“Before we go any further into jury selection, I’m going to ask Mr. Campanella, who is here representing the government, to show you a short segment of one of the pieces of evidence you may be called upon to examine if you are selected as a juror. I have a special reason for doing this, and I want everyone to understand me clearly.”
Norcross folded his hands in front of him and dropped his tone slightly, as though he were having a fireside chat.
“The heart of a juror’s task, in the end, is the careful, objective assessment of the evidence. A juror must be neutral. He or she must be able to examine the evidence dispassionately, meaning without being overwhelmed by, for example, biases or powerful emotions. Everyone has issues that hit us especially hard. I do, you do, everyone does. Cases where the government brings a charge relating to child pornography may be especially difficult for some people. That is very understandable.
“Now, I’m going to permit the government to show you a portion of the child pornography it will be offering in this trial. My purpose in doing this is to give you an idea of the evidence you may be asked to look at and weigh. When you’ve seen it, I’m going to be asking whether, given the nature of the charge and the evidence, any of you has doubts about his or her ability to act as a neutral and impartial juror and weigh the evidence objectively in a case of this sort. Mr. Campanella, when you’re ready.”
The courtroom’s presenter sat on a table next to the podium, between and a couple feet in front of the two counsel tables. It could be used to display evidence in various forms: still pictures, diagrams and drawings, downloads from a laptop, even items from the Internet. Campanella walked up to the presenter, slipped the DVD into the player, and began pushing buttons.
He spoke half to himself. “Still getting used to this thing.” Watching, several jurors chuckled sympathetically.
A grainy, indecipherable patch jumped up onto the two large video monitors on either side of the courtroom and on the smaller monitors set up in the jury box, at counsel table, and up on the bench. Then the scene, one of the worst, came into focus in full color, and the audio kicked on. In the center of the tableau, a blond girl no more than three years old lay on a table screaming. The inky shadow of the videographer fell across the lower half of her naked body. Then the camera trained in for a close-up of her terrified face, lingered, and began trolling down her skinny torso.
Many jurors closed their eyes or turned away. Others went further, bending forward and covering their faces with their hands. As the scene unfolded, the naked back of a heavy male form approached the child, and the soundless throb of horror coming from the gallery thickened and became almost palpable. One or two groans, and a murmured “Jesus Christ!” floated up. A woman rose hurriedly, stumbled, and left the courtroom. A man, then two more women, followed soon afterward. The courtroom door swished and thumped repeatedly.
Ames kept her eye on the gallery as discreetly as she could, searching for faces she might trust. There weren’t many. Nearly all the jurors exhibited pure pain and disgust, but, disturbingly, a few faces shone with avid interest. Research about child pornography trials suggested that as much as 10 percent of jurors in these cases actually took pleasure in looking at scenes like this. Afterward, this minority would go home and search for similar material on the Internet. The terrible irony was that high-profile trials like this one could serve as effective marketing tools for the child pornography business. It was possible that they did almost as much to encourage it as to deter it.
For Ames, of course, the important question was: Who among this cohort of jurors had the fiber to give her client a halfway fair trial, and who would want to crucify him before the first witness testified?
Norcross’s voice broke in. “That’s enough, Mr. Campanella. We have the idea.”
Campanella turned off the presenter, and the screen went blank. The atmosphere in the room seemed to sag. Even Norcross had a haggard expression. He turned his face to the side, looked out the windows over the jury box at the gray winter sky, and breathed in deeply. Two of the escapees peeped into the courtroom and slipped back into their seats.
“Okay.” Norcross turned to the jurors. “The evidence in this case may include a twenty-seven-minute version of what you have just seen. I want to emphasize again that the defendant Sidney Cranmer is presumed innocent.” Norcross nodded down at Sid. “He has pleaded not guilty, and he denies ever knowingly and intentionally receiving this or any child pornography. As I’ve told you, he may only be found guilty if the government convinces you of his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”
The judge leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him.
