Jury Town

by Stephen Frey

“We were econ majors together. Man, that was rough, you know? All that theory crap was ridiculous.”

  “Sorry,” Colin muttered again, making an obvious impatient glance at his watch. “I still don’t remember, and I’m in kind of a—”

  “That’s where you met Lydia.”

  Warning sirens screamed at Colin. The guy had a bucktoothed grin straight from Appalachia … but there was something sophisticated in those eyes.

  “When the three of us were taking those econ classes together, remember? You and Lydia were always passing notes back and forth.”

  Colin felt the blood drain from his face in a single missed heartbeat. “Huh?”

  “Lydia Crawford,” the guy answered, his voice turning surly. “That redhead you had the horns for at VCU and had a kid with last year. She lives two hours from here down in Richmond. You and Lydia named the little girl Haley. You married Betsy two years ago, but you and Lydia haven’t stopped seeing each other since VCU. Pharmaceutical sales keep you on the road, Colin, which is why Betsy never suspects.” He shook his head. “Two families. That’s a daring lifestyle. Unfortunately, it just tracked you down, Colin.”

  “You … you have the wrong person,” Colin muttered, glancing around fearfully. What if one of Betsy’s girlfriends overheard him talking to this guy? Everyone in town shopped here. “I … I must look like someone else you know.”

  “You’re the man I’m looking for, Colin. For sure … and I know everything about you. Including how you’re a juror on the Bailey Energy trial.” The kid stepped forward and poked a finger into Colin’s chest. “You vote for the corporation when it’s time for the verdict. You vote to allow Bailey Energy to build that pipeline straight through Loudoun County or Betsy, that good little Catholic girl you’re married to, finds out all about Lydia and Haley. Your in-laws find out, too. Everyone does.”

  Colin suddenly felt like he had to puke. “Get away from me!” he shouted, turning around and stumbling for his car. “Get the hell away from me!” he yelled over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, hell’s where you’ll be if you don’t vote innocent!” the young man shouted across the parking lot, turning heads everywhere. “You’ll see, Colin! You’ll see!”

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  “You’re looking awesome, girlfriend.”

  “Thanks to what you do for my hair.”

  Brandy Bond signed the credit card receipt with a quick scribble and then checked herself in the salon mirror once more. She did look good. As she should for what she’d just paid.

  “You’re my most gorgeous customer, Brandy. KABC better put you on camera soon. No more of this associate producer, behind-the-scenes BS.”

  “Thanks, Lillian.”

  “Someone at another TV station is going to discover you, and then KABC will be sorry.”

  “You’re so nice.”

  Lillian waved a red-taloned hand in dismissal, bejeweled bangles jangling. “Go find yourself a man at this wedding in Beverly Hills. Hey, maybe that’s where you’ll get discovered. And praise the Lord the judge let you out for the weekend so you could go to the wedding. Maybe this is all part of his plan.”

  Voices caught Brandy’s ears. “Speak of the Devil,” she murmured as her gaze shifted from the mirror to the TV mounted above and behind the reception counter.

  “Hey, isn’t that the trial you said you’re a juror on?” Lillian pointed at the female reporter on the screen as she followed Brandy’s gaze. “That’s the price-fixing case—the two oil companies everybody’s talking about.”

  “That’s it, all right,” Brandy answered, grabbing her purse off the counter. “I never should have mentioned it.” She sighed. “That was dumb.”

  “That reporter isn’t anywhere near as pretty as you,” Lillian called. “You should be doing that report, not her.”

  “See you next time,” Brandy called back as she headed out of the salon and into the late-afternoon sunshine, toward her fire-engine-red MINI Cooper.

  As she reached for the driver’s-side door, a wiry young man with closely cropped blond hair stepped in front of her. She shrieked and, stumbling on a heel, backed away several quick, terrified steps.

  “Innocent,” he hissed, leering at her. “That’s how you’ll vote on the verdict. Those two oil companies are innocent.”

