Dead Men's s Boots

The magistrate gave me an owl-eyed stare, the ripples seeming to spread away almost as far as his neckline now. ‘I see. And you agree with Miss Bruckner’s assertion that the tribunal’s members are not fully impartial?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do. Doctor Smart worked at the MOU under Jenna-Jane – Professor Mulbridge – for five years. He still does all his consultancy work at Praed Street. And that guy Prentice who’s on the panel as the lay member – well, he’s “lay” in the sense of laying low. He’s in my profession, and Professor Mulbridge is more or less his regular employer. She can’t have exorcists on staff so she hires them as security and puts their pay cheques through a different budget. Prentice is as much of a fixture at Saint Mary’s as the scum behind the toilet.’ Prentice, who’d been giving me a hostile glare ever since I mentioned his name, surged to his feet and opened his mouth to speak. ‘If you’ll pardon the expression,’ I added, punctiliously. ‘I wasn’t comparing him to toilet scum in any personal or moral sense.’

‘Your honour-’ Prentice spluttered. Runcie cut over him, giving me a severe frown. ‘Mister Castor, if I hear any repetition of that pugnacious tone, I’ll take it as a contempt of court. Are you seeing proof of association as proof of collusion?’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Not automatically. But Professor Mulbridge is desperate to get her hands on Rafi because –’ better pick my words with care here ‘– his condition is so rare and it chimes so well with her own interests. And you’d have to admit, your honour, it smells a little off if the institution that’s trying to swipe Rafael Ditko – to take possession of him against his own wishes and the wishes of those close to him – is able to pad out the tribunal panel with its own staff. It looks like ballot-stuffing.’

Jenna-Jane put her hand up, and the magistrate turned his gaze on her.

‘Your honour,’ she said, sounding just a little reproachful, ‘could I make an observation? Not to rebut Miss Bruckner’s and Mister Castor’s allegations but to indicate the problem that the tribunal was faced with?’

Mister Runcie indicated with a gesture that she could. Jenna-Jane nodded her thanks.

‘The facility I run at Saint Mary’s,’ she said, sounding like someone’s grandmother reminiscing about the Queen’s coronation, ‘is for the study, treatment and understanding of a very specific range of conditions. Many of my patients believe themselves to be possessed by the dead; or to be themselves dead souls inhabiting animal bodies. As you know, the body of scientific evidence on such matters is small. In trying to enlarge it, I’ve had to call on the skills of a great many people whose knowledge is of an empirical rather than an academic nature.’

Knowing the Jenna-Jane juggernaut and how it rolls along, I was listening to all this with a detached interest. I had to give her a 5.9 for artistic effect, but only 5.6 for technical merit: she’d got the respectful tone right, but she’d overdone the beating about the bush. ‘Your point, Professor Mulbridge,’ the magistrate chided her.

‘My apologies, your honour. My point is that Rafael Ditko claims to be demonically possessed. Doctor Webb’s initial diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia, but he admits that there’s some anomalous evidence which brings that diagnosis into question. He wants Ditko transferred both because he represents a danger to the staff at the Stanger Home and because they don’t have the proper facilities there to treat him.

‘So a decision on Mister Ditko’s case requires an awareness of the paranormal as well as of the psychiatric factors presenting in his case. And it would be hard to find anywhere in the United Kingdom any practitioner in those areas – specifically, any exorcist – who hasn’t worked with me or for me at some point in the last ten years. Why, Mister Castor himself –’ with a tolerant smile she turned to indicate me, our eyes locking for the second time ‘– was a very valued colleague of mine at the Metamorphic Ontology Unit until comparatively recently.’

The magistrate looked at me with a certain mild surprise.

‘Is this true, Mister Castor?’

Damn. Sometimes when you’re not knife-fighting with Jenna-Jane on a day-to-day basis you forget how strong her instinct for the jugular really is.

There was no point ducking or weaving. ‘As far as it goes, yeah,’ I admitted. ‘And it’s also true that a lot of exorcists are going to have had associations with the MOU in the past. That’s different from being still on staff there now, though. And you could easily find a psychiatrist who isn’t in Jenna-Jane’s pocket.’

