You check the time.
Once you walk in the door to your right, you will be exactly one minute late.
Everyone else will already be there, because as your lawyer advised," It isn't good to be late to court. "
Funny little man he is. He usually knew how to play the game well, but on this point he was mistaken. After all, the prime player needs to make an entrance. And so, you adjust your tie, smoothen down your hair, and walk in.
The lights are bright, and the stage is set. Everyone sees you walk in. " So sorry I'm late, the downtown traffic, you know. " Relatability, check.
Your short lawyer is sweating, the trial hasn't even begun! Maybe he isn't as good a pick as you though he was…
The mother is red, and getting redder at the sight of you, though she looks more composed than the last time you saw her, she looks like she will soon be hysterical again…
Her lawyer, a skinny old woman, frowns, and squeezes her hand. Looks like one of those, lawyers who care about justice, and spirit of the law, ugh.
The judge frowns, and motions to the bailiff to swear you in. The court reporter is scribbling down something.
Good. The media loves a story, and you will get something out of this love.
You place your hands on the Bible, and repeat the bailiffs words. Inside you are rolling your metaphorical eyes. Did these people think that someone on trial for your 'crimes ' would really believe in any God ? The world is just a game to play. And you'd not lost yet.
The judge bangs her gavel. She looks more sympathetic to the 'victims' mother than the last judge of the last trial. That had been a few years ago though. No problem.
" Court is in session.
Mr. Edward Josef Tracton. You are accused of, kidnapping, sexually molesting, and murdering a minor, a girl of age 7 years, name of Mary, Dolores, Hostian. Do you plead guilty, or not guilty? "
" Your honour, " You simper.
" Your honour! This was a horrible tradgedy. Not guilty, your honour! "
The mother glares at you in a rage. She seems to be very close to screaming, as last time.
The lawyer- woman gets up, and begins the questioning.
" Where were you on the Friday evening, from 6 PM, to 12 AM "
You answer " At my friend's house, Donald Mcghue. I believe you have his information? We were having a few drinks. Nothing too heavy. "
You were safe with him. You kept his secrets, he kept yours- like the fact that you were actually at the park, near that girl's house.
" Had you, ever before, met the victim? " " I heard of her, for the first time, on the news at 12 PM the next day. "
Actually you passed by her school everyday. For two weeks beforehand, you had visited the fence that seperated the playground from the parking lot. You had drawn the eyes of the children playing. You gave them candy. Made them promise not to tell about or show the candy, or yourself. You were their secret. Even if the kids, blabbed under pressure, now, it was too late. You had given them no information. Had always walked, had your eyes covered in sunglasses, and your mouth and nose covered in a mask. You were sick, you told them. Their parents, had they known, would've called you a different type of sick.
They came every day at noon to the fence. To meet their secret friend. You talked with them. Stroked the girls' hair through the fence. Told them jokes. You called one little girl, especially, your pet. You always winked at her, and gave her candy first. You told her, on the last day, after the other children dispersed, to meet you, in the evening at the park near her house. You knew all about it of course.
She happily agreed to sneak out, and agreed to tell no one. It was to be a surprise. Indeed it was.
" Where were you, from 12 AM, to 12 PM the next day? "
" At the same friend's house. You know, I am a responsible driver. "
Actually, you took the unconscious girl to your house. Than after you finished with her, and made sure she could tell no one, you drove back to the park, and left her there. Or what was left of her anyway. All this was done in a car with fake license plate. After all, you were experienced now.
" You have been on trial for the rape, and murder of a Frances Martydoss. Approximately, 4 years ago. You were found not guilty. The case remains cold to this day. What do you have to say about that? "
" I have always been found in unfortunate circumstances, but the truth always comes out. "
You remember that girl. 13. Older. Riskier. But your tactics worked. You came out free. You thought that case would come up. That was why most of the jury members were paid a lot more this time.
The trial drags on. You play the game well. Ever sympathetic, ever polite. The mother- she gets redder, and redder, and purple to puce. The poor, hysterical, not reliable woman in your group of characters. Then there's her frustrated lawyer who can't get ahead of you. Between your experience, of these things, and short - man's knowledge of legal jargon, and technicalities, plus his big paycheck, and the ' gifts ' the jury has been given, and promised, under the counter of course, you finally reach the end of this trial. The verdict- not guilty. Free.
" What a pity, you were unable to catch the real predator! Please contact me, if I can help in anyway. "
The judge narrows her eyes. She knows the truth. Infact everyone in this room knows. Except maybe the reporter. You have cut a dashing, misunderstood hero for her story.
However, the judge, and the distraught mother, and your well paid lawyer, and everyone else, including the bailiff, who's seen many of these cases, knows- also. Even if you had been caught, you'd have spent maybe a few years in jail, and come out again. Maybe next time you would not murder the child. That would get you only a two year sentence, if caught. Maybe your criminal records could later have even been 'accidently ' lost. You won't lose this game. Not in this world anyways. Too many have won. You walk out the door, and kiss Benjamin Franklin's dishonest, little green face. He and his brothers were definitely star players in this charade.
You are an actor, and the world is your stage.