  “They’re guilty,” she blurted. It was a gut reaction, one she quickly regretted.

  “Uh uh uh,” the man clucked. “We know about your fake sources. The ones you’ve been ginning up on your news stories so you can get on camera.”

  Brandy cringed as her heart began to race, and her mouth went dry.

  “We know how bad you want to get in front of the lens. So bad, you’ve manufactured witnesses and paid for information. Major no-no’s in the news world.”

  “No, I—”

  “Don’t even try. We have people ready to testify if we need them.”

  “But, I—”

  “If we told your executive producers what you’ve done, you’d be out of broadcasting forever and on your ass for good. And believe me, we will tell them if you don’t vote to acquit both companies.” He opened the car door for her, gestured inside, and smiled politely. “Have a nice time at the wedding in Beverly Hills.”

  “My God,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

  He grinned thinly. “I’m the man who knows everything about you. And, Brandy, I do mean everything.”

  CHAPTER 2

  RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

  Victoria Lewis stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone three times as the three pennies hanging from her simple silver bracelet jingled. The move on the microphone was driven solely by superstition, not necessity. A hush had swept through the audience the instant she and Judge Eldridge began ascending the stairs to the dais, followed quickly by tomblike silence. There had been no need to request it.

  She always tapped a microphone three times before giving a speech. She had ever since her eighth-grade valedictorian address. She’d done the same thing as a senior in high school, again at her graduation from the University of Virginia, and just before her inauguration speech as governor. Maybe it was irrational—but it worked. And she wasn’t about to tempt the fates by fixing something that wasn’t broken.

  The temporary platform she and Judge Eldridge had just taken their places on was erected inside the spacious, marbled-lined lobby of Virginia’s brand new Supreme Court Building, directly beneath its massive chandelier. Now that she was standing below the glistening glass and before this powerful audience that had gathered in downtown Richmond from all corners of the Commonwealth, she was pleased she’d chosen such an important site at which to make this announcement.

  “Good afternoon, everyone.” She was wearing her favorite red suit trimmed in black, along with her killer, four-inch, black suede pumps, which matched the suit perfectly. “I want to welcome Governor Falkner, Lieutenant Governor Paulson, Majority Leader Franz, distinguished senators and delegates of the General Assembly, Richmond Mayor Eleanor Bush, distinguished members of the Richmond City Council, as well as the assembled press corps.” She turned and nodded to Eldridge. “Most of all I want to thank Virginia’s Supreme Court Chief Justice Daniel Eldridge for taking time from his busy schedule to join me up here.”

  Victoria paused as she turned to gaze out over the crowd again, to drink in this moment. Ultimately, today could be more crucial to her career than the night five years ago she’d been elected governor of Virginia at the politically tender age of thirty-two. She wanted to remember everything about this afternoon in minute and intimate detail.

  “Most of you haven’t heard from me since my constitutionally imposed single term as governor of our great commonwealth ended last year. When I was forced, kicking and screaming, to vacate my lovely office in the Patrick Henry Building as well as my beautifully redecorated bedroom at the mansion.”

  Polite laughter rippled through the audience.

  “It’s nice to see so many familiar faces. I’
ve missed you. Though, I’m sure some of you from the other side of the aisle haven’t missed me.” She shrugged and smiled innocently. “I don’t know. Maybe some from my side haven’t, either.”

  The laughter grew, though not as much as she’d expected. They wanted the announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she continued, transitioning to her all-business tone, “I’m honored to lead one of the most important initiatives in Commonwealth history, potentially in the country’s history. Let me say that again, in the country’s history.”

  Victoria allowed her last few words to fade into the marble before continuing.

  “Our example in Virginia shall set the stage for other states to follow in what I believe will be a groundbreaking and dramatically positive change to our judicial system.”

  All eyes were riveted on her. Even Judge Eldridge seemed transfixed when she glanced over at him.

