The Pinocchio Brief

by Silver Abi

  “Wait a moment, Mr Arkwright. I take your point on the physical defects, Miss Burton please move away from that line, but I am interested in Miss Burton’s line of questioning more generally. We are here trying to explain the reason for the results of the accused’s test and, so far, Dr Winter has not put forward any cogent explanation.”

  “Yes, Your Honour. I am grateful,” Judith replied. “Just to complete my point, of course Botox does affect the muscles in the face and how they move. But as Your Honour has directed, were all the volunteers English-speaking?”

  “Yes.”

  “To be clear, did you test anyone whose first language was not English, however fluent they might have been?”

  “No. Not to my knowledge.”

  “What ethnic background were your volunteers?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. The volunteers were asked to complete questionnaires but only 25% did, the rest left the questions regarding origin blank. The tests I reviewed myself were of almost exclusively white volunteers, Caucasian. However, I believe that is Mr Maynard’s background.”

  “Thank you, Dr Winter. You are here to answer the questions to assist the court, not to indulge in legal argument. Your Honour, I believe I have hammered my point home, which is that this product, this truth-seeking missile, has been foisted on the public and the judiciary with limited testing and no regard for individual quirks or peculiarities or illnesses or disabilities. It has been lauded as a saviour, as a one-test-fits-all. But just like a more conventional missile, whilst it may achieve its objective most of the time, sometimes it strays far from target and there is always lots of ‘collateral damage’.

  “Far be it from me to stand in the way of technology or technological advancements which make our professional lives easier and help find truth from dust. But given Dr Winter’s admissions regarding the limited testing of his software, predominantly on white males with no or no known disabilities, even on the law binding you today, Your Honour could find sufficient to distance himself from the Pinocchio results.”

  Judith lowered her head and allowed herself a moment to take a long draught of water. All the time Dr Winter stood quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “Just to complete my submissions, I have one more point to make only. Dr Winter, in opening you said that no one could beat Pinocchio. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to qualify that pronouncement in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Are you seriously saying that, with the people you questioned, the interviews you reviewed, there was never one where you had any doubts, never one you had to put to one side?”

  Greg drummed his fingers on the lectern, a muscle in his cheek tightened and he turned to the judge.

  “There were cases we distinguished,” he replied. “Not many. A few.”

  Judith almost held her breath.

  “Go on,” she entreated.

  This was the moment. This was when he could unmask her if he wished. He could tell the world that she was part of the “we”. She had helped him catalogue Pinocchio’s successes and failures. Greg paused once more and looked at Mr Arkwright, who was fidgeting on the edge of his seat.

  “Occasionally, the Pinocchio results were inconsistent,” he continued, “but those occasions were extreme ones only. For example, when a person was crying persistently or shaking uncontrollably – that kind of thing.”

  “So there were occasions during your testing when you found that the software was of no value?”

  “Very rare ones, but, yes.”

  “And the Government, when approving this software, knew about those ‘rare occasions’?”

  Now Greg looked sad for the first time but he continued in an even tone.

  “The decision was taken that, even with those few inconsistencies, the software was valid and it was appropriate to use it. Look, with the greatest respect to everyone here today, it was considered that lawyers, judges, juries – they are not 100% accurate either. They are not ‘infallible’. Pinocchio is far more reliable than humans.”

  “So what you are saying then, I believe, Dr Winter, is that these few ‘inconsistencies’ as you call them, including, for example, a person who is so terrified that their movements in the witness box become erratic and perhaps like my client, Raymond Maynard; those ‘inconsistencies’ are to be sacrificed for the greater good. Thank you, Dr Winter. No further questions.”

  ***

  “WELL, I finally get to see you in action, but I’m at the receiving end.” Greg was waiting outside court for Judith as the morning drew to an end, Judge Blake having adjourned matters over lunch without ruling further on the use of Pinocchio. She studied his face closely. He really was well preserved, maybe thinner than before and with less hair around the edges, but no other noticeable changes.

  “Hello Greg. I am sorry if I laid into you a bit.”

  “Your job, isn’t it?” he replied quietly. “And I think I handled myself fairly well.”

  “Yes, you did. I think you were probably the most honest expert witness I have examined, as far as I can remember. In fact, I think you are probably the most honest person I know.”

  He threw back his head and guffawed. “Steady on, Judith. Well, I suppose that is a fantastic strapline for me, as CEO of Geppetto Inc. Can I quote you on it? Although given that you spend the majority of your time with either lawyers or criminals, I am not sure I should be so impressed.” Judith smiled now. She had forgotten how Greg’s countenance could light up a room.

  “Will this affect you badly?”

  “Yep, in the short term. Our share price will dip but it’ll recover. Although, perversely, I’m told there is no such thing as ‘bad publicity’ so who knows? And despite the company name – I hated, it by the way, but the Americans love it – this isn’t the largest part of the business. It’s one of a number of products we are developing.”

  “Ah yes. You were always more interested in the voyeuristic side of things.”

  “Well, funny you should mention it, but it’s been in the press – you might have seen – we are about to launch a Truth App for public consumption.”

