by Derek Blass
“I'll be talking to the prospective jurors, so I could use your collective eyes and ears. Watch these people when they answer my questions. Analyze their posture, their gestures, their tone. I'll be able to gather information too, but your perspectives would be very helpful. Let me know if your gut gives you a bad feeling about any of them.” He pulled something out of his briefcase. “I had one of these made for you guys too.”
It was a chart, blown up to about three times the size of a regular sheet of paper. “Number the chart in correlation to the prospective jurors and keep your notes on there. When it's time to use the peremptory challenges, we'll compare my notes to yours.”
There was a click at the back of the courtroom. The crowd grew silent and Mason stopped talking. Cruz saw Todd slip into the courtroom and then slide into place next to Mason.
“Phew,” he said.
A bailiff stood up and bellowed, “All rise for the honorable Judge Fredrick Melburn.” A collective rustle took place as everyone stood up in a church-like creak of benches and crack of people's joints as they moved in unison. Cruz watched as the crotchety judge made his way to the bench, a toad in an oversized gown, he thought. The judge took the bench and told the courtroom to be seated without an upward glance.
“Appearances.”
Mason stood up, “Mason West for the State.”
“Sphinx for the Defendant, Sergeant Colin Shaver.”
“Counsel, I see this is set for a three-day trial. If you need to ask for more time, now is the time to do it.”
Mason stood up again, “Counsel for the defendant and I have discussed the issue, Your Honor, and we think three days will be sufficient.”
Judge Melburn looked at Sphinx. “That's correct, Your Honor. Nothing further to add.”
“Fine then. Bailiff, bring in the prospective jurors.”
Sandra leaned over to Cruz and asked, “What exactly are we looking for?”
Cruz looked at the judge to make sure they weren't going to get into trouble for talking. The judge looked disengaged, toying with something in front of him. “Just give us your perceptions. Gut feelings are like gold in this process.”
“I don't know this process, Cruz.”
He peeked at the judge again before going on, “The process is called voir dire, a fancy French way of saying jury selection. Mason will get twenty minutes to talk to the jurors. In talking to them he hopes to accomplish several goals.”
“Such as?” asked Martinez, now intrigued by the conversation.
“Well, the superficial goal is to select the jury. Mason will do that by asking them questions and then trying to read them for biases. It goes much deeper than that though. This is his first chance to connect with the jury. Studies have shown that jurors make judgments at the very beginning of the case. That means if a juror prejudges your client as guilty, you have to work that much harder to disprove that judgment. On the other hand, if that juror prejudges your client to be not guilty, then you just have to reinforce that prejudgment throughout the trial. Mason will weave his theme into the process, to begin to inculcate the jury.”
First though, each juror had to stand up and read through a list of questions posted on a wall behind the judge. Their names, age, occupation and other seemingly tedious details. Many judges had moved away from this practice. It made the jurors uncomfortable and could set a negative tone at the beginning of the case. Judge Melburn couldn't care less. The worker gave his name, address, occupation and “something interesting” about himself. As if that would lend any humanity to the process.
The jury pool was a mix, as always. There was a male engineer, two teachers, a grocery store clerk, a doctor, two unemployed people, several businesspeople, a construction worker, a car mechanic, a jockey and one lady that described herself as an entertainer. There were others too, a total of twenty-three prospective jurors in the box. Five peremptory challenges per side left twelve jurors and an alternate. The alternate didn't know he or she was an alternate. Cruz always thought that was a raw deal. To go through an entire trial and then to be told you were the alternate and you wouldn't be deciding anything at all.
The recitation flowed through the prospective jurors until one of the teachers stood up. She was a fourth-grade teacher, plump, large glasses. Wiry, unkempt hair hung randomly around her face. Her voice barely carried over the ongoing buzz of the courtroom. Tawny Redknight.
“It's important to have followers in the jury,” Cruz said.
“She's a teacher though. She can control people.” Sandra whispered.
