When Oryński entered the courtroom, the rush of adrenaline was so great that it seemed to paralyse him. Had it been a little milder, it would have been motivating, pleasant even. But nervousness overwhelmed him. His mouth was dry, his hands were shaking and his knees were weak.
Their seats were to the left of the adjudicating panel. Oryński glanced at the public gallery and saw that attendance was at record levels. Joanna stood beside him, watching the five judges – the two women and three men who would decide whether the complaints contained in the cassation appeal were valid and justified.
Piotr Langer was sitting right behind them. Kordian glanced over his shoulder, hoping to give him an encouraging smile, but the prisoner’s head was bowed. His gaze was fixed on the chains restraining his legs.
Oryński turned to Chyłka and saw that she, too, did not look overly optimistic. It seemed that the Antoni Wansel evidence had not led to any major breakthroughs.
The judges looked like pilgrims, halfway through their long pilgrimage from the Hel Peninsula to the shrine at Jasna Góra, but already at the limit of their physical capabilities. Without divine intervention, they would have no hope – a fitting analogy for the many hours the two lawyers had spent wading through volume after volume of notes, documents and case studies.
Judges aside, the courtroom was most impressive. The building was awe-inspiring, and the largely glazed interiors brought to mind the high-profile trials broadcast from Strasbourg or The Hague. Kordian had once seen the room they were assigned to on television, and its post-communist feel, complete with ill-fitting wooden floor panels, had irritated him. But the place had been refurbished, and now its majesty was in keeping with its esteemed purpose. It was spacious, and decorated in subdued colours. An elegant silver eagle adorned a milk-white glass screen. There were large Polish flags on either side of the judges’ bench, and at least several dozen seats. All this was very stirring, so much so that Oryński’s legs were scarcely able to provide a stable support for the rest of his body. ‘Do you know them?’ he asked Joanna when they finally sat down.
‘More or less,’ she replied evasively. ‘Starting from the left: judge number one, Dublicki, an outstanding straight-A student and know-it-all. He wrote the commentary to the Penal Code, and that’s probably all he’s known for, and only among die-hard enthusiasts of this area of law. I’m pretty sure you haven’t heard of him.’
‘No, never.’
‘The second is Judge Sydoń. Gives lectures at the University of Warsaw, a smart woman, though she likes to pontificate. Next is Judge Bazan, who sat in the Contract Sejm as a representative of the United People’s Party and has published a thousand and one insignificant works. Next to her is Judge Marendziak, whom you probably know from the lectures he gave at your faculty, although you’d actually have to have gone to those lectures to recognise him. And the presiding judge is Gołdyn, whom I don’t need to introduce.’
Adam Gołdyn was the only one of the five judges that Oryński recognised. He was president of the Criminal Law Division, and often appeared on television. He looked OK, by and large, which was more than could be said for the others. The rest of the panel looked like teachers’ pets and school swots who would slit your throat if you didn’t agree with their point of view.
The start of the trial was announced through speakers. The judges looked up from their papers and took off their glasses. They looked disdainfully at the defence lawyers and the public prosecutor.
Oryński averted his eyes to avoid their gaze. Langer was still contemplating the chains around his ankles, while behind him there was a forest of cameras and microphones from all the major television stations.
‘Good morning,’ said Judge Gołdyn, and started by going over the usual formalities.
Neither party submitted any requests, the presence of cameras was noted and recorded in the minutes, then the judges sat down and took off their head coverings. The presiding judge cleared his throat and said:
‘The defendant is present, as are his defence lawyers and the witnesses: Maciej K., Krzysztof S., Katarzyna S., and Wojciech M. I call the first witness, Maciej K., to come forward.’
No nonsense, to the point. Oryński liked it.
A man in police uniform got up from his chair and walked slowly to the witness box opposite the judges.
