The Odds Of Justice

Clara sat under the swinging lamp, hand on her belly. Cold seemed to emanate from the concrete walls and the steel table. She had no idea who might be staring at her from the other side of the two-way mirror. It was the safest she had felt in days.

Two detectives came in wearing matching black suits, but one had a red tie, and the other wore blue. They identified themselves, but she lost their names as they spread out photos on the table. Pictures of her. She turned away.

“Clara, may I call you Clara?” Red Tie asked. “Thank you. Clara, we know who did this. And this. And this.”

One after the other, he pointed to the photos. A pair of black eyes on one, scratches on the neck, bright red and raised with pus, on the other. Ligature marks on the wrists on the last. She could hear him press them against the table, tap tap tap, but she wouldn’t look.

“If you know who did it, then why do I need to be in here?”

“You’re right. I should be careful with my words. We suspect we know who did this to you. But you have to tell us. You have to give us a name so we can act on that suspicion.”

“I can’t do that.”

Blue Tie slapped his hand on the table. Red put a hand on his arm to calm him. It didn’t work.

“You need to  stop lying!” Blue yelled. “To us, and to yourself! You can stop this. Right here. Right now. For good.”

Clara glanced at the photos, but she wouldn’t meet either of the detectives’ eyes. Blue shook his head, gathered up the photos, and shoved them in the folder.

“If you won’t help us, then we have to look at all the options. We can’t just let a crime slide because the witness won’t cooperate.  We won’t. When there are other options on the table.”

Clara looked over at Red, “What does he mean?”

“You’ve heard of Imprint Readings, haven’t you?”

Clara gasped,  “You can’t do that, not without my consent! You can’t just invade my mind!”

“We can get a warrant.”

“It’s against the law to force me to testify or give evidence, verbal or mental, against my spouse.”

“Your husband make sure you know that?”

Clara kept quiet.

“And if it wasn’t your husband that did this, why does any of that matter?”

Clara opened her mouth, but struggled to find the words. That ephemeral ghost of safety had fled for warmer climes.  She lay her hands across her stomach, trying to find every ounce of strength she could.

“You cannot make me testify or give evidence.”

Blue, standing behind her, sighed. “You’re right.”

“Then I want to go.”

“No.”

“No?”

“We have another witness to the crime.”

“Who?”

Clara looked up at Blue, who stared at her belly. She clutched it tightly, as if to protect it from his gaze.

“You can’t.”

“We can.”

“But, but the studies, they say - “

“A ten percent chance of harm versus a 100% chance of justice. Those are good odds, in my book.”

“You can’t force me to let you -”

“The state has a vested interest in your baby boy. It is a boy, right? That’s what’s in the file. The state determined it is not only a person at conception, but a citizen. A citizen under our jurisdiction. A citizen who can be compelled to give evidence.”

“Please don’t do this. What could you even get?”

“Were you or were you not pregnant when this happened?” Blue slapped the photo of her black eyes on the table.

“Yes.”

“And when this happened?” He slapped down the photo with the scratches.

“Yes.”

“And this -”

“Yes, yes, yes to all of them, you monster.”

“Then your little boy heard everything. Felt everything. So, I think you’re forgetting who the real monster is in all this. No. Sorry, I meant I think you’re protecting the real monster in all of this. If you don’t do what you know you should, then I am going to head out of this room, go down the hallway, grab a cart with four squeaky wheels and a dozen wires hanging off it, bring it in here, and hook it up the moment I get a warrant.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Feel free; that’s your right. But it won’t stop anything, “ Red said. “Once we have the warrant, all they can do is read it to you.”

“Nothing is going to interfere with justice being served.”

Clara sobbed quietly. Between her tears, she said. “I just can’t do it.”

Blue shook his head and left the room. Red reached across the table, trying to offer solace as he’d been trained to do.

“He’ll be back soon. With the warrant. With the machine.”

Clara finally looked up at him. “How long?”

“How long? Well, it’s only down the hall -“

“No, how long would my husband get? If he had done anything, that is.”

“That’s up to the prosecution and the judge, so I don’t -”

“How long?”

Red tapped his fingers. “First-time offense? Five years.”

“First-time offense,” she whispered bitterly. “And with good behaviour? Because he can be very good. When people are watching.”

“Two years. Then probation.”

“So, the state has an interest in possibly harming my child for life, but not protecting him or me for the rest of our lives?”

“Justice has to mean a chance at redemption, at rehabilitation.”

“But there’s no rehabilitation for my baby, is there? You and your state won’t help cover his needs if you damage my son. Huh? Will you?”

“Why won’t you just give us what we need? Spare him.”

Clara lay her head on the cold table as if it was all just too much for her. From down there, she said, “Your partner is talking about a 10% chance of suffering for a 100% chance at justice. But the other equation is that there is a 90% chance nothing will happen to him, but if I give up… a name, there is a 100% chance that, after those two years of good behavior, he kills me. How do those odds sound to you now?”

Red stood up and stepped out of the room, letting the door close behind him. He banged his head softly against the grain. Took a deep breath and ran the odds again in his mind. A 10% chance of this, a 100% chance of that, a 90% chance of whatever. God, he thought, the odds of life suck. He stepped back into the room, leaving the door open. Red sat down and placed a hand on top of Carla’s.

“I want you to know you’re right. With everything you’ve gone through, I wanted you to hear that at least once. You are right. You have no good options. Not in the long term.”

They could hear Blue down the hall, those squeaky wheels echoing on the linoleum.  Both imagined the wires swinging off the side like tiny nooses for all possible futures.

Red pulled his hand away. “So we take the road that best serves the interest of justice.”

Clara raised her head and looked him in the eye. “You mean the best interests of you.”

“One and the same,” Blue said from the door.

He pushed the cart into the room. Wires hanging.