The lawyers spent the next break downstairs, accompanied by Kormak. One cigarette wasn’t enough to relieve the tension and stress, so the legal duo smoked frantically, and greedily managed two cigarettes in the allotted time.
‘I think it went well,’ said Kormak. ‘They bought it.’
‘They bought nothing,’ replied Joanna. ‘Those people had already seen this sort of thing a hundred times when you and Zordon were learning how to use a potty. They saw through everything, and know we’re just playing tactics.’
‘So there’ll be no hemos pasado?’ asked Kordian.
‘There’s still a chance. We’ve definitely aroused their curiosity.’
‘Certainly not Bazan,’ noted Oryński. ‘That old battleaxe is only interested in when she can go home.’
‘Never mind her,’ Chyłka said, sighing. ‘You could tell from the start she’s not worth the trouble. Besides, we don’t need her for anything. Let her rot.’
Her companions nodded.
‘And what about the factual findings thing? Is that true?’ asked Kormak.
‘Yup,’ confirmed Joanna. ‘The Supreme Court is not just another court. The judges can’t waste time trying to determine once again whether or not it was Langer who thrust the knife into the woman’s eye socket. Their task is to determine whether or not errors were made during earlier trials.’
‘And there were errors,’ said Kormak, not entirely sure whether he was asking a question or making a statement.
‘It depends.’
‘What depends? Either there were or there weren’t.’
‘In law, everything depends,’ said Oryński, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘It’s the first thing we learn at university, and then we hear it repeated everywhere; it’s the universal answer to all questions. In negotiations and mediations, you need to constantly ask why, and in talks with clients or opponents in the courtroom, it’s always good to say that it depends.’
‘Huh?’
‘For example: is there a punishment for killing a person?’ asked Kordian, looking at Chyłka.
Joanna shook her head, not wanting to play games. But then she saw Kormak looking at her expectantly, so she sighed and replied.
‘It depends,’ she said, rocking her head from side to side for theatrical effect. ‘It depends on how old the perpetrator is, whether they are sane, whether they did it deliberately, whether it was direct intent, etc. It all depends, Kormak. That also holds true in this case.’
‘Depends on what? Do you mean the judgement?’
‘On a whim,’ murmured Oryński. ‘It depends on the mood of the judges. The law is the law, regulations are regulations, but it all comes down to their subjective evaluation.’
‘That’s right,’ confirmed Chyłka. ‘My favourite legal brain, Ronald Dworkin, who has now sadly departed to a better place, always said that the judge is the key element in the legal system. Not any regulation, just the judge. The judgement depends on what kind of person the judge is. Admittedly that makes greater sense in Great Britain, because there, if there’s a “hard case”, the judge can refer to general rules governing the system. But even here, in our country, this is also true to some extent. We also have rules, that Dworkin would call standards. They are based on morality and general social mores, and they are the basis on which laws are written. The thing is that they are also the basis for adjudication.’
‘Er . . .’ said Kormak, not really understanding what she had just said.
‘I’ll put it another way,’ said Joanna. ‘Adjudicating on the basis of general principles of morality and justice may lead to many different decisions. That, in my opinion, is the quintessence of the thought of Dworkin’s predecessor, a chap called Hart. In a single case, ten judges may issue ten different judgements, each of which would be acceptable because they would all be in accordance with the law and also in accordance with current standards. But which one is best? Well, the one made by the judge with the best character. That’s why the law is the law, but it’s the person who turns that law into a decision that really counts.’
‘OK,’ replied Kormak. ‘That’s enough for one day. In fact, it’s enough for the next several weeks. It would be better if you could tell me what happens now,’ he said, looking at the glass wall.
‘Well, what do you think will happen?’ asked Chyłka. ‘At the moment, the judges are conferring. They’re brainstorming, considering each issue separately, and later they’ll vote. They’ll scribble their signatures on a piece of paper and that’ll be that, the case will be done and dusted.’
