Arthur Beauchamp 02 April Fool by William Deverell

Author:William Deverell [Deverell, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781551991481
Google: iS75dnGqSYcC
Amazon: B0031TZAFM
Barnesnoble: B0031TZAFM
Goodreads: 11148184
Publisher: Random House LLC
Published: 2005-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

On this, Day Twenty, the prospect of Margaret’s imminent return home is causing Arthur butterflies. He’s not eager to be in a courtroom today, he should be at home creating another lemon pie. Champagne is in the fridge–Margaret has every right to get a little tiddly tomorrow.

He was ribbed ferociously this morning at the General Store. “Hope your wife don’t find it too crowded up there with all them young studs.” “I bet she’s gonna come down smiling.” Arthur took it like a man.

The injunction hearing was put over to the afternoon, and it’s nearing two as he and Lotis make their way into the Great Hall of the Vancouver Law Courts. Themes, goddess of justice, greets them, proudly blindfolded. There are other sculptures, Inuit, on display where Selwyn Loo is waiting, his fingers lightly caressing a soapstone bear. “We don’t have Santorini today.”

Their judge has run off to the dry hills of the Okanagan, a pro-am charity event–he’s teamed with a guest celebrity, a Masters winner. There’s media coverage. Santorini has let it be known that nothing short of a terrorist attack–certainly not an environmental crisis on Garibaldi Island–will dislodge him from those fairways and greens.

“Fine, we’ll adjourn the matter until he gets back.” None of the other judges will stand in. This case has already bounced to the Appeal Court and back, and is likely regarded as in the same category as dogs’ breakfasts and cans of worms. Unless forced to by rare circumstance–such as Santorini drowning in a water hazard–no judge of sound mind will want to pinch-hit. But why is Selwyn looking more dismal than usual today?

“The Chief Justice himself insists on stepping in, Arthur.”

Arthur feels his jaw drop. Wilbur Kroop? Surely Selwyn is joking. Arthur looks up and locates Garlinc’s legal team at level four, in amiable conversation. It’s no joke, they’re enjoying their good fortune.

“I hear he can be difficult,” Selwyn says.

“He’s an irascible fathead.”

The wars are legendary. Twenty years ago, Arthur spent three nights in jail before surrendering to him, apologizing in court. Three nights withdrawing from alcohol were more than he could take.

“He won’t be pleased to see me,” Arthur says. “I’d best stay hidden.”

Despondent, he watches Court 41 fill with lawyers, public, and press. The door closes on them. He paces. There had been hope with Santorini, at bottom a fair-minded man. Wilbur Kroop sees protestors as outlaws bent on challenging the sacred institutions of capital and state. Society’s imminent collapse into anarchy is a theme that garnishes many of his judgments.

Half an hour passes. When the door opens for traffic in and out, he hears Prudhomme arguing the Wildlife Act, Selwyn talking about Phantom Orchids. He hears Kroop ask a question, so at least he’s listening. Maybe he’s changed, mellowed with age, like fine whisky. The analogy isn’t apt: Kroop is the worst kind of non-drinker, someone who never did, a teeto-taller all his life.

Finally, after another twenty minutes, Arthur surrenders to curiosity, slipping in as the door opens to release a few bored spectators.

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