“You seem to be doing very well so far,” said his mother.
“I thought so, too, until I was put in charge of a team of young constables who were attending a protest march in support of nuclear disarmament, and it started to get out of hand.”
“What happened?” asked his sister.
“It appears that I didn’t respond calmly enough when a protester called one of my men a fascist bastard.”
“I can’t imagine what they would have called me,” said Sir Julian.
“Or how you would have reacted,” said Marjorie.
Everyone laughed except Beth, who wanted to know how William had responded
.
“I kicked him in the balls.”
“You did what?” said his mother.
“Actually, I only drew my truncheon, but that wasn’t what he claimed when we got him back to the station. It didn’t help that I failed to mention what actually happened in my report.”
“I can’t pretend I’m doing any better,” said Sir Julian, slumping back in his chair.
“Father, let’s face it,” said William, handing him a cup of coffee. “You’d have locked up the drunk driver, told the shop manager and his assistant to stop being so pathetic, and undoubtedly kicked the protester in the balls a second time. Excuse my French, Mother.”
“You said there were three parts to the exam,” said Sir Julian, trying to recover.
“The third part is a written exam.”
“Then I’m still in with a chance.”
“You have to answer sixty questions in ninety minutes.” William sipped his coffee and leaned back, before indulging his father. “If you picked some wild daffodils from a neighbor’s garden and then gave them to your wife, would either of you have committed a crime?”
“Most certainly,” said Sir Julian. “The husband is guilty of theft. But was the wife aware that he’d taken the daffodils from their neighbor’s garden?”
“Yes, she was,” said William.
“Then she’s guilty of receiving stolen goods. An open-and-shut case.”
“I don’t agree, m’lud,” said Grace, rising from her place. “I think you’ll find the relevant word is ‘wild.’ If all parties concerned were aware that the flowers were wild and had not been planted by the neighbor, my client was entitled to pick them.”
“That was my answer,” said William. “And it turns out that Grace and I are right.”
“Give me one more chance,” said Sir Julian, readjusting his nonexistent gown.
“At what age is a young person responsible for a criminal act? Eight, ten, fourteen, or seventeen?”
“Ten,” said Grace, before her father could respond.
“Right again,” said William.
“I confess I don’t defend many juveniles.”
“Only because they can’t afford your exorbitant fees,” said Grace.
“Have you ever defended a juvenile, Grace?” asked her mother, before Sir Julian could continue his cross-examination.
“Yes. Only last week I represented an eleven-year-old accused of shoplifting in Balham.”