"So tell me Mr Webb, how long were you married to you're wife, Maria Webb?" Blake turned indicating to his client who was sat at the desk with her councillor Mrs Jenkins.
Clive Webb, his tiny, screwed up eyes were hidden beneath the deep folds of his skin. His jaw jutted out at such an angle, it appeared to be about to break off. It looked as though his nose had been broken several times, and it was now wonkier than a helter skelter. The creases of his brow were so deep that Blake secretly suspected they were just flaps of skin, surely no-one could possibly be that hideous?
Clive's hair grew in bunches. Greasy grey coils thinning and glistening in the dim light. And his smile! It was a thing of nightmares. A row of glistening yellow teeth were encrusted in inky black plague and raw, bleeding gums. Blake was never one to go on someone's appearance, but how could the judge give custody to this man, this man who claims to be the perfect father. It was his job to prove otherwise.
"Ten years" he coughed, a voice thick with a long life of heavy smoking trickled from his crisp lips.
Blake could hardly believe that his client put up with the man's abuse for ten years, but it was not his place to pass judgement. He was here to make sure that Maria got her justice.
"And in those ten years, would you say it was a happy marriage?" Blake quizzed.
Clive shrugged, "She's my wife. Honour and obey. Christ she can't even get that right" he scoffed.
Blake cleared his throat, he glanced down to the most recent police report "So Mr Webb, what would you do if you're wife did not obey? Beat her? Break her nose?" he hissed.
"Objection!" Clive's lawyer bellowed.
"Over-ruled" the female judge silence him and glanced to Blake, "Mr Harding, continue"
"Thank you you're honour" he smirked before turning back to Mr Webb. "So Mr Webb, is it okay if I call you Clive?" he raised his brow, waiting for his answer.
Clive simply shrugged "I guess" he mumbled.
"Very well...Clive. On August 1st, at 7:12pm. A call was made by my client Mrs Webb to the police. Can you please explain what happened that evening?" he closed the folder and slid it under his arm and walked back to his desk.
"How the hell am I supposed to know that? I barely know what the hell I did last week!" he snapped back sinking back into his chair, folding his arms over his lap.
Blake already had everything prepared, picking up a small remote control as he turned and showed it to the judge and the jury, "I would like to play a recording from that evening, kindly given by the Chicago police department" and he hit play.
Blake hit the pause button before turning to observe the jury who were taking down notes as well as the judge.
"Objection!" Mr Webb's lawyer bellowed again "There is no proof that my client is in fact the man in that recording"
"Over-ruled, councillor return to you're seat immediately!" the judge commanded
"Now tell me Mr Clive, is that the sound of a man who is a loving father? A man who beats their wife? A man who subjects their daughter to witnessing her mother being beaten black and blue for the last six years?" he hissed through his teeth.
Clive did not respond for a few moments, "I guess I had one to many beers. And she is my wife, if she hadn't been opening her legs for every tom, dick and harry. Then I wouldn't have had to beat her. A woman has got to learn her place" he snipped back at Blake.
Blake felt anger surge through him "No further question's you're honour" he smiled politely to the judge and walked back to his desk, offering a soft smile to Maria.
"Very well, we shall reconvene at 12:30. Court dismissed" she ended slamming down her gavel.
'All rise'
Everyone in the court rose to their feet as the judge gathered her papers and stepped down and headed into her chambers.
Running his hand through his thick locks of hair, grasping at the roots. Blake could hardly look at the man who was on the stand. Blake would make sure that he won this case. If it was the last thing that he would do.
Clive Webb, his tiny, screwed up eyes were hidden beneath the deep folds of his skin. His jaw jutted out at such an angle, it appeared to be about to break off. It looked as though his nose had been broken several times, and it was now wonkier than a helter skelter. The creases of his brow were so deep that Blake secretly suspected they were just flaps of skin, surely no-one could possibly be that hideous?
Clive's hair grew in bunches. Greasy grey coils thinning and glistening in the dim light. And his smile! It was a thing of nightmares. A row of glistening yellow teeth were encrusted in inky black plague and raw, bleeding gums. Blake was never one to go on someone's appearance, but how could the judge give custody to this man, this man who claims to be the perfect father. It was his job to prove otherwise.
"Ten years" he coughed, a voice thick with a long life of heavy smoking trickled from his crisp lips.
Blake could hardly believe that his client put up with the man's abuse for ten years, but it was not his place to pass judgement. He was here to make sure that Maria got her justice.
"And in those ten years, would you say it was a happy marriage?" Blake quizzed.
Clive shrugged, "She's my wife. Honour and obey. Christ she can't even get that right" he scoffed.
Blake cleared his throat, he glanced down to the most recent police report "So Mr Webb, what would you do if you're wife did not obey? Beat her? Break her nose?" he hissed.
"Objection!" Clive's lawyer bellowed.
"Over-ruled" the female judge silence him and glanced to Blake, "Mr Harding, continue"
"Thank you you're honour" he smirked before turning back to Mr Webb. "So Mr Webb, is it okay if I call you Clive?" he raised his brow, waiting for his answer.
Clive simply shrugged "I guess" he mumbled.
"Very well...Clive. On August 1st, at 7:12pm. A call was made by my client Mrs Webb to the police. Can you please explain what happened that evening?" he closed the folder and slid it under his arm and walked back to his desk.
"How the hell am I supposed to know that? I barely know what the hell I did last week!" he snapped back sinking back into his chair, folding his arms over his lap.
Blake already had everything prepared, picking up a small remote control as he turned and showed it to the judge and the jury, "I would like to play a recording from that evening, kindly given by the Chicago police department" and he hit play.
~ Voice Recording - August 1st - 7:12pm ~
'Hello 911 what is you're emergency?'
'Please! Help!....He won't stop!'
'Ma'am I need you to calm down'
'Oh god! He's got a knife! Leave her alone! My husband is drunk'
'Ma'am who has a knife'
'Leave her alone' *cries*
'Ma'am, I need you to tell me where you are'
'*cries* Please, please he's gonna kill us!'
'Ma'am I need you to tell me who is there with you'
'*cries*My daughter. Oh please help us, I'm bleeding'
'Ma'am who is bleeding, Ma'am I need you to stay calm. Someone is on their way now'
~ End of call ~
Blake hit the pause button before turning to observe the jury who were taking down notes as well as the judge.
"Objection!" Mr Webb's lawyer bellowed again "There is no proof that my client is in fact the man in that recording"
"Over-ruled, councillor return to you're seat immediately!" the judge commanded
"Now tell me Mr Clive, is that the sound of a man who is a loving father? A man who beats their wife? A man who subjects their daughter to witnessing her mother being beaten black and blue for the last six years?" he hissed through his teeth.
Clive did not respond for a few moments, "I guess I had one to many beers. And she is my wife, if she hadn't been opening her legs for every tom, dick and harry. Then I wouldn't have had to beat her. A woman has got to learn her place" he snipped back at Blake.
Blake felt anger surge through him "No further question's you're honour" he smiled politely to the judge and walked back to his desk, offering a soft smile to Maria.
"Very well, we shall reconvene at 12:30. Court dismissed" she ended slamming down her gavel.
'All rise'
Everyone in the court rose to their feet as the judge gathered her papers and stepped down and headed into her chambers.
Running his hand through his thick locks of hair, grasping at the roots. Blake could hardly look at the man who was on the stand. Blake would make sure that he won this case. If it was the last thing that he would do.
