A Tangled Road to Justice

by Olan Thorensen

  “Does anyone, jury member or not, have any reservations about any testimony they’ve heard?”

  Again, there were no comments.

  “In that case,” said Felzoni, “I declare the case closed. Normally, there would be a series of charges to the jury, based on what the current laws are. However, in this situation, I rule that it will simply come down to the jury deciding guilty or not guilty. The room next door is empty if the jury needs to meet and discuss the evidence in private.”

  The six jurors looked at one another. Several shrugged. Finally, Victor Halsberg spoke.

  “I think we’d like to huddle here for a minute or two to decide what we want to do next.”

  “As you wish. I’d like everyone else to stay close until the jury decides what they want to do. If you have to, there’s a restroom down the hall. Take a quick breath of fresh air, if you want, but don’t wander too far away yet. Orneel, you’re excused and may leave. You understand the conditions of secrecy still apply?”

  The hotel owner beat a hasty exit, and I wondered again what Felzoni or Bossev had done to get his testimony. Were they confident he wouldn’t go running to Cherkoff?

  Alda rose. “I’ve been holding it, but I need to pee. I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait a second, Alda,” Ashraf called out from the jury cluster. “We have decided we don’t need to meet next door.

  “Judge Felzoni, we six are agreed that there is no reason for further deliberations. There’s no doubt the two men are guilty.”

  A loud sigh came from Alfredo Landa.

  “That was a terribly quick decision,” said Felzoni. “In a case where the jury makes what seems like an instant decision, I’m obliged to inquire if they truly considered the evidence.”

  “Please, Omar, let’s don’t pretend we didn’t all think the men guilty before the testimony, which only confirmed their guilt beyond any doubts the six of us might have had.”

  Felzoni frowned, looked pensive, then nodded. “All right, but let’s be sure we all understand that you are stating that Ferantis and Neliseranda are guilty of all three charges—assault, rape, and murder?”

  The six jurors all answered yes or nodded vigorously.

  “In that case, I declare the trial over, and the two defendants are guilty of all three charges.”

  Mayor Bossev stood. “David, share your notes with Judge Felzoni, and see if you both agree on what transpired. We’ll take the notes until sentencing and then burn them. Thanks to the rest of you for what you’re doing. Now all of you please leave, except for the four of us who will determine what comes next. None of you should talk with one another until you hear from me.”

  When the last person had left and the door was closed, Bossev turned to the three of us—me, Millen, and Felzoni.

  Bossev asked, “Well, was that the easy part or the hard part? We’re claiming Ferantis and Neliseranda are guilty. Now what do we do?”

  “I suggest we agree whether the two men must be punished,” said Millen.

  Bossev frowned. “I thought we already did that.”

  “No, in effect we have said they should be punished. That’s theoretical. Are we ready to say they must be punished? If yes, then no pushing the responsibility off on someone else or claiming there’s nothing we can do.”

  “But what can we do?” asked Bossev. “If we lock them up anywhere, it will be only a matter of time before Cherkoff breaks them out, and we will have accomplished nothing and invited retaliation.”

  I’ve never been one to beat around the bush and, in this case, dally around issues that could go on indefinitely.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” I said. “The most serious crime is murder. What is the usual sentence for murder on Astrild?”

  “There is no standard for all the planet,” said Felzoni. “Different waves of immigrants, different histories of the cities and outlying regions, and lack of central authority have resulted in the whole gamut from incarceration to execution. As you might expect, the farther you get from large population centers, the more severe the punishment. For one thing, it’s the practicality—Oslo may have the population and resources to house prisoners long term, but as life becomes harder the farther out you go, people are less likely or less able to maintain prisons.

  “I was judge and mediator for the Justice area for eleven years. We had three murders during that time. Two happened in the heat of arguments. In both cases, the killers had no previous history of violence and seemed genuinely remorseful. As it happened, one man owned a farm and the other a business in town. I ruled that all their possessions be confiscated and sold, the money going to the victim’s family, in one case, and to the town, in the other, since the victim had no immediate family. The men were then taken to Oslo, released, and told never to return to Justice.”

