A PAINTED GATE
PRE-NOTE:
Kindly excuse correct the grammatical mistakes. Thanks
in advance. :-)
PART 11:
Gowtham showed no emotion when Rajeev told him that Sravya
denied it when he asked her to plead guilty. “Fine. She’ll serve a life
sentence for all I know.”
On the other hand, Vimal’s whole manner changed. A bright
confidence crept into his eyes which began to infect the judge. Judge Bhaskaran
looked more interested than he had appeared for days.
On the last morning, after several sessions with relatively
unimportant defense witnesses, Vimal came into court with a squareness to his
jaw that was remarked by everyone within eyeshot. He was pale, but not so pale
as he had been; and there was a truculence in the glance with which he swept the
courtroom that made Gowtham look thoughtful.
The summations after the short session of rebuttal testimony
had been swift. Vimal, summing up first, had made out a strong indictment
against Gowtham personally. He contended that not only had the defense
reasonably explained away all the accusations of the prosecution, but that Gowtham
had been criminally remiss in his sworn duty. Gowtham, he thundered, had suppressed
important evidence—the missing of the morphine bottle in the scene of the crime
and how it later found its way towards Gowtham’s house. It was the function of
the public prosecutor, he pointed out, not to persecute, not to hold back any
facts, but to sift for the truth. They had not been explained by the prosecution
counsel and certainly had not been connected to the defendant.
Finally, Vimal outlined the defense theory. Sravya, he said,
had obviously been framed for the murder of her boyfriend. The powers of
wealth, of social position, he cried, had picked a poor defenseless victim—the
woman who had received nothing from Jason but his love. Someone was offering
her up as a victim.
Starting from this, Vimal argued—in line with the fervent
discussion he had had with Vijay the night before—it was child’s play to
reconstruct the devilish frame-up. In support of his theory, he explained that
if we eliminated that the morphine bottle was from Vrunda’s bag, it would be easy
for anyone to have mixed it with anything that was consumed by Jason – even a
glass of water.
“If this defendant, my sister,” he roared, “were the
criminal, why did she use morphine? She would simply pick the weed poison or
rat poison. But the real criminal had every reason to use the morphine if he/she
were framing Sravya!”
“Furthermore, if Sravya were the criminal everything she did
was almost unbelievably stupid. Would she leave an open trail to her own gift, would
she leave impressions of her fingers in the medical kit, would she permit them
to be found, would she make doubts in others’ mind by talking about the dog,
would she make no attempt to fix an alibi for herself, would she handle the
champagne bottle without the precaution of wearing gloves? Stupid, stupid! So
stupid that its very stupidity cries out,” shouted Vimal, “her innocence. But a
man/woman framing Sravya would have every reason to leave such a plain trail!”
It was an impassioned summation, and it left a visible impression
on the judge. Vimal concluded more quietly on the note of reasonable doubt. If there
was a single member in the court, he said, who could honestly and conscientiously
declare now that there was no reasonable doubt of the defendant’s guilt . . .
He flung up his hands and sat down.
But Gowtham had the last word. He derided the “obvious”
defense theory of a frame-up . . . “the
whimper,” he said, “of every weak defense.” As for the defendant’s stupidity, he
remarked with a significant and open glance at Vijay and Indhu, any practical
criminologist knew that all criminals were stupid; it was only in books that
criminals were master-minds. This defendant, he said, was not a habitual
criminal; her motives had, as usual in the case of the vengeful woman, betrayed
her into blind actions; she had left a trail without realizing that she had
done so.
The prosecution had amply proved, he said vigorously, her
movements on the day of the crime up to its actual commission. She had been packed
the medical kit. She had been aware of the poison’s presence in the kit. She
had been cooking the food that was eaten by Jason. She had been handled the
Champagne before it was opened by Jason. This had placed the defendant, he went
on, as the criminal circumstantially. And, he pointed out, if there was any
doubt concerning the morphine bottle, it was completely and irrefutably
dispelled by her fingerprints on the food plate, champagne bottle, glasses and
the kit.
“Fingerprints,” he said ironically, “aren’t framed—except,
perhaps, in those books I mentioned.” The judge grinned. “This defendant had
her hands on that morphine bottle, I bet. The State, then, has led her to the corpse.”
That was sufficient connection, he went on, in a
circumstantial case to remove all doubt. What was the answer of the defense to
this all important question of motive? That they made out in their place the
night before! But where was the proof of this transparent story? There was not
a single witness to support her explanation. Even the video wasn’t clear enough
. . . . And when was this video taken? After it was brought out that there
was a bank account in France! Didn’t that show all the evidences of a hastily
trumped-up story to explain away a damaging fact?
“I give you my word,” said the prosecutor earnestly, “that my
heartfelt sympathy goes out to this poor young man who has so ably defended his
sister in this trial. He has toiled long and tirelessly to make the best of a bad,
bad case. We are all deeply sorry for him. But that should not sway you, my
lord, in your judgment of this case. A judge determines facts and ignores its
sympathies. You must not permit yourselves to be influenced in your verdict by
emotions which would defeat the ends of justice.” Moreover, he added dryly, the
defendant had been wholly unable to prove an alibi for the night of the crime.
His peroration was a masterpiece of shrewd persuasion. Then
he sat down, quietly rubbing his neck with a handkerchief. Judge Bhaskaran
nodded at them both and postponed the verdict after lunch.
Indhu held Vijay closer forgetting that it was court and not
a park. The summons to the Court House sobered her like a cold shower. They
left on the run.
Vimal, waiting for Sravya to be brought back into the courtroom
from the adjoining jail, carefully looked around. Then he slumped back in his
chair.
“All over but the shouting,” he sighed to Vijay. “Well . . .
I see the Karthick bunch has skipped.”
“Remarkable eyesight,” said Vijay dryly; and just then Sravya
was led in and they both became too busy for conversation. Sravya was barely
able to drag her legs to the defense table. Indhu stroked her hand while a
doctor administered restoratives, and Vijay talked to her so naturally and
easily that her eyes became almost normal again and a faint color returned to
her cheeks.
There were the inevitable delays after the lunch. Gowtham
could not be found. Then someone managed to get hold of him and he was hustled
into the courtroom. The cameramen became involved in an argument with Rajeev.
Somebody was ejected from the room. The bailiffs shouted for order.
The judge filed in at last. From the instant he saw his face Vimal
stiffened in his chair. His own face whitened. In a silence so profound that
the ticking of the big clock on the front wall was clearly audible, the foreman
of the judge arose and in an emotionless voice announced the verdict.
He had found Sravya guilty of murder in the second degree and
was sentenced to fourteen years.
Gowtham raised his hand and highfived Vaishali. Sravya
fainted. Vimal did not so much as move a finger; he seemed frozen to his chair.
To be continued. (Next one is the climax)
For previous parts, kindly check
Thanks & Regards,
Lavanyaa
Waiting for the climax, please post :)
ReplyDeleteIts such a long wait.. pls post the climax..
ReplyDeletepls post nxt part
ReplyDeleteHi Lavanyaa, Please post the next part..
ReplyDelete