Sins of the Son -- Part 2
by Cynthia Piromalli

“Desperate and dangerous? You’ve got to be joking!”

Mark Kingsland’s voice could be heard all though Court Room Number 5, even though he was out in the holding room. His lawyer, Stephen Burrows, tried to quiet him, but Mark would not be placated.

“You mean I can’t go home? You said I could go home!”

“I didn’t promise you anything, Mark, you know that.”

“My first offence, you said, so I should get bail. That’s what you said.”

“Obviously you didn’t hear what I said after that, which was to point out that the second shot you fired would be your downfall. I mean seriously, Mark, the court is not going to believe you accidentally shot this guy when there were two wounds and one was point blank to the head. Even if I did get you bail, it probably would have been more money than anyone would be able to pay.”

“Obviously you’re not doing your job if you can’t get me bail on a first offence.”

“Murder isn’t just any first offence, Mark, okay. Look, let’s go down into one of the interview rooms. There are a few things we need to discuss before they take you back to the remand centre.”

“How long will I have to stay there for?” Mark asked, as the two men began walking behind a court bailiff who led them down a hallway to the back of the court house.

“Until your hearing, which I’ll try and get on a fast track but it may not be for six months.”

“Six bloody months?!” Mark hollered and stopped dead in his tracks. “I have to be locked up in jail for six months?”

“That’s how long it takes to get a trial going, Mark, I already told you that. And you could be locked away for a whole lot longer if the Department of Public Prosecutions get what they want on you, Mark, so you have to cooperate with me on this.” The bailiff led them into a small interview room, that had space enough only for a square beech colored table and two upholstered chairs that were in need of repair. The bailiff closed the door and waited outside. “Sit down, and try to calm down,” ordered Mr. Burrows.

Mark obeyed for the time being, but was silent more from his internal fuming anger than relaxation. As Mark sat silently seething, Mr. Burrows took out a buff colored folder from his briefcase and looked at his handwritten notes inside.

“You’re not going to be able to use the excuse of an accident for the shooting. That second shot proved to be far too malicious for any accident. Like I said, Prosecutions want to pin you for murder. You’ve got means and motive.”

“Motive? What, robbing a petrol station? I didn’t know the guy or anything. Why would I want to kill him?”

“Yes, Mark – why?”

“I was under the influence.”

“Mark, your alcohol reading on the night was only a touch over the limit. It’s not enough to prove that you were too drunk to know what you were doing. The only way that would have been the case is if you are allergic to alcohol,” Mr. Burrows put a hand up for Mark to stop talking as he tried to butt in, “which if you were, you wouldn’t be in any state to rob a petrol station and shoot the attendant. You would have been lying somewhere unable to breathe, so you can’t use that. And don’t even think about asking me to get up there and say it was self-defense. The victim’s body had no defense wounds, you weren’t touched in any way …”

“Temporary insanity?”

Stephen sighed and rubbed his temples. “Any sort of psychiatric defense is very hard to prove, Mark. You’ve got to get examined by a forensic psychiatrist, and their findings are put through the wringer during the trial, so there’s no guarantee. Besides, you signed a confession within five hours of the killing …”

“Of course I did, I was mental!”

“Look, in all honesty, all I can do is try to bargain with Prosecutions. Plead guilty, don’t go to trial, and we can sort it out quicker. It’s your first offence. I’m not saying you’ll get a suspended sentence, but you could get a lot less than you would if you faced a jury.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah, and if you’re that way inclined, you might like to ask him for a bit of help too. Is there anything else you want to tell me …” and as Mark’s mouth opened, Mr. Burrows added, “that is realistic and that I can use.”

“Look, all I was trying to do was get rent money for me and my mum. I wasn’t going to use the money for drugs or anything like that, you know that. I was desperate, that’s all.”

“Desperate enough to shoot a man? Twice?”

“I didn’t want to get caught. He would have been able to identify me …”

“As the security cameras in the store did, as well as the police officers who arrived as you tried to get away.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“No, neither do I,” Mr. Burrows said in a quiet voice as he looked through his notes. Then he thought of something, “Where’s your father?”

“Dunno.”

“No idea whatsoever?”

“What did I just say?” Mark’s voice went up a couple of notches as his frustration grew closer to boiling point.

“Look, help me out here Mark, because I’m trying to help you. I shouldn’t have to remind you again how lucky you were to get me. Subsidized legal help is on its last legs in this country, so be thankful for what you have.” Mark mumbled something, and Mr. Burrows continued, “so when did he leave?”

“When I was about two or something. I don’t remember him at all.”

“And your mother never received any child maintenance from him, no financial support or any contact at all?”

“No, she just wanted him gone, she said.”

“Look, we may be able to use this to help the jury sympathies if you want to go to trial. No promises, you can’t tell what a jury is going to think. Maybe if we find your dad …”

“He won’t care, he doesn’t even know me.”

“Maybe not. But if we can find him, see what he’s like, discover if there was any childhood abuse that your mother didn’t tell you about, we may be able to wrangle that into some sort of psychiatric defense.”

Mark shrugged.

“Well, we need everything we can get,” said Mr. Burrows, and he slapped his folder shut.

© Cynthia M. Piromalli 2003
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com

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