only stumbling block here is you’re innocent.” He shrugged. “Too bad. Be a hell of a lot easier if you were guilty.”
3
Judge Dalrymple could feel a headache coming on. He looked down at A.D.A. Pearson and frowned. He had understood this matter was going to be settled. Yet here before him stood the prosecutor. And at the defense table sat the defendant, with not one but two attorneys, her regular court appointed lawyer and a long haired young man in corduroy jacket and jeans.
Judge Dalrymple rubbed his brow. “People vs. Amy Dearborn,” he said. “Mr. Pearson. Do I understand you are ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is the defense ready?”
Amy Dearborn’s lawyer, a clean cut, earnest-looking young man stood up. “Your Honor, I am as you know the attorney appointed by the court to represent Miss Dearborn. At this time I ask to be relieved of that responsibility.”
“On what grounds?”
“Miss Dearborn no longer wishes my services. She has discharged me and retained another attorney.”
“And who would that be?”
“Mr. Steve Winslow, present here in court.”
“I see,” Judge Dalrymple said. “Miss Dearborn?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Have you heard what your attorney said?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is what he said substantially true?”
“Yes it is, Your Honor.”
“You no longer wish him to function as your attorney?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“You wish to be represented by Mr. Steve Winslow?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well,”,Judge Dalrymple said. “You are excused.”
The attorney nodded his thanks, gathered up his briefcase, and left.
Judge Dalrymple smiled. Maybe this wasn’t so bad/after all. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “May I ask when the defendant first approached you in this matter?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“I see. I would assume you would need time to prepare. Under the circumstances I would be inclined to grant any reasonable continuance you might ask.”
“I don’t want a continuance, Your Honor.”
Judge Dalrymple frowned. “You don’t?”
“The defendant has been accused of a crime. There is no foundation for the charge whatsoever, and I see no reason for her to walk around with a cloud over her head. I want her vindicated now. The defense position is, call the jury and let’s go.”
The dull ache behind Judge Dalrymple’s temple was becoming more pronounced. He turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Pearson?”
The A.D.A. frowned. “Your Honor, I had anticipated the defense would want a continuance.”
“Well, they don’t,” Judge Dalrymple said shortly. “So let’s get on with it. Bailiff, bring in the jurors and let’s go.”
There was a brief delay while fifty prospective jurors were brought up from the assembly room downstairs, ushered in, and seated on the benches in the back of the courtroom.
At the defense table. Amy Dearborn turned to look. She whispered to Steve Winslow, “So many. Why so many?”
“We need sixteen jurors,” Steve told her. “Twelve regular jurors and four alternates. They expect the prosecutor and me to fight over them, throw most of them out, trying to get people favorable to our side. It’s a long process.” He jerked his thumb. “They don’t even expect to fill the jury from what they’ve got back there.”
Amy frowned. “You mean it could take days?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s awful.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it.”
When the jurors had been seated the bailiff shuffled up their ballots, and drew sixteen at random, filling the jury box. As the jurors took their places, the bailiff attached their ballots to a rectangular board which was numbered according to the seats in the box. When he was finished, A.D.A. Pearson took the board, approached the jury box. Referring to the board, Pearson addressed each juror by name, asking them personal questions about their education, their jobs, their marital status, their hobbies, their likes, their dislikes, and finally their opinions about crime in general and theft in particular.
It was a grueling examination and took most of the morning.
When Pearson had finished, Judge Dalrymple looked at the clock. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “It is only a half hour before lunch. Would you care to break now and resume at two o’clock? If you begin now, I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt your examination.”
“No problem, Your Honor,” Steve said. “I wouldn’t want to hold anyone up. I’m sure a half hour will be quite sufficient. Let’s get on with it.”
Judge Dalrymple frowned. Rubbed his head.
A.D.A. Pearson, quite surprised, handed Steve the board with the ballots.
“Thanks,” Steve said. “But I won’t be needing that.” He turned, walked to the juror box and smiled at juror number four. “Mr. Finley,” he said. “How are you?”
Finley, a middle aged man with bifocals who had given his occupation as librarian, smiled back. “Fine, thank you.”
“Mr. Finley,” Steve said. “I don’t want to impose on you with a lot of questions. I have only one real concern. And that is that this defendant gets a fair trial. And I’m sure you feel the same way.”
“Absolutely,” Finley said.
“Fine,” Steve said. “So the way I see it, the only real question is whether you’re prejudiced in this matter.”
Finley frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Prejudiced,” Steve said. “The prefix pre- and the word judge. To judge before. Have you judged this case before you heard it?”
“Certainly not,” Finley said.
Steve held up his hand. “Don’t be too sure. I want you to keep an open mind. Be totally honest here. As you sit here now, have you formed any opinion about the guilt or innocence of this defendant?”
“No, I have not,” Finley said.
“You have no presumption whatsoever about her guilt or innocence? She might be innocent or she might be guilty, you simply don’t know?”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Finley,” Steve said. He spread his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Is there any one of you who would answer these questions any differently than Mr. Finley? If so, please raise your hand.”
No hands went up.
“None at all?” Steve said. “Is that right? None of you at the present time have any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of this particular defendant? If you do, please tell me now.”
Steve paused. Waited. “Fine,” he said. “Thank you very much.” He turned back to the bench. “Your Honor,”
