by Marti Green
When that decision was overturned by the higher court, it only took one day for the governor to reach out to him. He wanted a favor, too. Hinchey hemmed and hawed until the governor promised him a seat on a higher bench when the opportunity arose. And so he agreed to rule in favor of a new trial. And that, too, hadn’t bothered him. He’d been comfortable with his first ruling based on a friend’s intuition. He was comfortable with this ruling based on the law. Now, it would be up to twelve men and women to decide Melton’s fate.
Win felt like he was walking on a cushion of air as the guard led him across the floor to his cell. The clanking of feet on the metal walkways, the shouts of inmates, the putrid odor of ammonia and mold—none of that penetrated him. He would be free. He knew getting the new trial was the home run, the trial itself just a courtesy jog around the bases. No jury would convict him when they heard Sanders’s confession.
Grandmama had promised him he’d be exonerated, and now she’d all but kept that promise. She’d come to see him before the hearing started, reassured him that if all else failed, the governor would grant clemency and release him. It was political suicide for him to do so, but Grandmama had promised the governor that if he didn’t, she’d put her substantial resources behind his opponent. And if he did as she asked, he’d be generously rewarded.
Win didn’t want clemency, though. For the rest of his life, he’d be marked as the man who’d raped and murdered a girl and gotten away with it. No, he wanted his name cleared, so he could go on to live his life without that cloud over him. He reached his cell, and the guard removed his shackles. Win looked down at his hands, at the red marks where the iron metal rubbed his skin. Not much longer, he thought. Not much longer at all.
This time, weather problems didn’t delay Dani’s flight into LaGuardia. She arrived home in time to join her family for dinner. She walked in the door, and Doug called out to her, “The champion is home. Hooray for justice.”
Dani smiled and walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his thickening waist, and turned her head up to kiss him.
“It’s good to have you back,” Doug said.
“It’s good to be back—sort of.”
Doug looked at her quizzically.
“No—it’s great to be home. I just wish I could have bottled the Florida warmth and brought it back with me.”
“I’ll warm you up.”
Dani laughed. “I’m counting on that.”
“So, when does the trial begin?”
“Three weeks.”
“That enough time for you?”
Dani nodded. They’d already conducted their investigation. Tomorrow, they’d begin to pull together their witness list, and then they’d sit down with the witnesses to prepare them for testifying. Tonight, though, Dani didn’t want to think about Winston Melton. She didn’t want to think about whether he was innocent or guilty, or the work ahead. And she didn’t want to think about her surprise at the judge’s turnaround.
Sienna Metzner looked at her bedside clock and marveled that she’d slept until ten a.m. It had been a long time since she’d indulged in the luxury of sleeping in. Her hours at the hospital were crazy. Add to that classes and studying, and there simply wasn’t enough time in the day to sleep late. But she was actually off for two days in a row. Two days to catch up on her work. Two days to soak in a long, hot bath, then go to the corner deli for a coffee and one of their incredible blueberry muffins. Time even to read a newspaper, something she hadn’t done in months.
She hopped out of bed, bathed, dressed, then slipped on her warmest jacket as she headed outside. She loved living in Manhattan—the noise, the smells, the throngs of people. So unlike the small Midwestern town where she’d grown up. She smiled brightly at Claude, the doorman, when she arrived in the co-op’s lobby, and asked after his family, then exited and headed over to Enzio’s Place. As soon as she opened the deli’s door, the smell of hot coffee happily assaulted her.
“Muffins just baked, Enzio?” she asked when it was her turn at the counter.
“Freshly made, just for you. Blueberry, right?”
“Yep. And my usual coffee.”
She picked up a copy of the New York Times before she left and brought her goodies back to her apartment. “Not the most nutritious breakfast,” she murmured to herself, but she didn’t care. The muffins were just too good to pass up.
She settled in her kitchen chair and opened up the newspaper. She just glanced at the headlines, stopping now and then to read an article, until a story’s title caught her eye: “New Trial for Winston Melton.” Winston. It had been so long since she’d seen him, but she still missed him. She still yearned for him to be by her side. She quickly devoured the story, then put the paper down. Her heart beat a little faster. She looked up toward the ceiling and, as if speaking to an unknown presence, whispered, “Please. Please let it go his way.”
CHAPTER
24
When Dani returned to the office the next morning, a message awaited her from Amelia Melton. She hung up her coat, grabbed a cup of coffee, then sat down at her desk to return the call.
“I have the name of a jury consultant I’d like you to use,” Mrs. Melton said when she came on the line. “She has an excellent reputation.”
HIPP had never retained jury consultants. They were too expensive. Nevertheless, Dani felt proud of her ability to judge prospective jurors. Having someone second-guess her could interfere with her own judgment and possibly undermine her confidence. “I don’t think one is necessary.”
“I took a chance hiring you, and so far, you haven’t disappointed me. But I expect Winston to have all the benefits that would be standard with a large firm, and that includes a jury consultant.”
Dani had learned over the past weeks that it was pointless arguing with Mrs. Melton. She’d meet with the consultant, even bring her to Florida for the trial, but Dani would have the final say on which jurors she kept and which she dismissed. “Okay. Give me the name.”
