Roots of Outrage. John Davis Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ Your Worship,’ Sergeant van Rensburg said.

      ‘And in fact you were very confident of finding such evidence – otherwise you would not have taken the risk of damaging my absent co-accused’s door.’

      The sergeant said: ‘Yes, I was confident, Your Worship.’

      Patti Gandhi cried: ‘So confident that you were prejudiced!’

      The sergeant said uncomfortably: ‘No, I was not prejudiced.’

      ‘No? You weren’t convinced you were right? Then why did you smash a citizen’s door down?’

      The sergeant said gruffly: ‘Yes, I was convinced.’

      ‘Aha! You were convinced you’d find evidence of immorality within. And therefore, Sergeant, your expert, five-year-experienced eye was prejudiced by your conviction that you would find steamy evidence of immorality.’

      ‘I was not prejudiced …’

      Patti started to argue but the magistrate said, ‘You’ve made your point, Miss Gandhi, now please proceed to your next question.’

      Patti Gandhi said sweetly: ‘So, therefore, Sergeant, it is very appropriate – very relevant – to ask you what your definition of immorality is. To define to us exactly what you were looking for.’

      ‘Objection, Your Worship,’ the prosecutor said. ‘Argumentative.’

      The magistrate sighed. ‘No, Mr Prosecutor, Miss Gandhi has squeezed the question in legitimately. Her question is: What was the witness looking for and what was going on in his mind? That’s relevant.’

      Patti turned back to the witness. ‘So, what is immorality?’

      ‘Sexual intercourse.’

      Patti’s finger shot up. ‘Ah! So sexual intercourse is immoral!’ She turned to the magistrate. ‘And he was so convinced it was taking place that he smashed a door down! If that isn’t a prejudiced witness, what is, Your Worship?’

      The magistrate managed a smile. ‘Continue, Miss Gandhi.’

      Patti glared at the witness. ‘And what exactly did your prejudiced eyes see, Sergeant? First you saw my friend in his underpants, looking frightened, agitated.’

      ‘Correct.’

      ‘Wouldn’t you expect anybody to be frightened if someone breaks into his house at midnight? And then you looked into the bedroom. But you did not see me in there, did you?’

      ‘No, you were in the bathroom.’

      ‘Correct. You opened the bathroom door – which is down the passage – and saw me there. With a towel wrapped around my chest?’

      ‘Correct.’

      ‘Looking frightened, too, you said. Wouldn’t you expect any woman to be frightened – horrified – when a strange, nasty man bursts in when she’s naked, about to shower.’

      ‘You weren’t about to shower,’ the sergeant said wearily.

      ‘How do you know?’

      The sergeant muttered: ‘It’s obvious.’

      ‘Oh, obvious? And you say you weren’t prejudiced? But the bathroom is an obvious place to shower? And isn’t naked the obvious way to shower?’

      The sergeant sighed. ‘Of course, but …’

      ‘Thank you. And on the bathroom floor were my clothes, you said. Isn’t that the obvious place you’d expect to find them, as I was showering in somebody else’s house?’

      ‘No, you could have undressed in the bedroom, grabbed your clothes and run into the bathroom when you heard me coming.’

      ‘I see … But did you see me do that?’

      ‘No, I told you what I saw.’

      ‘But you presume I did that?’

      ‘That’s for the magistrate to decide, not me,’ Sergeant van Rensburg muttered.

      ‘Thank goodness for that! Now, turning to the bedroom: you say the bed was unmade, as if somebody had recently slept in it? Did my absent co-accused have a servant who makes his bed?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘So the bed could have been unmade like that for days. So why do you say it had been “recently” slept in?’

      ‘Because,’ the sergeant said triumphantly, ‘the bed was warm.’

      ‘Ah, yes, so you said. Warm? You used a thermometer, of course?’

      ‘No,’ the sergeant sighed, ‘I felt it with my hand.’

      ‘Oh, yes, your hand. I suppose your five years’ experience in vice has made your hand a reliable thermometer?’

      ‘The bed was warm, Your Worship,’ the sergeant insisted.

      ‘How warm, Sergeant?’

      ‘It was warm – it was obvious people had been lying in it.’

      ‘Obvious? People? Not just one person? It was obvious the temperature was caused by two or more human beings?’

      The sergeant sighed. ‘The point is it was warm. And there were two people in the apartment.’

      ‘And two people will always jump into the same bed? Two people couldn’t possibly be in the presence of one bed without feeling irresistibly compelled to jump into it? Is that your experience?’

      The sergeant sighed again. ‘I’m just telling the magistrate what I saw.’

      ‘And felt. With your experienced hand. So tell me, what was the temperature of the bed – in Fahrenheit. Or Centigrade.’

      The sergeant muttered: ‘I don’t know. Just warm.’

      ‘I see. Hold your hand up in the air, please, Sergeant.’

      The sergeant did so, grimly.

      ‘What is the temperature of the air in this courtroom?’

      ‘I don’t know, Your Worship,’ he sighed. ‘It’s normal.’

      ‘Normal for what? For Africa in general? Johannesburg in particular, six thousand feet above sea level? What is normal?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘You don’t know! And what is the normal temperature of a bed that has just been vacated?’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