William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

being deserves justice,at the very least. If possible, they deserve mercy and honor as well.”
    There was a low rumble of assent. The jurors’ faces were filled with emotion. They sat huddled forward, bodies tight and uncomfortable.
    On the bench Sullivan seemed frozen, his cheeks dark with color.
    “What we have heard is sufficient to stir the passions, the rage, the pity of every decent person, man or woman,” Rathbone continued. “What would you think of a woman like Hester Monk, who spends her time and her means laboring to help the sick, the destitute, the forgotten, and the outcast of our society, if she had no pity for this misused child? If she does not fight for him, then who will? If she is not moved to fury and to weeping on his behalf, what manner of woman is she? I am bold enough to say that she would not be a woman that I wish to know.”
    There were strong murmurs of agreement.
    Rathbone was speaking to them intimately now. Not a soul moved or made the slightest rustle.
    “And Commander Durban, who saw the boy's dead body pulled from where it was tangled in the ropes of the lighter, mangled and unrecognizable, who saw the marks of torture on the dead flesh?” He gestured delicately with his hands. “What sort of a guardian of our law would he be, had he not sworn to spend his professional life seeking the creature who brought this about? In his case, he spent his personal time as well, and his own money, to seek justice, and it seems to me, to put an end to such things happening to other boys as well. Do we want policemen who are not moved by such horror?”
    Up in the dock, for the first time, Jericho Phillips stirred anxiously. His eyes flickered with panic, and his body was hunched forward as far as his manacles would allow.
    “And Mr. Monk is a worthy successor to Durban,” Rathbone continued. “He has the same passion, the same dedication, the driving will that compels him to spend night and day searching for clues, answers, proof, anywhere he can. He will not rest, indeed he cannot rest, until he has captured the man responsible, and taken him to the very foot of the gallows.”
    Several jurors were nodding now.
    Lord Justice Sullivan looked concerned, on the brink of going so far as to interrupt him. Could Rathbone conceivably have forgotten which side he was on?
    “Let us consider these excellent people, one by one,” Rathbone said reasonably. “And Mr. Orme, as well, of course. We too, I believe, wish that justice may be served, completely and irrevocably.” That was almost a question, although he smiled very slightly. “Our position is different from theirs, in that they provide evidence to be considered, while we reach a conclusion that is irrevocable. If we find that Jericho Phillips is guilty, within three weeks he will be hanged, and cannot ever be brought back to this world.
    “If, on the other hand, we find that he is not guilty, then he cannot be tried for this crime again. Gentlemen, our decision allows no room for passion, no matter how understandable, how human, how worthy of the noblest pity for the victims of poverty, disease, or inequality. We have not the luxury that others will have after us to alter our mistakes or correct our misjudgments. We have in this room only that final judgment at the bar of God, before whom we will all stand in eternity. We must be right!” He held up his hand in a closed fist, not of any kind of threat, but of an unbreakable grasp.
    “We are not partisan.” He looked at them one after another, and then quailed a little. “We must not be. To allow emotion of liking or disliking, of horror, or pity or self-indulgence, of fear or favor for anyone”—he sliced the air—”or any other human tenderness to sway our decision is to deny justice. And never believe that the drama here is our purpose—it is not! Our purpose is the measured and equal justice for all people, alive or dead, good or evil, strong or weak …” He hesitated. “Beautiful or hideous. The question is not whether Commander Durban was a good man, even a noble one. It is whether he was right in his collection of and deduction from evidence regarding the murder of Walter Figgis. Did he allow his human passions to direct his course? His dream of justice to hasten his judgments? His revulsion at the crime to make him too quick to grasp at the solution?
    “You need to weigh in your minds why it was that he stopped his pursuit of Phillips, and then started it again.