  She held his gaze for a moment, impressed by his courage and conviction. By appearing today, he was taking great personal risk. This was the one time, he’d told her, he would publicly endorse Project Archer.

  Seventy-six, Eldridge still radiated charisma, confidence, and power. He was tall, lean, and distinguished looking in his long, black robe with his white hair, jutting chin, piercing gaze, and naturally stern expression. After twenty-two years as chief justice of Virginia’s highest court, he was the Commonwealth’s moral compass. Scandal and controversy had never as much as grazed him, personally or politically, and his influence over the other six justices on the court was absolute—which was the key to Project Archer. She would steer the ship, but Judge Eldridge would keep calm the ocean.

  Victoria turned back to face the expectant crowd.

  “Two hundred Virginia citizens are about to become full-time jurors. These men and women”—she raised her voice above the intensifying buzz suddenly racing around the lobby—“will sit in judgment of Virginia’s most important criminal and civil trials.”

  Reporters scribbled frantically on pads or tapped keyboards as she paused to give them time to catch up.

  “I’ll now turn the microphone over to Chief Justice Eldridge.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Lewis,” he said in his gravelly drawl as he moved to the podium. “I too want to thank our distinguished guests for attending today’s historic announcement.” He adjusted his natty, red-polka-dotted bow tie as he took his turn to drink in the moment. “In this country we constantly strive to improve ourselves at all levels and departments of government. We are a nation unafraid of new ideas, undaunted by new possibilities, even as we respect and revere long-standing traditions.

  “Ms. Lewis’ powerful initiative weaves seamlessly into that tradition. Like her famous ancestor, Meriwether Lewis, who led Thomas Jefferson’s Corps of Discovery to glory through this country’s wild northwest, Ms. Lewis will, I am confident, lead this remarkable project to great success as well.” He gestured toward her. “Selfishly, I’m very glad Virginia’s constitution does not allow governors to serve consecutive terms. It made her available to lead Project Archer after approaching me with the idea.” He gestured again, this time at Tom Falkner, who sat in the front row of folding, wooden chairs. “Given Ms. Lewis’ immense popularity at the end of her four years, I’m certain Governor Falkner is also glad she was constitutionally precluded from serving a second term.”

  Eldridge’s remark evoked the afternoon’s heartiest laugh as well as a demonstrative nod from Falkner.

  “Ms. Lewis has the full and unanimous support of the Supreme Court as she leads Project Archer,” Eldridge assured the audience when the laughter faded. “Thank you again for coming today.”

  He shook Victoria’s hand, smiled at her, then moved across the stage and down the steps toward the lobby hallway and the elevator, surrounded by his darkly dressed, stern-faced bodyguards.

  When he disappeared, she stepped back to the microphone. She and Eldridge had agreed that she would not engage the press—all of whom were still feverishly scribbling or tapping—until he was gone and inaccessible.

  “I’ll open this up to questions.”

  Fifty hands shot into the air. Some reporters standing against the back wall shouted her name.

  She pointed at the senior correspondent from the Richmond Times-Dispatch, the city’s most respected newspaper. He was an old-school gentleman who would give her a friendly first question. He always had during her press conferences as governor.

  “Yes, Harry?”

  The elderly man rose from his front-row seat and raised both bushy, gray eyebrows. “I’m not sure where to start,” he remarked with a wry smile.

  “It’s quite an initiative.”

  “It certainly is. So what is the main objective of Project Archer?”

  A perfect pitch, just as she’d anticipated, right down the middle. “Project Archer will address and solve several fundamental problems inherent to the current jury system, Harry.”

  “Which are?”

  “First, many people try avoiding jury duty because they view it as a terrible, even risky, time-sink. They see being away from their offices for an extended period of days, weeks, and sometimes months as potentially disastrous to their careers or small businesses. They receive that letter from the state informing them of their selection for jury duty, and their first reactions are anger and aggravation. Their next impulse is to find a way out of the obligation. We must stop that.

