Free Next of Kin by John Boyne Page B

tall glass of water as he waited for the assembled throng to settle down. The judge looked around and felt slightly irritated by how many people were there, as if the decision regarding a man’s life and death was nothing more than a spectator sport. Throwing his eyes up to the gallery he saw his wife, Jane, sitting beside their old friend, Eleanor Tandy, and she inclined her head a little to him when their eyes met. He was glad that after today there would be no more conversations between them regarding what he should do for the best in this case, what he should do for their best. Because justice, he had decided within minutes of the verdict coming through the previous Thursday, had to be blind to all matters, including those of class and social standing.
    Under instruction from the bailiff, Henry Domson stood up and the entire courtroom went silent, collectively holding their breath as Roderick cleared his throat and began to speak.
    *   *   *
    â€˜HENRY DOMSON,’ HE BEGAN. ‘You have been found guilty of the murder of Police Constable Peter Milburn who, at the time of the offence, was acting in accordance with his duties. Murder, of course, is a capital crime and the murder of a police officer is a particularly heinous one.’
    He continued for some minutes in this vein, citing precedent and incident which he had considered during his deliberations and Domson tried not to yawn in boredom while the spectators tried not to shout Hurry up!
    â€˜The court is aware,’ said Roderick finally, ‘of Mr Domson’s previous good character, his educational achievements at Eton.’ He said the school’s name with a contemptuous sigh as he himself was an old Harrovian. ‘And his relationship, albeit distant, with certain celebrated figures in the hierarchy of our country. However, the scales of justice are weighted by one who is oblivious to matters such as these, by one who is blind to both circumstance and title. They are merely side notes by which one can feel shock and disappointment that a fellow with so much to offer the world chose to turn his back on it.’
    He opened his mouth to pass the final sentence and as he did so a vision of his son, Gareth, who at twenty-three was the same age as Henry Domson, came into his head. What if things were different, he thought? What if it was Gareth standing in the dock while another silk made such a decision? What would he think of this then? It was obvious, he decided. He would take his punishment like a man. The law was the law and had to be upheld; these were the foundations upon which he had built his life and nothing could make him turn his back on them. He blinked and dismissed the image from his head; he had a job to finish.
    â€˜And so I direct that you, Henry Domson, be taken from this place to await execution for the murder of Peter Milburn. I sentence you to be hanged from the neck until dead and may God have mercy on your soul.’
    The court let out a collective gasp, Domson looked dumbstruck for the first time since the police had charged through the warehouse doors, and Lady Jane Bentley—her mind on invitations to garden parties at the palace and the outfit that she would wear to the coronation—sat in the front row of the upstairs gallery, closed her eyes slowly and shook her head with a sigh. Oh Roderick , she thought with as much sorrow as anger. What have you done?

TWO
    1
    WHILE LESS CONFIDENT OR successful men may have developed a chip on their shoulder regarding their lack of stature, Nicholas Delfy, the owner of the Unicorn Ballrooms, never allowed such a trivial and superficial matter to be of any concern to him. Standing at no more than five feet and four inches in height, Delfy had a small frame and glided around his club with the elegance and grace of a ballet dancer. A stickler for grooming and personal appearance, he had his thick, dark hair trimmed by his personal barber first thing every