Kormak hopped from foot to foot, looking inquiringly at Joanna. But she didn’t want to speculate on the outcome of the trial. She could barely gather her own thoughts, let alone work out what the judgement was likely to be.
Common sense told her that the case was straightforward, but the court could make a number of different decisions, and each of them would be acceptable; though not necessarily from Langer’s point of view.
‘You’re an old courtroom hand, Chyłka,’ said Kordian. ‘You should at least know what kind of judgement to expect.’
‘It depends.’
Kormak rolled his eyes. ‘On what?’
‘On how many Herculeses there are.’
‘Huh?’
‘Dworkin distinguished two types of judge.’
‘Oh please,’ said Kormak. ‘Not Dworkin again.’
‘Two types of judge,’ she continued, undeterred. ‘Judge Herbert and Judge Hercules. Herbert was rather pedestrian; he was subservient to the legislature and scared to make any creative interpretations. He respected the will of the majority and did not take into account his own opinion during adjudication, if it differed from the majority viewpoint. Judge Hercules was different. He did not wish to play the role of legislator, but at the same time he felt he had a special ability to interpret the law in terms of justice and morality. Therefore, he adjudicated on the basis of his own assessments and not the will of the majority expressed in accordance with statute law.’
Kormak mimed tying a noose around his neck.
‘In order to win, we need three Herculeses,’ added Joanna, ignoring him. ‘Unfortunately, they are so rare in the wild that they should be a protected species.’
The defence lawyers returned to the courtroom with gloomy faces, as if they were going to their own execution. Langer looked up and gazed at them blankly. They took their seats, looking at the empty chairs soon to be graced by the backsides of the five judges responsible for the defendant’s fate.
‘What do you think?’ asked Kordian.
‘Gołdyn and Dublicki have taken the bait. Bazan definitely hasn’t, likewise most probably Sydoń. That leaves Marendziak, who looked as if he was about to nod off throughout the trial. Now everything depends on him.’
‘Perhaps we can count on male solidarity?’ asked Oryński with a foolish smile. Chyłka just looked at him, which was enough to make him wish he hadn’t said anything.
‘Will we take the case further if the need arises?’ he asked a while later. ‘To Strasbourg?’
‘I reckon we’d have a better chance over there than here. Especially in the light of . . .’
Chyłka broke off mid-sentence, as the gong sounded, at that very moment signalling to everyone in the courtroom that they should rise to honour the majesty of the judiciary. On TV, someone in the courtroom usually made the announcement, but in the Supreme Court the judges’ arrival was heralded by a sonorous beep, similar to that announcing the approach of an underground train. The beep was followed by a grave silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps.
The five judges in their purple jabots and collars processed into the courtroom, proudly led by a man wearing the chain of justice, at the bottom of which dangled the Polish eagle. Everyone had risen from their seats and remained standing until the judges sat. The adjudicators removed their caps and placed them on the desks in front of them. Gołdyn took a breath and looked straight ahead, his gaze impenetrable.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, before I announce the judgement, I would like to say a few words,’ he began. ‘The case we have been deliberating is extremely complex. It is disturbing in ordinary terms and fascinating from the legal point of view. It cannot be denied that much has been left unexplained, and some previously unknown facts are yet to be confirmed. Counsellor Chyłka has rightly drawn our attention to a number of problems that could, but will not necessarily, turn out to be relevant to the case. In particular, we should consider the question of the person who, according to the police, was responsible for your abduction.’ Gołdyn looked at the two lawyers, but there was nothing in his gaze that could be construed as a good omen.
Quite the opposite. Oryński felt that the judge was looking at them with compassion, as if he wanted to help but couldn’t. Perhaps he was not up to the task, and had turned out to be just another Judge Herbert? It didn’t look good.