“Jurors have a difficult job. They must be able to consider evidence without losing the balance of their dispassionate neutrality. In this case, you must be able to give both sides, the government and the defendant, a fair trial. If any one of you, based on what you have just seen, feels that it would be impossible, or very difficult, for you to act as a neutral and impartial juror in this sort of case, please raise your hand.”
A forest of hands shot up—nearly half the pool, including the thuggish man who’d caught Ames’s attention earlier. He was raising his right hand so far in the air that his shoulder was mashed up under his ear.
Norcross leaned forward and said quietly to Ruby Johnson, “We’re going to need to summon in more jurors. This may take a while.”
40
In the upstairs room of the unused storage shed, the long-awaited, very private celebration of Ryan Jaworski’s twenty-first birthday was finally getting started. Elizabeth, wearing her green thong and push-up bra, led Ryan, blindfolded, into the room. Apart from the bandanna over his eyes, he wore only flower-patterned boxer shorts. Blow-up palm trees and cardboard hula girls were in the room’s entryway and Hawaiian music was playing in the background.
As they approached the center of the room, Elizabeth whispered over her shoulder, just loud enough for Ryan to hear, “Not yet. Stay there until I call you.”
Chase Bergstrom’s chemical smorgasbord had hit Ryan like a Mack truck, which was good, because if he’d been able to think clearly, he would have wondered what was going on. The room was empty of people except Elizabeth and him. A hangman’s noose hung down from a beam in the center of the ceiling, and a throne-size wooden armchair stood under the noose. Behind the chair, almost out of sight, was a short stepladder for Elizabeth to use at the critical moment. The building’s old heating system was overreacting to the February chill, and the place was very warm.
Ryan, barefoot and guided by Elizabeth, wobbled blindly toward the noose. One hand grasped Elizabeth’s shoulder; the other, holding a bottle of red wine, waved back and forth checking for obstacles.
“Sheesus Chrise, Lib.” Ryan paused to take a long swig from the bottle. “Iss just. I don’t think I’ve ever been so whacked.” He swiveled his head blindly around the room. “So, come on, who’ve we got here?” He waved the bottle. “Hey, whoever you are, say something, okay? I’m, like, dying of …” He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm and coughed out a laugh. “Dying of horniness and cold toenails.”
Apart from getting the chemicals into him, Elizabeth had done a thorough job preparing Ryan on the landing. Wearing his favorite fantasy outfit, she got him down to his shorts and fooled around with him until he was right on the edge of the sexual precipice. The drugs had him so pumped that at one point he’d slobbered, “Just do me here, Lib, please. Forget the surprise.” Instead, not long after that, she tied the blindfold in place, good and snug, and drew him into the room.
“Okay, darlin’, onto your throne.” She put her hand into his armpit and started to hoist him up onto the chair. “One big step here.”
Ryan rocked back and batted at the air with his bottle. “Whoa! What the hell?”
Elizabeth whispered to the side, “Wait a second, Sofie. Hold your horses.” Then to Ryan, louder
. “It’s just a chair here, Ry, for you to stand on. We’re going to want Big Jake right at mouth height.”
“Sofie’s here? Sofie Martinez? I didn’t …” He put one foot on the chair. “I didn’t think she even liked me.”
“Up you go. Give me this.” Elizabeth took the wine bottle out and set it behind her.
Ryan teetered to the side and then took his foot off the chair, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Lib. This is too crazy. I’m feeling, like, really … Wow. Less jus’ …”
“Oh, come on, babe.” Elizabeth spoke plaintively. “You’re going to spoil my surprise. It took me all semester to set this up.”
Ryan turned in Elizabeth’s direction, waved a finger, and slurred out, “Come on now, Libby Spencer, no means no.” He laughed and replaced one foot up on the big chair, then looked over his shoulder. “Who’s here? Seriously.”
“One more step.” Elizabeth pulled at his arm. “Then we take the blindfold off, and you’ll see. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
“I don’t know.” Ryan still hesitated. “This time, Lib, you’ve really blown the end off my weirdo-meter.” With a grunt, he heaved himself up so that he was standing on the chair. “Whoa, shit.” He wobbled and steadied himself.
