The Grey-Haired Man stared at the TV screen with rapt attention. It showed a lawyer standing outside the Skylight building, looking as if she was about to announce a ground-breaking discovery. She had organised a press conference just a week after the death of Langer senior, although by rights a cassation appeal could be filed up to thirty days after the justification of the Court of Appeal’s verdict was published. She could have waited until the very last moment, the Grey-Haired Man thought. The effect would have been greater. And she could have skipped the whole media circus thing; the more she left unsaid, the better it was for her.
‘She annoys me,’ he announced looking away from the TV screen.
‘Chyłka?’ asked the Bald Man in a suit.
The Grey-Haired Man looked at him with disdain. ‘Who else?’
Chyłka had just announced that her firm would be filing a cassation appeal with the Supreme Court. With all the TV station cameras assembled outside the Palace of Culture and Science, it was beginning to look like another news media soap opera. The Bald Man clearly agreed.
‘This’ll be headline stuff.’
The Grey-Haired Man nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Of the “Magda from Sosnowiec” or “royal baby” kind. Or the “young would-be poet who stabbed her boyfriend’s family to death”. You know, sir?’
‘Yes, I do.’
He sometimes wondered whether it was public demand that drove TV stations to cover sensationalist topics, or whether the media recognised which stories would attract an audience, and ran them in anticipation.
Maybe it was the latter. The media created the reality. Disgusting really, a covert method of manipulation. The Grey-Haired Man preferred simpler tools.
With the Langer case, the media had so far played their hand well. They had reported what needed to be reported, and none of the journalists were too meticulous in their research. And even if they were, the Grey-Haired Man with the neatly trimmed beard could feel safe: there was nothing that could lead them to him.
Not that it meant everything was going his way.
‘I was assured it wouldn’t come to a cassation appeal,’ he said.
The Bald Man was silent. He knew he wouldn’t be able to influence any of the Supreme Court judges. There, matters could take an unexpected turn.
The Grey-Haired Man poured himself a glass of Old Smuggler, took a sip, and looked at his colleague expectantly.
‘I did everything I could to—’
‘I’m not interested in the process,’ cut in the Grey-Haired Man. ‘Only the result.’
‘Of course, I understand.’
The Bald Man feared another reprimand, but his boss’s attention was on Chyłka again. She was in full swing, effusing about how it was in the public interest to file cassation appeals. The Bald Man understood little of it, and assumed he was not the only one. The lawyer wasn’t doing this to educate the public – she was doing it to show she knew her stuff.
‘This is just PR,’ said the Bald Man. ‘She’s organised a press conference as if she was running for—’
‘She’s trying to put pressure on the media,’ said a third man, a lawyer, seated by the wall some distance from the other two. ‘She knows she needs the public’s support, because so far the client is being perceived as another Breivik or even Hitler. Everyone is interested in the case, either to see just how deep the barrel of shit is that he’s fallen into, or to find out why he did it. No one is on his side, except perhaps a few complete psychopaths.’
‘The Supreme Court won’t be interested,’ the Bald Man retorted.
‘The Supreme Court is only interested in the Constitution and the Supreme Court Act,’ said the lawyer. ‘But it’s presided over by people who are often in tune with the public mood. If there’s outrage against China over Tibet, they—’
‘I’m not listening to this,’ cut in the Grey-Haired Man.
His two guests fell silent, and he took another sip of whisky. The lawyer’s presence irritated him. Until now, the Grey-Haired Man had assumed his own knowledge of the law and criminal proceedings would be enough, but now that the case had gone further, they had to take the appropriate action.
‘I’m only saying they’re not completely impervious to the world outside,’ said the lawyer at length. ‘Although there’s obviously the question of judicial independence . . .’
‘I said, enough.’
‘Of course.’
‘All I want from you is hard facts,’ said the old man, looking at the lawyer. And then turning to the Bald Man, ‘I need you to shadow that pair. Clear?’
Both men nodded.
The Grey-Haired Man sighed and opened the drawer of his desk. He looked at the soya dessert, grimaced, and slid the drawer back.
‘And if I ever want to hear your opinions about the level of public debate or the standards of those governing the world today, I’ll let you know.’
The Bald Man suddenly wanted the meeting to be over. The woman who was to be his mark was still showing off in front of the cameras, and his boss was becoming increasingly tetchy.
‘Take all precautions,’ added the Grey-Haired Man.
‘Of course.’
‘And make sure you don’t interact with these people. Other than in the circumstances I mentioned earlier.’
‘I understand.’
The bald muscleman had no doubt that if he didn’t do as he was told, the results would be tragic – for him. The Grey-Haired Man liked to have people buried in the Kampinos National Park to the north-west of Warsaw; not in Palmiry, because that had a sacred meaning for him. But best of all, he liked the forests out towards Bieliny, whose extensive woodlands included a former military training ground dating back around fifty years. There were plenty of good spots to bury a body.
‘And make sure you behave appropriately,’ added the Grey-Haired Man. ‘Remember, you’re my representative in the city.’
The Bald Man felt his boss’s heavy gaze bearing down on him. Fortunately, the Grey-Haired Man switched his attention to the lawyer.
‘And you, tell me what you know,’ he commanded.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
‘For now, they don’t know much,’ he replied dutifully. ‘First they have to find a good reason to file for cassation. They can’t just appeal against a judgement because they don’t like it.’
‘So what will they do?’
‘Either they’ll argue that there was a gross violation of the law, or they’ll search through the absolute grounds for allowing a cassation appeal until they find something they can use.’
The Grey-Haired Man was still looking at him expectantly, so the lawyer felt obliged to explain. ‘There has been no gross violation of the law, so that would be shooting themselves in the foot. That leaves absolute grounds for appeal.’
‘Which means?’ interrupted the Bald Man, beginning to get irritated. ‘In language ordinary mortals will understand?’
The lawyer shifted in his chair. ‘It’s a fairly narrow range of criteria,’ he began. ‘For example, the case of iudex inhabilis, that is, when the judge has no right to adjudicate. The list also includes inappropriate adjudicating panel, incorrect jurisdiction, a penalty not prescribed by the law, the lack of a lay judge’s signature on the verdict, a contradiction in the judgement, the absence of the accused, the absence of an attorney and similar technical issues. Generally, they have to be pretty major grounds, because cassation is an extraordinary remedy. The last resort against injustice.’
‘Do they have grounds or don’t they?’ asked the Grey-Haired Man, getting out of his chair and turning his back to the TV screen. Chyłka had just finished her long monologue, with which she hoped to show her client as a victim and not the perpetrator.
‘In my opinion, they don’t. Chyłka is sounding off about the sentence being disproportionate to the seriousness of the crime, but that in itself is not grounds for a cassation appeal. It would be rejected out of hand.’
‘Perhaps they have new evidence?’
‘Even if they do, it won’t be enough,’ replied the lawyer. ‘Also, questioning the grounds of an earlier judgement cannot justify cassation. Only the grounds stated in the list I just gave you can be considered.’
‘So there’s nothing to worry about?’
‘On the contrary. If a top law firm says it will file a cassation appeal, it means they probably have a plan of exactly how they’ll get it to the Supreme Court.’