Reckless: Season 2: Actions and Consequences: Part II - Act 2
by redmoon
Actions and Consequences: Part II - Act 2
Trial - Part 11, December 23rd, 1987
“Please state your name and field of expertise again for the record.”
The man leaned forward slightly to speak into the microphone. “Doctor Darren Phillips, cultural analyst and professor of subcultural studies at the University of Melbourne.”
“Thank you for coming today, Dr. Phillips.” Logan set the loose leaf pages down and crossed the distance from the defense bench to the witness stand.
“My pleasure,” the man said again into the microphone. It made a little popping sound at the p of pleasure.
“Please, Dr. Phillips, could you tell the court your particular area of expertise?” Logan turned on his heel to face the jury as the expert witness responded. Niki was sitting at the bench behind Logan’s back. He hadn’t said four words to her since she had been given a clean bill of health from the prison infirmary. If he had looked, he would have found her staring blankly at the table top.
“Well,” Phillips sat up a little straighter, “my particular field of expertise is the rise of the neo-gothic subculture in America and Western Europe—”
“Objection!” Eric Quinlan rose from his position beside his co-counsels with a frown. “Prosecution would like to know the relevance of any of this!”
Judge Ortega raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Kilpatrick, I hope you’re not wasting the court’s time.” His tone was tired and edged with impatience.
Logan took a deep breath. “Defense would like to take this opportunity to present its opening argument.”
Quinlan scoffed but bit his tongue and Judge Ortega shrugged deeply. “Better late than never. The court will hear the defense’s opening argument.”
Logan turned back, headed for his notes, having been given his opportune moment. Then his eyes caught the tired and defeated face of his client. He stood staring at her for several seconds during which both the judge and the prosecution grew more impatient. Logan slowly titled his head. He had eaten take-out at his desk last night. A little smile crept to the corner of his mouth. Then I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was home, going home... Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me...
“Mr. Kilpatrick?” Ortega sounded even more tired and impatient, even though mere seconds had gone by.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Logan turned sharply with a smile. “The court would like to hear why precisely Niki Valtaine did not kill Megan Brandon and did not shoot Brian Harrison. And I will tell the court precisely this.”
Ortega scowled slightly in suspicion of the sudden change in attitude. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Kilpatrick. Please proceed.”
Logan bowed slightly, retaining the small smile. “It is the prosecution’s contention that this entire ordeal began with the murder of Megan Brandon.” He turned and swiped the evidence bag from the defense’s bench. “With this stake,” he held up the wood in the plastic bag for the jury to see, “my client is alleged to have stabbed Ms. Brandon in the chest.” He brought the tip of the stake to his own chest for emphasis. Carefully he put the evidence bag back down and turned on the prosecution.
“Now, we would all like to do some fancy DNA tests and find whose blood is in fact on the end of that stake, but as the court well knows,” he gazed firmly at Quinlan, “and as the jury has no doubt been made aware, DNA tests are not admissible in an American court of law.”
There was a spark of triumph in Logan’s eye as Quinlan’s jaw tightened and his fist slowly closed on the page before him, crumpling its edge. Preemptive strike. Logan turned quickly back to the jury.
“In reality, there is no way to know whose blood is on the end of that piece of wood.” He eyed each one of them at random, glancing from gaze to gaze. “All the prosecution can tell you with any certainty, is that it’s human blood. Someone’s blood. Potentially anyone’s blood.” Logan cocked his head with a look of practiced disappointment. “And according to the prosecution, that makes Niki Valtaine, a law abiding New Yorker, Ms. Brandon’s murderer.” His look of scorn for that idea was plain and, he hoped, effective.
“The truth is, no one saw who murdered Ms. Brandon. Just like no one saw who shot Mr. Harrison.” Logan turned and his sweeping gaze passed over Brian Harrison who was sitting at the back of the court room in his wheelchair, his smouldering glare following the lawyer’s every move. “Not even Mr. Harrison himself. He admits he didn’t see her carrying a gun — he couldn’t even confirm if she owned one, and he’d been stalking her for weeks!”
Logan strutted back towards the witness stand and the abandoned Dr. Phillips. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I would like to call your attention now back to our expert witness so that you can see for yourselves a very different Niki Valtaine than the murderer painted by the prosecution.”
Logan turned now to the judge. “Defense would like to recommence examination of the expert witness.”
Ortega shifted his weight and looked down at Dr. Phillips. “The witness is reminded that he is still under oath.” Phillips nodded.
Logan nodded smartly, tugging on the hem of his black suit coat. “Dr. Phillips, since you were so rudely interrupted before, could you please tell the court your particular area of expertise?”
Phillips nodded again, eyeing the prosecution nervously. “I study the gothic subculture.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “And by gothic, I doubt you mean European architecture.”
