The Runaway Jury 26 страница

“Tomorrow. Early. ”

“Significant movement? ”

Marlee stood and held her notes. “Yes. If you want your othe'r clients to think you're a genius, then short sell tobacco right now. ”

He sent for a company car, a small Mercedes, and Marlee was driven to a hotel on Seven Mile Beach, not far from downtown and the bank.

IF MARLEE'S PRESENT seemed under control, her past was rapidly catching up with her. An operative digging for Fitch at the University of Missouri found a collection of old admissions manuals in the main library. In 1986, a Dr. Evelyn Y. Brant was listed and briefly described as a professor of medieval studies, but she was absent from the 1987 handbook.

He immediately called an associate who was checking through tax rolls at the Boone County Courthouse. The associate went straight to the clerk's office and within minutes found the Wills and Estates register. Evelyn Y. Brant's will had been received for probate in April of 1987. A clerk helped him find the file.

It was pay dirt. Mrs. Brant had died on March 2, 1987, in Columbia, at the age of fifty-six. She left no husband and one child, Gabrielle, age twenty-one, who inherited everything under a will Dr. Brant signed three months before her death.

The file was an inch thick, and the agent scanned it with great speed. The inventory consisted of a house valued at $180, 000 with a mortgage of half that, a car, an unimpressive list of furniture and furnishings, a certificate of deposit at a local bank in the amount of $32, 000, and a stock and bond portfolio valued at $202, 000. There were only two creditors' claims filed; evidently Dr. Brant had known death was imminent and obtained legal advice. With the approval of Gabrielle, the house was sold, the estate was reduced to cash, and after estate taxes, legal fees, and court costs, the sum of $191, 500 was placed in a trust. Gabrielle was the only beneficiary.

The estate had been handled without the slightest hint of acrimony. The lawyer appeared to be prompt and quite competent. Thirteen months after Dr. Brant's death, the estate was closed.

He flipped through again, making notes. Two pages stuck together, and he delicately pulled them apart. The bottom one was a half sheet with an official stamp on it.

It was the death certificate. Dr. Evelyn Y. Brant had died of lung cancer.

He stepped into the hallway and called his supervisor.

BY THE TIME the call was placed to Fitch, they knew more. A careful reading of the file by another operative, this one a former FBI agent with a law degree, revealed a series of donations to such groups as the American Lung Association, the Coalition for a Smoke Free World, the Tobacco Task Force, the Clean Air Campaign, and a half-dozen other antismoking causes. One of the creditors' claims was a bill for almost twenty thousand dollars for her last hospital stay. Her husband, the late Dr. Peter Brant, was listed on an old insurance policy. A quick search of the register listed the opening of his estate in 1981. His file was located on the other side of the clerk's office. He died in June of 1981 at the age of fifty-two, leaving his beloved wife and cherished daughter, Gabrielle, then age fifteen. He died at home, according to his death certificate, which was signed by the same doctor who'd signed Evelyn Brant's. An oncologist.

Peter Brant had also succumbed to the ravages of lung cancer.

Swanson made the call, but only after being repeatedly assured that the facts were correct.

FITCH TOOK THE CALL in his office, alone, with the door locked, and he took it calmly because he was too shocked to react. He was seated at his desk with his jacket off, tie undone, shoes unlaced. He said little.

Both of Marlee's parents had died of lung cancer.

He actually scribbled this on a yellow pad, then drew a circle around it, with lines branching off, as if he could flow-chart this news, break it down, analyze it; somehow he could make it fit with her promise to deliver a verdict.

“Are you there, Rankin? ” Swanson asked after a long silence.

“Yeah, ” Fitch said, then continued saying nothing for a while. The flow chart grew but went nowhere.

“Where's the girl? ” Swanson asked. He was standing in the cold outside the county courthouse in Columbia with an impossibly small phone pressed to his jaw.

“Don't know. We'll have to find her. ” He said this with no conviction whatsoever, and Swanson knew the girl was gone.

Another long pause.

“What shall I do? ” Swanson asked.

“Get back here, I guess, ” Fitch said, then abruptly hung up. The numbers on his digital clock were blurred, and Fitch closed his eyes. He massaged his pounding temples, pressed his goatee hard against his chin, contemplated an eruption with the desk flying against the wall and phones ripped from sockets, but thought the better of it. A cool head was needed.

