things were equal, I struck whites who lived in the southwest part of the county. That area is considered the most racist, but I am glad I don’t have to offer a public ex planation. The Supreme Court has not as yet gone so far as to require lawyers for black defendants to offer a “racially neutral” explanation of why we choose to strike certain whites from the jury list.
Jill’s opening statement to the jury prepares them for the sermon she will give in her closing argument: the only thing less sacred than the bond between a child and her parents is the relationship between a child and her doctor. I am tempted to pretend I am gagging, but the jurors are instantly captivated by Jill’s manner, which is somehow preachy but effective because of her utter sincerity. As if she is in mourning, she is wearing a black dress, no jewelry, except for plain earrings barely visible underneath the shining, lustrous dark hair that is her only concession to femininity. Unlike some other female attorneys, who withdraw part of their retirement pensions to buy clothes and accessories for a big trial, Jill refuses to call attention to her striking features. Even her shoes, low-heeled black pumps, say to the jury that she is telling them a shocking story that deserves everyone’s respect and full attention. She comes from behind the podium and stands in front of the rail that runs in front of the jury box.
Stooping slightly she reviews the evidence she will present, staying away from a possible motive until just before she sits down.
“Mr. Page will tell you that Pam’s death was a terrible accident, but as you listen to the testimony, I want you to be thinking about what was occurring between Andrew Chap man and Olivia Le Master and what they had to gain by Pam’s death.”
I watch the jury’s faces as they hear her describe the malpractice settlement and Yettie Lindsey’s expected testimony. It is as if the issue of race were the last thing on Jill’s mind. Andy leans over and whispers to me, “She’s really good, isn’t she?”
Concentrating as hard as I can, I do not answer, but I want to tell him that a prosecutor doesn’t have to be great to keep a jury interested in this case. Yet this jury is hoping for the details, and they will be disappointed. There will be no description of any salacious practices that will have the spectators gasping with delight. Not for the first time I consider telling the jury that I, a small-town boy from eastern Arkansas was happily married until her death to a woman whose skin was almost as dark as that of two of its members that under the right conditions any of us might and do choose against all we’ve been taught and believed. Yet, as I study the jury, I lose courage. The risk is too great that some of the whites on the jury (maybe the blacks as well) might decide to punish me for presuming to preach a text few want to hear. It is enough that Andy is on trial; I don’t dare add to his burden. Instead I tell the jury a version some of them might be able to accept.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say standing at the podium after Jill has taken her seat, “what happened in this case is unfortunately what happens in real life: two people who have no need, desire, or intention of doing so fall in love and, instead of living happily ever after, see their lives become an unintended tragedy. Though I could give you a hundred examples from everything from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to the tritest made-for-TV movie, we all know it happens in the most inappropriate of situations: it happens at work; it happens in wartime; it happens between neighbors; it hap pens in institutions for the retarded. The prosecuting attorney has painted a picture for you of a man who is so evil that he would take the life of a child to satisfy his own lust for a sexual relationship and money beyond his wildest dreams.
The truth is a lot less sensational but a lot more lifelike. The accident that I’m about to describe, which resulted in the death of the child of Olivia Le Master, has been emotionally devastating to her and to my client as well.” I come around the podium and grasp the jury rail.
“Because of our culture and our history in the South, some of you may be thinking, “So what?” since they should never have been involved with each other in the first place. But if you are and can’t get beyond this feeling simply to accept it as a reality, you won’t understand what happened in this case, and why my client and Olivia Le Master now feel as they do ” Behind me, Jill interrupts.
“I’m loath to break in. Your Honor,” she says, as I turn to her, “but Mr. Page is making a final argument instead of an opening statement.”
From the barrier separating me from the jury, I tell Judge Tamower, “I should be able to tell the jury why some of the witnesses will be testifying a certain way, Your Honor. This alleged crime is all about intent. If I’m wrong, I’ll be contradicted by them.”
Judge Tamower shrugs, as if this is no big deal.
“I don’t see that Mr. Page is out of line, Mrs. Marymount. Your objection is denied.”
I turn to the jury and waste no time in getting specific.
“An interracial relationship in the South makes us all uneasy, ladies and gentlemen, whether we say we are liberals or conservatives. Even the most accepting of us knows the difficulties of such a union and the reactions that occur in some quarters. It comes as no surprise when I tell you that sustained love between two people with everything going for them has a fifty-fifty chance, and sustained love between people of different races, especially in the South, to most of us is a matter of hope over reality. When you add to it the accidental death of a child, you get at least two, and actually more, very conflicted people, as you shall see when they testify….”
As I sit down, Andy leans over and whispers, his voice scratchy with disapproval, “I never told you I felt conflicted
For the jury I place my hand on his sleeve as if I am thanking him for complimenting me on a fine opening statement This guy is one in a million.
After lunch the courtroom fills up again. Most of the crowd had expected voir dire to take at least the entire morning. Jill calls as her first witness Dr. Warren Holditch, who had been her expert witness at the probably cause hearing. Knowing the municipal court would send Andy to trial and since I was not really prepared to do so, I didn’t crossexamine him.
Now I have my chance. Holditch, a behavioral psychologist who seems even more emaciated than he was a couple of months ago (I am tempted to ask him if he is treating himself for anorexia), essentially repeats his opinion that shock is dangerous and Andy should never have used a cattle prod and should have gotten the consent of a human rights committee
Since I have heard this before, it is difficult to gauge the effect on the jury, but since he is only the first witness and they are not tired yet (though I see one lunch-induced yawn), they pay close attention to his explanation of the different behavior-modification procedures he says Andy should have tried before he attempted shock. In a new wrinkle, Jill intro duces as exhibits two commercial shock sticks as well as a remote-control device complete with a helmet. She is protecting her manslaughter charge in case the jury won’t go for murder. As these are passed around the jury, the male jurors barely resist poking each other with them while the women pass them quickly on as if they were hot to the touch.
On cross, I get Holditch to admit that one of the most widely published researchers in the field has reported using a cattle prod to suppress self-abusive behavior. Though I know Jill will come back on redirect and reinforce his testimony that safety considerations have made this research obsolete, except for the point that shock can work, I want the jury to know it is something that a man, with many more credentials than Warren Holditch, has employed success fully.
Before I sit down, I ask Holditch, “Isn’t it a fact that if Leon Robinson had not loosened his grip on Pam she would be alive today?”
Jill objects loudly that Dr. Holditch isn’t qualified to answer this speculative question, and I don’t fight it, having made my point.
Jill ends my own speculation by calling Olivia next. De spite everything Olivia has said, there is the possibility she will invoke her Fifth Amendment right not to testify, now that the moment of truth is at hand. Led in from the witness room by a black female bailiff, Olivia, smiling as she walks through the door at the back of the courtroom, seems as confident as a reigning heavyweight fighting out of his division But as she passes by our table, I see that it is all an act.
Her smile looks soldered into place. She is scared to death, and I don’t blame her. With a single slip she can cook her own goose, and everybody in the courtroom knows it. I glance at Andy to see how he is reacting to her presence, and like a small child who is afraid his playmate is about to tattle on him, he seems to be holding his breath.
As Jill leads her through some preliminary questions, it is hard not to think about Olivia’s manner at the probably cause hearing. Then she was the grieving mother, a difficult witness for both Jill and me. Today, she is a
