Romantic Tragedy

Chapter Three

Three days had passed.

Dycon had stopped asking what time it was. Time meant very little when the sun could barely reach you. He sat on the wooden bench inside the holding cell, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his hands. Those hands had held Gigi's legs. Those hands had wrapped her in a sheet. Those hands had tried to push a dead woman into the ceiling. But they had not killed her.

He kept reminding himself of that.

They had not killed her.

"Bele!"

Dycon lifted his head.

"You're going to court."

His stomach tightened.

...

The courtroom was nothing like the ones Dycon had seen in movies. There was no shouting. No dramatic pacing. No lawyer suddenly producing a photograph and demanding that a witness confess. It was quieter than that, colder.

Almost administrative. And somehow that frightened him more.

Dycon stood beside Mr. Nshinka. Across the courtroom sat Christie.

For the first time since their arrest, he saw her properly. Her hair had been tied backwards. She wore a long black dress and no jewelry except her wedding ring. Mr. Shilanga had assembled what appeared to be an army around her.

Two lawyers sat beside her counsel, another man sat behind them carrying several files.

Christie's eyes found Dycon.

He smiled.

She didn't.

She looked like she had been crying.

Dycon looked down.

"Stand."

Everyone rose as the court came into session.

The prosecution's version was simple.

Lydia, known to most people as Gigi, had died inside the apartment. Dycon Bele and Christie Bele had been discovered moving her body. The apartment showed evidence of a violent confrontation. Neither had called an ambulance. Neither had called the police.

Instead, Gigi had been wrapped in a sheet.

The prosecution argued that there was therefore sufficient reason for both of them to remain under investigation concerning her death. Then Mr. Nshinka stood.

"Your Honor, there has been a significant development."

The prosecutor turned towards him.

Nshinka glanced at Dycon.

Dycon felt his throat dry.

This was it.

"My client has provided investigators with a statement accepting responsibility for the physical confrontation which resulted in the death of the deceased."

A murmur spread through the courtroom.

Christie closed her eyes.

The prosecutor rose.

"Your Honour,"

"Allow counsel to finish."

Mr. Nshinka continued.

"Mrs. Bele was not present when the fatal injury occurred."

Dycon looked at Christie.

She opened her eyes.

"Mr. Nshinka," the prosecutor interrupted,

"Your client and Mrs. Bele were found together attempting to conceal a corpse."

"We are not disputing what the officers encountered."

"Then what exactly are you disputing?"

"That Mrs. Bele killed Gigi."

Silence.

Mr. Nshinka placed both palms on the table.

"My client says he did."

...

Inspector Jessica Lungu did not believe him. Not completely.

She sat across from Dycon later that afternoon with the statement in front of her.

Kolin stood against the wall.

"Let's do this again," Jessica said.

"I've already told you."

"And you'll tell me again."

Dycon sighed.

Jessica opened the file.

"What time did Gigi call you?"

"Around seven."

"Why?"

"She wanted to talk."

"About?"

"Our affair."

"Your affair that happened a year ago?"

"Yes."

"And your wife didn't know?"

"No."

Jessica leaned backwards.

"So you went to Gigi's apartment."

"Yes."

"Then?"

"She wanted us to continue seeing each other."

"And you refused?"

"Yes."

"She became angry?"

"Yes."

"You argued?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Dycon swallowed.

"She slapped me."

Jessica watched him.

"I grabbed her."

"Where?"

"Her arms."

"Then what?"

"She fought me off."

"And?"

"I pushed her."

"How?"

Dycon demonstrated.

"Both hands?"

"Yes."

"Chest?"

"Shoulders."

"Which one?"

Dycon hesitated.

"Shoulders."

Jessica wrote something.

"And she fell?"

"Yes."

"Onto the table?"

"Yes."

"Then what did you do?"

"I froze."

"Did you check whether she was alive?"

"Yes."

"Pulse?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Her neck."

Jessica stared at him for several seconds.

"And that's when your wife arrived?"

"Yes."

"How long afterward?"

"I don't know. Minutes."

"Two?"

"Maybe."

"Five?"

"Maybe."

"Twenty?"

"No."

Jessica closed the file.

"You're lying."

Dycon's heart jumped.

"About what?"

"I don't know yet."

She stood.

"But you're lying about something."

...

The post-mortem did not rescue Jessica's theory. It complicated it.

Gigi had sustained a catastrophic injury during impact with the broken glass table. The injuries were consistent with a fall during a physical confrontation.

There was no separate fatal stab wound, no gunshot, no strangulation.

Nothing that independently identified the person who had caused her to fall.