Short of burning the courthouse or tossing grenades at the jury room, there was nothing he could do to stop the deliberations. They were in there, the last twelve, with deputies by the door. Perhaps if their work was slow, and if they had to retire for another night in sequestration, then perhaps Fitch could pull a rabbit from his hat and spark a mistrial.

A bomb threat was a possibility. The jurors would be evacuated, sequestered some more, led away to some hidden place so they could continue.

The flow chart fizzled and he made lists of possibilities-outrageous acts, all of which would be dangerous, illegal, and destined for failure.

The clock was ticking.

The chosen twelve-eleven disciples and their master.

He slowly rose to his feet and took the cheap ceramic lamp with both hands. It was a lamp Konrad had earlier wanted to remove because it sat on Fitch's desk, a place of great chaos and violence.

Konrad and Pang were loitering in the hallway, waiting for instructions. They knew something had gone terribly wrong. The lamp crashed with great force against the door. Fitch screamed. The plywood walls rattled. Another object hit and splintered; maybe it was a telephone. Fitch yelled something about “the money! ” and then the desk landed loudly against a wall.

They backed away, petrified and not wanting to be near the door when it opened. Bam! Bam! Bam! It sounded like a jackhammer. Fitch was punching the plywood with his fists.

“Find the girl! ” he screamed in anguish. Bam! Bam!

“Find the girl! ”

Forty

After a painful stretch of forced concentration, Nicholas sensed some debate was needed. He elected to go first, and briefly summarized Dr. Fricke's report on the condition of Jacob Wood's lungs. He passed around the autopsy photos, none of which attracted much attention. This was old territory and the audience was bored.

“Dr. Fricke's report says that prolonged cigarette smoking causes lung cancer, ” Nicholas said dutifully, as if this might surprise someone.

“I have an idea, ” Rikki Coleman said. “Let's see if we can all agree that cigarettes cause lung cancer. It'll save us a lot of time. ” She'd been waiting for a crack in the door, and seemed ready to quarrel.

“Great idea, ” Lonnie said. He was by far the most hyper and frustrated of the bunch.

Nicholas shrugged his approval. He was the foreman, but he still had only one vote. The jury could do what it pleased. “Fine with me, ” he said. “Does everyone believe cigarettes cause lung cancer? Raise your hands. ”

Twelve hands shot up, and a giant step was taken toward a verdict.

“Let's go ahead and take care of addiction, ” Rikki said, looking up and down the table. “Who thinks nicotine is addictive? ”

Another unanimous yes.

She savored the moment and appeared on the verge of venturing onto the thin ice of liability.

“Let's keep it unanimous, folks, ” Nicholas said. “It's crucial that we walk out of here united. If we split, then we fail. ”

Most of them had already heard this little pep talk. The legal reasons behind his quest for a unanimous verdict were not clear, but they believed him nonetheless.

“Now, let's finish these reports. Is someone ready? ”

Loreen Duke's was a glossy publication prepared by Dr. Myra Sprawling-Goode. She'd read the introduction, which declared the study to be a thorough review of advertising practices by tobacco companies, especially how said practices related to children under the age of eighteen, and she'd read the conclusion, which absolved the industry of targeting underage smokers. Most of the two hundred pages in between had gone untouched.

She summarized the summary. “Just says here they couldn't find any evidence of tobacco companies advertising to attract kids. ”

“Do you believe that? ” asked Millie.

“No. I thought we'd already decided that most folks start smoking before they're eighteen. Didn't we take a poll in here one day? ”

“We did, ” Rikki answered. “And all the smokers here started when they were young teenagers. ”

“And most of them quit, as I recall, ” Lonnie said, with no small amount of bitterness.

“Let's move along, ” Nicholas said. “Anybody else? ”

Jerry offered a lame effort at describing the tedious findings of Dr. Hilo Kilvan, the statistical genius who'd proven the increased risks of lung cancer among smokers. Jerry's summation sparked no interest, no questions, no debate, and he left the room for a quick smoke.

Then there was silence as they continued to plow through the printed material. They came and went at will-to smoke, to stretch, to use the rest rooms. Lou Dell and Willis and Chuck guarded the door.