  “So, you dumped them off on someone else,” I said.

  Felzoni shrugged. “If they weren’t judged likely to repeat and it wasn’t a deliberate act, what were we supposed to do? Besides, Oslo has never been willing to help places like Justice and has never agreed to take prisoners, so the hell with them.”

  I suppressed a smile. It was the first time the old judge had expressed emotions or hard-nosed opinions.

  “Anyway, in a third case, the man murdered the new boyfriend of an ex-wife. It was a deliberate, planned killing, and the boyfriend was tortured before he died. The killer admitted everything and showed no remorse. Everyone involved in the trial agreed that the man was likely to commit more murders. Even in a prison, he would be dangerous. With my approval, Marshal Bucher waited until after dark and took the defendant somewhere he never revealed, and we never saw the man again. We all knew the marshal had killed and buried him somewhere remote and uninhabited. Given the sparseness of the population at the time and the concentration of settlements, I assume it was somewhere east of here.

  “By unspoken agreement, no one ever inquired seriously as to the man’s fate. Bucher and I answered the few questions by saying the man was no longer a danger to anyone and would never be seen around Justice again.”

  After Felzoni’s history lesson, I could see where the decision about Ferantis and Neliseranda would go. It was Millen who grasped the precedent.

  “Using the same logic, what would we predict to be the level of future danger to other people from the two defendants?”

  Bossev took the lead. “Given the ruthlessness and callousness of the crimes, the lack of justification, and that they got away with it, even with the victim an eyewitness, there’s no reason for anyone to be deluded into thinking they won’t repeat the same or worse in the future.”

  Millen turned to Felzoni. “You have any reason to disagree, Judge?”

  “I didn’t like the outcome of the first time we invoked the death penalty, even if we tried to ignore it, and I like the current circumstances even less. At least then we had community backing. Now, it’s just the few of us usurping the right to believe we represent the best interests and wishes of the entire community. However, I didn’t see workable options in the previous case and I don’t with the one we have now. If we go this route, Millen, it obviously falls to you to carry out the sentence. I’m assuming you’re willing, or you wouldn’t have pushed us along with this.”

  Millen didn’t hesitate. “If Mr. Cole and I are to carry out the formal charge of the court, I’ll want a written declaration to that effect signed by you, Judge Felzoni, and with an endorsement signature by you, Mayor Bossev.”

  Both men were taken aback. Bossev looked like he’d eaten something he hadn’t realized was spoiled until it went down. Felzoni was stone-faced for a moment, then smiled in realization, not pleasure.

  “Caught us nicely in your net, have you, Millen?” said Felzoni. “I’ve had the sense we’re all being dragged into the open against Cherkoff, whether we want it or not.” He turned to Bossev. “I think this is the proverbial time to put up or shut up, Boril. We’ve moaned to each other for over a year about what’s happened to Ju
stice, but none of us have had the courage to stand up.”

  “Some have,” said Bossev, “and some of them disappeared or met accidental deaths or were killed by persons unknown. That’s why I, you, and others have retreated to hoping someone else would come to our rescue.”

  He looked at Millen and me. “Are you those someone elses?”

  “You can’t wait for rescue if you won’t take action yourself,” said Millen. “Everett and I can help, but only with your participation. The first step to that will be the written and signed Writ of Execution from both of you. We don’t have any intention to make the document public at this time, but I can’t guarantee it won’t come to light sometime in the future. You’ll have to take our word on this. However, we won’t act without a writ.”

  “How would you do it?” asked Felzoni.

  “That’s up to us, though I’ll tell you that we would carry out the will of the court only after getting one more piece of confirming evidence—Elena Landa identifying by sight at least one of the two men.”

  “What!” exclaimed Bossev. “You don’t expect to confront her with them, do you?”

