“Hello Sir.” the young girl at the cash counter greeted the old man.
She liked him. He was the jovial kinds. The old man searched his pockets. He swore under his breath. He had forgotten to carry his wallet. He smiled at the young girl.
“I guess, I will have to come again.” He said returning the milk and bread. His knee ached a little more at the thought of walking back to the store again. He lived alone in a small apartment five blocks away.
The girl smiled back.
“No problem Sir. I got that.” She replied.
“It’s a shame that I keep forgetting your name.” said the old man smiling.
“Rachael”. She said handing over the bag with milk and bread.
“Of Course. Pleasure meeting you. My name is George. I will see you tomorrow.” he said smiling.
Rachael smiled back. She knew his name by heart.
George made his way through the quiet neighbourhood. His brogue shoes made tapping sounds on the pavement. The lone stray dog didn’t care. The setting Sun barely lit the streets.
A faint creaking sound of sneakers alerted the dog. It stood up, ears taut. A young man in a hooded sweat shirt followed George. The old man slowed down and stopped on the pavement. The creaking stopped too. The street became quiet again.
George walked upto the garbage bin. He placed the milk bag on top of the garbage bin. His shaking hands searched for his Beretta M9. He cursed his luck. He had forgotten to carry his pistol that day.
He took out his old phone and typed.
“May Day.” he pressed send.
He typed again
“Give my love to my daughte”
He couldn’t type the complete sentence. The metal rod made a loud sound as it hit the old man on his head. The old man fell with a thud. Blood oozed on the street. The stray dog barked once.
The attacker searched the dead man for wallet and money. He didn’t find any. The attacker’s right thumb twitched involuntarily. He tried to control it by making a fist. He broke the old man’s ring finger to steal the gold ring.
The Street lights turned itself on to put the crime scene in a spot light. The murderer made a dash for the dark alley.
Morning newspaper carried the story of the murder.
The picture of Sergeant Major George McMillan holding his pacing stick in army uniform featured as part of the story.
It was a small town. The news spread like wild fire. The town cringed in disgust. Police arrested the hooded man next day.
An old judge presided over the trial. The jury consisted of six women and six men.
Reporters from the local newspapers hung around. The police stood outside with the accused. He appeared to be a man in his mid twenties. He tried to wriggle his wrist inside the handcuffs. His forearm showed injection marks from intravenous drug abuse. His right thumb twitched now and then. He made a fist to hide the twitch.
The trial attracted townfolk. Three among them were avid Bridge players. The Bridge players masked their anger with a poker face.They missed George. He had been the fourth hand in their game of Bridge. George was also the eldest. Every Sunday, for the past many years, few mugs of beer had dutifully followed their game of Bridge.
They had served under Sgt. George McMillan as young Privates. The Sergeant had trained the boys. Their Special Forces unit operated behind enemy lines. They jumped together from the skies. Sgt ensured that the team cheated death. He had always been successful.
Prosecution called the first witness.
George’s daughter sat in the front benches. She tried hard to hold her tears back. The sudden loss had shaken her.
Rachael sat amongst the witnesses.
Two corporals from George’s regiment stood not far away. They wore ceremonial army uniforms. They had orders to assist the grieving family in any way they can.
The trial began.
The young man pleaded “Not guilty”.
The Jury listened with intent ears.
The women in the jury were more attentive. A young man’s life was at stake. Of the women, two were housewives, three were teachers and the remaining one a clerk in a government office. Retired men constituted the remaining jury. One of them ran a wine shop. He had to shut shop to take part in the jury. He twiddled his thumbs. His face bore an ugly scar that ran across his nose.
The prosecution made a strong case against the accused. The street cameras had recorded the gruesome crime. A man in hooded sweat shirt could be seen hitting the old veteran on his head. The camera had recorded the scene from top.
There was a shriek from the crowd. George’s daughter fainted. She had to be carried away to the waiting ambulance. The two corporals came forward for help.
The reporter took fierce notes. Rachael closed her eyes.
Two of the Bridge players tightened their fists. The third didn’t react.
Other veterans shook their head in disbelief.
The prosecution further showed the phone records of the accused. The phone company had confirmed that the accused was in the vicinity of crime scene. The timings matched with street cams.
The defence lawyer was the best in town. He had won many criminal cases in the past. A couple of days ago he had received a call. The caller had promised double his usual fees, if he could win the case. There was only one condition. The deal had to be a secret.
He opened his argument
“There is no client as scary as an innocent man.”
“I can see that this town has already made a judgement. Fortunately the voice of majority is no proof of justice.”
“It would be right to pronounce him a drug abuser. “
“To find him guilty of murder is a travesty of justice. It would be a verdict based on circumstantial evidence. There is no identifiable face in the video and no murder weapon has been recovered.”
“If my client was considered to be in the vicinity of the crime, so were hundred others who live nearby. Why aren’t they prime suspects. My client is a homeless man with no family to speak of. His helplessness cannot be construed as evidence of guilt.”
“By pronouncing an innocent man guilty, we will be committing a crime. It will be a murder of dreams, hopes, relationships and or physical well being for which no punishment exists. At least in law.”
The argument went on for an hour.
The trial was fast tracked. The arguments and counter arguments kept the news reporters busy. Soon it was judgement day.
The jury needed time. It retired for deliberations before considering a verdict.
Six members of the jury were certain that the accused was guilty as charged. Five women jurors weren’t so sure. The man with ugly scar was certain that the young man did not commit the crime. He said
“One man is dead. The life of another is at stake. If there is a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused… then you must declare him not guilty…”
The jury finally returned a verdict of “Not guilty.”
The crowd gasped. The town gossiped. The news receded from headlines in a week’s time.
The following week, a young man in hooded sweat shirt was found dead on the streets. A metal rod was found next to him. Autopsy report showed signs of intravenous drug abuse and a broken neck. The news did not make headlines.
The next Sunday, the remaining three veterans met up for brunch and a game of Bridge.The senior most Veteran dealt the cards. The fourth hand was dummy. They missed George. The man dealing the cards bore an ugly scar. It ran across his nose.
