit,
he thought, as his eyes watered and Madsen came forward to vigorously slap his back.
This trial’s like some sort of a curse on me
.
His coughing finally began to subside and Maria appeared seemingly out of thin air, a glass of water for him in her hand. He reached for it gratefully and drank slowly, cooling his throat and being careful not to choke again.
“Of course, Bobby, you’ve got to do more than worry about your own image,” Madsen continued. “Any, how shall I put this delicately, ‘family scandals’ could damage your chances.”
Bratt honestly had no idea what he meant. “Family scandals?”
“Dear boy, I’m referring to Jeannie’s arrest. It’s put your name on the radio all day long.”
The memory of Jeannie in court that morning came rushing back to Bratt’s mind, accompanied with not a little feeling of shame at his having replaced it with thoughts of his career ambitions.
“Of course, it’s not a big deal for you now,” Madsen said. “Just a little embarrassment you can laugh off at the office. But the Committee might not like it in a candidate for the bench. Naturally, if she were to be acquitted, all a big mistake, something like that, then they probably wouldn’t hold it against you.”
Great, now I’m supposed to worry about how her arrest affects my future, instead of hers,
Bratt thought.
I wonder what she would think of that.
“Well, there’s no way she’ll have her trial before the Committee makes its choice,” he said. “
The court dates are months away, if not longer, so there’s not much I can do.”
“No, no, I guess not. Hmm.” Madsen pondered the situation for a minute before speaking again.
“Nothing to be done about it, I suppose. If you’re ever quoted on it you just say that you’re behind her one hundred percent, you’ve always been very proud of her, that sort of thing.”
That’s a relief,
Bratt thought, relaxing the neck muscles that had involuntarily tensed.
For a while there I thought he was going to suggest I disown her.
Madsen took no notice of Bratt’s discomfort. He returned to the bar and began refilling Bratt’s glass.
“Here,” he said, “try not to choke on this one.”
Bratt took the glass, but only looked into it.
“I’ll be more careful, sir.”
Madsen stood over him and allowed himself another emotional display by squeezing Bratt’s shoulder.
“You know Bobby, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you. And proud, too.”
Bratt looked up and tried to smile appreciatively, squeezing the older man’s hand in thanks.
Madsen came around and sat on the sofa across from him
“I only hope you won’t miss your clients too much,” he teased. “You realize you won’t be
dealing with any more of those upstanding citizens like your double-murderer.”
“No sir, I guess I won’t,” Bratt answered in a slightly surprised tone. He hadn’t really thought about that part of the equation. He would no longer be at the beck and call of people like Marlon Small. Murderers and rapists would no longer be calling him at all hours of the night.
Better than that, he’d no longer have to twist and torture the truth each day in order to get a guilty client off. Whatever second thoughts he’d had about his work lately, being named a judge could solve his problems.
Funny,
he thought.
Until about a week ago, it never occurred to me that what I was doing was so terrible. From the perspective of a future judge, though, nothing would be better than washing my hands of my criminal clientele once and for all. And Jeannie would sure be happy about that.
Bratt swished the amber liquid around in the glass, almost forgetting about Madsen’s presence as he became wrapped up in his thoughts. Getting named to the bench had been something he’d hoped for, even if only as a vague future ambition, for a long time now. But he had never imagined that reconciling with his daughter would be a major side benefit.
Still, as much as he had wanted this, something was holding him back from the elation he should have felt at the news.
This is what I’ve wanted for the longest time,
he told himself,
but the timing isn’t very good at all. I’ve got to worry about looking good in a trial I regret taking on, and even “winning it brilliantly,” as if just winning it weren’t going to be hard enough. Plus, Jeannie’s life has suddenly become other people’s business. She’s not going to be too happy about that. Even the best news comes with strings attached.
Early the next afternoon Bratt and Kouri were back at the R.D.P. detention center. He had told nobody about his visit with Madsen the night before, although he knew he’d have to speak to his partner about it sooner, rather than later.
As he sat in the interview room, Bratt wondered if the seat on the Superior Court was really going to hinge on winning the Small trial. If so, what could he do to turn this losing case into a winner?
“I don’t think he’s going to like what you have to tell him,” Kouri said, breaking the silence.
Bratt’s mind had been drifting, and he didn’t catch Kouri’s meaning.
“Small,” Kouri went on. “He seemed to have put a lot of faith in those two friends of his, and he won’t be happy when you tell him that neither one is going to testify.”
“Well, he insists he was with a lot of people in that park, so he’s going to have to find a few others who can testify, and fast.”
“I know, barely two weeks until the trial.”
“Faster than that even. Lynn Sévigny was supposed to give in her list of alibi witnesses
before she got sick. I gotta meet Parent this afternoon to beg for more time.”
They were interrupted by the noise of metal sliding on metal, as the door on the prisoner’s side opened and Marlon Small walked in. He was dressed in the same clothes as the last time they had met, and Bratt hoped he was at least familiar with the prison laundry.
Small gave no words of greeting, but sat with his usual surly expression. Bratt assumed that Parker and Clayton had informed him of how their interviews had gone.
“Marlon, I’m afraid those two witnesses you gave us were less than overwhelming.”
Small sat staring at them through the smudged glass partition, as if he was waiting for Bratt to explain himself, but Bratt had decided that the ball was in his client’s court.
Finally, Small spoke up. “They’re a bit light in the brains department. That ain’t their fault.”
“I don’t begrudge them their lack of brains,” Bratt said, “just their lack of honesty.”
“What’s your problem with their honesty?”
“Well, they seem to have misplaced it on the way to my office.”
Small’s expression became even surlier than before.
“I don’t like the way you say that, like you think you’re funny. My friends ain’t lyin’.”
Bratt paused before answering. He knew that antagonizing his client wasn’t going to do either one of them any good, however much he may have enjoyed it. He’d have to keep his tongue in check and show Small that he was just trying to be objective for the good of their case.
“OK, sorry for the sarcasm. The problem is you’ve got one witness who gets confused by the simplest questions, and another one who’s a born liar. I’m a defense attorney and it’s second nature for me to give everybody the benefit of the doubt, but that was almost impossible to do here. If
I
think your buddies are bullshitting, what do you think a jury is going to think?”