‘Using Morse code, Piotr L. tried to draw your attention to a person whom, for data protection reasons, we will call the Grey-Haired Man. This was before the abduction, and even before trainee Oryński was brutally assaulted, which leads me to think there is a connection between that man, Piotr L. and the incidents in question. By a process of logic, this implies that the defendant’s silence is in some way imposed by a third party. With this, I end my suppositions. Because these are only suppositions. As far as the facts are concerned, I can only say that new facts have certainly emerged in the case.’
Chyłka nodded, because this time the judge was looking her straight in the eye.
‘These facts could have changed the decision of the court if the defence had requested to reopen the case. However, they decided not to do this.’
Oryński would happily have told the judge that when they decided to submit a cassation appeal, they didn’t know about Langer’s messages. What’s more, they didn’t even know about the Grey-Haired Man. But all that was irrelevant now.
‘A cassation hearing re-examines the proceedings of lower instance courts, but only with respect to the law,’ stressed Gołdyn. ‘And it rules only on the grounds for appeal as given in the cassation statement.’
Kordian swore profusely in his mind.
‘Hence compulsory representation by a lawyer. Only an experienced lawyer has permission to file a cassation appeal. The grounds for appeal have to be expressed extremely precisely, as they alone determine the court’s decision.’
Gołdyn could have ended there. But judges were not known for delivering short speeches.
‘Having said that, I must emphasise one thing that might seem contrary to our sense of justice: unlike the court of appeal, we have no room here to adjudicate beyond the scope of the appeal, even in the event of a gross injustice. I might be of the opinion that the judgement in Piotr L.’s case is grossly unfair, but it is not in my competence to change it.’
Oryński was afraid to look at Chyłka. He was afraid to see the expression of utter defeat on her face.
‘To recap, the Supreme Court examines the cassation appeal only within the bounds of the charges it contains, and therefore, even with the best intentions, we could not go beyond the indictments of the appeal.’
Kordian started to feel hot. When the judge paused towards the end of his speech, it seemed to mark the beginning of a funeral eulogy – over the joint grave of their legal careers.
‘One of the exceptions, however, is a norm in article 455 of the Criminal Procedure Code concerning appeal proceedings. This may, in certain circumstances, be applied in cassation appeal proceedings before the Supreme Court.’
Oryński shifted in his chair, feeling shivers running down his spine. He looked at Chyłka, but she maintained a stony expression, her gaze fixed on the presiding judge.
‘In accordance with this norm, the court may re-examine the case with a broader scope, if there are grounds to believe that the original judgement is flawed. It is the opinion of the court that this has happened in the case of Piotr L.’
Kordian felt his mouth fall open and his lips arrange themselves into a grin of satisfaction. Joanna, however, still appeared impassive, so he forced himself to stay calm. Even with the presiding judge on their side there could be several possible outcomes, and most were disadvantageous to their client. Oryński turned around to look at him, and saw something that could be construed as a glimmer of hope on Langer’s face. He still looked apathetic, and every inch the prisoner, but he was no longer contemplating his chains.
‘And that said, I shall now read the decision of the court,’ continued the judge. He adjusted his chain, looked at the sheet of paper in front of him and took a deep breath. ‘Judgement on behalf of the Republic of Poland,’ he began, and then read the date, the names of the judges and the subject of the case. ‘Following the Criminal Law Division hearing of the cassation appeal submitted by the defence lawyers of Piotr L. regarding the judgement of the Court of Appeal in Warsaw, upholding the judgement of the District Court in Warsaw, the Supreme Court . . .’
Now, thought Oryński and closed his eyes.
‘. . . overrules the ruling in its entirety, and also the ruling of the court of the first instance, and remands the case for retrial in the court of the first instance.’
Chyłka and Kordian didn’t even hear the court order regarding reimbursement for the cassation appeal fee, so overcome were they with wild excitement; all the greater because it would have been inappropriate to show it. Almost imperceptibly they shook their heads with disbelief, and Langer, sitting behind them, slowly began to realise that he had been given a second chance. A new life.