“A follower with adults, a controller with children,” he responded. Cruz put a check in the box corresponding to Tawny.
The engineer stood up next. He wore an argyle, short-sleeve collared shirt. It was brown, pale blue and yellow. At least the brown matched his pants.
“What do you guys think about him?” Cruz asked. The engineer fumbled through his script.
“Can't hurt that he's black,” Martinez suggested. “Maybe some sympathy points there.”
“I also liked his honesty,” Sandra added. Cruz added a check next to the engineer's name—Lucius Keller.
When all of the jurors finished their burdensome task, it was time for Mason to begin his voir dire. “Twenty minutes for the State,” Judge Melburn said as he slammed his fist down on a timer next to him. It looked like one of the timers used at chess matches.
Cruz watched as Mason began his dialogue with the prospective jurors. He was good in front of them. Serious but with a soft tone. Confident but not arrogant. Most importantly, trustworthy. He was setting himself out to be the teacher, the one who would guide the jurors to their conclusion. Sphinx was way more flash. Drama, awe. Mason would be a chalkboard to Sphinx's PowerPoint presentation. Cruz was interested to see how that dynamic played out. Jurors could be turned on or off by Sphinx's style.
Cruz took notes while watching Mason talk to the prospective jurors. Sandra whispered, “Juror number eighteen seems too into this. It looks like she's itching to be on this jury.”
“Can you get a feel for why? Does she want to be on the jury to prosecute Shaver or not?” Cruz asked.
Martinez added, “She's given me a couple of weird looks. Like, 'we're in this together.' I'm not sure she knows who the hell I am.” Cruz put a big “X” in the space for juror number eighteen.
They proceeded this way, tagging along with Mason through the voir dire until his twenty minutes ran out. Sphinx stood up next. His approach was to glamor the jury. Flash diamond studs. Wave pinstripes. Hang his left hand a little bit lower from the weight of his watch. He played the card well though. People were enraptured by a six-foot-five tall, handsomely brown, meticulously dressed man.
Cruz saw juror number seven smile nervously as Sphinx looked at her. “Sandra, watch that juror. What's your female nature tell you?”
Sandra watched her for a few seconds. “Oh boy, she's a sucker for him.”
Cruz crossed number seven out. They watched as Sphinx did a number with the jury. It was masterful in some instances. He broached certain bounds in others. Cruz watched earnestly, noting when Sphinx's grandeur perturbed the jurors.
Mason turned around and showed his sheet to them. A person sitting on a bench behind them leaned into the conversation. Martinez gave him a hard stare. “I've got a large 'NO' next to eighteen,” Mason said.
Cruz smiled. It was nice to have their instincts verified by another person. “Same with us.”
“We thought twenty-one, the engineer, he could be a good one,” Cruz said.
“I was on the fence about him. He's so damn nervous. I can't tell if its just because he's a geek engineer or if there's something more,” Mason responded.
“I think he's being honest,” Sandra said, lifting one shoulder to shrug off her own insecurity in being a part of this process.
“You know, I can see that, Sandra,” Mason said. He put a check mark next to Lucius. “We have to hurry, Sphinx is wrapping up.”
“What about the jockey?” Cruz asked. “What the hell's that about anyway? I didn't know they existed outside of the track.” The rest of them stifled laughter. “What? It's weird.” Cruz scratched the back of his head.
“He's bound to have a Napoleon complex. He could be the ring leader. Is that what you want?” Sandra asked.
“You guys told me to rely on my gut. I don't like him,” Martinez said.
“Sometimes you need the ring leader, and I don't see much strength in the rest of them. I'm going to have to veto you guys on this one,” Mason said. “What about this teacher. Tawny...Tawny Red-something.”
“I like her,” Cruz jumped in. “She'll follow.”
“Who do we strike then?”
Cruz pointed at two. The doctor and one of the businesspeople.
“The small-business owner? Really? I liked him,” Mason said.
“I don't know, Mason. But, you've done this a bunch more. I'd go with your instincts.”
