- •The Runaway Jury
- •It was no ordinary tobacco case, and everyone in the room knew it.
- •It was a herniated disc, and he had a letter from his doctor. He was excused and left the courtroom in a hurry.
- •In short, the plaintiff would prove cigarette smoke, because it contains natural carcinogens, and pesticides, and radioactive particles, and asbestos-like fibers, causes lung cancer.
- •It was the dumbest thing he'd ever done, and now at the age of fifty-one, he was dying for it. Please, he implored between coughs, if you're smoking, stop.
- •It was not possible, and Cable knew it. He had two experts ready for rebuttal in the event Fricke stepped out of bounds and speculated too much.
- •If Harkin suddenly called a short recess, the man would probably vanish.
- •In response to the story, Pynex's stock dipped a dollar at the opening bell, but by noon had found itself sufficiently corrected and adjusted and was deemed to be weathering the brief storm.
- •It was twenty-five thousand, and Taunton wrote this figure on his legal pad. The script called for Teaker to speak at this point. “Damned trial lawyers. They're a blight on society.”
- •In the jury room, no one moved but Nicholas. He walked to the door, said, “Who is it?”
- •In clear English, the offending section read: “During each conjugal visit, each juror may spend two hours, alone and in his or her room, with his or her spouse, girlfriend, or boyfriend.”
- •If His Honor had a chip on his shoulder, it didn't last long. After a few uncertain hellos and good mornings, he said, starting badly, “I'm a little bit disturbed by this.”
- •In fact, everything was flexible.
- •It was Friday. There would be no reactions from the jury.
- •If Easter accessed the clerk's computer, then he certainly could tamper with it enough to have his own name entered as a prospective juror in the Wood case.
- •Instinctively, he bolted upright, shocked by the suggestion. “Of course not!”
- •If Hoppy didn't know for sure, then he certainly was sympathetic to Cristano and his fine friends in Washington. “Yes, yes,” he said, hanging'on every word.
- •Vandemeer didn't answer, but instead studied the legs of a young waitress taking an order at the next table.
- •Vandemeer chewed on a tiny piece of grilled chicken. “Why don't you just pick out nine jurors and give them a million bucks apiece?” he said, with a quiet laugh as if he were only joking.
- •It was the worst time of the day for a direct examination-the first hour after lunch-when Jankle took his seat on the witness stand and resumed his testimony.
- •If Marlee and Nicholas could bounce Herrera on a whim, who might be next? If they were doing this solely to get Fitch's attention, then they were surely successful.
- •If they only knew, Hoppy thought, still quite proud of himself. “Well, I showed Millie the memo on Robilio,” he said, not knowing how much of the truth he should tell.
- •If Hoppy couldn't convince his own wife, how the hell was he supposed to influence an entire jury?
- •It was only a hunch that Fitch was working on Millie through Hoppy. They seemed like such a nice, good-hearted pair; the type Fitch could easily snare in one of his insidious plots.
- •It was awful. He forged ahead.
- •It was Local's opinion that she had legally changed her name in another state, just pick one of the other forty-nine, then moved to Lawrence with a fresh identity.
- •It would be a disaster, no question about it.
- •It was the death certificate. Dr. Evelyn y. Brant had died of lung cancer.
- •It took a moment for the zeros to settle in. Lonnie jumped to his feet and walked by the table. “You people are crazy,” he said just loud enough to be heard, then left the room, slamming the door.
- •In hindsight, her timing was perfect. The market bottomed soon after it crashed, and by the end of the day Pynex was holding steady at forty-five.
- •187 Библиотека «Артефакт»—http://andrey.Tsx.Org/
If Easter accessed the clerk's computer, then he certainly could tamper with it enough to have his own name entered as a prospective juror in the Wood case.
The more Fitch thought about it, the more it made perfect sense.
HOPPY'S EYES were red and puffy as he drank thick coffee at his desk early Sunday and waited for 9 A. M. He hadn't eaten a bite since a banana Saturday morning while the Folgers brewed in his kitchen just minutes before the doorbell rang and Napier and Nitchman entered his life. His gastrointestinal system was shot. His nerves were ragged. He'd sneaked too much vodka Saturday night, and he'd done it at the house, something Millie prohibited.
The kids had slept through it all Saturday. He hadn't told a soul, hadn't been tempted to, really. The humiliation helped keep the loathsome secret safe.
At precisely nine, Napier and Nitchman entered with a third man, an older man who also wore a severe dark suit and severe facial expressions as if he'd come to personally whip and flay poor Hoppy. Nitchman introduced him as George Cristano. From Washington! Department of Justice!
Cristano's handshake was cold. He didn't make small talk.
“Say, Hoppy, would you mind if we had this little chat somewhere else?” Napier asked as he looked scornfully around the office.
“It's just safer,” Nitchman added for clarification.
“You never know where bugs might show up,” Cristano said.
“Tell me about it,” Hoppy said, but no one caught the humor. Was he in a position to say no to anything? “Sure,” he said.
They left in a spotless black Lincoln Town Car, Nitchman and Napier in the front, Hoppy in the back with Cristano, who matter-of-factly began to explain that he was some type of high-ranking Assistant Attorney General from deep inside Justice. The closer they got to the Gulf the more odious his position became. Then he was silent.
“Are you a Dernocrat or a Republican, Hoppy?” Cristano asked softly during one particularly long lull in the conversation. Napier turned at the shore and headed west along the Coast.
Hoppy surely didn't want to offend anyone. “Oh, I don't know. Always vote for the man, you know. I don't get hung up on parties, know what I mean?”
Cristano looked away, out the window, as if this wasn't what he wanted. “I was hoping you were a good Republican,” he said, still looking through the window at the sea.
Hoppy could be any damned thing these boys wanted. Absolutely anything. A card-carrying, wild-eyed, fanatical Communist, if it would please Mr. Cristano.
“Voted for Reagan and Bush,” he said proudly. “And Nixon. Even Goldwater.”
Cristano nodded ever so slightly, and Hoppy managed to exhale.
The car became silent again. Napier parked it at a dock near Bay St. Louis, forty minutes from Biloxi. Hoppy followed Cristano down a pier and onto a deserted sixty-foot charter boat named Afternoon Delight. Nitchman and Napier waited by the car, out of sight.
“Sit down, Hoppy,” Cristano said, pointing to a JOHNGRISHAM foam-padded bench on the deck. Hoppy sat. The boat rocked ever so slightly. The water was still. Cristano sat across from him and leaned forward so that their heads were three feet apart.
“Nice boat,” Hoppy said, rubbing the imitation leather seat.
“It's not ours. Listen, Hoppy, you're not wired, are you?”