The Trial Of The Beast…

AARON ANSAH-AGYEMAN

THE TRIAL OF THE BEAST

EPISODE 13

It was the next day.

The courtroom was silent as the Chief State Attorney got to his feet.

Faddah Kissiedu was not a happy man.

Suddenly, he was not the centre of attention any longer; the inept Kuuku Eduafo was somehow stealing all the show for doing practically nothing. The boy, whom he had dreamt would be his gateway to fame, was suddenly turning out to be a rose-scented hero, and Faddah did not like it at all.

As he called his last witness to the stand, he uttered a little prayer; he asked God to hold back any further miracles. He wanted the Good Lord to let one damaging charge stick, at least, and exonerate him and propel him to international stardom.

The last witness was Mr. Ato Nhyirah, Director of Sasam Orphanage.

The man arrived in his wheel-chair.

He was a huge, muscular man. He was wearing an expensive-looking black suit and shiny shoes. With concentration on his face, he worked the wheels of his chair furiously. He stopped just in front of the jury, refusing to go into the dock because it would hinder his progress.

“You can sit where you are,” Judge Tutu Kuntu said.

Mr. Nhyirah looked at Zak with sheer hatred on his face.

He was sworn in on the Bible, and Faddah led him in evidence, and soon had the director narrating what had happened that faithful night at the Orphanage which led to the horrendous attack on him, and the death of the little girl in the fire.

He said that following the intense search for Zak after the rape of Gyamaan and later the death of Kwadwo Pamfo, Zak Twum had fled from the orphanage, and no one had known where he was.

Then one rainy night, when Mr. Nhyirah was sound asleep in his bed, he had been rudely awakened around two o’clock in the morning and when he sat up he found that Zak Twum had entered the bedroom.

Zak was armed with a gun and a heavy club.

“Earlier that day, a wealthy philanthropist had donated fifty million cedis to the orphanage,” Mr. Nhyirah spat out. “It was for the upkeep and welfare of the children. Zak demanded the money, but I told him it had been sent to the bank. He did not believe me. He thought I was lying. And so he started hitting me mercilessly with the club.”

Mr. Nhyirah paused for a while, trembling as he relived the horrors of that day, and when tears came to his eyes, Faddah Kissiedu took out a handkerchief and gave it to the disabled man.

People were listening to this narration with pitying expressions, but the outrage and yells for Zak’s blood were subdued now. Somehow, it seemed people were already waiting for what Zak would say – or do – when the time came.

Mr. Nhyirah fixed his spectacles back on and resumed narrating the story as led by Faddah Kissiedu.

Zak had continued hitting the director until he was almost unconscious, and then he lit a lighter and touched it to all the curtains in the bedroom.

The fire started to consume the materials, and soon everything was ablaze.

Evidently, Zak thought Mr. Nhyirah was dead, and so he fled from the burning room.

Mr. Nhyirah had managed to crawl out of the room.

Unfortunately, just next to his quarters was the infirmary.

Little Maa Afia, who had been sick and on admission at the infirmary, had perished in the fire which consumed the infirmary.

Mr. Nhyirah was found by some of the wardens and rushed to the hospital, where it was confirmed that Zak Twum’s attack on him with the baseball bat had affected his backbone, and Mr. Nhyirah would be permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

His story done, Mr. Nhyirah raised a trembling hand and pointed at Zak.

“That boy is a cold-blooded killer!” he screamed. “Do not be misled by what has happened previously in this court! He deserves to die! He killed that poor girl!”

And then he began to pound his limp thighs with his balled fists and wept uncontrollably and pitifully.

Faddah walked forward and patted the shoulder of the weeping man with a sad expression on his face as he looked at Zak coldly.

After a while Mr. Nhyirah stopped crying, and dabbed at his eyes.

“No further questions, Your Honour,” Faddah Kissiedu said, smiled at the jury, and went back to his seat preening like a well-pruned peacock.

Judge Tutu Kuntu removed his spectacles and leaned forward.

“Your cross-examination, if there’s any, Counsel,” he said softly to Eduafo, but his eyes were glued on Zak.

And all eyes in the room were on Zak.

“You going to pull more rabbits from your hat, buddy?” Eduafo asked softly.

Slowly he got to his feet.

It was as if no one was breathing.

Faddah, most of all, felt a queasy feeling in his tummy.

No, not again, dear Lord, not again, he prayed silently.

