Two weeks after starting work at Żelazny & McVay, Kordian stood outside the District Court building where Langer’s case was to be heard. He was hurriedly puffing away at his cigarette, assuming he would have to be upstairs in a matter of minutes. So much for his solemn declarations to cut down on smoking. Instead, for some reason, he had switched from Davidoffs to Marlboros. At least temporarily.
He looked at Chyłka standing next to him, and noticed that she was flicking a cigarette out of the packet.
‘Not in a rush?’ he asked.
‘Relax,’ she replied. ‘Before the court reporter gets round to calling out the case, before everyone assembles, before this, before that, you’ll have enough time to smoke another two. And marvel at the surroundings,’ she added, looking at the dingy, low-rise blocks opposite the courthouse. They made her think of bygone times. Thank goodness they were bygone – shabby façades, neglected shutters with flaking paint, and some rather unimaginative graffiti which might, in places, be called tags. In front of all this lay a carpet of crooked, broken cobblestones. Solidarity Avenue in all its glory.
A bald muscleman standing at the door to a bank next to the low-rise blocks completed the picture. He was looking directly at the two lawyers, not bothering to be discreet about it.
‘Who’s that guy?’ muttered Joanna.
Kordian looked, but as she pointed him out a tram heading for Bank Square hid the man from view. When the tram had passed, he was gone. Oryński looked questioningly at Chyłka, but she dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. She had no interest in scandalmongers. He was, no doubt, hoping to see a celebrity in front of the courthouse.
‘Come on,’ she ordered, flicking her cigarette butt into the three-lane street.
On the second floor, the two Żelazny & McVay lawyers saw a host of witnesses and people interested in the case, along with a tall, burly man representing the prosecutor’s office; he stood out from the crowd, and not only because of his traditional court attire. Karol Rejchert spotted Chyłka and flipped her the bird – in a way that only she and Oryński could see.
‘The prosecution?’ asked Kordian.
‘Yup,’ Joanna replied. ‘Let’s say hello.’
The trainee wanted to raise his hand and respond with the same gesture, but Chyłka stopped him.
‘Leave it, Zordon. A reporter will notice and all hell will break loose.’
‘But he—’
‘He’s experienced. You’re an amateur.’
It was the first time he’d heard her speak so belligerently, and it didn’t bode well for the pre-trial confrontation. Chyłka and Rejchert eyed each other so intently it could only mean they had once been lovers, or had opposed each other in the courtroom for too long. Looking at them, they were chalk and cheese – so it had to be the latter.
‘Polishing your bootees all night, Rej?’ she said to the prosecutor, looking at his shoes. ‘If their shine could kill, you’d get twenty-five years,’ she added, shielding her eyes. ‘Without parole.’
‘Give it a rest,’ grunted the prosecutor.
‘They glow like a monkey’s butt.’
Rejchert sighed and looked around.
‘Looking for a part in the circus?’ continued Chyłka.
‘I like to prepare well for crushing insects in the courtroom.’
‘I see you’re in a good mood – only lacking any wit, as usual.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?’
Chyłka looked over her shoulder at Oryński and said in a stage whisper:
‘Look and learn, Zordon. This is what someone with delusions of winning the case looks like.’
‘Delusions?’ laughed the prosecutor. ‘Everybody knows you’ve let this case go.’
Joanna turned back to face her opponent.
‘Watch your words. I’m sure there’s some official here who would treat your slanderous remarks in the courthouse corridor as an offence against yours truly.’
‘Get stuffed, Chyłka.’
‘Likewise, I’m sure.’
Rejchert looked at Kordian, who suddenly felt he was guilty of all the crimes with which Langer had been charged. Only experienced prosecutors had that special glare.
‘Who’s that? Your secret weapon?’
‘This is Zordon, my trainee.’
Rejchert didn’t have time to comment on the presence of this indubitable legal asset, as at that moment the court reporter appeared in the corridor and announced that the hearing of the case against Piotr Langer was about to begin. He summoned the parties, procedural representatives, witnesses and all others to enter the courtroom, then for the sake of order also stuttered out the case number. Had there been no TV cameras present, he would no doubt have skipped this formality.
The crowd of people flooded from the corridor into the courtroom. For a moment confusion reigned, but order was soon restored, after several editorial teams were forced to shed delegates.
Piotr was led in through a different entrance, and sat down next to Chyłka and Oryński, to the left of the adjudicating panel. Rejchert sat down opposite them, glancing at Joanna with glee and anticipation. He must have known that the case was his – one of those that improved the statistics without having to try too hard. The defendant had no alibi and no eyewitnesses, and all the evidence was against him.
In any case, one look at the defendant told you everything you needed to know. Once the police had uncuffed him, Langer simply stared at the emblem hanging above the empty bench where the judges and assessors would sit.
‘Have you changed your mind?’ asked Joanna.
‘No.’
She didn’t have time to follow up, as the clerk signalled for everyone to rise as the presiding judge entered the room accompanied by the rest of the adjudicating panel. He cast a glance across the public gallery, sighed ostentatiously and took up his place of honour. He rattled off all the formalities, asking if all those summoned had arrived and whether there were any obstacles to the commencement of proceedings. Then he asked all the witnesses to go back out into the corridor.