The Runaway Jury 11 страница

There was a loud click, then the doorknob turned. Nicholas walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him. “Tell the Judge we're not coming out, ” he said, glaring down at Lou Dell and her dirty gray bangs.

“You can't do that, ” Willis said as aggressively as possible, which was not aggressive at all but rather feeble.

“Shut up, Willis. ”

THE EXCITEMENT of jury trouble lured people back to the courtroom Tuesday morning. Word had spread quickly that one juror had been bounced and that another had had his apartment broken into, and that the Judge was angry and had ordered the entire panel locked up. Rumors ran wild, the most popular of which was the one about a tobacco snoop actually getting caught in a juror's apartment and a warrant being issued for his arrest. Cops and FBI were looking everywhere for the man.

The morning papers from Biloxi, New Orleans, Mobile, and Jackson ran large stories either on the front page or front page-Metro.

The courthouse regulars were back in droves. Most of the local bar suddenly had pressing business in the courtroom and loitered about. A half-dozen reporters from various papers held the front row, plaintiff's side. The boys from Wall Street, a group that had been dwindling as its members discovered casinos and deep sea fishing and long nights in New Orleans, were back in full force.

And so there were many witnesses to the sight of Lou Dell nervously tiptoeing through the jury door, across the front of the courtroom to the bench, where she leaned up and Harkin leaned down, and they conferred. Harkin's head cocked sideways as if he didn't catch it at first, then he looked blankly at the jury door where Willis was standing with his shoulders up in a frozen shrug.

Lou Dell finished delivering her message and walked quickly back to where Willis was waiting. Judge Harkin studied the inquiring faces of the lawyers, then looked at all the spectators out there. He scribbled something he couldn't read himself. He pondered about what to do next.

His jury was on strike!

And what exactly did his judge's handbook say about that?

He pulled his microphone closer and said, “Gentlemen, there is a small problem with the jury. I need to go speak with them. I'll ask Mr. Rohr and Mr. Cable to assist me. Everyone else is to remain in place. ”

The door was locked again. The Judge knocked politely, three light raps followed by a twist of the doorknob. It wouldn't open. “Who is it? ” came a male voice from inside.

“It's Judge Harkin, ” he said loudly. Nicholas was standing at the door. He turned and smiled at his colleagues. Millie Dupree and Mrs. Gladys Card were hovering in a corner near a pile of luggage, fidgeting nervously, afraid of jail or whatever the Judge might throw at them. But the other jurors were still indignant.

Nicholas unlocked the door and opened it. He smiled pleasantly as if nothing were wrong, as if strikes were a routine part of trials. “Come in, ” he said.

Harkin, in a gray suit, no robe, entered with Rohr and Cable in tow. “What's the problem here? ” he asked while surveying the room. Most of the jurors were seated at the table with coffee cups and empty plates and newspapers scattered everywhere. Phillip Savelle stood alone at one window. Lonnie Shaver sat in a corner with a laptop on his knees. Easter was no doubt the spokesman, and probably the instigator.

“We don't think it's fair for the deputies to search our bags. ”

“And why not? ”

“It should be obvious. These are our personal effects. We're not terrorists or drug smugglers, and you're not a customs agent. ” Easter's tone was authoritative, and the fact that he spoke so boldly to a distinguished judge made most of the jurors very proud. He was one of them, undoubtedly their leader regardless of what Herman thought, and he had told them more than once that they-not the Judge, not the lawyers, not the parties-but they the jurors were the most important people in this trial.

“It's routine in all sequestration cases, ” His Honor said, taking a step closer to Easter, who was four inches taller and not about to be cowered.

“But it's not in black and white, is it? In fact, I'll bet it's a simple matter of discretion with the presiding judge. True? ”

“There are some good reasons for it. ”

“Not good enough. We're not coming out, Your Honor, until you promise our bags will be left alone. ” Easter said this with a tight jaw and semi-snarl, and it was evident to the Judge and the lawyers that he meant it. He was also speaking for the group. No one else had moved.

Harkin made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder at Rohr, who couldn't wait to add a few thoughts. “Oh hell, Judge, what's the big deal? ” he blurted. “These folks aren't carrying plastic explosives. ”

“That's enough, ” Harkin said, but Rohr had managed to curry a slight favor with the jury. Cable, of course, felt the same, and wanted to convey his heartfelt trust in whatever the jurors had packed in their American Touristers, but Harkin didn't give him the chance.