  “Second, seating impartial juries in this social-media-crazed, up-to-the-instant-on-everything age is nearly unachievable, particularly in high-profile cases. Over the last decade, the Internet has made it almost impossible for lawyers to identify and agree on twelve objective citizens to hear high-profile cases. That dynamic has provided people who are hiding agendas the opportunity to make it onto juries because, ultimately, the lawyers must throw up their hands and accept people they shouldn’t since the trial has to start at some point. My research indicates that the average number of potential witnesses that judges allow attorneys to disqualify before they shake their heads is four. That’s nothing in this day and age. We must fix that very pressing problem as well.”

  People were nodding in agreement she was pleased to see.

  “Finally, professional jurors, for lack of a better term, won’t require a ‘learning process’ for each trial. They’ll become familiar with the system and therefore efficient in their execution of justice. As we expand the program, jury decisions will come faster, yet, at the same time, be more accurate and defensible. Verdicts will be far less vulnerable to reversal on appeal, and in most cases not subject to appeal at all. And the ultimate cost savings will be dramatic. Project Archer will be a tremendous win-win for everyone but criminals.” She paused to let that unassailable assertion sink in. “And that’s what we all want.”

  There was a fourth objective … which was by far the most crucial. The three she’d just described were important. But even more significant than their individual goals, they ran interference for that last objective, which had to remain confidential.

  She pointed at a female reporter on the left side of the lobby. “Yes?”

  “How will this work, Ms. Lewis? How will it be remotely possible to keep jurors completely impartial and objective in this day and age?”

  “These two hundred individuals will live full-time at a facility that is very close to completion. And they will hear cases remotely from this facility. For all intents and purposes, they will exist in a bubble. They will have no contact whatsoever with the outside world.”

  “Is the facility you’re talking about the old Archer Prison outside Charlottesville?” a reporter on the right shouted, out of turn.

  “Yes,” Victoria answered somberly, the mental image of her father taking his first few steps of freedom still vivid in her mind. “But the facility will look vastly different than it did the day it was mothballed seventeen years ago.”

  “When you say the facility is ‘close to completion,’ what exactly does that mean?”
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  “We’re days from opening.”

  “Does that mean you’ve already selected the two hundred jurors?”

  “Almost.”

  “How many people were initially screened?”

  “Over seven thousand.”

  “How did you choose the pool?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “How did you choose from the pool?”

  “All I can say is that we conducted the entire process in a deliberate, statistically meaningful way, guided the entire time by our joint team of attorneys here in Richmond and in Washington, DC.”

  “How long will those who are selected serve?”

  “Two years. Then more will come.”

  “How will you incent them?”

  “The way all employees in our society are incented. We’ll pay them.”

  “How much?”

  “I can’t comment on that. It wouldn’t be fair to the jurors.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a million dollars a year!” another reporter shouted.

  The audience gasped.

  Victoria rolled her eyes just enough, as if to imply that the reporter was suffering a bout of temporary insanity. “You can’t believe everything you hear,” she cautioned as she pointed at another reporter.

  “How were you able to avoid taking this through the state legislature?” the man asked.

  She glanced at Barney Franz, Majority Leader of the General Assembly. She knew him well from her days as governor and was quite familiar with how he was not one to hide his emotions. This afternoon his face was beet red, and his arms were folded tightly across his chest.

  “The Supreme Court of Virginia has unilateral purview over all aspects of the Commonwealth’s jury system,” Victoria answered as Franz rose from his seat and stalked from the lobby, accompanied by whispered chatter from the audience and an aide. She’d been prepared for Franz’s aggravation—not for him to walk out. “Chief Justice Eldridge and the other six justices on the Supreme Court have complete control over this process. It may surprise some people, but there is no constitutional requirement to involve the General Assembly. Our attorneys have assured us of that.”