“We keep the business guy, we'll ditch the doctor. I think we dump the entertainer too.”
“No way,” Sandra said so emphatically that they all looked at her. “She's been there. She's been on the side of abuse. I bet she's got some intense emotions. You guys have picked mostly cold, logical people. There has to be some emotion in that group.”
Mason's pen hesitated on his chart. “Counsel, your peremptory strikes,” Judge Melburn demanded. Mason and Sphinx took turns calling out the number of a juror until each had used their strikes.
“Mason left the entertainer,” Cruz said.
“Her name is Dawn.”
“More like Diamond,” Martinez said sarcastically.
“Wait till she's our winner,” Sandra said. Cruz noticed she was taking some ownership and he liked it. Mason sat down with a huff.
“We got to keep all the ones we wanted,” Cruz said.
* * * *
Tawny sat in the middle of a small, crowded room of prospective jurors. The temperature plus nerves plus tight quarters made it all nearly unbearable. She took the note card with her juror information and fanned herself. She used her other hand to play with the tag hanging off of her purse handle. A Mexican man sat to her right. He was in overalls and had a hat pulled down low over his eyes. He stared into nothing. A white man sat on her other side. He had his iPhone turned sideways and was typing furiously. The clerk had told them no phones. She considered saying something to the man, but then thought better of it. Despite this hesitation, she started to reach her hand out to him to say something but stopped. Sensing it, he looked at her. She turned away, red-faced.
They had been waiting for over an hour in that sweltering room. Amazing it was so hot this early, she thought to herself. Was supposed to get to eighty by mid-day, uncharacteristically warm for this time of year. The note card told her to get there by seven. Once they arrived, the clerk told them that court would start at nine a.m. So they waited around for no apparent reason.
The door to the room cracked open. Everyone lifted their heads, but the door just shut again. Tawny went back to toying with the tag. She thought about her students who she hated leaving with substitute teachers. They were her kids, her wards. The substitute was nice enough but it was always hard when the normal rules were suspended for a day. The kids felt they had carte blanche when she came back.
The door popped open again. A woman came in that Tawny didn't recognize—she wasn't the clerk. “Numbers twenty-eight forty-three, twenty-eight forty-nine and twenty-eight fifty, you're excused”. Tawny scanned her card. Twenty-eight fifty-one. Typical. “Those people with numbers I didn't call, you're staying here.” The woman started to walk back out of the room.
A woman in a white blouse and black skirt called out, “Wait! What about the rest of us?” The other woman ignored her and continued out of the room. “Oh my god! She just ignored me!” the woman whined. She was probably in her forties, the whiny woman. Pretty but tight-skinned and seemingly tight in other areas. Tawney laughed at her own description. A few people looked at her. Damn, it was out loud! Her face turned red again.
The woman came back into the room. “Twenty-eight sixty-two through eighty-four, you're excused. The rest of you are in the pool.” One man threw his card on the ground. Others sprung up and hurried out of the room.
“Looks like we're the ones,” an awkward-looking black man said to her. She half-smiled and clutched her purse a bit closer.
“At approximately quarter to nine we will call you into the courtroom. The judge will give you instructions as to the proceedings and how you will be selected to be a juror.” The woman delivered this information like she was reading off a menu. “Any questions?” The whiny woman made a move as if she was about to talk but was shut down just as quickly by an evil eye.
It was eight-thirty.
“I just can't believe this,” a man said. This was the first time Tawny had looked at him. He was absolutely tiny. “I've got races on all these days. They better let me out of this!”
“What kind of races?” the man to Tawny's right asked. He had grime under his nails and his overalls were spattered with paint. She found it hard to believe that someone would come to a courthouse looking like that.
“Horse.”
“You got bets?”
The small man looked bemused. “No, I ride them. Like a jockey, you know? On the horse's back?”
“Ahhhhh, un caballero!”
“Sure, that too.”
“I've never seen one of you in real life, like outside of the horse.”