“Very well, ” His Honor said. “The bags will not be searched. But if it comes to my attention that any juror possesses any item prohibited by the list I handed out yesterday, then that juror will be in contempt of court and subject to being jailed. Do we understand? ”

Easter looked around the room, took the measure of each of his fellow jurors, most of whom appeared relieved and a few of whom were actually nodding. “That's fine, Judge, ” he said.

“Good. Now can we get on with the trial? ”

“Well, there's one other problem. ”

“What is it? ”

Nicholas lifted a sheet of paper from the table, read something, then said, “According to your rules here, we're allowed one conjugal visit per week. We think we should get more. ”

“How many? ”

“As many as possible. ”

This was news to most of the jurors. There had been some grumbling among some of the men, Easter and Fernandez and Lonnie Shaver in particular, about the number of conjugal visits, but the women had not discussed it. Particularly, Mrs. Gladys Card and Millie Dupree were downright embarrassed to have His Honor think they were insisting on having as much sex as they could get. Mr. Card had had prostate trouble years earlier, and, well, Mrs. Gladys Card thought about divulging this to clear her good name when Herman Grimes said, “Two'11 do me. ”

The image of old Herm feeling his way around under the covers with Mrs. Grimes could not be denied, and provoked laughter that broke the tension.

“I don't think we should take a survey, ” Judge Harkin said. “Can we agree on two? We're just talking about a couple of weeks, folks. ”

“Two, with a possible third, ” Nicholas counterof-fered.

“That's fine. Does that suit everyone? ” His Honor looked around the room. Loreen Duke was giggling to herself at the table. Mrs. Gladys Card and Millie were trying their best to disappear into the walls and would not under any circumstances look the Judge in the eyes.

“Yes, that's fine, ” said Jerry Fernandez, red-eyed and hung over. If Jerry went a day without sex he developed headaches, but he knew two things: his wife was delighted to have him out of the house for the next two weeks, and he and Poodle would work out an arrangement.

“I object to the wording of this, ” Phillip Savelle said from the window, his first words of the trial. He was holding the sheet of rules. “Your definition of the persons eligible to participate in conjugal visits leaves something to be desired. ”

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. ”

Judge Harkin, along with the two lawyers looking over his shoulder, and every juror in the room read the language carefully and wondered what in the world this weirdo had in mind. But Harkin was not about to find out. “I assure you, Mr. Savelle and members of the jury, I have no plans to restrict any of you in any way with respect to your conjugal visits. I don't care what you do, or whom you do it with, frankly. ”

This seemed to satisfy Savelle as much as it humiliated Mrs. Gladys Card.

“Now, anything else? ”

“That's all, Your Honor, and thank you, ” Herman said loudly, reasserting himself as the leader.

“Thanks, ” Nicholas said.

SCOTTY MANGRUM announced to the court, as soon as the jury was settled and happy, that he was finished with Dr. Kilvan. Durr Cable began a cross-examination so delicate that he seemed thoroughly intimidated by the great expert. They agreed on a few statistics that were undoubtedly meaningless. Dr. Kilvan stated that, through his plethora of numbers, he believed that about ten percent of all smokers actually get lung cancer.

Cable reinforced the point, something he'd done from the beginning and something he would do to the very end. “So Dr. Kilvan, if smoking causes lung cancer, then why do so few smokers get lung cancer? ”

“Smoking greatly increases the risk of lung cancer. ”

“But it doesn't cause it every time, does it? ”

“No. Not every smoker gets lung cancer. ”

“Thank you. ”

“But for those who smoke, the risk of lung cancer is much greater. ”

Cable warmed to the task and began to press. He asked Dr. Kilvan if he was familiar with a twenty-year-old study from the University of Chicago in which researchers found a greater incidence of lung cancer for smokers who lived in metropolitan areas than for smokers who lived in rural areas. Kilvan was very familiar with the study, though he had nothing to do with it.

“Can you explain it? ” Cable asked.

