John Rebus had been to court many times, but this was his first time in the defendant's dock. As the indictment was being read for the sake of the jurors, Rebus looked around the room. Life had not yet returned to normal after COVID. Except for the judge and Rebus, everyone else was wearing a mask and there were cameras and screens everywhere. The jurors were housed elsewhere, in a cinema on Lothian Road, as a health precaution. He could see them through one of the large screens, just as they could see him.
He tried to remember the first time he had testified as a witness in a trial, but he couldn't. It must have been in the 1970s, almost half a century ago. The lawyers, court clerks, and judge probably looked the same. Today Rebus was surrounded by two uniformed officers, as he had been then. Once, when he was in the witness stand, the defendant had tried to jump up from the dock to hit him, and one of the guards had dragged him back. What was the defendant's name? Short and thin, with curly hair. It started with M, perhaps. Ah, does everyone's memory gradually start to fade? It wasn't just his, right? It was related to age, like COPD, which meant he was allowed to carry an inhaler device in his pocket along with his protective mask.
He wondered what his dog was doing. His daughter, Samantha, had taken Brillo to her home. Rebus's granddaughter adored the mixed-breed dog. He was glad that the presence of the public in the courtroom was not allowed, so he didn't have to argue with Sam to stop her from going. The life of a prisoner is simple. Others make decisions for you. Rebus didn't have to think about what he would eat, when he would walk the dog, or how he would spend his day. Being a former cop, he was even popular with the guards. They liked to hang out in his cell, telling stories. They always had him in mind, as many inmates did not wish him well. For this reason, he had the luxury of staying alone in a cell, even though the Royal Edinburgh Prison was overcrowded.