The hearing dragged on, hour after excruciating hour. At times Oryński felt like ripping his guts out before the court, just as Reytan ripped his robes in Matejko’s Fall of Poland. The psychologist was far better prepared for the hearing than the expert in the dark art of psychiatry had been, and Joanna couldn’t unsettle her. Kordian visualised their client on the edge of a precipice, about to topple into the abyss of prison. The end of the trial was in sight – and if Kordian knew it, Chyłka must have been all the more aware of the fact.
The second expert told the court emphatically that the accused was and had been perfectly sane, as much now as when he committed the crime. She was helped by Karol Rejchert, who graciously led her by the hand during questioning, and then returned to his place on the right side of the bench like the cat who’d got the cream.
‘Counsellor?’ asked the presiding judge, looking at Joanna.
Chyłka remained still, biting her lower lip. She could not think of a way to rattle the woman on the rostrum. With the screeching toad it had been easy, because it had been clear from the outset that she wanted to show the defendant was guilty at all costs. She had overplayed her hand and tripped up. But the psychologist was quite different. Her answers were intelligent and she presented arguments supporting both sides of the dispute, but ultimately put forward a well-informed, well-argued opinion that Langer was deliberately making a mockery of the justice system.
‘Counsellor? Questions?’
‘Yes, of course, Your Honour,’ replied Joanna, rising from her chair. She looked at the expert, and thought for a moment longer.
‘Could we refer to your predecessor’s statement?’
‘I’d rather not do that,’ replied the psychologist. ‘I am not here to analyse courtroom tactics.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘I am assessing the current mental state of the accused, and helping to determine his mental state when the crime was committed,’ she replied. ‘What happened at this hearing earlier, when my colleague was answering questions, is of no relevance.’
Her tone was measured, her facial expressions mild; there was nothing for Chyłka to get hold of. She had to let that answer go.
‘Very well . . .’ she said. ‘To recap: your colleague said that she could not confirm beyond all doubt that my client was of sound mind. You say that he was definitely sane. Have I understood you correctly?’
‘No,’ replied the expert with a friendly smile. ‘The psychologist’s approach to establishing state of mind is not based on empirical evidence. I cannot state anything with absolute certainty, but—’
‘Therefore—’ Chyłka attempted to cut in.
‘But every other person in this profession will give you the same answer. Unfortunately, such is the nature of my work as a forensic psychologist, Counsellor. This is not mathematics, where two plus two always equals four.’
‘And so—’
‘And so, to the best of my knowledge, and according to all available materials and my personal meetings with the defendant, I can state that he was of sound mind at the time when the crime was committed.’
Chyłka had to concede that someone had prepared the expert very well. ‘Witness prep’ was an art form in the United States, and lawyers in Poland were also increasingly aware how witnesses and experts should speak to benefit their case.
In addition, the woman was likeable and she inspired trust. Chyłka would have given the world to have a man up there on the rostrum, because not even the sweetest old man would make such a good-natured impression on the courtroom as that bitch. It was hard to put her under pressure, and direct, full-force attacks were out of the question.
‘So why won’t my client say a word about what happened? If he remembered everything and was completely sane, then . . .’
‘No, I did not say that he was completely sane.’
Joanna fell silent. It was one of those moments when you realise that a seemingly trivial point is of fundamental importance. Chyłka knew that with that short sentence she had lost the case.
‘In my opinion, at the time of committing the offence, the accused had a partial limitation of sanity.’
The die was cast. This turned all that Chyłka had won from her clash with the psychiatrist into dust. Partial loss of sanity was a safety buffer that allowed everything else to fall into place logically – the accused did not talk about the crime because they were suffering from an abnormality of mind. Not completely insane, but just insane enough.
It was the bane of the defence lawyer’s life: a state that was insufficient to plead for an acquittal or a more lenient sentence. Only if it could be proved that Langer’s sanity had been severely limited could Joanna hope to win anything.
Chyłka stood next to the rostrum, feverishly trying to think of a way out, but eventually she had to accept she couldn’t think of anything. The judges basically had carte blanche from the psychologist, and could do whatever they pleased.
‘Counsellor?’ said one of the lay assessors, drawing the attention of the other panel members. Lay assessors rarely spoke – most often they simply waited quietly for the trial to end.
There was no point in asking the expert whether she was sure of her assessment. She would repeat over and over again that nothing in psychology can be certain, and that psychology assessments always entail a degree of uncertainty.
So she simply said thank you, and returned to her place.
Kordian passed her a card on which he had written ‘game over’. She nodded.
The presiding judge now called the witnesses. These were mainly people who knew the victims and testified as to the circumstances, and as to whether Langer knew the victims and whether they could have provoked him in any way. What the witnesses said bore no relevance to either party, but they were there to appeal to the lay judges’ emotional responses, which indeed they did. One woman even shed a few tears.
Just an hour and a half later, the presiding judge closed the proceedings, no doubt breaking a speed record. Langer Senior had wanted a swift trial, and he got it.
After the closing statements, the presiding judge listened wearily to the prosecutor, then turned to Chyłka. She knew that even her greatest oratory skills would not work here, but she had to try.
‘Your Honour,’ she began. ‘We have listened to all the experts and witnesses, and we have considered their opinions, some very professional, others less so. But throughout this process of determining the objective truth – for that is the purpose of the trial – we have not heard from my client. Apart from his answer at the start of the proceedings, he has not uttered a single word. He does not claim to be innocent, but neither does he claim to be guilty. He has not pleaded guilty to these charges, but if the court wished him to make a clear statement to say whether or not he has committed the crime of which he stands accused, he would not give one. He would remain silent.
The presiding judge stifled a yawn. The other judge looked at Joanna with mild interest. The lay assessors seemed to absorb every word.
‘I have tried to get information from him myself. Anything,’ she continued. ‘However, it’s almost impossible to interact with him in any meaningful way. He talks in allegories – complete chaos and nonsense. He insists he is sane, but at the same time he denies his guilt. What does that tell us? In my opinion, he is, in some way, deeply disturbed. The psychiatrist and psychologist are unable to diagnose the exact cause, but I believe that this very fact should lead us to conclude that there is reasonable doubt as to his guilt.’
She continued for a few more minutes. Kordian wasn’t listening particularly hard, because he had already read the text on a computer printout. Morally and logically, it was quite a decent speech. But from a legal point of view, it did not look so good. The only chance of an acquittal would be if he were declared insane. A disturbed psyche, limited capacity and momentary loss of control were not enough to help Langer.
As the judges left the courtroom to consider the verdict, the two defence lawyers were not optimistic.
‘We would win the case if the lay assessors were the ones deciding,’ Kordian whispered into Joanna’s ear.
‘Zordon,’ she replied. ‘If we had a common law system here, I’d be so fierce that every prosecutor would withdraw from a case as soon as they heard I’d be the one defending.’
Oryński nodded, sorry that fate had not allowed them to practise law in a more flexible system. Here, the panel could only rule on the basis of fixed statutory laws. They were fettered. Today’s clash could only have one outcome.
‘The judgement of this court in the name of the Republic of Poland is that the accused Piotr Langer, son of Piotr and Katarzyna née Gaszewska, born on the twelfth of July in the year one thousand nine hundred and seventy-eight, is guilty as charged. He is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment, and may be eligible for parole after twenty-five years.’