“No. ”

“Can you venture a guess? ”

“Yes. It was a controversial study when it came out because it indicated factors other than tobacco smoke might cause lung cancer. ”

“Such as air pollution? ”

“Yes. ”

“Do you believe this? ”

“It's possible. ”

“So you admit that air pollution causes lung cancer. ”

“It might. But I stand by my research. Rural smokers get lung cancer more than rural non-smokers, and urban smokers get cancer more than urban nonsmokers. ”

Cable lifted another thick report and made an event of flipping pages. He asked Dr. Kilvan if he was familiar with a 1989 study at the University of Stockholm in which researchers determined that there was a link between heredity and smoking and lung cancer.

“I read that report, ” Dr. Kilvan said.

“Do you have an opinion on it? ”

“No. Heredity is not my specialty. ”

“So you can't say yes or no on the issue of whether heredity might be related to smoking and lung cancer. ”

“I cannot. ”

“But you don't contest this report, do you? ”

“I don't have a position on the report. ”

“Do you know the experts who conducted the research? ”

“XT” No.

“So you can't tell us if they're qualified or not? ” “No. I'm sure you've talked to them. ” Cable walked to his table, swapped reports, and walked back to the lectern.

AFTER TWO WEEKS of severe scrutiny but little movement, Pyriex stock suddenly had a reason to stir. Other than the impromptu Pledge of Allegiance, a phenomenon that so baffled the courtroom no one could decipher its meaning, the trial had produced virtually no high drama until late Monday afternoon when the jury was shaken. One of the many defense lawyers let it slip to one of the many financial analysts that Stella Hulic was generally deemed to be a decent defense juror. This got repeated a few times, and with each telling Stella's significance to the tobacco industry rose to new heights. By the time the calls were made to New York, the defense had lost its most prized possession-Stella Hulic, who was by then home on the sofa in a martini-induced coma.

Added to the rumor mill was the delicious bit about the break-in of juror Easter's apartment. It was easy to assume the intruder was paid by the tobacco industry, and since they'd been caught or at least were highly suspected, things looked bad all around for the defense. They'd lost a juror. They'd got caught cheating. The sky was falling.

Pynex opened Tuesday morning at seventy-nine and a half, quickly fell to seventy-eight in trading that became heavier as the morning progressed and the rumors mushroomed. It was at seventy-six and a quarter by mid-morning when a fresh report was received from Biloxi. An analyst who was actually in the courtroom down there called his office with the news that the jury had refused to come out this morning, had in fact gone on strike because it was sick and tired of the boring testimony being offered by the plaintiff's experts.

In seconds, the report was repeated a hundred times, and it became a simple fact on the Street that the jury down there was revolting against the plaintiff. The price jumped to seventy-seven, flew past seventy-eight, hit seventy-nine, and was nearing eighty by lunch.

Fifteen

Of the six women remaining on the jury, the one Fitch wanted most to nail was Rikki Coleman, the wholesome, pretty, thirty-year-old mother of two. She earned twenty-one thousand dollars a year as a records administrator in a local hospital. Her husband earned thirty-six thousand dollars as a private pilot. They lived in a nice suburb with a manicured lawn and a ninety-thousand-dollar mortgage, and they each drove Japanese cars, both of which were paid for. They saved frugally and invested conservatively-eight thousand dollars last year alone in mutual funds. They were very active in a neighborhood church-she taught small kids in Sunday School and he sang in the choir.

Apparently the Colemans had acquired no bad habits. Neither smoked, and there was no evidence they drank. He liked to jog and play tennis, she spent an hour a day at a health club. Because of the clean life and because of her background in health care, Fitch feared her as a juror.

The medical records obtained from her ob-gyn revealed nothing remarkable. Two pregnancies, with perfect deliveries and recoveries. The annual checkups were done on time. A mammography two years ago showed nothing unusual. She was five feet five inches, 116 pounds.

Fitch had medical records for seven of the twelve jurors. Easter's couldn't be found for obvious reasons. Herman Grimes was blind and had nothing to hide. Savelle was new and Fitch was digging. Lonnie Shaver hadn't been to the doctor in at least twenty years. Sylvia Taylor-Tatum's doctor had been killed months earlier in a boating accident, and his successor was a rookie who didn't know how the game was played.