“Kathleen Gatto. She’s expecting your call.”
The next day, Dani met Kathleen at the Gotham Bar and Grill. Kathleen had insisted on being called by her first name, and further insisted they get to know each other better over lunch than in a sterile office environment. The restaurant was only a few blocks from HIPP’s office, but Dani had never eaten there and, if not for today, likely never would. It had a reputation for gourmet food at prices that far exceeded what she and Doug would ever pay for a meal out. But Kathleen was treating—Dani was certain she’d expense the lunch on her bill to Mrs. Melton—and so she’d acquiesced.
She reached the restaurant and stood outside a few moments before entering. Only one word could describe it—elegant. The blue entrance door was flanked by blue pillars interspersed every few feet that reached from the ground to a height of two stories. Inside, pleated white fabric draped over rows of ceiling lights. White-linen tablecloths covered the tables, and vases of fresh flowers sat in the center of each table. Although she was a few minutes early, the maître d’ informed her that Kathleen had already arrived and led Dani to her table.
Kathleen looked up from her menu as Dani approached and smiled. She was a petite blonde, with short hair and bangs that framed her perfectly oval face. As she stood to shake Dani’s hand, she smoothed down her tight skirt that stopped five inches above her knees. Her turquoise silk blouse was open enough to give a hint of her ample cleavage.
“I hope I’m not being rude,” Dani said as she sat down. “But you don’t look more than twenty-five.”
“Twenty-four, actually. But don’t worry about my experience. My father was the most sought-after jury consultant in the country, and he taught me the ropes from the time I entered high school. My teachers used to get annoyed that I took off so many days when he was picking a jury, but I aced all my classes, so they stopped complaining.”
“I have to be up-
front with you, Kathleen. I’ve never used a jury consultant before. You’re here only because Mrs. Melton insisted. But I want it clear that the final decision on any juror is mine.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Why don’t we order drinks, and then I’ll tell you what I do?” She held her hand out to catch the waiter’s attention, and when he came over, she greeted him with a wide smile. “I’ll have an apple martini.”
The waiter looked at Dani. “Just a Coke. No, make it a Diet Coke.”
Kathleen looked quizzically at Dani. “You don’t imbibe?”
“I do. Just not when I’m working. It goes to my head too quickly, and then I find everything hilariously funny.”
Kathleen nodded, then reached into the leather attaché case by her side and pulled out a shiny brochure. She passed one over to Dani. “Now, why don’t I tell you what I can do for your trial? Every prospective juror lies during voir dire. Oh, they’re usually little lies, designed to make them look better, but still, you don’t get the full picture of who the juror really is. My job is to find the hidden biases of potential jurors. Some of the biases may help; some may hurt. It’s all a question of full disclosure for you. So,” she continued as she leaned back in her seat, “how do I do this?”
Just then, the waiter arrived with their drinks. Once again, Kathleen flashed a bright smile at him, then turned back to Dani. “First, I do some pretrial research. I create a scientific sample from the available jury pool, ask general questions about their background, interests, work, family, education, et cetera. Then, I go into specific questions and—”
“Wait,” Dani interrupted. “You don’t talk to them about the case, do you?”
“No, of course not. I’ll explore their feelings about wealthy people—because that’s going to be the biggest potential bias—but also about circumstantial evidence, about police honesty, about former lovers. I’ll even explore their thoughts on confessions. From that sampling, I come up with the type of juror—in terms of age, occupation, gender, race, marital status, and a bunch of other factors—that will most likely be receptive to finding Winston Melton innocent.”
Dani was blown away. Of course, she knew about jury consultants, but she’d thought part of the job of a good attorney was to ferret out those jurors who might be antagonistic to her client. Relying on her instincts, she’d always been good at that. But what Kathleen had told her took jury selection to a whole other level—one completely foreign to her. Yet, at the same time, she was excited by the prospect of seeing it in action.
“The next step,” Kathleen continued, “is the actual jury selection. I’ll prepare a list of questions designed to uncover biases, and you can use these to supplement your own list. While you’re questioning a prospective juror, I’ll watch their reactions. Sometimes, body language can give away whether they’re being truthful or misleading. After each one, I’ll let you know what I think. And then it’s up to you to keep them or challenge them.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” Dani still couldn’t believe how young Kathleen looked, yet she clearly seemed to know what she was doing.
“Ready to order?”
Dani looked up, and the waiter was standing over their table, pen and pad in hand. “I recommend the Gotham Greenmarket Lunch Prix Fixe. It’s a great value.”
Dani looked down at her well-worn skirt and cotton blouse and wondered if the waiter realized she wasn’t used to dining in restaurants this fine. He was right, though—a three-course lunch for only thirty-five dollars. A veritable bargain. “Okay, I’ll have the arugula and strawberry salad to start, the pan-roasted Chatham Cod for my entrée, and the Baba Rum for dessert.” Dani was already salivating at the thought of that decadent dessert—passion fruit cream, whipped chantilly, and citrus segments.