“There you are, babe. Turn toward me. Perfect.” Elizabeth dropped her voice again and muttered. “Isn’t he gorgeous? I’m so lucky.” More loudly, she added, “And we have to get you properly undressed for the occasion!”
She jerked his boxers down. Ryan bent his knees and grabbed at them but began to lose his balance and had to stand up quickly, flapping backward with his arms to steady himself.
“Come on, Ry, don’t be a party pooper.”
With an obedient sigh, Ryan untangled his ankles from the shorts and kicked them to the side. His penis was standing up like the high end of a teeter-totter.
Elizabeth raised her voice, almost squealing. “Damn, Ryan, you look gorgeous! Doesn’t he look awesome?”
Ryan grinned stupidly, put his hands over his head, and gave a drunken Chippendale wriggle. “Everybody happy now?”
“You bet, and we’re almost ready for the grand finale.” Elizabeth singsonged: “Open our mouths, and close your eyes, and you shall get a big surprise.” She fondled him, keeping his battery charged.
“Sheesus, come on!” Ryan gasped. “Just keep …”
Elizabeth stepped quickly across the room, pulled the silk bag containing their handcuffs out of a duffel over by the wall, then skipped back and mounted the stepladder behind him.
“Okay. Put one hand here.” Speaking in a baby-doll voice, Elizabeth took his right hand and set it on his right buttock. “And the other little hand . . .” She took Ryan’s left hand and placed it on his left buttock. “Right here.”
Ryan leaned slightly forward, mouth open, hands firmly on his behind. “Ah, okay. Can somebody please tell me what this is for?”
“Follow instructions, Ry. Don’t move a muscle.” Then she whispered. “Everybody gather around.” To Elizabeth’s relief, Ryan’s hands stayed in place.
“This isn’t gonna hurt, is it? I’m not …” A worried tone crept into Ryan’s voice. When he wobbled backward, his head brushed against the noose. “The hell’s that?”
“Just a decoration. Keep your hands right there.” She snapped the handcuffs around his wrists and hastily slipped the noose over his head.
“What’s with the collar thing? For Christ’s sake, Lib …” Ryan was just about to get fed up, but it was too late now.
“Your necklace.” Elizabeth adjusted the noose around Ryan’s throat, snug but not tight enough to choke him. Ryan’s body stiffened and he knit his brows, trying to figure out what was happening. Then, Elizabeth whipped off the blindfold and stepped down from the ladder.
She’d done it. It was a miracle. Standing in front of him, she gave him a big smile.
“Well, la-dee-dah!”
Ryan started to smile back, then looked around, and pulled at his hands. “What the fuck, Lib?” He twisted his head to look back at the cuffs. Then he cast his eyes around the room. “Where is everybody?”
Elizabeth gazed up. “You look so darn cute.”
“Come on. Where’d everybody go?” He kept peering around, as if someone might be in a corner he’d overlooked, all the time absently tugging at the handcuffs. He’d never get loose. The cuffs were old, reliable friends.
Elizabeth turned her back and walked over to a paint-spattered bench along the wall. She pulled a towel out of her duffel and began wiping off her arms and the back of her neck, like an athlete after a good workout. Ryan’s penis, she noticed, was beginning to lose heart.
“What’s. Whass going on, Libby? Really!” Ryan kept darting his head back over one shoulder then the other.
Elizabeth pulled a fresh bra and panties out of the duffel—plain white and practical—and peeled off the uncomfortable thong and push-up bra Ryan loved so much. He stopped squirming to take in her nakedness, and she could see the look of disappointment falling over his face. She was just a piece of anatomy now, nothing especially sexy about her.
“You want me to do you some more, Ry? I will if you ask nicely.”
“Fuck, Lib. What is this? Are you pissed or something?”
She slipped on the new bra and reached around to hook it in back. “No. Not pissed.” She adjusted the shoulder straps.
