Free The Brothers of Baker Street by Michael Robertson

not looking up. “I see that the Crown has properly delivered initial discovery documents to the defense. No need to waste time. Do I hear any objection to a trial date two weeks hence at Central Criminal Court?”
    “You do, my lord,” said Reggie, standing.
    Now the magistrate looked up.
    “I do?”
    “Yes, my lord. The defense contests the committal to trial and requests that the prosecution’s prima facie evidence be read now into the record.”
    The magistrate frowned.
    “Heath, is it?”
    “Yes.”
    The magistrate looked at the case schedule in front of him.
    “Reggie Heath?”
    “Yes.”
    The magistrate lowered his spectacles and peered over them at Reggie.
    “I don’t think I’ve seen you in my court before, but your name rings a bell for some reason. Something to do with a shrubbery.”
    “My lord?” said Langdon helpfully. “If I may. My learned friend Mr. Heath has been out of the country recently. You may have seen his name in connection with some minor matters that gained public attention overseas, or perhaps locally regarding an indoor planter at a certain publisher’s compound near Tobacco Dock. I’m really not quite sure; I’ll admit, I have difficulty keeping abreast of such things … as it were … but none of that, I’m sure we all agree, has any bearing whatsoever on this case.”
    Langdon looked over at Reggie as if to accept thanks for having done him a great favor. Before Reggie could formulate a properly cutting response, Langdon continued.
    “And because of that short absence, and … well, if I … if I may say so, because he has been out of criminal practice for some time, I believe, my learned friend may perhaps be unaware of our recent attempts to streamline the committal process?”
    “Well, indeed we are trying to do that, aren’t we?” said the magistrate, nodding.
    “My lord, yes,” said Reggie now, “But recent changes to the Criminal Procedure Act notwithstanding, it is still within your discretion to hear the case read, and I think you will find it will take only a moment of your time.”
    “Well, a moment is rather a subjective measure, though, isn’t it? How long a moment do you mean, Mr. Heath?”
    “Two minutes, my lord. I will be astonished if my learned friend can drag it out any longer than that, no matter how many well-placed hesitations he includes, because the prosecution’s case is quite that short.”
    “Really?” said the magistrate. “Two minutes?”
    “At most,” said Reggie. “That’s how little substance there is to the charge.”
    The magistrate pushed back the edges of his left sleeve and looked at his watch.
    “I have two minutes,” he said. “Mr. Langdon, do you?”
    Langdon cleared his throat. “My lord, yes, of course. I will … do my best to condense it, if I may.”
    “No condensing necessary, Mr. Langdon. Spill it all, and if Mr. Heath’s estimate proves to be wrong, that will be something for me to remind him of when he next appears in my court.”
    “Very well,” said Langdon. “I shall start then with the forensic examination of the scene, although it may not be within my skills to cover it in so short a time—”
    “My lord?”
    “Yes, Mr. Heath?”
    “The defense will stipulate to the facts shown in the forensics reports as currently provided by the prosecution, for none of those facts implicate the defendant in any way. Nothing was found at his home, nothing in his cab, and nothing that directly tied him to the scene.”
    The magistrate looked over at the prosecutor.
    “Mr. Langdon?”
    “Well … my lord, yes, it would be correct to say that the prosecution does not base its case on the forensics of any of those locations. Other than, of course, the forensics that establish that two unwitting tourists from the States were horribly killed, and the time at which their deaths occurred.”
    “That much is known. But on what does the prosecution base its case that it was the defendant that did