Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [48]
Kristine anxiously approached her weeping sister-in‐law and placed an uncertain arm around the convulsing woman. Martha tried as best she could to comfort Sara. ‘The Doctor has disappeared as well,’ she said. ‘But I know where he’s gone. He’s going to sort all this out. I promise.’
The woman looked at Martha through tear-smudged eyes. ‘You cannot promise for another,’ she said simply. ‘You cannot promise when no one knows what is happening.’
Saul placed an arm around Sara, drawing her tightly to his chest, and Martha was left standing on her own in the centre of the hall, feeling powerless and sad.
The judge leaned forward, his thin lips pursed. ‘Ben Abbas, is there anything you would like to say, either in your defence or in mitigation?’
‘Plenty,’ said Abbas. The guards on either side of him released their grip and let him stand.
Abbas took a moment to survey the courtroom, from the cameras and journalists up in the gallery, to the legal teams and jurors arranged in rows in front of him. So many faces, so many people eager to hear what he had to say – he would be famous, for a day or two at least.
He swallowed hard. Suddenly, the idea of his face, his words, being transmitted across the world on all the news channels seemed a little daunting. Still, he didn’t have many fears left now. Better just tackle this as he tackled everything – head-on.
‘She deserved it,’ he said simply.
There was a sharp intake of breath from the jurors, the whine of cameras and recorders up in the gallery.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You heard me. She deserved it. You lot reckon she was all sweetness and light, but you never had to live with her!’ He was warming to his theme already, using his hands to underline his points. ‘One minute she’s doing some interview, promoting her latest film and talking about her charity work and how she’s the underclass’s sweetheart, an inspiration to millions.’ Abbas paused, taking a swig of water from the bottle at his side. ‘Next, she’s home with me, boasting about her latest boyfriend and wondering what shade of purple her next quad-fuel car’s gonna be.’
‘I’m not sure this is helping!’ hissed the brief at his side, but it was too late now.
‘She was always rubbing my nose in it – her wealth, how desirable she was… She said I was pathetic. Well, I showed her, didn’t I?’
The judge’s patience had long since snapped. ‘That’s enough,’ he called out.
Immediately the guards were at Abbas’ side, clamping his arms in their vice-like grip.
The judge, like a black vulture on a roost, peered down at the defendant. ‘Benjamin Michael Abbas, you are an evil man. In your younger days, many people thought of you as a likeable rogue, a man who fraternised with gangsters but was beyond their despicable methodology. In fact, while imprisoned awaiting trial for the murder of your wife, the actress Gabby Jayne Hughes, you did finally admit to your role in a number of murders across many territories of the world. You cannot put these crimes down to the indiscretions of youth – these are murders, not acts of petty vandalism! And, though you did not kill these people yourself, by your actions you ensured that it was as if the finger on the trigger was yours.’
The judge sighed theatrically. ‘You said you hoped to “turn over a new leaf” on your marriage to Miss Hughes. Instead, you became jealous of her, and of her work, and you even came to doubt that you were the father of your child. The “mitigating circumstances” quoted in your defence are excuses, mere flim-flam, designed to delay the execution of justice. Now, however, a court has found you guilty of cold-blooded and heartless murder.’
The judge paused, adjusting his wig for the benefit of the cameras. ‘In this territory, we do not sentence to death. However, you will be imprisoned until death occurs. There will be no repeal, no reprieve, no hope of release.’ His words fell heavily on the courtroom; even the excited, titillated whispers from the gallery faded away, replaced only with sonorous silence.
‘However,