I had a long night on Monday working early into Tuesday morning finishing off my story analysing Toronto city councillor’s expense reports. It was nearly daybreak when I got into bed- exhausted, I slept like a log. I was awakened by someone telling me the police were at the front door- quickly throwing on my clothes I went downstairs to see what was happening. The was a miscommunication, Victim Services told me they would send a notice before I was called to testify but it appears it was never sent.
After taking a few minutes to straighten myself up I went outside to meet the officer again. He was gracious enough to offer me a ride to the court in his police cruiser only with one catch, there was no room in the front passenger seat so I had to sit in the back. It wasn’t a comfortable ride, the police car’s steel barrier reminded my why I always hated New York taxi cabs- both can be highly unpleasant experiences if you’re tall, my knees banged into the steel every time we hit a pothole.
I read through the messages on my phone as we made our way to the court; emails, Facebook, Twitter and comments submitted to this site. One of the comments got my heart beating more quickly; it appeared to have come from someone at the courthouse, and was a direct reference to a video where I was previously assaulted by Black Bloc anarchist thugs. It felt like a classic scene in a mob movie where the defendant’s allies try to shake-up the witness – but, as I’d learn a couple hours later, real-life can sometimes be more surreal than Hollywood.