Phillips shook his head. “No, I study the trends, habits, motivations and influences of the neo-gothic American and Western European subculture.”
“Tell us a little about the neo-gothic movement.” Logan crossed his arms as if this was all terribly interesting. In reality this had been rehearsed in private beforehand.
“Well, the neo-gothic movement began in the United Kingdom as a splinter culture from the punk movement. ‘Goths’ as they are generally known, can be broken down into four major groups.”
Logan nodded with interest. “Tell us about these.”
Phillips nodded obligingly. “Well, the majority of Goths can be called ‘weekenders’. They participate in gothic culture mainly for sociological reasons, but do not consider themselves defined by it.” Phillips shrugged. “They use the gothic culture as an expression of their individuality.”
Logan nodded. “I see. Go on.”
The witness sighed. “The next largest portion of Goths is what has been termed ‘ultragoths,’ those who are defined by their style of clothing, their music, their social circles, their sexual preferences, et cetera.”
“And after that?” Logan prompted.
“After that,” Phillips continued, “there is a small portion of the gothic culture which is fixated on Satan and Satanism and another which is fixated on the vampiric element.”
Logan nodded, turning now towards the defense bench. “Dr. Phillips, you have been shown the evidence collected from the defendant’s wardrobe and music library, have you not?”
Phillips nodded and leaned into the microphone again. “Yes I have.”
“As an expert in the field of subcultures and specifically the neo-gothic movement, how would you classify the defendant?” Logan glanced toward Quinlan who was trying not to show his jaw grinding his teeth together.
Phillips leaned into the microphone again. “In my expert opinion, Niki Valtaine could be said to fall into the category of a weekender Goth.”
Logan nodded. “Thank you. And exactly what —before the prosecution explodes— does that mean exactly?” He flashed a smile towards the prosecution bench but didn’t watch to see the reaction.
“Weekender Goths use the culture as most of us use any other culture: to express certain elements of our personality which cannot otherwise be expressed in this society.”
Logan nodded, looking now at the jury, though addressing his words to Phillips. “And how, again, do they express those elements?”
Phillips shrugged. “Depending on their unique personality, they adopt certain, often exciting or convenient elements of the neo-gothic culture and ieology, affecting their dress, their lexicon, their social preferences, their entertainment preferences and even their sexual preferences.”
Logan nodded with a contemplative frown. “Their sexual preferences...” he turned from the jury and strode towards the defense bench, retrieving a file, the contents of which he already knew. All for effect. Before he turned, he glanced up from the file to Niki. She had her elbow on the table and held her face in her hand. Tired and silent, but she knew where this was going.
Logan opened the file and moved back towards Dr. Phillips. “According to the deposition of the witness who found the alleged murder weapon, he...” Logan frowned, as if reading it for the first time, “he at first thought it and the other objects like it were sex objects.” Logan glanced up at Phillips who was calmly nodding.
“Yes, while in-depth studies have revealed that the neo-gothic movement does not promote atypical sexual practices per se, there is significant evidence that it promotes freedom of sexual expression and it is thought by myself and other scholars that in the sexually suppressive culture which has been on the rise since the late seventies, the freedom offered by a subculture, like Goth, can result in a greater amount of what this society would term ‘unusual’ sexual activity.”
Logan shrugged. “Such as...?”
Philips frowned a little in thought. “I’ve studied bondage, domination, discipline, sadomasochism, fetishes, ritual sex... Anything that the current society considers abnormal or even perverse has the opportunity for expression in a subculture of rebellion.”
“Is it possible,” Logan raised his voice, lifting the stake high again and marching toward the jury, “Dr. Philips, that the blood on the stake in fact belongs to the defendant and that she was in no way involved in the murder of Megan Brandon?”
“That’s very possible, yes,” Phillips nodded confidently.
Logan let his arm fall and he nodded in gratitude. “Thank you, Dr. Phillips. No further questions, Your Honor.”
“What the fuck is this?” Tawnie Fischer glared down at the page in her hand.
The smug brit across from her gave a little shrug. “Richard J. Addison, Honorary Consular Officer of the British Consulate in New York, cannot be prosecuted under American law. Diplomatic immunity, as outlined in the Vienna Convention, protects Mr. Addison from being charged with crimes while he is a guest in your country.”
Fischer let the paper fall to the desk. “Honorary Consular Officer since when?”
The man cocked his head. “Since his most recent return from Britain, of course.” He leaned across the desk his smile broad. “And we’ll be wanting him back.”
Fischer slowly shook her head, her teeth grinding. “You’re with the Council, aren’t you?”
The British man’s smile broadened just a little. “Don’t think you’ve won just yet,” he cast a glance around her office, “this place will be swarming with our operatives before you can even blink an eye. You cannot stop us.”
Fischer leaned down with a glare. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”
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