The game was serious hardball, and Fitch had written most of the rules. Each year, The Fund contributed a million dollars to an organization known as the Judicial Reform Alliance, a noisy presence in Washington funded primarily by insurance companies, medical associations, and manufacturing groups. And tobacco companies. The Big Four reported annual contributions of a hundred thousand each, with Fitch and The Fund sliding another million under the door. The purpose of JRA was to lobby for laws to restrict the size of awards in damage suits. Specifically, to eliminate the nuisance of punitive damages.

Luther Vandemeer, CEO of Trellco, was a vocal member of the JRA board, and with Fitch quietly calling the shots, Vandemeer often ran roughshod over the members of the organization. Fitch wasn't seen, but he got what he wanted. Through Vandemeer and JRA, Fitch put enormous pressure on the insurance companies, which in turn put pressure on various local doctors, who in turn leaked sensitive and thoroughly confidential records of selected patients. So when Fitch wanted Dr. Dow in Biloxi to accidentally send the medical records for Mrs. Gladys Card to a nondescript post office box in Baltimore, he told Vandemeer to lean on contacts at St. Louis Mutual, Dr. Dow's malpractice carrier. Dr. Dow was told by St. Louis Mutual that his liability coverage might be dropped if he didn't play the game, and he became altogether happy to comply.

Fitch had quite a collection of medical records, but nothing so far that might turn a verdict. His luck changed during lunch on Tuesday.

When Rikki Coleman was still Rikki Weld, she attended a small Bible college in Montgomery, Alabama, where she was very popular. Some of the prettier girls at the school were known to date boys from Auburn. As the routine investigation into her background progressed, Fitch's investigator in Montgomery got a hunch that Rikki probably had plenty of dates. Fitch pursued the hunch with serious arm-twisting through JRA, and after two weeks of dead-end probing they finally found the right clinic.

It was a small, private women's hospital in downtown Montgomery, one of only three places abortions were performed in the city at that time. During her junior year, a week after her twentieth birthday, Rikki Weld had an abortion.

And Fitch had the records. A phone call told him they were coming, and he laughed to himself as he picked the sheets off his fax machine. No name for the father, but that was fine. Rikki had met Rhea, her husband, a year after she finished college. At the time of the abortion, Rhea was a senior at Texas A & M, and it was doubtful the two had ever met.

Fitch was willing to bet a ton of money the abortion was a dark secret, all but forgotten by Rikki and definitely never revealed to her husband.

THE MOTEL was a Siesta Inn in Pass Christian, thirty minutes west along the Coast. The trip was made by charter bus with Lou Dell and Willis riding up front with the driver and the fourteen jurors scattered throughout the seats. No two sat together. Conversation was nonexistent. They were tired and disheartened, already isolated and imprisoned, though they had yet to see their new temporary home. For the first two weeks of the trial, adjournment at five meant escape; they left hurriedly and raced back to reality, back to homes and kids and hot meals, back to errands and maybe the office. Adjournment now meant a chartered ride to another cell where they were to be watched and monitored and protected from evil shadows out there somewhere.

Only Nicholas Easter was delighted with sequestration, but he managed to look as dispirited as the rest.

Harrison County had rented for them the entire first floor of one wing, twenty rooms in all, though only nineteen would be needed. Lou Dell and Willis had separate rooms by the door leading to the main building where the reception and restaurant were located. A large young deputy named Chuck had a room at the other end of the hallway, ostensibly to guard the door leading to a parking lot.

The rooms were assigned by Judge Harkin himself. The bags had already been transported and placed, unopened and definitely uninspected. Keys were passed out like candy by Lou Dell, whose self-importance grew by the hour. Beds were kicked and inspected-doubles in every room for some reason. TV's were turned on, to no avail. No programs, no news during sequestration. Only movies from the motel's station. Bathrooms were scrutinized, faucets checked, toilets flushed. Two weeks here would seem like a year.

The bus was of course followed by Fitch's boys. It left the courthouse with a police escort, cops in front and back on motorcycles. It was easy to track the cops. Two detectives working for Rohr also followed along. No one expected the location of the motel to remain a secret.