“Honestly. I don’t get this.” He twisted the handcuffs. “What the hell.” He was starting to sober up, which was good. Chase told her the drug combo hit with a big punch at first but might wear off quickly with a guy Ryan’s size. “I’m feeling really weird up here.” Then, in a sharper voice: “Take the cuffs off, Lib. I mean it.”
“I lost the key.” Elizabeth was buttoning her blouse. “I honestly don’t know where it is.”
Ryan tipped his chin down and worked it from side to side, trying to see if he could squirm free of the noose.
“I wouldn’t do that, Ry.” Elizabeth pulled on a pair of jeans and zipped up the fly. “You’ll just make it tighter.”
She could see Ryan grasping the extent of his predicament and beginning to get angry. He twisted his hands harder behind his back to test if he could snap the chain that held the cuffs together. It wasn’t going to work. He shifted tacks.
“This is dangerous, you know, Lib. I’m drunk as shit up here, to tell the truth, and my feet are getting sweaty. I could slip.”
“You’re right. And it’s a bad way to go.” Elizabeth was tucking her blouse in. “Usually, when somebody gets hanged, the scaffold thing is rigged to break their neck, and they go quick. We don’t have that, so you’d strangle, which is a lot slower. People bicycle their legs to keep a little blood going and stay alive for a few more seconds.” She sat down on the bench and began putting on her sneakers. “The longest recorded time for someone to die like that is supposedly seventeen minutes. Usually, though, it’s less than two minutes.” She was leaning down, working on her shoelaces. “I got that off the Internet, so I’m not positive about the data. Could be crap.”
The Hawaiian-theme music stopped, and the noise from a dorm party in the distance either got louder or became more noticeable. The falsetto voice of some singer, repeating a phrase over and over, wailed in on top of the bass. Elizabeth looked up and saw Ryan staring at her with an expression she’d never seen before. Good.
“You’re kidding right? You really want to play this game?” He twisted around, presenting his hands. “Come on, this is bullshit. Take the fucking cuffs off.” His voice became threatening. “I mean it, Libby. Knock it off.” When Elizabeth didn’t respond, Ryan pushed on, raising his voice. “Whatever’s going on, if there’s some kind of accident, you’d be in deep shit, too. It’s not worth …”
“I didn’t force you up there, Ryan. I’m a girl, and you’re a lot stronger than I am.” She finished tying her
shoes and stood up. “We were drunk, playing around—just two stupid kids in a fantasy sex game that went wrong. I’d be, you know, totally distraught.” She shrugged. “In the end, I doubt very much would happen to me.”
“Fuck this. I’m going to start yelling if you don’t get me down from here.”
“Go ahead. No one will hear you.”
Ryan breathed in, opened his mouth, and then closed it. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t an idiot, and now he was just a piece of anatomy, too, pasty and flaccid. His penis looked like a child’s punctured toy.
Libby got her purse off the bench. “Okay. I’m all dressed now, and you’re all naked.” She pulled out her cell phone. “It’s time to make our movie.”
Ryan looked confused at first. Then, it was like a cloud lifted off his face.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Libby!” He spoke in a tone of impatience verging on disgust. “Is that what this is all about? The vid?”
“That’s part of it.”
“You’re doing this because of that? Give me a fucking break!” His tone softened slightly. “It wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. Ridge promised.”
“I figured it was him.”
“Look, I’m really sorry, okay? It was a fuckhead thing to do, I admit it.” He sighed again, scornful but resigned. “Okay, go ahead and take the video. We’ll be even. Then, get me down from here. After that, we’re gonna have a little talk.” When Elizabeth didn’t say anything, he added, “I mean it. You and I have big problems.”
“The video’s only part of it.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, what else? Jackie?”
“I want you to tell me what you did when you saw the flyer at Professor Cranmer’s house.”
Ryan answered too fast. “I didn’t do shit. I saw it. I thought it was sick, and that was that.” He was pretending to get even more frustrated.
“Time for me to be going.” Elizabeth picked up her purse and slipped the strap up over her arm. “Be careful up there.”
The One-Eyed Judge Page 31