  “A Truth App?”

  “Yes. Nifty little thing. We’re calling it Trixter. Works through your camera on your mobile, as long as you have a fairly up to date model. You just point it in the direction of the person who’s talking and then you know whether they’re telling you porkies or not. That should restore our fortunes pretty quickly and more.”

  “Gosh. Sounds like you have really hit the big time with this one.”

  “It looks like it. But, you know, I never wanted to use Pinocchio for the serious stuff. Somehow it all got pushed too far and too fast. I got pushed too fast. Perhaps it’s because you left me to fend for myself.”

  He paused and politely looked away. Judith shook her head.

  “I had warned you not to expect too much from a machine.”

  “Is that really all you have to say?” Greg enquired gently, but with considerable reproach in his tone.

  “I must go,” Judith replied quietly. “I have to prepare for this afternoon.”

  Greg nodded once, as he picked up his case and raised one hand to loosen his tie.

  “Of course you do. Always busy. On to pulverise the next victim. Do you ever rest?” He waited but Judith’s response was the saddest of smiles.

  Greg turned and walked briskly away. Once she was certain that he had gone, Judith placed her hand in her pocket and drew out the package she had buried there before the trial began. Carefully she rolled it over in her palm to unwrap its contents. A slightly tarnished Pinocchio lay sprawled in ungainly fashion in her hand. She allowed her fingers to close around him, then she ran towards the exit to get some fresh air.

  40

  JUDITH WAS exhausted, physically and mentally. She positioned her chair against the wall of the tiny conference room she had commissioned at court and allowed her head to roll back and
be supported. She wanted to sleep but she knew that the second she allowed herself to drift off, the day’s events would flicker into life and dance before her eyes, every colour made bolder, every sound amplified.

  Constance entered quietly, Judith hardly acknowledging her arrival.

  “I heard we’ve adjourned for Blake to decide on Pinocchio.” Judith inclined her head gently forward but didn’t respond. “Did it go well with the expert, with Dr Winter?” Constance added hopefully.

  “Passably,” Judith replied with little enthusiasm, her thoughts elsewhere.

  “What do you think Blake will say then?” Constance enquired gently, concerned at how worn out and despondent Judith appeared.

  “All things being equal, Dr Winter has given him a clear path to reject it, for this boy on this occasion. But whether he’s the kind of judge to put his head above the parapet – who knows? And Greg Winter told him, £2 billion in savings. Oh, I should never have let him talk about money.”

  She unbuttoned her collar and allowed it to fall to her lap. Constance drew her chair near to Judith, her tablet in her hand. Judith spied the movement and rolled her head away.

  “Oh Connie, not now,” she murmured. “I can’t bear any more technology at this moment.”

  Constance’s shoulders heaved, then her breathing grew loud and heavy and then she turned on Judith with tremendous anger flaming in her cheeks.

  “Yes you can,” she replied furiously. “You told me we work together, right? Do you remember that? You said that. And you also said that my skills would someday come into their own. You said that too, remember?”

  Judith nodded wearily.

  “So I wanted to tell you yesterday when I was nearly there, but you wouldn’t listen then. You were too busy rowing with our client. So I took it forward alone, but now it’s your last chance to listen. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking about Raymond. You have to see this and you have to see it now, because I know who killed Roger Davis.”

  41

  JUDITH SAT in court with an enormous feeling of anticipation. Only she and Constance knew what was to happen next. She could not risk taking anyone else into their confidence. She tried not to grin, although she felt curiously elated. Constance was absent, again, and she keenly felt the loss of support, although this time it was to perform her part of their hastily choreographed routine.

  Ray appeared as he had done that morning, neat and calm. Their tête-à-tête of yesterday evening had not noticeably had any effect on him. Arkwright was on guard, she could tell. It was the first time since the trial began that he had arrived before her and spent time studying the papers. The judge was late, which was both worrying and at the same time heartening. Judith hoped against hope that he was engaged in a lengthy discussion with his seniors on the topic of Pinocchio and its vanquishing. The papers were clearly already on her side. The Sun had proclaimed in its first edition:“Pino-chi – NO! NO! NO!” The Times: “Rough justice: government-backed software flunks the test.”

  The people gathered in the courtroom grew restless as the minutes passed. Judith rehearsed once more her address to the judge. Ray remained motionless and serene. Twenty minutes passed by and Judith suddenly had an idea of how to salvage something for Greg out of the wreckage, without giving too much away.

  The court rose for Judge Blake. He entered with the air of a man severely distracted and, as he settled himself in his seat, he deliberately averted his eyes from Judith. Evidently, the decision he was about to impart was not welcome to him, although it was not possible to determine, for certain, which way it would fall.

  Judith stood up stiffly and coughed to attract his attention. She glanced from the judge to Ray, to Mrs Maynard, seated once more in the public gallery, to the line of boys from Raymond’s year seated upstairs, now advanced onto the front row, to the journalists and the court reporter and to the IT operator of Pinocchio.

  “Your Honour. The defence is prepared to withdraw its application for the Pinocchio software to be excluded,” she announced loudly, to a cacophony of protest from all around.

