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The week before the courts closed was always a hectic one. When Kate worked in the prosecutors’ office, she had been juggling complaints, committals and trials on a daily basis in the lead up to Christmas Eve. The lead up for Christmas as a defense lawyer was less stressful and she had a wistful hope that maybe this year she’d get out without working to midnight on Christmas Eve and sneaking Ram’s presents into his stocking at 3am.
That was before the latest brief hit her desk.
She scowled at the precis at the beginning of the brief. Toby Andrews, thirty-three years old, metahuman with some kind of intangibility power, and seven counts of murder. The prosecution brief included the CCTV footage, records of interview and a statement from the sole survivor. She was eight and the doctors weren’t sure she’d ever see again after what he did to her.
“Bastard,” she hissed. She hated working defense. Professional pride meant that she would do her best to run a strong defense. That didn’t mean she didn’t want him dead.
After a cigarette, she called a meeting.
“All right,” Kate rapped out. “Here’s the plan. We ask them for further particulars. We ask them for everything, even the air quality at the time of the alleged murders. If the request isn’t twenty pages long, we make it that long.”
“There is no way a judge is going to give us those,” Damon said. “That is the definition of vexatious.”
“It’s the last week before Christmas,” Kate said. “We don’t have to be successful; we just have to be marked ‘too hard’ so we get adjourned to the new year.”
“You hated it when defense did that to us,” Damon said, still frowning in suspicion.
“Yeah, but we have a good cause,” Kate retorted. “They just wanted to get their scumbag off.”
“Whereas we … don’t want to get our scumbag off?”
“Not this one,” Kate said, grimly. “Instead, we’re going to give him a present.”
“Oh,” Damon said, realization dawning on his face.. “That kind of present.”
*
The night air was cold against Kate’s bare face, but not as cold as it could have been. Apparently one of the benefits that Dylan had put into the suit was a way to stop her getting frostbite. Having your own quasi-tame morally deficient Q was good for something.
The brief had said that Andrews had worked with a sidekick, someone with a telepathy and precognition - not Martian Manhunter powerful, but a few minutes in advance, enough to know when and where a police stakeout was going to take place. Andrews had been captured, but his accomplice had gotten clean away. Kate was wryly amused at this. Apparently there was no honour amongst criminals. Who knew?
The sidekick, with the wonderfully colorful name of ‘Mindfuck’, had gone to ground in a long-abandoned apartment in the more derelict area of town. Boarded up windows, graffiti on the walls and the unmistakable stench of stale urine made it clear that you came here if all hope was lost.
Charming, Kate thought from her position on the roof. I go to the nicest places. The infrared on her goggles made it clear that Mindfuck hadn’t been around for a few hours, and she triggered the communicator.
“Oracle here.”
“I need a trace on the occupant of this property.”
“On it.”
Kate settled back on her heels. Damn, I’m going to start going back to Pilates if this keeps up. The cold was seeping in to her suit, making her old scars ache. Hell, her old caesarian scar from when Ram was born ached, and wasn’t that a kicker?
“I have a tail on them,” Oracle’s voice, devoid of all identifying features, said into her ear. “They’ll be out until tomorrow.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kate said, sighing. “You mean I wasted a good stakeout because they’re out to see family?”
“Think of it as practice.”
Kate had no idea how a computer digitized voice could sound like it was laughing at her, but somehow Oracle pulled it off.
“Great. I could have used tonight as prep.”
She flicked her staff, and propelled herself away.
*
The Andrews application for particulars was going terribly.
To start with, Kate had run late. The combination of a late night patrolling for the delightfully named ‘Mindfuck’ and no coffee in the morning meant that Kate had taken far too long to realize that she was due in court that day.
Then she arrived at the courthouse, slipping her stockinged feet into black pumps at the listings board, to learn that she was appearing before Judge McKinness, an ex-defense advocate himself at one stage. Kate, an up and coming prosecutor at the time, had steamrolled him in a murder trial. It was her first. It was his last before going to the bench. The legal gossip columns had had a field day with that particular trial.
He’d hated her ever since. Not the person she would have wanted to put a flimsy application in front of.
She entered the courtroom at an almost-run to her matter being called.
“Your Honor, the defense requests a day to prepare its case,” she said. She kept the wince off her face. After all, it had been her bringing the request for particulars in the first place.
“Ms. Spencer,” Judge McKinness intoned, disdain dripping from every syllable. “You understand that the court will not look kindly on your wasting its valuable time.”
Shit. Kate smiled, a careful baring of teeth. “Of course, Your Honor,” she said smoothly. “My client and I have nothing but the utmost respect for this court and its time.”
“Mind that you do,” Judge McKinness said. “I’ll be setting this matter down for mention at the callover tomorrow morning. Do have your arguments prepared this time.”
“Noted, Your Honor. Thank you for your time.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Kate put her papers into her briefcase in careful, deliberate motions to hide the fact that her hands were shaking in frustration.
“How did it go, chief?” Damon asked as Kate stormed into the office ten minutes later, tossing her briefcase onto her desk in one furious motion.
“I got a day,” Kate said. One night to make it count.
*
This time, when she went to visit the flophouse, Mindfuck was already there, humming tunelessly under his breath. Up close she could see how his eyes were all black. How can he see? Maybe I could blind him?
She crab-walked across the roof, and froze when he looked up right at her.
“I heard someone was coming for me,” Mindfuck sung. “Someone who I can’t see but who forgets about his shadow.”
I hate it when they sing, Kate thought. “You’re off-pitch,” she said, her teeth bared in a fierce smile. “Maybe you should take lessons.”
She swung herself off the roof and used the momentum to smash through the one intact window.
“There you are!” Mindfuck said gleefully, a strange nictitating membrane crossing his eyes and giving them a rainbow sheen. The lone survivor had spoken about this, that rainbows were the last thing she saw before he turned her into a puppet.
Unfortunately, Mindfuck hadn’t got the memo that Manhunter was immune to psychic influence.
“Doesn’t work,” she said, bringing up her staff and blowing him into a wall.
He didn’t put up a fight after that. It was almost pitiful.
*
The next day, all sessions had been adjourned, on account of Toby Andrews’ associate being spread-eagled across the steps of the courthouse.
“Did you hear boss?” Damon said, bringing Kate’s coffee as she emptied the contents of her briefcase onto her desk. “They say Manhunter got him.”
“Do they?” Kate murmured over the lip of her coffee cup. She didn’t quite keep the triumphant smile off her face. “Andrews is going to plead too, I’m told.”
She and Damon exchanged looks.
“I suppose Christmas has come to the good boys and girls that work here this year,” Kate said. “Everyone! You have this afternoon off! Go find some people who you want to hang out with this Christmas!”