Nicholas had Savelle on one side and Colonel Herrera on the other. The men's rooms were next to each other; the women were across the hall as if segregation was necessary to prevent unauthorized frolicking. Five minutes after unlocking the door the walls began to close in, and ten minutes later Willis knocked loudly and inquired as to whether everything was okay. “Just beautiful, ” Nicholas said without opening the door.

The telephones had been removed, as had the mini-bars. A room at the end of the hall had been stripped of the beds and furnished with two round tables, phones, comfortable chairs, a large-screen TV, and a bar fully equipped with every possible nonalcoholic beverage. Someone dubbed it the Party Room, and it stuck. Each phone call had to be approved by one of their guardians, and no incoming calls were permitted. Emergencies would be handled through the front desk. In Room 40, directly across the hall from the Party Room, the beds had also been removed and a makeshift dining table had been set up.

No juror could leave the wing without prior approval from Judge Harkin, or on-the-spot approval from Lou Dell or one of the deputies. There was no curfew because there was no place to go, but the Party Room closed at ten.

Dinner was from six to seven, breakfast from six to eight-thirty, and they were not expected to eat en masse. They could come and go. They could fix a plate and go back to their rooms. Judge Harkin was deeply concerned about the quality of the food, and wanted to be told each morning if there were complaints.

Tuesday's smorgasbord was either fried chicken or broiled snapper, with salads and plenty of vegetables. They were amazed at their appetites. For people who'd done nothing all day but remain seated and listen, most were weak with starvation by the time the food arrived at six. Nicholas fixed the first plate and sat at the end of the table where he engaged everyone in conversation and insisted they eat as a group. He was hyper and chipper and acted as if sequestration were nothing but an adventure. His enthusiasm was slightly contagious.

Only Herman Grimes ate in his room. Mrs. Grimes prepared two plates and left in a rush. Judge Harkin had strict written instructions prohibiting her from eating with the jury. Same for Lou Dell and Willis and Chuck. So when Lou Dell entered the room with dinner in mind and found Nicholas in the middle of a tale, the conversation suddenly ceased. She flung a few green beans alongside a chicken breast and a dinner roll, and left.

They were a group now, isolated and exiled, cut off from reality and banished against their wishes to a Siesta Inn. They had no one but themselves. Easter was determined to keep them happy. They would be a fraternity, if not a family. He would work to avoid divisions and cliques.

They watched two movies in the Party Room. By ten, they were all asleep.

“I'M READY for my conjugal visit, ” Jerry Fernandez announced over breakfast, in the general direction of Mrs. Gladys Card, who blushed.

“Really, ” she said, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. Jerry smiled at her as if she might be the object of his longing. Breakfast was a veritable feast of everything from fried ham to cornflakes.

Nicholas arrived mid-meal with a soft hello to the group and a troubled countenance. “I don't understand why we can't have telephones, ” were the first words from his mouth, and the pleasant morning mood suddenly turned sour. He sat across from Jerry, who read his face and caught on immediately.

“Why can't we have a cold beer? ” Jerry asked. “I have a cold beer every night when I'm home, maybe two. Who has the right to dictate what we can drink here? ”

“Judge Harkin, ” said Millie Dupree, a woman who avoided alcohol.

“I'll be damned. ”

“And what about television? ” Nicholas asked. “Why can't we watch television? I've been watching television since the trial started, and I don't recall much excitement. ” He turned to Loreen Duke, a large woman with a plate full of scrambled eggs. “Have you seen any sudden newsbreaks with the latest from the trial? ”

“Nope. ”

He looked at Rikki Coleman, who was sitting behind a tiny bowl of harmless flakes. “And what about a gym, someplace to go sweat after eight hours in the courtroom? Surely they could've found a motel with a gym. ” Rikki nodded her complete agreement.

Loreen swallowed her eggs and said, “What I don't understand is, why can't we be trusted with a telephone? My kids might need to call me. It's not like some goon's gonna call my room and threaten me. ”

“I'd just like a cold beer, or two, ” Jerry said. “And maybe a few more conjugal visits, ” he added, again looking at Mrs. Gladys Card.

