by Carsen Taite
“Be careful what you wish for. I spent last night talking a bunch of people off a cliff about going all ninja protestor, and now I’m headed to court to file an emergency motion to stay against the Garland School District for trying to check IDs in the school bathroom. Matter of fact, I’m outside your building right now. Want to grab a coffee with me after I take care of this?”
“Absolutely. I’ll meet you in the clerk’s office.”
West stopped by Ester’s desk on her way out. “I’m headed to the clerk’s office and then to meet a friend for coffee. I have my cell if you need me.”
Ester barely looked up from the computer. “Nice suit, West. New?”
She vowed never to buy new clothes again. “Thanks and yes.”
“Makes you look smart.”
Ester’s tone was teasing, but West couldn’t help a retort. “I am smart.”
“Of course you are, but it doesn’t hurt to look the part.” She glanced up from her computer screen. “I know you didn’t want this job, but he had his reasons for making you keep this promise.”
West began to wonder if she’d been too loud on the phone with Bill, and regretted the indiscretion. “I don’t know what you heard, but I—”
Ester held up a hand. “Don’t. I’m not in the habit of sharing people’s personal business or butting in. I only wanted you to know I had a first row seat to see how much he cared about you all those years. You can do what you want to do and I imagine you will, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to trust that the people who care about you have your best interests at heart.” She waved her hands. “Now go, get out of my hair. I’m busy here.”
West started to ask her what she meant, but Ester’s stern look told her she was done talking. On the way to the clerk’s office, she mulled over Ester’s words. Hank did care about her, and she was certain he made her promise to take this job to beef up her résumé since she didn’t have much of a pedigree without it. When she’d agreed to it, she’d been midway through law school, and graduation seemed like forever away. The concrete consequences of the promise had been illusory.
Bill was finishing up at the clerk’s office when she walked in. He flashed her a grin and shoved a sheaf of paper in her hand.
“You know,” she said, “Most people file pleadings electronically.”
“I did, but I wanted to deliver a copy to the judge in person. Read it.”
She scanned the first few pages. “Wow. This is pretty in your face. You’re really taking them on?”
He grinned. “Yes, we are.” He looked at his watch. “I give it an hour before the press gets wind. Do I look okay for my close-up?”
“Whatever. Come on, you’re buying coffee, Mr. Big Shot.”
Going back to the office was out of the question, so they walked down the street to the coffee spot at the Joule Hotel. When they had their orders and settled in at a table, she jabbed the stack of papers in Bill’s hand. “This. This is what I want to be doing.”
“You’re crazy. I was up all night in case you didn’t notice. My boss got the call from the kid’s parents yesterday afternoon and decided not one more school day would go by without legal action.” He took a sip of coffee. “Besides, I was one of a team of five people who worked on this brief. If anyone gets a close-up in primetime, it’ll be the director, not me.”
“Still, at least what you’re doing matters. I don’t even get to sit in on this trial. She picked that jerk Lloyd to assist her during the case.”
“Lloyd Garber?”
“That’s the one.”
“He was in my class at Saint Marks,” Bill said, referring to an elite Dallas prep school. “That guy’s as dumb as they come.”
“See!” West said, jabbing the air with her fist. “I just don’t get it.”
“Maybe it’s time you quit your bellyaching and admit the real reason you hate your job.” He bobbed his head and said the rest in a singsong. “Someone’s hot for teacher, someone’s hot for teacher.”
“She’s not my teacher, douche.”
“Whatever. I’ve been thinking about this because, you know, your love life is way more interesting than mine.”
She rolled her hand. “Get to the point.”
“Despite my previous warnings, I’ve decided there’s no reason you can’t date her. I mean you’re both consenting adults. The whole boss thing doesn’t really count because it’s not like you want the job anyway, so you wouldn’t be trading sex for work favors. And I Googled her—she’s kind of hot.”
“I’m with you, but that’s not how things are done and I can tell she really means it. Oh, and kind of hot doesn’t even begin to describe her.”
“What do I know?” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s such a big deal.”
“Great. I’ll count you in the Team Camille camp.”
“Camille, huh? You’ve got it bad.”
She tossed a balled up napkin at him. “Shut up.”
“So, tell me about this case you’re cut out of. I read a pretty salacious article in the paper this morning.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
“So it’s not true?”
“Truth is an interesting concept.”
“Your sidestepping tells me all I need to know. Sounds like this defendant is a major dirtbag. Selling drugs to co-eds and then raping them once they’re high.”
“If that’s what he did. And even if he did, that doesn’t mean he’s guilty in this case. Hell, that’s not even what he’s accused of.”
“Spoken like a true defense lawyer. But hey, I thought you were a law clerk.”
She jabbed him in the side. “Shut up. I’m just trying to keep an open mind. Besides, those girls may not even get to testify about any of that stuff.”
“You think she’ll keep the evidence out?”
“I don’t pretend to know anything about what she thinks at this point,” West said. “If it were me, I’d keep it out or tell them to charge him with rape. Seems pretty cut-and-dried.”