“Believe it or not, we exist in the same realm as you non-horse riders,” the jockey said sarcastically.
The woman in the white blouse said, “I ride horses.” The jockey glared at her, but then must have decided to drop the whole conversation.
They sat there in silence until another door opened. A skinny man in a brown uniform came into the room. His last name was printed on a badge. Craven. “Go time, jurors. Come on through this door and another bailiff will escort you to the jury box.” He held the door open with one arm. Tawny couldn't see into the courtroom but heard its bustle. The jurors stood up and looked at each other before the jockey let out an exasperated sigh and barreled into the courtroom. Tawny brought up the rear of the column.
Her first glimpse of the courtroom was surprising. In many respects it was beautiful. Very high ceiling with thick, white crown molding. Gold accents all around. Tall, rectangular windows covered by velvet sashes. The bench seats were hand carved out of thick wood. She got to the jury box and noticed that all the seats were taken. Dismayed, she started to look for somewhere to sit and saw that jurors had spilled over into seats in front of the jury box.
“Hey—lady,” the awkward black man said. “Here, you take mine.” She started to wave her hand in the air as if to say “no,” but he insisted. She sat down in the chair while the black man sat in one of the folding chairs in front of the jury box. The chair was actually plush. There was a brass foot rail in front of her. Maybe this wasn't going to be that bad.
She peered to her left and saw a cantankerous-looking old man sitting high above them. He wore a black robe and already had his gavel perched in the air. He motioned to the black man to hurry and sit down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been charged with what many agree to be the onerous task of serving on a jury. Welcome,” the judge started. “This case is set for a three-day trial. We will start with the jury selection process. In that process, the attorneys for the State and the defendant will get twenty minutes each to talk to you and ask questions.” The judge waved his hand in the general vicinity of the courtroom as if to direct the jurors' gaze toward the attorneys.
Tawny looked to her right where two big desks rested with a podium in between them. At the desk on her left was a dark man, although not black. He was very big, and aggressive looking. On her right was the other attorney. He looked older, more broken-in, and had sandy blond hair which was still thick and brushed to the side. Tawny lik
ed his look, it was simple and comfortable.
“Juror number one...” The bailiff standing next to the jury box pointed to a man seated at the opposite end of the jury box from Tawny. “...please stand up and give your answers to the questions behind me.” This was the first time Tawny had seen those questions. They were going to have to stand up and read these out loud? She immediately became hot and felt her chest moisten.
Juror after juror stood up and gave their information. All of them recited the information as fast as possible, like shy students in her classroom. The train of embarrassment rolled her way until it was finally her turn. She stood up with her purse clenched to her chest. Her glasses slipped down along the sweat on her nose.
“Tawny Rednight, school teacher, thirty-four years old. I like my students and the Harry Potter series.” She sat down just as quickly as she had spoken and pushed her glasses back up the brim of her nose. The blond attorney got up next. His name was Mason West and Tawny was right, he was pretty comfortable. He possessed a calm demeanor and even spoke directly to her once. He asked whether she had any students of color, to which she answered she did. In fact, their school district was made up of over sixty-two percent Latinos. She saw him scribble something down.
The man sitting next to her called himself a long-distance truck driver. He looked wholly disinterested. When the aggressive attorney began his own inquiry, he asked the truck driver what he thought about immigration. The man looked into the gallery as if to make sure no illegals were present and then said, “They don't belong here, do they?” The attorney, he had a catchy name, Sphinx, asked another question. “Are all the Mexicans here in this country illegals?” To which the truck driver responded, “I doubt it, but I can't tell. Can you tell a Chinaman from a Jap?”
Once the two attorneys finished, the judge explained that there was a peremptory strike process. Apparently, each attorney would get five strikes. That would leave thirteen jurors. One alternate out of the thirteen. Both attorneys were huddled at their desks. This was the first time Tawny saw the accused man. He was seated next to the attorney Sphinx. He looked up at the jurors and caught her gazing at him. It sent a shiver down her spine and her eyes darted away.