“Make mine the same,” Kathleen chimed in. After the waiter left, she said, “There’s a lot to be done if we’re going to be ready in three weeks, so let’s get to work.”
Dani nodded. Kathleen took a legal pad from her case, and they began.
CHAPTER
25
The three weeks had gone by quickly, and now Dani and Melanie, along with Tommy, were back in court, ready for Win Melton’s new trial. Kathleen had done her work and advised Dani what characteristics to look for in a juror. She was in the courtroom as well, ready to apply the second stage of her services. Unlike the short skirt and cleavage-revealing blouse she’d worn when they’d first met, now she was dressed like Dani, in a conservative dark suit and neutral-colored blouse. Rows of seats in the gallery were filled with prospective jurors, most looking glum at the prospect ahead of them.
The door to the courtroom opened, and Ed Whiting strode in, flanked by a younger man and woman, both carrying heavy litigation bags. He saw Dani and smiled, then walked over to her after he got settled at the prosecutor’s table. “I suppose you think this trial is a formality,” he said after shaking her hand.
“I never take a jury for granted.”
“That’s wise. As far as I’m concerned, Winston Melton is still guilty, and I aim to prove it.”
Okay, thought Dani. The boxers are in their corners, and the bell is about to ring.
After Judge Hinchey took his seat at the bench, he gave general instructions to all the jurors, then asked them as a group some preliminary questions: Did anyone have a medical, personal, or financial problem that would make it difficult for them to serve? Did any of them know the defendant, the lawyers, or the potential witnesses? Were all of them at least eighteen, US citizens, and able to read and understand the English language? When he concluded, a few jurors were excused and left the courtroom. The bailiff then called fourteen names and instructed each to take a seat in the jury box.
“Your turn, Ms. Trumball,” the judge said.
Dani walked over to the jury box and smiled warmly at the men and women sitting there, making eye contact with each one as she glanced down the row. Even the best case could be lost with a problematic jury. It was important that they like her. Otherwise, they could take it out on her client. She needed to draw each person out and get them talking so she could get a sense of them, not just rely on their answers to questions but to dig underneath and figure out their true feelings.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. You already know that I represent Winston Melton, and that he is on trial for the murder and rape of a seventeen-year-old girl. You also know that he was previously convicted of this crime seven years ago. I feel privileged to represent him now to help right the grievous wrong that was done to him. In this part of the trial, we need to learn about your feelings or opinions about the issues that will come up in this case. We promise to be honest with you, and we ask that you be honest with us.”
After asking each of the prospective jurors about their backgrounds and experience, she began with the questions prepared by Kathleen: How would your friends describe you? What period of time would you most like to go back to? How competitive are you? Are you a leader or a follower? What makes you stressed? Are you a party person, or do you prefer to stay home? Has a boyfriend or girlfriend ever broken up with you? Do you like to blog? What do you blog about? Questions and more questions in that vein, all designed to illuminate the type of juror they had and, by extension, how they would react to the evidence. Dani knew Kathleen was making notes and would plug the answers into a grid that would pinpoint the ideal jurors for Melton’s retrial.
Finished with Kathleen’s questions, Dani said, “One of the most important issues in this case is the role of a confession. Do you tend to believe someone wouldn’t confess unless they were guilty?” One by one, the jurors answered. Now, Dani knew Kathleen wouldn’t just record their answers. She would watch each juror’s face and body language. When Dani finished, Ed Whiting stood and moved over to the jury box. He, too, had a lengthy list of questions. Dani then conferred with Kathleen, and they agreed on which jurors to challenge and whic
h to accept. Then the process started again with fourteen more prospective jurors, over and over. At the end of the first day, they’d sat eight jurors. By three o’clock on the second day, they had their jury—seven men and five women, with one of each as alternates. None on the jury were wealthy, but a few were successful in business or a profession. Three had teenage daughters. Dani was most concerned about those jurors.
The trial would start tomorrow and with it, a media circus. The retrial of Winston Melton, grandson of a man whose name was known by young and old, would be televised in its entirety. It was a first for Dani, and she wasn’t happy about it.
“Mr. Whiting, Mr. Whiting, have a moment?” called out one of the newscasters the next morning. At least ten television crews were present outside the courthouse, Dani calculated, and an untold number of print journalists. The national broadcast networks and cable-news networks, along with local Florida stations, were all there. Dani, Melanie, and Tommy tried to sneak past the horde, but one well-dressed woman spotted them and ran over to them.
“Ms. Trumball, do you really think Winston Melton is innocent?”
“Of course, I do. HIPP only represents people we believe were wrongly convicted.”
“It all comes down to the other confession, doesn’t it?”
Dani looked the woman over. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, no doubt a go-getter anxious for a scoop. “Sorry, I never discuss trial strategy.” She smiled politely, then quickly walked away before anyone else could ask a question. Once inside the courthouse, the HIPP team passed through security, then made their way to the courtroom. One television crew was setting up in the rear. They would provide the feed to their counterparts outside. As she walked past them, Dani noted that “Court TV” was stamped on the side of large boxes that had held their equipment.