“Your Honour,” Zak said calmly. “Can I speak to Mr. Nhyirah? I know this is not the norm, and I do apologize for the way I have behaved in this court up till now. Believe me, I have weighed a lot of options, and I always choose what I think is the best option. If you will give me permission, I’ll approach Mr. Nhyirah to make a very short submission.”

Judge Tutu Kuntu glared at Zak darkly.

“Go ahead,” he said finally. “But remember, I reserve the final power to admit what the jury can consider as pertinent, and what to disregard.”

“Thank you, Your Honour,” Zak said calmly. “That is very well understood.”

Zak Twum walked slowly toward Mr. Nhyirah, and for the first time since the trial his calm countenance was missing. Instead, his face was filled with pure disdain and disgust as he looked at the disabled man.

Everyone saw how Zak’s hands formed into massive fists, relaxed, and formed into fists again. There was a hint of sweat on the boy’s face, and for one horrible moment it seemed he was going to assault the director again.

However, Zak turned and faced the jury, and then he pointed a trembling finger at Mr. Ato Nhyirah.

“I hate this man,” Zak said bitterly and with such passion that his voice trembled, and his face screwed up. “He was supposed to take care of the children at the orphanage. It was not for nothing that we called him Hitler. He was so cruel to us. I wish you all could see the room we called ‘The Horror Ghetto’.

No human being should be kept in an airless, damp room like that, let alone a child. The room is so low that you cannot stand upright, but has to lie or sit down on the floor which is always wet. This man kept most of the monies he received from the government and philanthropists to himself. Whenever supplies were received from the Government Agency or other donors, this man would sell them for profit to traders, and then he would buy insect-infested rice and beans for the children!”

“Your Honour, this is an unwarranted and unsubstantiated attack on the integrity of the witness!” Faddah Kissiedu shouted angrily. “If he wants to offer a rebuttal, his lawyer should follow due process and swear him in, Your Honour! This is a properly constituted court and not Malata Market!”

Before Judge Tutu Kuntu could speak, Zak Twum whirled on Faddah, and he was bristling with such devastating anger that Faddah stepped back with a little cry of alarm.

“You want proof?” Zak screamed at him. “I will give you proof! I was the one that cleaned Mr. Nhyirah’s office. One day I fell asleep in the storeroom, and he locked me in, forgetting that I was working inside. Well I started snooping around his office, looking for evidence of his activities. Luckily, he carelessly left his safe unlocked that night, and I opened it. I saw a lot of blue files in it, and it contained accounts of most of the people he was selling the orphanage supplies to!”

“He’s lying!” Mr. Nhyirah cried from his wheelchair, his eyes burning madly. “There are no such files!”

Zak smiled at him… and it was not a very nice smile.

“I made photocopies of all your documents,” Zak said. “You forgot that whenever I came to clean the storeroom, I took the spare keys. Well, I let myself out, and I took all the photocopies with me. And guess what, Mr. Nhyirah, I have them right here!”

The man in the wheelchair had gone completely still.

Suddenly his face was no longer confident.

As he stared at Zak he began to sweat.

Zak turned toward the crowd and nodded briefly.

Two teenaged boys in the middle row stood up. They had backpacks on their back. They moved forward hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence.

“These are my friends from the orphanage,” Zak said calmly. “Barima Addo and Ogum Kwabena.”

When the boys reached Faddah’s table they opened their backpacks, and began to dump thin files on the table. When they were finished, they silently went and stood beside Zak.

“You want evidence, Mr. Faddah Kissiedu?” Zak asked softly. “These files contain all the addresses, invoices, cheque numbers and types of transactions which Mr. Nhyirah dealt in, making himself rich on our supplies, whilst buying cheap and sometimes expired products for us!”

Mr. Nhyirah licked his dry lips.

The hatred was gone from his eyes, and in its place was the beginning of fear.

“Even if this is true,” Faddah said coldly and defiantly. “It still does not justify your assault on Mr. Ato Nhyirah, you impudent young man, and it still remains true that you caused the death of little Maa Afia!”

“Maa Afia is not dead,” Zak said, and his voice was once more composed and very calm as he looked at Faddah Kissiedu. “Maa Afia is still alive.”

Faddah felt a terrible headache just then.

He shook his head numbly.

“What?” he croaked faintly as sweat trickled down his neck. “Wh-what did y-you sa-sa-say?”

Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast, Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast, Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast, Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast, Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast, Aaron Ansah-Agyeman, The Trial Of The Beast.

THE TRIAL OF THE BEAST :: CHAPTER 12

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