- •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 Harkin suddenly called a short recess, the man would probably vanish.
This was a terribly exciting moment for the Judge. After all the tales and rumors and lore from other trials, and after all the seemingly empty admonitions to the jury, there in the courtroom at this very moment was one of the mystery agents, a sleuth hired by one side or the other to monitor his jurors.
Courtroom deputies, as a general rule, are uniformed and armed and normally quite harmless. The younger men are kept on the streets to battle the elements, and trial duty tends to attract the seniors bearing down hard on retirement. Judge Har-kin glanced about and his options shrank again.
There was Willis, leaning against the wall near the flag, and it appeared he had already lapsed into his usual state of semi-slumber with his mouth open partially at the right corner and saliva dripping. Down the aisle, directly in front of Harkin but at least a hundred feet away, Jip and Rasco guarded the main door. Jip, at the moment, was sitting on the back bench, near the door, with his reading glasses perched on the end of his beefy nose, scanning the local paper. He'd had hip surgery two months earlier, found it difficult to stand for long periods, and had received permission to sit during the proceedings. Rasco was in his late fifties, the youngest of the crew, and was not known for his quick movements. A younger deputy was usually assigned to the main door, but at the moment he was on the atrium side manning the metal detector.
During voir dire, Harkin had requested uniforms everywhere, but after a week of testimony the initial excitement had disappeared. It was now just another tedious civil trial, though one with enormous stakes.
Harkin took the measure of the available troops, and decided against approaching the target. He quickly scribbled a note, held it for a moment while ignoring the man, then slid it to Gloria Lane, the Circuit Clerk, who was at her small desk below the bench, opposite the witness stand. The note indicated the man, instructed Gloria to get a good look at him without being obvious, then to ease away through a side door and go fetch the Sheriff. There were other instructions to the Sheriff, but, unfortunately, they were never needed.
After more than an hour of watching the merciless cross-examination of Dr. Bronsky, Doyle was ready to move. The girl was nowhere in sight; not that he'd expected to find her. He was just following orders. Plus, he didn't like the note-passing around the bench. He quietly gathered his newspaper, and slipped unchallenged from the courtroom. Harkin watched in disbelief. He even grabbed his mounted microphone with his right hand as if he might yell at the man to stop, sit down, and answer some questions. But he kept his cool. Chances were the man would return.
Nicholas looked at His Honor and both men were frustrated. Cable paused between questions, and the Judge suddenly rapped his gavel. “Ten-minute recess. I think the jurors need a short break.”
WILLIS RELAYED THE MESSAGE to Lou Dell, who stuck her head through a crack in the door and said, “Mr. Easter, could I see you for a minute?”
Nicholas followed Willis through a maze of narrow hallways until they came to the side door of Harkin's chambers. The Judge was alone, robe off, coffee in hand. He excused Willis and locked the door. “Please sit down, Mr. Easter,” he said, waving at a chair across from his cluttered desk. The room was not his permanent office, in fact he shared it with two other judges who used the courtroom. “Coffee?”
“No thanks.”
Harkin dropped into his chair and leaned forward on his elbows. “Now, tell me, where did you see this man?”
Nicholas would save the video for a more crucial moment. He'd already carefully planned the next tale. “Yesterday, after we adjourned, I was walking back to my apartment when I stopped to get an ice cream at Mike's, around the corner. I walked in the place, then looked out, back on to the sidewalk, and I saw this guy peeking in. He didn't see me, but I realized I'd seen him somewhere before. I got the ice cream, and began walking home. I thought the guy was following me, so I doubled back and took odd turns, and sure enough, I caught him tracking me.”
“And you've seen him before?”
“Yes sir. I work at a computer store in the mall, and one night this guy, same guy I'm sure, kept walking by the door and looking in. Later, I took a break and he showed up at the other end of the mall where I was drinking a Coke.”
The Judge relaxed a bit and adjusted his hair. “Be honest with me, Mr. Easter, have any of your colleagues mentioned anything like this?”
“No sir.”
“Will you tell me if they do?”
“Certainly.”
“There's nothing wrong with this little chat we're having, and if something happens in there, I need to know it.”
“How do I contact you?”
“Just send a note through Lou Dell. Just say we need to talk without giving specifics because God knows she'll read it.”
“Okay.”
“Is it a deal?”
“Sure.”
Harkin took a deep breath and began fishing through an open briefcase. He found a newspaper and slid it across the desk. “Have you seen this? It's today's Wall Street Journal.”
“No. I don't read it.”
“Good. There's a big story about this trial and the potential impact a plaintiff's verdict might have on the tobacco industry.”
Nicholas couldn't allow the opportunity to pass. “There's only one person who reads the Journal.”
“Who's that?”
“Frank Herrera. He reads it every morning, cover to cover.”
“This morning?”
“Yes. While we were waiting, he read every word twice.”
“Did he comment on anything?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Damn.”
“Doesn't matter, though,” Nicholas said, looking at a wall.
“Why not?”
“His mind's made up.”
Harkin leaned forward again and squinted hard. “What do you mean?”
“He should never have been picked for jury service, in my opinion. I don't know how he answered the written questions, but he didn't tell the truth or else he wouldn't be here. And I distinctly remember questions during voir dire that he should've responded to.”
“I'm listening.”
“Okay, Your Honor, but don't get mad. I had a conversation with him early yesterday morning. We were the only ones in the jury room, and, I swear, we weren't discussing this case in particular. But somehow we got around to cigarettes, and Frank quit smoking years ago and he has no sympathy for anybody who can't quit. He's retired military, you know, rather stiff and hard about—”
“I'm an ex-Marine.”
“Sorry. Shall I shut up?”
“No. Keep going.”
“Okay, but I'm nervous about this and I'll be happy to stop at any time.”
Til tell you when to stop.”
“Sure, well anyway, Frank's of the opinion that anyone who smokes three packs a day for almost thirty years deserves what he gets. No sympathy whatsoever. I argued with him a little, just for the sake of it, and he accused me of wanting to give the plaintiff a huge punitive award.”
His Honor took it hard, sinking in his chair a bit, closing then rubbing his eyes as his shoulders sagged. “This is just great,” he mumbled.
“Sorry, Judge.”
“No, no, I asked for it.” He sat straight again, made another adjustment to his hair with his fingers, forced a smile, said, “Look, Mr. Easter. I'm not asking you to become a snitch. But I'm concerned about this jury because of pressures from the outside. This type of litigation has a sordid history. If you see or hear anything even remotely related to unauthorized contact, please let me know. We'll deal with it then.”
“Sure, Judge.”
THE STORY, on the front page of the Journal, had been written by Agner Layson, a senior reporter who'd sat through most of jury selection and all of the testimony. Layson had practiced law for ten years and had been in many courtrooms. His story, the first of a series, gave the basics of the issues and the specifics on the players. There was no opinion of how the trial was progressing, no guess as to who was winning or losing, just a fair summary of the rather convincing medical proof offered so far by the plaintiff.