MRS. GLADYS CARD had once taught biology to ninth-graders. She had a grasp of science. She did a superb job of dissecting Dr. Robert Bronsky's report on the composition of cigarette smoke-the more than four thousand compounds, the sixteen known carcinogens, the fourteen alkalis, the irritants, and all that other stuff. She used her best classroom diction and looked from face to face.

Most faces cringed as she droned on and on.

When she finished, Nicholas, still awake, thanked her warmly and stood to get more coffee.

“So what do you think about all that? ” Lonnie asked. He was standing in front of the window, his back to the room, eating peanuts and holding a soft drink.

“To me, it proves cigarette smoke is pretty harmful, ” she answered.

Lonnie turned around and looked at her. “Right. I thought we'd already decided that. ” He then looked at Nicholas. “I say we get on with the voting. We've been reading now for almost three hours, and if the Judge asks me if I've looked at all that stuff, I'm gonna say, 'Hell yeah. Read every word. '”

“Do what you wanna do, Lonnie, ” Nicholas shot back.

“All right. Let's vote. ”

“Vote on what? ” Nicholas asked. The two were now standing on opposites sides of the table, with the seated jurors between them.

“Let's see who's standing where. I'll go first. ”

“Go. Let's hear it. ”

Lonnie took a deep breath and everyone turned to watch him.

“My position is real easy. I believe cigarettes are dangerous products. They're addictive. They're deadly. That's why I leave them alone. Everybody knows this, in fact we've already decided it. I believe every person has a right to choose. Nobody can force you to smoke, but if you do, then you suffer the consequences. Don't puff like hell for thirty years, then expect me to make you rich. These crazy lawsuits need to be stopped. ”

His voice was loud and every word got absorbed.

“You finished? ” Nicholas asked.

“Yeah. ”

“Who's next? ”

“I have a question, ” said Mrs. Gladys Card. “How much money does the plaintiff expect us to award? Mr. Rohr sort of left it hanging. ”

“He wants two million in actual damages. The punitive is left to our discretion, ” Nicholas explained.

“Then why'd he leave eight hundred million on the board? ”

“Because he'd take eight hundred million, ” Lonnie replied. “Are you gonna give it to him? ”

“I don't think so, ” she said. “I didn't know there was that much money in the world. Would Celeste Wood get all of it? ”

“You see all those lawyers out there? ” Lonnie asked sardonically. “She'll be lucky to get anything. This trial ain't about her or her dead husband. This trial is about a bunch of lawyers getting rich suing tobacco companies. We're stupid if we fall for it. ”

“Do you know when I started smoking? ” Angel Weese asked Lonnie, who was still standing.

“No. I don't. ”

“I remember the exact day. I was thirteen, and I saw this big billboard on Decatur Street, not far from my house, had this big, lean black guy, really good-looking, with his jeans rolled up, splashing water on a beach, cigarette in one hand and a slinky black chick on his back/All smiles. All perfect teeth. Salem menthols. What great fun. I thought to myself, Now there's the good life. I'd like to have some of that. So I went home, went to my drawer, got my money, walked down the street, and bought a pack of Salem menthols. My friends thought I was so cool, so I've been smoking them ever since. ” She paused and glanced at Loreen Duke, then back to Lonnie. “Don't try to tell me anyone can kick the habit. I'm addicted, okay. It ain't that easy. I'm twenty years old, two packs a day, and if I don't quit I won't see fifty. And don't tell me they don't target kids. They target blacks, women, kids, cowboys, rednecks, they target everybody, and you know it. ”

For one who'd shown no emotion in the four weeks they'd been together, the anger in Angel's voice was a surprise. Lonnie glared down at her, but said nothing.

Loreen came to her aid. “One of my girls, the fifteen-year-old, told me last week she'd started smoking at school because all of her friends are now smoking. These kids are too young to know about addiction, and by the time they realize, they'll be hooked. I asked her where she gets her cigarettes. You know what she told me? ”

Lonnie said nothing.

“Vending machines. There's one next to the arcade at the mall where the kids hang out. And there's one in the lobby of the cinema where the kids hang out. A couple of the fast-food places have machines. And you're gonna tell me they don't target kids. It makes me sick. I can't wait to get home and straighten her out. ”

“So what're you gonna do when she starts drinking beer? ” Jerry asked. “You gonna sue Budweiser for ten million because all the other kids are sneaking beer? ”

“There's no proof that beer is physically addictive, ” Rikki responded.