“Well, however it goes down, it’s pretty interesting stuff.”
“It would be if I was getting to be part of it. Camille, I mean Judge Avery, has benched me for this case.”
“You screw something up?”
West grunted at the loaded question. “Not that I know of, but I guess kissing the boss is enough.”
He downed his coffee, stood up, and tossed a couple of dollar bills on the table. “This has been fun, but I better get going. My public awaits. My advice? Don’t wallow. Get in there and show her she needs you. And as for the other stuff? It’ll work itself out.”
West stayed put for a few minutes after he was gone. Nice advice, but easier said than done.
* * *
Camille felt like she’d worked an entire day, but the jury panel was just filing in. She’d spent last night thinking about West and reviewing the standard federal voir dire questions along with the specific questions each side had submitted. One big difference between this case and her time on the state court bench was that the defendant didn’t have the option of going to the jury for the punishment phase of the trial, so she wouldn’t be questioning any of them about whether they could impose both the minimum and maximum range of punishment. What would the jurors think if they knew the defendant could potentially be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole if they found him guilty of a single act of selling the drugs that had caused Leslie Silver’s death? Would they balk like West had or would they chalk it up to the price Wilson had to pay for conducting an illegal business? A big part of her was glad she wouldn’t have to have that particular conversation with them.
When the potential jurors filed in, all of the courtroom personnel and the attorneys for both sides stood out of respect. She’d called up a hundred people, hoping no matter how hard each side tried to eliminate some for cause, twelve would be left when they were done. The jurors were dressed better than the average state court juror, and she remembered from her tim
e as an AUSA, federal jurors were usually better educated and of better means than their state court counterparts. And they were predominantly white. She silently counted eight Asians and only six blacks, a factor that could come into play with an African-American defendant. Oh, well, she hadn’t expected this to be easy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this morning, although I expect the big bold letters on your summons that mentioned something about jail time motivated you to appear.” She paused for the sound of nervous laughter. “This service is both a duty and a privilege of your citizenship, and the system wouldn’t work without you.” She started by introducing the attorneys and asking if anyone on the panel knew any of them. Each side had a set number of preemptory strikes they could exercise for any reason, as long as it was race and gender neutral, but since the strikes would be made after all the questioning was over and without knowing which jurors the other side would strike, the attorneys would all try to get her to cut any jurors they didn’t like for cause, thereby saving their strikes for whoever was left over.
There were a couple of very loose associations—one man said he’d volunteered at the local food bank with Sylvia Naylor, the lead defense attorney, but that would have no impact on his ability to weigh the evidence in this case. Another woman said she’d seen one of the prosecutors eating at her restaurant, but neither situation merited a strike for cause.
Having dispensed with the preliminary questions, she launched into an introduction of the case, followed by the question, “Have any of you read about this case in the paper?” About a dozen jurors raised their hands, and she noticed defense counsel scribbling furiously, no doubt poised to make an argument these jurors should be stricken for cause. She made her own notes, thinking if it came to it, she’d question them separately from the rest of the panel to determine what exactly they’d read in the paper. She wasn’t about to let either side ask those kinds of questions in front of everyone. Jurors had a keen ability to hone in on what was likely to get them out of duty. If they sensed answering a certain way meant freedom from the courtroom, they’d be like sharks on a bleeding carcass, and this panel would bust within the hour. Once she’d noted the names, she motioned for the jurors to put their hands down, but a woman in the second row kept hers up, actually vibrating with the need to speak. Camille consulted the chart. “Yes, Mrs. Lansing? Do you have something you would like to say?”
Mrs. Lansing stood and smoothed out the lines of her Sunday best dress. “Yes, Your Honor. Well, I didn’t read anything about the case in the paper, but I raised my hand because…” She paused and looked around at the rest of the venire. “You see there’s a TV in the room downstairs, and the news was on this morning. I’m pretty sure they mentioned this case, you know, based on your description just now. I can’t be entirely positive, but—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lansing.” Camille rushed to shut her down before she could say more. Sylvia Naylor was already out of her seat, and the prospect of a completely tainted venire sent Camille’s day plummeting into disaster. She motioned for Lloyd to come over to the bench and hit the switch for the white noise machine before she leaned down and whispered, “I’m calling a break. Get down to the central jury room and tell them to shut the TV off right now, but before you do, find out what channel it was on and find out whatever you can about the news coverage on that channel this morning.”
He nodded nervously and practically tripped over himself rushing from the room. As she watched him go, Camille said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take a fifteen-minute break to take care of a few housekeeping matters before we go any further. If you have any questions about where the restrooms are located, the bailiff will be happy to help you.” She stood and kept a smile on her face until the last juror filed out of the room.
“Your Honor,” Naylor started to walk toward the bench and Kyle Merrin wasn’t far behind.
She cut them both off. “Chambers now.”
