valid.”
“Thank you, Mr. Foreman.”
Farnsworth methodically canvassed the jury with her eyes. The foreman, uncertain whether the judge was finished with him, hunched over awkwardly, waiting for a signal from her, and when it didn't come, finally took his seat.
Seeley had been watching the foreman, and now when he looked across the double row of downcast faces, he was startled to find the kid staring at him. Gary Sansone's jaw was set, his lips compressed, but at the corners was the smallest possible smile. He had been the first to vote against the patent, the one, Seeley was sure, who had persuaded the second juror. He was thinking that he defeated Seeley. He had read the news story or been told about it. Or maybe it was just that he resented Seeley, Seeley's client, and the client's celebrity scientist, Alan Steinhardt. Whatever the reason, in defeating them he did just what Seeley expected he would do. Seeley felt diminished, using the kid this way, and the knowledge that there was no alternative did nothing to relieve that feeling.
Farnsworth asked whether any of the jurors objected to the foreman's description of their deliberations, and when three or four shook their heads, she said in the same sad voice, “You have failed in your duty here. Your duty was not just to attend the trial and to deliberate among yourselves, but, at the end of this large expenditure of time and resources by the parties, by the taxpayers, and by this court, your duty was to reach a verdict. A trial cannot conclude without a verdict.”
Seeley wondered how much of the reprimand was genuine-this was the judge's first hung jury-and how much was Farnsworth building her legend, and decided it was mostly genuine. He felt a hard look coming from the defense table. It wasn't Thorpe, whose perfectly tailored gray flannel back was to him, but Dusollier. The St. Gall lawyer's expression was bitter around the slash of his mouth. This was not the complacent Swiss lawyer Pearsall had captured in his sketchbook.
“You have disserved the judicial system,” Farnsworth said, “and you have disappointed me. I have no alternative but to declare a mistrial.” She shuffled the papers in front of her. “The jury is discharged.”
This was as much as Seeley hoped for. He had put on too strong a case in the first part of the trial, and Thorpe had mounted too weak a defense, for the jury to vote unanimously against the patent. But, even though the patent survived, the mistrial would mortally weaken it and other companies would attack the patent. The prospect of Vaxtek and St. Gall dividing the market between them had evaporated. Seeley knew that it was grandiose, but for a moment the image passed through his mind of an ocean liner reversing course.
Seeley felt Palmieri's hand grasp his under the table. The grip was strong, and any doubt disappeared about whose side the young partner was on.
When Seeley rose, Barnum was next to him. “We'll win the retrial,” he said.
The response was no more than a reflex, and Warshaw would correct Barnum soon enough. “If there's a retrial, you're going to have to win it honestly, and I don't think you can.”
The court reporter, who had been conferring with the judge, returned to her table. Leonard came through the gate and grabbed Seeley's arm. He was pale and tiny beads of perspiration had formed above his upper lip.
The judge picked up, then set down, the papers in front of her, this time to address the lawyers. “Counsel will see me in chambers. Just the lead lawyers, Mr. Thorpe, Mr. Seeley. Right now!”
Leonard said, “How long are you staying?”
“Just a few days.”
Seeley had already decided to spend time with Lily and then to stop off in New York to see Nick Girard, on his way to Buffalo.
“Mom's coming back from Mexico in four days. Why don't you stay for Thanksgiving?”
Tomorrow there would be margin calls on Leonard's stock purchases. The mistrial would financially destroy him. Yet all he could think of was a family reunion.
Behind the rail, Odum wanted to talk to Seeley.
Seeley said, “I can't stay. I have clients waiting in Buffalo.”
“Please,” Leonard said. “Come see us before you go.”
Farnsworth passed through the doorway to her chambers, and Odum came toward Seeley.
“I have to go, Leonard.”
Thorpe disappeared into the doorway at the back of the courtroom.
Odum said, “Did I get it right?”
“You know I can't talk to you.” The gag order was still in force, but Seeley owed the reporter for what she'd done. He said, “You're an astute legal observer.”
He waited for her smile to be sure she understood the message, then walked away.
When Seeley came into Judge Farnsworth's chambers, he saw at once how rigorously she had controlled herself in the courtroom. Now, with only him and Thorpe as witnesses, the fury poured off her. These two men had hung her jury and destroyed her perfect record.
“I didn't ask the court reporter to join us. Do either of you gentlemen have any objection?”
There was no way they could object.
The judge leaned against a corner of the desk, her back to the glass wall and its panoramic view of the Civic Center and the bay. She gestured for the lawyers to take the two wooden chairs in front of her, a teacher reprimanding errant schoolboys.
“I saw this coming,” she said. “This trial started off course right after your meeting with me, Mr. Seeley.” She looked at Thorpe, not Seeley, as she spoke. “You should have objected, Emil. You shouldn't have allowed it.”
“It wasn't an easy decision, Your Honor. I was trying to be considerate of visiting counsel.” Thorpe wisely didn't add that the judge herself could have refused the meeting.
“Well, your hospitality was misplaced.” Her eyebrows lifted, and with them, it seemed, some of the venom. “You had no idea, of course, what Mr. Seeley was going to tell me at our meeting.”
“There was a question of perjury, I thought.”
“You know, Emil, I have always been a great admirer of your courtroom skills. When I was a young lawyer, I'd come to court on my own time, just to watch you.” Her tone had become almost gentle, but Seeley knew it could turn violent in a second, and when it did, it would be directed at him.
“So you will understand me when I say that I can't begin to imagine why you tried this case the way you did. Your thoughts seemed to be somewhere else.” She glanced at Seeley, then returned to Thorpe. “Sometimes it looked to me like you were actually helping Mr. Seeley make his case. Or was that just part of your hospitality to strangers?”
The fog that had burned off earlier in the day had returned and now sifted through the domes and turrets of the Civic Center. Thorpe's career trying large cases was over and now he was being humbled by a woman who could have been his granddaughter. But, if these thoughts were on his mind, the old lawyer didn't show it. He appeared relaxed in the wooden chair, legs crossed, black socks drooping negligently around his ankles, exposing white flesh.
“This was not an easy case to try, Your Honor. The stipulation of priority placed an extraordinary tactical burden on my client.”
“Then why did your client make the stipulation?”
“Because the facts compelled it. If we contested it at trial, we would have lost credibility with the jury on other issues, like validity, where we had a better shot at winning.” Thorpe looked across at Seeley, his eyes asking for support.
“Well, you're going to get your chance to dispute Vaxtek's priority at the retrial. I'm going to want to see some proofs next time. I'm not going to accept the stipulation.”
Farnsworth was bluffing. She had read Odum's story in the Chronicle and she knew that Thorpe's client wouldn't want a retrial that would force both parties to contest Lily's claim to have discovered AV/AS. The judge wants something from Thorpe and his client, Seeley thought, and from me and mine. And she wants Thorpe to understand that she knows about the clients' collusion.
Thorpe saw it, too. “I was sure we'd won when Mr. Seeley cut Dr. Steinhardt's testimony short on direct. Obviously, though, the jurors were impressed. We were lucky to hang the jury.”
“It was only Steinhardt's lies that impressed the jury.” Farnsworth rocked angrily against the desk. “You could have crucified him.”