“Oh, so it doesn't kill? ”

“There's a difference. ”

“Please explain it, ” Jerry said. The debate now covered two of his favorite vices. Could gambling and philandering be next?

Rikki arranged her thoughts for a second, then launched into an unpleasant defense of alcohol. “Cigarettes are the only products that are deadly if used exactly as intended. Alcohol is supposed to be consumed, of course, but in reasonable amounts. And if it's taken in moderation, then it's not a dangerous product. Sure, people get drunk and kill themselves in all sorts of ways, but a strong argument can be made that the product is not being used properly in thos^ instances. ”

“So if a person drinks for fifty years he's not killing himself? ”

“Not if he drinks in moderation. ”

“Boy, that's good to hear. ”

“And there's something else. Alcohol has a natural warning. You get an immediate feedback when you use the product. Not so with tobacco. It takes years of smoking before you realize the damage to your body. By then, you're hooked and can't quit. ”

“Most people can quit, ” Lonnie said from the window, without looking at Angel.

“And why do you think everyone's trying to quit? ” Rikki asked calmly. “Is it because they're enjoying their cigarettes? Is it because they feel young and glamorous? No, they're trying to quit to avoid lung cancer and heart disease. ”

“So how are you voting? ” Lonnie asked.

“I guess it's pretty obvious, ” she answered. “I started this trial with an open mind, but I've come to realize that the only way to hold the tobacco companies responsible is for us to do it. ”

“What about you? ” Lonnie asked Jerry, hoping to find a friend.

“I'm undecided right now. I think I'll listen to everybody else. ”

“And you? ” he asked Sylvia Taylor-Tatum.

“I'm having a hard time understanding why we're supposed to make this woman a multimillionaire. ”

Lonnie walked around the table, looking at faces, most of which tried to avoid him. There was no doubt he was enjoying his role as a rebel leader.

“What about you, Mr. Savelle? You don't seem to say much. ”

This would be interesting. No one on the panel had a clue about what Savelle was thinking.

“I believe in choice, ” he said. “Absolute choice. I deplore what these corporations do to the environment. I hate their products. But each person has the power to choose. ”

“Mr. Vu? ” Lonnie said.

Henry cleared his throat, pondered things for a minute, then said, “I'm still thinking. ” Henry would follow Nicholas, who for the moment was incredibly quiet.

“What about you, Mr. Foreman? ” Lonnie asked.

“We can finish these reports in thirty minutes. Let's do it, then we'll start voting. ”

After the first serious skirmish, they were relieved to read for a few more minutes. The shootout was clearly not far away.

AT FIRST he felt like roaming the streets in his Suburban with Jose at the wheel, up and down Highway 90 to no place in particular, no chance of catching her. At least he'd be out there doing something, trying to find her, hoping maybe to stumble upon her.

He knew she was gone.

So he stayed instead in his office, alone by the phone praying she'd call one more time and tell him a deal was a deal. Throughout the afternoon Konrad came and went, bearing the news that Fitch expected to hear: Her car was outside the condo, and it hadn't been moved in eight hours. No activity in or out of the condo. No sign of her whatsoever. She was gone.

Oddly, the longer the jury stayed out, the more hope Fitch managed to create for himself. If she planned to take the money and run, and screw Fitch with a plaintiff's verdict, then where was the verdict? Maybe it wouldn't be that easy. Nicholas could be having a hard time in there getting his votes.

Fitch had never lost one of these, and he kept reminding himself he'd been here before, sweating blood while the jury fought.

AT PRECISELY FIVE, Judge Harkin reconvened his courtroom, and sent for the jury. The lawyers scurried to get in place. Most of the spectators returned.

The jurors took their seats. They looked tired, but then all jurors did at this point.

“Just a few quick questions, ” His Honor said. “Have you elected a new foreman? ”

They nodded, and then Nicholas raised his hand. “I have the honor, ” he said softly, without the slightest trace of pride.

“Good. Just so you'll know, I talked with Herman Grimes about an hour ago, and he's doing fine. Seems to be something other than a heart attack, and he's expected to be released tomorrow. He sent his best wishes. ”

Most of them managed a pleasant expression.