‘A psychiatrist with a background in the behavioural and psychological matrices of bodily resurrection?’ Jenna-Jane inquired, tapping her thumbnail against her notebook.

‘You don’t have a monopoly on-’ Pen broke in.

‘Please,’ said Mister Runcie, with more of an edge to his voice now. ‘I must insist that you address all comments to me, and restrict yourself to answering my direct questions. Sit down. All of you, please sit down. I haven’t asked anybody to stand.’

We all complied, but the magistrate’s feathers were thoroughly ruffled now and he didn’t look any happier.

‘Thank you. It appears that there are two separate issues here – the one concerning Miss Bruckner’s assertion of power of attorney, and the other relating to the legal constitution of the tribunal’s panel. Mister Fenster, are there any other heads under this case of which you’ve failed to apprise me?’

‘None, your honour,’ the barrister said, taking the implied criticism on the chin. ‘Those are the two substantive issues.’

The magistrate glanced at Pen. ‘And do you agree with that summary, Miss Bruckner? I mean, insofar as it states the matter at issue – the substance of your case?’

Pen hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, your honour.’

There was a silence. The Honourable Mister Runcie looked far from happy.

‘And the tribunal has no brief to review the terms of Rafael Ditko’s detention – only his transferral from one facility to another?’

‘Your honour,’ said the barrister, looking profoundly sorrowful, ‘Mister Ditko has been involved in incidents of damage or assault at the Stanger Home on five separate occasions within the last year. There are currently no plans – outside of the usual periodic authorisation process – to review his sectioning and detention. Nobody is claiming that he can safely be released back into society.’

Runcie gave Jenna-Jane a look that was fairly long and fairly hard. ‘Professor Mulbridge, I take it you were not yourself involved in the selection of the tribunal’s members?’

Jenna-Jane spread her arms expansively. ‘Your honour, these things are the province of the local authority –  in this case, Haringey. As far as their internal workings go, I don’t ask and I’m not told.’

The magistrate nodded agreement.

‘Yes. Just so. Still, I have the option of asking, and presumably will be told. On the face of it, it does seem possible that there could be a conflict of interests. I’m keeping an open mind, but I’m going to order a three-day suspension of these proceedings while I look into the selection arrangements and make sure that all proper regulations were followed.’

He pondered. ‘On the question of power of attorney, that’s an issue that goes far beyond these current events. I can’t rule on the a priori assumption. Even if Doctor Webb has been dealing with Miss Bruckner and Mister Castor as though they had such a power, that does not necessarily make it so in the eyes of the law. I believe you should take legal advice, Miss Bruckner, and perhaps give further thought to whether representing yourself is the wisest course of action here.’ He stroked the bridge of his nose, self-consciously. ‘Given that Mister Ditko can’t – legally – give you his informed consent while he’s sectioned on mental health grounds,’ he mused, ‘you’ll almost certainly have to make an application through a higher court . . .’

Pen looked distressed. ‘But your honour-’ she interjected.

The magistrate raised a hand to forestall her. ‘I’m sympathetic to your position, Miss Bruckner. You clearly believe that you have Rafael Ditko’s best interests at heart. But power of attorney would give you very wide-ranging rights over his estate, and over any future decisions about his treatment. The safeguards have to be there, and they have to be observed. I’m sorry. But for what it’s worth, I think you have a strong case. You should get yourself proper representation and do whatever it takes to prepare a full legal argument. My judgement, in the meantime, will focus on the make-up of the review panel.’

He stood up, taking the clerk by surprise so that his ‘All rise’ sounded a little panicked.

The magistrate gathered up his papers. ‘These proceedings are adjourned for three days,’ he said, ‘and will resume on Thursday, in the afternoon session. Make a note, Mister Farrier, if you please.’

He swept out of the room without a backward glance.

Jenna-Jane put on her jacket while Pen just stood there looking like she’d lost a pound and found a plague sore. I knew what was going through her mind: with the power-of-attorney ploy kicked into the long grass, we had to shoot down Jenna-Jane’s stooges on the review panel or the whole thing would go through on the nod. On the