  “It will be remote. We’ll present her with a set of photos of men’s faces. If she makes a positive ID, then we’ll proceed.”

  “And where do you expect to get pictures of Ferantis and Neliseranda?” asked Felzoni. “I doubt they’ll come into Justice and pose for you.”

  “That’s one issue. Another issue is how to find the two men. Is there any place outside Justice where they might go? That’s assuming none of Cherkoff’s men will come into town until he decides on a major move.”

  “VLK,” said Bossev.

  “The mining operation?” I asked, surprised. “Why would they be at the mine complex? I understood it has nothing to do with Cherkoff. Some sort of mutual disregard.”

  Bossev sat up in his chair, right-hand fingers drumming on the armrest. “Karl Schlottner, the VLK site manager, has stayed neutral on what’s been happening in Justice, as long as VLK’s interests are not affected. We get VLK workers coming into Justice, but Cherkoff has been careful not to ruffle Schlottner. He knows that a big interstellar company like VLK could quash him if he became their problem, so he’s been careful not to impact the mining operation.

  “However, Schlottner is not blind to what’s going on; he just doesn’t see it as his problem. To reduce the time his workers spent in Justice, he built a combined general store, hotel, restaurant, and bar about a kilometer or more on the other side of the mine from Justice. It’s called the Apex.”

  “Yes,” said Felzoni, “I think it was deliberately built farther from Justice so workers would be less tempted to come into town.”

  “Probably,” said Bossev, “but the Apex is close enough to Cherkoff’s ranch properties that his men frequent it. Schlottner has no problem with that, as long as they behave themselves. VLK has a couple of tough-looking security men Schlottner brought in about six months ago. Rumor is that he and Cherkoff had a meeting where lines were drawn.”

  I assumed Millen saw the obvious problem, but I vocalized it, in case Felzoni and Bossev hadn’t. “How do we know if and when Ferantis and Neliseranda will show up at the Apex?”

  “I may be able to help there,” said the mayor. “Jokam Nielsen works at the VLK site but lives in Justice with his wife. He’s indicated he knows someone who lives at the site and can be trusted—you don’t need to know who it is. I’ll check and see if we can have that person keep an eye out for Ferantis and Neliseranda at the Apex. If I can’t make the connection, or if the person doesn’t believe they can identify the men, then we’ll have to think of something else.”

  A thought occurred to me. The strange juxtaposition of the modern and the primitive in Justice had got me expecting less technology whenever something came up.

  “What about security cameras? Are there any in Justice that might have caught the two men?”

  “Mayor, what do you think?” asked Millen. “I haven’t noticed any cameras, but I wasn’t looking for them. Some are small enough not to be noticed.”

  “The only ones I can think of are at the post office and the hospital. I wouldn’t trust too many of the workers at the post office not to pass word to Cherkoff, but I’ll catch up with Gebran as soon as we finish here and see if he has someone he trusts who might recognize Ferantis. We know from the testimony that he was treated at the hospital, though I don’t know how long they keep the recordings.”

  “Okay,” said Millen. “Let’s keep after both those possibilities. It’s best if we move as quickly as possible. Let us know as soon as you find out anything.”

  With that, we all left the school complex. Millen and I circled around to the hotel, in case anyone recognized us, and they also noted Bossev and Felzoni out this time of night.

  “What are you thinking, Everett?” Millen asked, as we walked single-file through a grove of Astrild “trees.”

  “Uneasy,” I answered, the single word speaking volumes. “Killing during a fight is one thing, but we’re talking about an execution. I’ve certainly no intention of walking up to two men and offering to have one of your quick-draw gunfights.”

  “Does that mean you won’t or can’t do it?”

  Part of me wanted to opt out, but that wasn’t my way.

  “No. But you asked, and I answered. I worry about doing something like this and making it easier to do the same thing again, maybe with fewer reservations and less justification.”

  Implicit in my words were the questions: how many times had Millen done something similar, and had it gotten too easy for him?