There were signs of a struggle involving more than one person in the apartment, but that was hardly surprising.

Christie admitted there had been a struggle afterward.

She admitted touching the body.

She admitted helping Dycon wrap Gigi in the sheet.

She admitted they intended to hide her.

What she did not admit was killing her.

And Dycon kept saying that he had.

...

"Why did you help him?"

Christie's lawyer asked. She was seated across from him in a consultation room.

Christie stared at the floor.

"I was scared."

"That's not enough."

"It's the truth."

"Then give me the whole truth."

She looked up.

"My husband told me he'd killed her accidentally."

"And?"

"I panicked."

"And?"

"He said nobody would believe it was an accident."

"And?"

"He said we'd both lose everything."

Her attorney leaned forward.

"Did you see your husband push Gigi?"

"No."

"Did you see Gigi die?"

Christie's lips trembled.

"No."

"Did you participate in any fight between your husband and Gigi?"

"No."

"Did you cause the injury that killed Gigi?"

A tear traveled down Christie's cheek.

"No."

Her attorney watched her.

"Good, stick to that same story."

Christie looked away.

She hated how easily the word had come out.

...

Weeks became months. The story escaped the courtroom long before either of them did.

BUSINESSMAN ADMITS ROLE IN MISTRESS DEATH

BELE AFFAIR ENDS IN TRAGEDY

WIFE CAUGHT MOVING BODY

Christie's family name appeared almost as often as Dycon's. Mr. Shilanga hated that most.

He did not speak to journalists, he did not need to. His lawyers did the talking.

The prosecution, however, had a problem. They could prove Christie had been inside the apartment, they could prove she had touched Gigi, they could prove she had helped move the corpse, they could prove she had lied to the first officers who arrived.

But proving that Christie had caused Gigi's death was something else entirely.

Against that stood Dycon.

Again. And again.

His account remained substantially the same. He had met Gigi, they had argued, she had struck him, he had grabbed her, she resisted. He shoved her away, she fell, she struck the table. Christie arrived afterward.

He panicked, he persuaded Christie to help him conceal what had happened.

The prosecution had suspicion.

Dycon had given them a perpetrator.

...

Months later, Christie sat behind her lawyers as the prosecutor rose. Dycon was not beside her anymore, their cases had taken different directions. The State had reviewed the evidence against Christie. The courtroom was unusually full that morning.

Journalists occupied almost every available seat.

Mr. Shilanga sat directly behind his goddaughter.

Christie kept rubbing her wedding ring.

The prosecutor spoke.

"Having reviewed the available evidence, including the medical findings, witness statements, forensic material and the statement made by Mr. Dycon Bele, the State does not propose to proceed against Mrs. Christie Bele in relation to the unlawful killing of Lydia A.K.A Gigi."

Christie stopped breathing, her attorney touched her arm.

The prosecutor continued.

"There is insufficient evidence upon which the State can establish that Mrs. Bele caused the fatal injury."

The judge looked over his spectacles.

Christie heard more words, she understood almost none of them.

Proceedings discontinued, insufficient evidence, discharged, free to leave.

Then she heard the words that mattered.

"Mrs. Bele, you are discharged."

Christie remained seated.

Her attorney whispered.

"Christie."

She looked at him.

"You can go."

"Go where?"

He almost smiled.

"Home."

Her face collapsed. Not from happiness, from guilt.

...

Dycon's case continued.

The prosecution accepted that the available evidence did not establish a planned killing.

There was no evidence that Dycon had gone to Gigi's apartment intending to kill her.

The confrontation had escalated.

The fatal injury resulted from the fall.

But the law did not make every unintended death innocent.

A person could unlawfully cause another person's death without intending to kill them.

Manslaughter.

That became the word hanging over Dycon's life.

...

"Do you understand the charge?"

Dycon stood.

"Yes."

"How do you plead?"

Nshinka looked at him.

For weeks, he had explained what those two words would mean.

Guilty meant there would be no trial in which the prosecution had to prove that Dycon pushed Gigi.

No witnesses fighting over whose hands had touched whom.

No Christie being dragged back into the centre of the killing.

No possibility of her version collapsing under cross-examination.

But it also meant something else.

Prison.

Dycon looked behind him.

Christie was sitting in the public gallery.

Her stomach had begun to show.

He stared at it.

For a moment the courtroom disappeared.

He imagined a child running barefoot through their house.

He imagined small hands around his neck.

He imagined first words.

Birthdays.

School.

Christmas.

Things he might never see.

Christie shook her head slowly.

Don't.

Dycon smiled.

Then turned towards the judge.

"Guilty."

Christie covered her mouth.

...