She glanced around, but she didn’t see any sign of West. She’d prefer to have a clerk in the room if any issues came up that needed research, but since she’d sent Lloyd downstairs, she’d have to do without. She was more than capable of doing her own research, but presiding over a trial wasn’t conducive to searching for applicable cases on Westlaw.
“We’d like to strike this entire panel for cause,” Sylvia said.
“Of course you would,” Kyle replied, rolling his eyes.
“It’s clear Mr. Wilson can’t get a fair trial.”
“If by fair you mean one where the jurors suspend belief, you’re probably right about that.”
Camille slammed a hand on the table. “Enough. Do you act this disrespectfully to all judges or just ones that are newly appointed to the bench?”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Naylor said. “I think we all were a little caught off guard by this striking news.”
Camille allowed a smile to sneak out at her attempt to act surprised. “I’m pretty sure the article in the paper this morning signaled we are going to have an ongoing press problem in this case. The question is not whether the jurors have been exposed to information, it’s whether the information has tainted their ability to fairly judge the facts of this case.”
“Your Honor is right, of course, but I’m not sure there is precedent for this particular situation where an entire panel was sitting together watching coverage about this case within an hour of voir dire.” Naylor plowed on. “We have no idea if they’ve already discussed the case with each other, whether they’ve formed opinions, whether they’ve been exposed to information that might not even be admitted at this trial. We need to be able to question them at length about this issue.”
“Right, so you can poison the well,” Merrin said. “If they haven’t already formed opinions about the case, they’ll figure out pretty quickly how to answer to get stricken for cause.” He turned to Camille. “They are trying to bust the panel.”
Camille steepled her fingers, tuning them both out. If jurors said they couldn’t be fair because of their exposure to the news coverage, she should dismiss them for cause, which might not leave enough people left on the panel to compose a jury, after allowing for each side’s preemptory strikes. If they busted this panel, they’d have to start this process over again. Federal jury summons were sent out weeks in advance, and she had no idea if there were additional jurors available in the central jury room today or if they could pull from other jurors scheduled to appear later in the week for other matters. They might have to reset the trial for weeks, which would probably only heat up the press coverage and throw her docket into disarray. The docket she could manage, but more press coverage would only make it less likely Wilson would ever get a fair trial from a group of impartial jurors.
“Judge?”
Lloyd was standing at the door, squirming in place. She excused herself from the group and followed him to the office he shared with West, but West wasn’t there. She resisted the urge to ask Lloyd if he knew where she was. She had every right to know, but asking seemed like a blaring signal she was way too interested in West’s coming and goings. Instead, she settled into West’s chair and waited to hear what Lloyd had to say.
“The TV was supposed to be showing preliminary instructions about jury duty, but apparently the guy who switched it on didn’t check to make sure it was on the right channel.”
“Okay, so what were they watching?”
“Channel five, Good Morning America.”
Camille gasped. “You’re not saying the case had national attention, are you?”
“No, but they have a local news break every half hour. It’s about five minutes, including local weather. Not a lot of time to get into anything much. I watched the last one while I was down there. They mentioned the trial was starting this morning, but the whole report consisted of about two lines.” He looked down at the paper in his hand. “‘Trial is scheduled to begin this morning in the case of Darryl Wilson, the man accused of being responsible
for the death of Richards College student, Leslie Silver. Sources say the trial should last two to three weeks and many prominent Dallasites are listed on the witness list.’” He set the paper aside. “I talked to several of the marshals and the clerk in the jury room. They all confirmed the report was the same each time the local news segment aired.”
Camille breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but it was still a big deal and likely to create its own bit of news. The reporters in the courtroom were probably phoning in now. This ruling would be the first story about the start of the trial, and she had to get it right. Cursing her decision to pull West off the case, she said, “Pull up Westlaw and find me some analogous cases. Run every search you can think of. I doubt you’re going to find any fact pattern exactly like this one, so you’ll need to get creative. Get me your research in thirty minutes.”
Lloyd rushed out of the room, and Camille sank back into her chair. She’d use the time to do some digging of her own, but it was better to have two sets of eyes. She took a moment to imagine West sitting next to her, brainstorming search terms and dissecting case law. Hell, if she was working with West, she might even enjoy the adrenaline rush of doing research on the fly instead of feeling like every decision she made might send her career spiraling out of control.
* * *
“Hey, West, you have a minute?”
West looked up from the file she’d been buried in all morning. Lloyd was standing in the doorway to their office. “Sure. Not like I’m doing anything important.”
She regretted her petty tone. She might not like him, but it wasn’t Lloyd’s fault she’d been kicked off the Wilson case. She had only her poor judgment to blame for being stuck doing grunt work while the big show was happening in the courtroom next door. She’d spent the morning mulling over Bill’s advice and trying to figure out what she really wanted when it came to Camille and this job. The problem was she wanted both, and no matter what Bill said, it just wasn’t that easy. The only thing she was clear about so far was sitting around while everyone else was in trial totally blew, but not as much as knowing Camille wanted to keep her distance. Maybe whatever Lloyd wanted would distract her from the dissonance. “What’s up?”