‘In the witness box: Maciej K.,’ continued the presiding judge, giving time for the court reporter to tap in his words for the electronic record. ‘Police officer, forty years old, residing in Warsaw. His relationship to the defendant: unrelated. Do you understand why you have been called as a witness?’
‘Yes,’ replied the policeman, and then fell silent.
The judge encouraged him to continue with a hand gesture.
‘I was the first to arrive on the scene, about a quarter of an hour after one of the neighbours phoned,’ he said. ‘I found the defendant . . . that is, the prisoner . . . in the flat. Along with him, there were also two bodies, one of a man and one of a woman. I called for backup. Later, we identified the pair as Daniel Relichowski and Agata Szylkiewicz, and then . . . that is, the following day, the relatives of the victims confirmed it.’
‘What state were the bodies in?’ asked the judge.
‘Massacred. It looked like . . . like a still from a gore movie. That’s a kind of horror movie where . . .’
‘The court knows what a gore movie is,’ interrupted Gołdyn. ‘Please continue.’
Kordian decided that the judge’s interruptions could mean one of two things: either Gołdyn was all right, or he couldn’t care less about the case and couldn’t be bothered to make a song and dance about it. So far it had more of the casual feel of a regional court than the pomp of a high-profile trial before five judges of the Supreme Court.
‘At first glance I could assess that the victims had been tortured to death,’ continued the policeman. ‘The murder weapons were within my sight. I saw a bloodied hammer, knives, some skewers and a wrench. I am not a specialist in forensic medicine, so I do not know what the exact injuries were. It seemed that the defendant . . . that is, the prisoner, did not leave any part of the body untouched. If he did not crush or pulverise the flesh, he pierced it with a sharp object. A terrible sight . . .’
The policeman broke off, and Gołdyn nodded.
‘I will now read out to the court the statement you gave during the pre-trial proceedings,’ he said. ‘You may sit down while I read.’
‘Thank you.’
It took a while for the judge to battle his way through the long, chaotic statement, in which the policeman described in detail everything he saw during his visit to Piotr Langer’s apartment.
‘Do you uphold what you said in your statement?’ asked Gołdyn, once the torrent of words was over.
‘Yes.’
The judge nodded and looked at Rejchert, who was sitting to the right of the adjudicating panel. He looked relaxed, which was hardly surprising.
‘Prosecutor?’
‘Thank you, I have no questions,’ declared Rejchert, rising only briefly.
‘Counsellor?’
Joanna smiled faintly at the judge, then slowly and gracefully rose from her chair. She looked into the eyes of the policeman in the witness box and raised her chin very slightly.
‘In your statement, you say that my client tortured his alleged victims, is that correct?’
‘Yes. And I uphold it.’
‘I understand,’ replied Chyłka, lowering her head so that now she appeared to be glaring at him. ‘Could you tell the court what professional police duties you were called to carry out at my client’s home that day?’
‘I was there to detain him.’
‘After the event?’
‘Let’s not waste time determining obvious facts,’ interrupted Judge Bazan, the former deputy of the United People’s Party.
‘Of course,’ conceded Joanna without a shadow of resentment. ‘This leads me to my next question: how much time passed between the death of the victims and your arrival on the scene?’
The policeman was silent.
‘It’s not a difficult question,’ she said.
‘Everyone knows that it was more or less ten days.’
‘Exactly. That is what the forensic medicine experts have established,’ said Chyłka with a small smile. ‘Therefore, let us sum up: you arrive at the scene ten days after the murders. In the apartment you find my client, and then you notice the corpses.’
‘Yes,’ confirmed the policeman. ‘Piotr L. opened the door for me and calmly walked through to the kitchen to pour himself some water.’
‘Are these questions leading to anything relevant?’ interrupted Bazan again.
Chyłka nodded. ‘On the basis of the wounds on the bodies, the murder weapons and the presence of my client, you have concluded that Piotr L. took the lives of these people with premeditation. He tormented these people, tortured them and repeatedly inflicted wounds until they both died.’
