Means of Justice: Scene #6

At the end of every chain of violence, justice is just another means to an end. My case is no different than any other. Except this time, I've drowned myself. I'm charged with murder, and I broke a vow to the CIA and betrayed confidence to a civilian. I put them in danger. Cost: the death penalty.  Death is inevitable.

Ryne looked up from the table he was cuffed to as his lawyer entered, just like every other time. Imogen strode to the table, eyes lingering on the man chained to the table.

She swallowed as she slid into her seat, "Hello, Mr. Jefferson."

He adopted the same mocking smile as always, drawing up his guard. He rested his fingertips on the tabletop and leaned forward.

"Now, Miss Murphy, I know there's no way you'll believe this." He tipped his head, eyes dull but smile wry. "I didn't kill him."

Her eyes flitted to her file. "Well Mr. Jefferson...there's a lot of evidence against you," she said reluctantly.

"You always say that."

"It's always true," she cleared her throat and read off the evidence. "Police found your fingerprints at the crime scene and several witnesses saw you in Mr. Burdick's office Thursday morning, many heard the gunshot."

"I'm not concerned about witnesses, Miss Murphy." 

Ryne let his smile fold and leaned back in his chair wearily. Imogen swallowed, eyes sweeping the room. 

She focused in him again, "Is there anything you can tell me that will help your case?"

"You know everything."

"Ryne..." she sighed. "You know what's coming."

"Yes," he agreed quietly.

"I'm not afraid to die," he looked into her eyes. "But I'm terrified by the prospect of dying in vain."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking away from his eyes. "I wish..." she blinked and shook her head, bringing herself to look at him again.

"Miss Murphy, I learned something from you," he said, looking at the table.

"What's that?"

"The one thing that makes bankers, lawyers and preachers the same is that they're all very confused and frightened people. You know what happens when you put a gun to their head?"

Imogen shook her head slowly, "No, what?"

"You look in that person's eyes and see they're just as scared as you are. Justice is good. It's right. But it's just a way of saying I don't think you're good enough to live."

"Ryne, don't." 

 

Ryne watched her critically as her jaw worked.

"No, Imogen. It's the truth. Putting a gun to someone's head is just like a mother going to a clinic and having an abortion. All we're saying is 'you don't deserve to be alive'. So we put them out of their misery." Ryne paused, "Is that the right thing to do? Maybe not in some people's eyes. But in some cases, cases like this," he looked her in the eye again. "Where innocents get hurt...it's the just thing to do, even if it's not right."

She clenched her teeth, "You're guilty but you've done nothing wrong, right?"

"I protected the people who needed protected. I'm only as guilty as everyone else whose job it is to uphold the law."

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'm one man in thousands. They'll evaluate. But I can't say anything about my work."

They won't come to my rescue this time because I involved you. I'm a danger to them now and I've lost my usefulness.

Imogen dipped her head, gripping the file in her hand, "I can only work with the evidence I have."

"I know. I can't ask more than that."

She nodded, then whispered, "I wish I could do more."

Ryne traced his fingers along the tabletop. "There is one thing."

She met his gaze, "What is it?"

"If anything happens... Will you make sure she has flowers?"

"Ryne," she choked, then bobbed her head, "Yes."

Ryne let out a small sound of relief and told her, "Daisies. Libby likes daisies."

"Okay. I will. I promise." she forced a small smile.

As a police escort returned to take him away, Ryne nodded and said the last two words of his life, "Thank you."

#

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