“Now, you've had the case for five hours, and I'd like to know if you're making progress. ”

Nicholas stood awkwardly, and stuffed his hands in his khakis. “I think so, Your Honor. ”

“Good. Without indicating anything that's been discussed, do you think the jury will reach a verdict, one way or the other? ”

Nicholas glanced around at his peers, then said, “I think we will, Your Honor. Yes, I'm confident we'll have a verdict. ”

“When might you have a verdict? Mind you, I'm not rushing. You can take as much time as you wish. I just need to make plans for this courtroom if we're gonna be here into the night. ”

“We want to go home, Your Honor. We're determined to wrap this up and have a verdict sometime tonight. ”

“Wonderful. Thank you. Dinner is on the way. I'll be in my chambers if you need me. ”

Forty-one

Mr. O'Reilly was back for the last time, serving his final meal and saying good-bye to people he now considered friends. He and three employees fed and served them as if they were royalty.

Dinner was over at six-thirty, and the jury was ready to go home. They agreed to vote first on the issue of liability. Nicholas couched the question in layman's terms: “Are you willing to hold Pynex liable for the death of Jacob Wood? ”

Rikki Coleman, Millie Dupree, Loreen Duke, and Angel Weese said yes, unequivocally. Lonnie, Phillip Savelle, and Mrs. Gladys Card said no, without question. The rest fell somewhere in between. Poodle was uncertain, but leaning toward no. Jerry was suddenly vacillating, but probably leaning toward no. Shine Royce, the newest member of the panel, i hadn't said three words all day and was simply drifting in the breeze. He'd jump on the nearest bandwagon, as soon as he could identify one. Henry Vu declared himself to be undecided, but he was really waiting for Nicholas, who was waiting until everybody had finished. He was disappointed that the jury was so divided.

“I think it's time for you to declare, ” Lonnie said to Nicholas, itching for a fight.

“Yeah, let's hear it, ” Rikki said, also ready to argue. All eyes were glued to the foreman.

“Okay, ” he said, and the room went perfectly still. After years of planning, it all came down to this. He chose his words carefully, but in his mind he'd made the speech a thousand times. “I'm convinced cigarettes are dangerous and deadly; they kill four hundred thousand people a year; they're loaded with nicotine by their makers, who've known for a long time that the stuff is addictive; they could be a lot safer if the companies wanted, but the nicotine would be reduced and thus sales would suffer. I think cigarettes killed Jacob Wood, and none of you will argue this. I'm convinced the tobacco companies lie and cheat and cover up, and do everything in their power to get kids to smoke. They're a ruthless bunch of sonofabitches, and I say we stick it to them. ”

“I agree, ” said Henry Vu.

Rikki and Millie felt like clapping.

“You want punitives? ” Jerry asked, in disbelief.

“The verdict means nothing if it's not significant, Jerry. It has to be huge. A verdict for actual damages only means we don't have the guts to punish the tobacco industry for its corporate sins. ”

“We have to make it hurt, ” Shine Royce said, but only because he wanted to sound intelligent. He'd found his bandwagon.

Lonnie looked at Shine and Vu in disbelief. He counted quickly-seven votes for the plaintiff. “You can't talk money, because you don't have your votes yet. ”

“They're not my votes, ” Nicholas said.

“The hell they're not, ” he said bitterly. “This is your verdict. ”

They went around the table again-seven for the plaintiff, three for the defense, Jerry and Poodle straddling the fence but looking for a place to land. Then Mrs. Gladys Card upset the tally by saying, “I don't like voting for the tobacco company, but, at the same time, I just can't understand giving Celeste Wood all this money. ”

“How much money would you give her? ” Nicholas asked.

She was flustered and confused. “I just don't know. I'll vote to give something, but, well, I just don't know. ”

“How much do you have in mind? ” Rikki asked the foreman, and the room was still again. Very still and quiet.

“A billion, ” Nicholas said with a completely straight face. It landed like a percussion bomb on the center of the table. Mouths fell open and eyes bulged.

Before anyone could speak, Nicholas explained himself. “If we're serious about sending a message to the tobacco industry, then we have to shock them. Our verdict should be a landmark. It should be famous and known from this day forward as the moment the American public, acting through its jury system, finally stood up to the tobacco industry and said, 'Enough is enough. '”

“You're outta your mind, ” Lonnie said, and at the moment, most felt the same way.