‘That is how I believe it happened, but—’
‘So you have assessed my client’s intentions on the basis of the wounds you saw. I am not surprised, because this is the logical conclusion we can draw from the situation. The same mistake was made by other professionals dealing with the case, including the courts of the first and second instance.’
‘Counsellor . . .’
‘I am trying to show that even at this preliminary stage, my client’s direct intention to murder had already been assumed.’
‘The time for final speeches will come later, Counsellor,’ said Gołdyn. ‘Please focus on your questions to the witness.’
‘I am, Your Honour,’ replied Joanna calmly. ‘What I am trying to do is to find out how it was determined that my client had acted with direct intention.’
‘That was a question?’ asked Judge Bazan.
Chyłka nodded, looking directly at the witness. The policeman scratched his hand and looked at the judges, as if searching for help. After a moment of silence, the presiding judge gestured for the witness to give his answer.
‘Sorry, could you repeat the question?’
‘Of course,’ replied Chyłka. ‘You have determined a direct intention, that is my client’s intention to commit a crime, the direct intention to take the lives of these people, on the basis of their wounds, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you please explain by what miracle you can look into someone’s head and determine their motive when you’ve only seen the results?’
‘As I have said, the victims were—’
‘Yes, yes, massacred. You stressed that point repeatedly. But at the time you didn’t know when those wounds were inflicted. Perhaps they were inflicted post-mortem?’
‘That’s possible, but it doesn’t change anything.’
‘It doesn’t change anything?’ said Chyłka, pursing her lips and looking at the presiding judge. ‘If the wounds were inflicted after the murder was committed, then you have based your conclusion on a quite irrelevant premise.’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘Why?’ asked Chyłka quickly, before any of the judges managed to react.
‘Because you could see what had happened at first glance.’
She had him.
‘So in your opinion, there is no possibility that the victims could have died in any way other than through the deliberate actions of my client? And you base this certainty on the existence of wounds that could have occurred post-mortem?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Let me remind you that you are testifying under oath.’
‘Reminding witnesses of this fact is not your responsibility,’ interrupted Bazan.
Joanna raised her hands slightly and took a step back to show her acquiescence. But she already knew she had no chance of placating this ex-political-deputy. The old crone probably saw her presence in the courtroom as a punishment, and wanted to return home as soon as possible to her cat, hamster, chinchilla or whatever it was. The only creature that could put up with her.
‘So?’ asked Chyłka, looking at the policeman. ‘Have you based all your conclusions on deeds that could have occurred after the fact?’
‘You’re twisting everything . . .’
‘Please answer the question.’ It was Judge Gołdyn speaking this time.
‘Your Honour,’ interjected Rejchert, rising from his chair. He felt the cold stares from the whole panel, but he didn’t back down. ‘We are looking at a pantomime that has no place in this respectable institution.’
‘Please sit down,’ said the presiding judge. ‘Your chance to ask questions came earlier. You did not take advantage of the opportunity.’
Rejchert lowered his head and looked towards Judge Bazan. He saw a flash of understanding in her eyes, which only confirmed his feeling that already, at this early stage in the proceedings, he was leading 1–0. He only needed two more judges on his side and he could go and light a cigar.
‘I shall therefore repeat my previous question,’ said Chyłka. ‘Is it not possible that those people could have died for some reason other than the wounds you saw?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted the policeman before he could think how to get out of the trap. ‘That is . . .’
‘Therefore, could it be the case that the victims had already died, and my client inflicted all the wounds later?’
‘Well, maybe it could. From what I know, the bodies were in such a state that it was difficult to determine when most of the wounds were inflicted. But what you are suggesting is nonsense. Why would he want to do that? Out of anger that they were dead?’ the policeman asked with a foolish smile, looking at the judges.
‘Thank you. I have no more questions,’ said Joanna, returning to her place.
‘Thank you for attending,’ said the presiding judge to the policeman, using his eyes to show the witness which way he should go after leaving the witness box.