  “That’s an issue you’ll have to handle yourself, just like we all do.”

  In other words, I was on my own. He also didn’t go into his own psyche, so I changed the subject.

  “Okay, you’ve got commitments by a few of the leading citizens, but if it’s kept quiet, I don’t see how it helps rally more of the community.”

  “Oh, more of them will come around when they see results, but I’ll be helping it along by leaking the broad outlines of the trial and sentence.”

  “What—” I stopped walking. He had led the way among the trees and took several steps before noticing I wasn’t right behind him.

  “You all just agreed to keep the trial quiet,” I said. “If Cherkoff hears what we’re up to, the judge, jurors, mayor, and witnesses will all be in danger.”

  Millen took two steps back toward me. “And I regret having to lie to them, but we need a stronger commitment from them. There’s also the factor that probably scores, if not hundreds, of people might step up if they believe these respected community members have taken a stand.

  “And yes, it will put them in danger, which means once word is out, we’ll insist on taking security measures for all of them, likely with the help of other citizens inspired by them. However, I don’t have much sympathy. No matter how you parse it, a large part of the responsibility for Cherkoff rests on them. I’ve seen enough similar situations that I believe I can outline what happened here, even if I wasn’t on the planet at the time.

  “I doubt Justice was the first place Cherkoff tried to take over. The town of Justice is not all of Astrild. Oslo and the next level of cities are pretty well organized, and most of the small towns are handling problems like Cherkoff. It’s the exceptions that drag on the entire planet. Our job is to iron out enough of the rough spots to give the proponents of centralization a better shot.

  “As for the people of Justice and any compassion you and I might have for them, I’d give odds that when Cherkoff tried this elsewhere, it didn’t work out for him. When he came to Justice, I believe the people wanted someone else to handle the problem. How was it that the marshal at the time, Bucher, faced Cherkoff alone? I wasn’t here, but I can imagine how it went. Everyone thought ‘someone else’ would handle Cherkoff, and you can hear the excuses: ‘I have a family to consider.’ ‘My business takes all my time.’ ‘You can handle it, Marshal Bucher, but if it get
s serious, I’ll be right behind you.’ If Bossev and the others had rallied to support their law enforcer and judge, maybe Cherkoff would have looked for easier prey elsewhere. Instead, he found a timid population unwilling to stand up for themselves.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning, we ate again at a different eatery, this time to avoid being too predictable by always patronizing Alda’s for breakfast. We had almost finished eating when Dr. Gebran poked his head in the door and sat at our table.

  “Not worried about being seen with us, Doctor?” I asked.

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Cherkoff leaves me pretty much alone. I’m too important at the hospital.”

  “Don’t be too confident,” said Millen. “It’s best not to assume anything with people like Cherkoff. In fact, I’d suggest that you and the others start going armed and be in the presence of other people as much as possible.”

  The doctor looked taken aback and licked his lips. “You really think that’s necessary?”

  “Better to be overly cautious than overly dead.”

  “All right. I have a pistol at home I didn’t turn in when Cherkoff confiscated guns.”

  “That reminds me,” said Millen, “Cherkoff’s ordinance for no firearms in town is hereby rescinded. I told him people need our permission to carry. At the time, that was more to put him on notice that things had changed. Now I need to find someplace to print out posters we can spread around town. Everett discovered that the basement of the marshal’s office has a couple hundred firearms dumped in piles. Most of the weapons are older models and need cleaning up, but anyone who turned in a firearm or had it taken by Cherkoff’s men can come and claim what’s theirs.”

  “Hmmm,” mused Gebran. “I turned in a shotgun, a nice model. It might have been taken by one of Cherkoff’s men.”

  “Well, come in and have a look.”

  “How do I prove ownership?”

  “No need. Just pick out anything you want. We aren’t concerned about details, as much as getting guns into as many citizens’ hands as possible. But I suspect that wasn’t what you tracked us down about.”