“So you want to be famous, ” Jerry said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“Not me, but the verdict. Nobody will remember our names next week, but everyone will remember our verdict. If we're gonna do it, then let's do it right. ”

“I like it, ” Shine Royce chimed in. The thought of dispensing so much money made him giddy. Shine was the only juror ready to spend another night at the motel so he could eat free and collect another fifteen dollars tomorrow.

“Tell us what will happen, ” Millie said, still stunned.

“It'll be appealed, and some day, probably two years from now, a bunch of old goats in black robes will reduce it. They'll lower it to something more reasonable. They'll say it was a runaway verdict from a runaway jury, and they'll fix it. The system works most of the time. ”

“Then why should we do it? ” Loreen asked.

“For change. We'll start the long process of making the tobacco companies accountable for killing so many people. Keep in mind, they've never lost a trial such as this. They think they're invincible. We prove otherwise, and we do it in such a way that other plaintiffs are not afraid to take on the indus-try. ”

“So you want to bankrupt them, ” Lonnie said.

“Wouldn't bother me. Pynex is worth one-point-two billion, and virtually all its profits have come at the expense of people who use their products but would love to quit. Yeah, come to think of it, the world would be a better place without Pynex. Who'd cry if it folded? ”

“Maybe its employees, ” Lonnie said.

“Good point. But I have more sympathy for the thousands of people hooked on their products. ”

“How much will the appeals court give Celeste Wood? ” Mrs. Gladys Card asked. She was troubled by the idea that one of her neighbors, albeit a person she didn't know, was going to get rich. Sure, she'd lost her husband, but Mr. Card had survived prostate cancer with no thought of suing anybody.

“I have no idea, ” Nicholas said. “And that's not something we should worry about. That's another day in another courtroom, and there are guidelines to be followed when reducing large verdicts. ”

“A billion dollars, ” Loreen repeated to herself, but audibly enough to be heard. It was as easy to say as “A million dollars. ” Most of the jurors stared at the table and repeated the word “billion. ”

Not for the first time, Nicholas thanked himself for Herrera's absence. At a moment like this, with a billion dollars on the table, Herrera would be raising hell and probably throwing things. But the room was quiet. Lonnie was the only advocate left for the defense, and he was busy counting and recounting votes.

Herman's absence was also important, probably more so than the Colonel's because people would listen to Herman. He was thoughtful and calculating, not prone to emotion and certainly not susceptible to an outrageous verdict.

But they were gone.

Nicholas had steered the talk away from liability and onto the issue of damages, a crucial shift that no one recognized but himself. The billion dollars had stunned them and forced them to think about money, not fault.

He was determined to keep their thoughts on money. “It's just an idea, ” he said. “It's important to get their attention. ”

Nicholas quickly winked at Jerry, who entered perfectly on cue. “I can't go that high, ” he said in his best car salesman routine, which was pretty effective. “It's, well, it's outrageous. I can see some damages, but, damn, this is just plain crazy. ”

“It's not outrageous, ” Nicholas argued. “The company has eight hundred million in cash. The place is like a mint. All tobacco companies print their own money. ”

Jerry made eight, and Lonnie withdrew to a corner, where he began clipping his fingernails.

And Poodle made nine. “It is outrageous, and I can't do that, ” she said. “Something lower maybe, but not a billion dollars. ”

“So how much? ” Rikki asked.

Only five hundred million. Only one hundred million. They could not force themselves to utter these ridiculous sums of money.

“I don't know, ” Sylvia said. “What do you think? ”

“I like the idea of putting these guys on the ropes, ” Rikki said. “If we're going to send a message, then let's not be shy about it. ”

“A billion? ” Sylvia asked.

“Yeah, I can do that. ”

“Me too, ” Shine said, feeling wealthy just by being there.

There was a long pause; the only sound came from Lonnie snipping his fingernails.

Finally, Nicholas said, “Who cannot vote to return any damages whatsoever? ”

Savelle raised his hand. Lonnie ignored the question, but then he didn't need to respond.

“The vote stands at ten to two, ” Nicholas reported, and wrote this down. “This jury has hereby reached its decision on liability. Now, let's settle the issue of damages. Can the ten of us agree that the Wood estate is entitled to the two million in actual damages? ”

Savelle kicked his chair back and left the room. Lonnie poured a cup of coffee and sat by the window, his back to the group, but listening to every word.

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