  Judge Blake appeared startled for the first time in his career and as the noises continued he banged his hand down hard.

  “Really, Miss Burton. What are you proposing regarding the accused, then?” he asked with considerable curiosity.

  “The reason I am prepared to withdraw the application, Your Honour, is, as I said yesterday, because I have new evidence. I should very much like the court’s indulgence to interpose my new witness now into the proceedings. It may well have the effect of truncating matters considerably.”

  Judge Blake nodded once, enormously relieved that he was not being called upon to denounce Pinocchio after all, although secretly wondering if Judith was slightly deranged.

  “Very well. Continue.”

  “Thank you. Your Honour, the defence calls Andrew Partram.”

  There were mutterings and murmurings of varying intensities as the school boys nudged each other and called out and generally disrupted matters before the judge called the court to silence. No one rose or approached the stand.

  “Miss Burton. Where is your witness, please?”

  Judith nodded gently and courteously in the direction of the Richmond school boys and Andrew Partram, situated in the centre of the row, stood up hesitantly and raised his hand.

  “Ah. I see. You are Mr Partram. Can you come this way and enter the witness box, please?”

  Andrew Partram pushed past the astonished onlookers, down the stairs and, with some considerable awkwardness, took the stand. He was a tall boy, with brown curly hair, well over six feet and broad to match. Arkwright coughed impatiently but Judith was in no hurry, not least because Constance had not yet returned and she wanted to set things up perfectly. She allowed herself the luxury of a glance in Raymond’s direction. He sat as still as stone, the tips of his fingers touching lightly, his gaze on some far away land.

  “Please state your name.”

  “Andrew Partram.”

  “And your age.”

  “Fifteen.”

  Partram spoke clearly and confidently but the smile at the corners of his mouth implied some level of embarrassment. When his face was viewed in repose, as on the many occasions that week when Judith had examined him from afar, he could certainly pass for handsome, with his high cheekbones and full lips. But as soon as he engaged, either silently or by speaking, his features were somehow compressed to give him a callous air.

  “Mr Partram. Please speak clearly for the judge and let me know if you don’t understand any of my questions; otherwise the court should be grateful if you would answer them. Mr Partram, you are in the same class as my client, Raymond Maynard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are also in the same house, that was Mr Davis’ house.”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you and my client friends?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  A shrug. “No reason. We just don’t like the same things, I suppose. I don’t have to be friends with everyone.”

  “No, of course not. What things does Raymond like?”

  “Well. He likes maths and science. He’s very good at them. He once, well, he once beat the teacher in a test.”

  “Wow. So he is a very bright boy?”

  “Yeah, I mean yes.”

  “And what things do you like?”

  “Well, I like sport. I can do the other stuff but, well, I would rather be doing sport.”

  “All the time?”

  “Yeah, if I could. All the time.”

  He laughed nervously and sought out his friends with his eyes, who laughed robustly in support.

  “So you don’t want to go to university, then?”

  A flicker. He had not expected that question, so removed from the matters in hand. And he had no idea how best to reply to advance his own case. He stared around the room, wildly seeking out some assistance from any source.

  Slowly, Mr Ark
wright, taking on the reluctant mantle of Partram’s protector, rose to his feet.

  “Your Honour, I hardly think this is relevant.”

  The Judge pushed his glasses down his nose and peered at Judith over the top.

  “Miss Burton. Convince me this is necessary?”

  “Yes, Your Honour. I will develop the point quickly.”

  “Good. Go on then.”

  “Mr Partram. You were saying that you like sport better than ‘the other stuff’. I will ask you again, is it correct that you do not intend to apply for university at the end of next year?”

  “Well, it sort of depends.”

  “Really. Can you tell us what it depends upon?”

  There was a long pause. Then Partram’s shoulders relaxed and he looked squarely at Judith.

  “Well, on whether my grades are good enough, or maybe I get scouted by a rugby team first. I didn’t do so well in my exams but Mr Davis was encouraging me to do better. In fact, he believed in me when some of the other teachers didn’t.”

  Oh, what a whopping huge lie. Judith could see it so clearly from her vantage point. How brazen. But this boy was not sufficiently clever to carry it off; brave, but he lacked foresight. He would be fine in the army, she surmised, taking orders, but he could not see how easily he could be unmasked. And he did not know how thorough Judith had been with her research, how wide she had cast the net – just in case.

  “Mr Partram. I have here your last school report. Can the usher hand Mr Partram a copy? Your Honour, I took the liberty of inserting it just before court, at page 34A to J of your bundle. Thank you. Please turn to the penultimate page; it’s numbered 4 on the internal pagination. You have it? Can you read out to the court what it says please in the section ‘house master’s report’.”

  Another pause.

  “Mr Partram. Do you have it? It begins ‘Andrew is lacking…’”

  “Your Honour. Where is this going? Andrew Partram is not on trial here.”

  The judge waved his hand at Arkwright to be seated as he removed his glasses and observed Partram with care. Partram allowed himself a brief scratch behind his right ear and he fingered the lobe twice for moral support. Then he began to read.