The grumbling gathered speed around the table, and within ten minutes of Easter's arrival, the jurors were on the verge of revolt. The random irritations were now a full-fledged list of abuses. Even Herrera, the Retired Colonel who'd camped in jungles, was not pleased with the selection of beverages offered in the Party Room. Millie Dupree objected to the absence of newspapers. Lonnie Shaver had pressing business, and deeply resented the notion of sequestration in the first place. “I can think for myself, ” he said. “No one can influence me. ” At the least, he needed an unrestricted telephone. Phillip Savelle did yoga in the woods each morning at dawn, alone, just himself communing with nature, and there wasn't a tree within two hundred yards of the motel. And what about church? Mrs. Card was a devout Baptist who never missed prayer meeting on Wednesday nights and visitation on Tuesdays and WMU on Fridays and of course the Sabbath was crammed full of meetings.

JOHN GR1SHAM “We'd better get things straight now, ” Nicholas said solemnly. “We're gonna be here for two weeks, maybe three. I say we get Judge Harkin's attention. ”

Judge Harkin had nine lawyers packed into his chambers haggling over the daily issues to be kept away from the jury. He required the lawyers to appear each morning at eight for the warm-up bouts, and he often made them stay an hour or two after the jury left. A heavy knock interrupted a heated debate between Rohr and Cable. Gloria Lane pushed the door open until it hit a chair occupied by Oliver McAdoo.

“We have a problem with the jury, ” she said gravely.

Harkin jumped to his feet. “What! ”

“They want to talk to you. That's all I know. ”

Harkin looked at his watch. “Where are they? ”

“At the motel. ”

“Can't we get them over here? ”

“No. We've tried. They're not coming until they talk to you. ”

His shoulders sagged and his mouth hung open. “This is getting ridiculous, ” Wendall Rohr offered to no one in particular. The lawyers watched the Judge, who looked absently at the pile of papers on his desk and collected his thoughts. Then he rubbed his hands together and gave them all a huge phony smile. “Let's go see them. ”

KONRAD TOOK THE FIRST CALL at 8: 02. She didn't want to talk to Fitch, just wanted to give him the message that the jury was once again perturbed and not coming out until Harkin hauled himself over to the Siesta Inn and unruffled their feathers.

Konrad ran to Fitch's room and delivered the message.

At 8: 09, she called again and gave Konrad the information that Easter would be wearing a dark denim shirt over a tan T-shirt, with red socks and the usual starched khakis. Red socks, she repeated.

At 8: 12, she called for the third time and asked to speak to Fitch, who was pacing around his desk and pulling on his goatee. He clenched the receiver. “Hello. ”

“Good morning, Fitch, ” she said.

“Good morning, Marlee. ”

“You ever been to the St. Regis Hotel in New Orleans? ”

“No. ”

“It's on Canal Street in the French Quarter. There's an open-air bar on the roof. It's called the Terrace Grill. Get a table overlooking the Quarter. Be there at seven tonight. I'll be there later. Are you with me? ”

“Yes. ”

“And come by yourself, Fitch. I'll watch you enter the hotel, and if you bring friends the meeting's off. Okay? ”

“Okay. ”

“And if you attempt to trail me, then I disappear. ”

“You have my word. ”

“Why am I not comforted by your word, Fitch? ” She hung up.

CABLE, ROHR, AND JUDGE HARKIN were met at the front desk by Lou Dell, who was flustered and scared and rattling on about how this had never happened to her; she'd always kept her juries under control. She led them to the Party Room where thirteen of the fourteen jurors were holed up. Herman Grimes was the lone dissenter. He had argued with the group about their tactics, and had angered Jerry Fernandez to the point of getting himself insulted. Jerry had pointed out that Herman had his wife with him, that he had no use for either televisions or newspapers, didn't drink anymore, and probably didn't need a gym. Jerry apologized after Millie Du-pree asked him to.

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. ”

To which Nicholas Easter responded, “We're not in the mood to take any abuse. ”

Rohr and Cable had been expressly forbidden from speaking, and they hung near the door and watched with great amusement. Both knew this was a scene unlikely to be repeated in their litigating careers.

Nicholas had written down their list of complaints. Judge Harkin removed his coat, took a seat, and was soon hammered from all directions. He was pitifully outnumbered and virtually defenseless.

Beer was no problem. Newspapers could be censored by the front desk. Unrestricted phone calls made perfect sense. Same for televisions, but only if they promised not to watch the local news. The gym might be a problem, but he'd look into it. Visits to church could be arranged.

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