Juror number four bristled, his face turning as red as a candy apple. “That’s not true!”
“Actually, it is true. I have here in your file the time you left the courthouse after the jury rendered their verdict and the time your six-pound-three-ounce baby boy was born. Whose name, by the way, is Daniel Robert Rumsen Junior. The time difference between the reading of the verdict and the birth of your son is exactly ninety-four minutes. I don’t think you’re going to get a book deal, juror number four.”
“It was all his idea,” juror number three, a sixty-year-old woman with white hair, said, pointing to the foreman. “There were four other holdouts, and I was one of them. He hammered at us and hammered at us. He kept saying that the facts were as plain as the noses on our faces even if we couldn’t see them. He called the five of us stupid. He said we were uneducated.” Three other jurors nodded in agreement. “Oh, and one other thing-he said the prosecutor had an almost perfect record on convictions and wouldn’t have brought the case to trial if he didn’t think he could win it.”
Juror number eight, a young woman around thirty-five or so, raised her hand. “The foreman told us that you can’t trust a foreigner, meaning Miss Aulani. Like Hawaii is foreign.” She sniffed. “Of course, ten years ago we didn’t have a president who was born in Hawaii. He browbeat us and kept calling us stupid, especially the women. He reminded us every day that because he was a school principal, he was smarter than all of us put together.”
“Guess none of you are going to get that extra fifteen minutes of fame,” the reporter from the
No one said a word.
“So then, Mr. Foreman, what do you have to say to these comments?” Patty asked, shoving the microphone as close to his face as she could.
“I am not going to lower myself by responding. We voted our consciences. We did exactly what the judge told us to do. And just for the record, I am not looking for a book deal. And before you can ask how I now sleep at night, my answer is the same: I did my duty and went with the facts. And I sleep very well, thank you very much, Miss Big Shot Reporter. Molar, is it?
“I am sorry that young woman had to spend ten years in jail. I truly am sorry. I am sure that we all are, but none of us can unring that particular bell.”
Patty Molnar smiled, knowing that what she was going to say was utter nonsense, but she said it anyway. “Well, there is sorry, and then there is sorry. How sorry will you be when that young woman, whose name, in case you have forgotten, is Sophie Lee, files a lawsuit against all of you? You do know she has already filed a suit against the state of Georgia for twenty million. It’s my understanding another suit is going to be filed against Ryan Spenser. Lawyers are expensive in this state. Some of them actually charge four hundred dollars an hour.” Patty thought she heard several gasps of shock as she wondered again if what she had just said was true or not, not that she cared even one little bit at that point.
Juror number ten, a middle-aged housewife, started to cry. “Well, I for one can’t sleep, and I don’t mind telling you that either. I regret my vote. I regretted it the moment I voted. I even had to go to a therapist to try to get past that. It still haunts me. I want to cry for Miss Lee and what we did to her. And the worst part was she was an orphan with no family to help see her through that awful ordeal. I hope she gets the twenty million dollars, and that’s not nearly enough to make up for ten years behind bars. Speaking strictly for myself, I wouldn’t take a book deal if they paid me my weight in gold.”
Nine of the jurors and the alternates nodded. Not so the foreman and juror number four.
Chairs were pushed back as the jurors signaled that, as far as they were concerned, the interview was over. Patty turned and nodded to Nick Mancuso to stand by the door until Jed could serve his subpoenas. She wanted to laugh at the startled expressions on the faces of the foreman and juror number four when Jed read off their names and handed them the subpoenas.
“Lawyer up, ladies and gentlemen,” Patty shouted as a cameraman for CNN shoved a microphone in her face. She swatted it away.
As Patty headed to the back of the room, she heard the television reporter from CNN say, “That was Patty Molnar from
Nick Mancuso was grinning from ear to ear. “Duffy’s Pub, and I’m buying.”
“What about your golf tournament?” Patty asked as she linked her arm with that of her best friend. “I wish Jon was here to see this,” she whispered.
“Yeah, me, too, but I think he’s watching us from above. By the way, I had to book a later flight to Hawaii.”
Jed clapped Nick on the back, then hugged Patty. After all, she was his significant other.
Upstairs, in his plush office, Ryan Spenser turned off the television set. Just as he did, his cell phone started to ring. He had no doubt whatsoever that it was his father, so he didn’t even bother to take the phone out of his pocket. For all he cared, his old man could call from then till the cows came home or hell froze over, and he still wouldn’t answer it.
Chapter 12
PATTY MOLNAR WAS BREATHLESS FOR SOME REASON AS SHE TOOK her seat in a booth in back of the pub. Her adrenaline was at an all-time high. Home run for Sophie. She inched closer to Jed, liking the feel of him next to her. She watched as Nick yanked at his tie and shrugged out of his lightweight summer jacket. Jed did the same thing. Even though it was cool in the pub, they’d sweated a gallon of perspiration on their walk from the courthouse.
Duffy’s Pub was just like any other pub, now minus the stale odor of cigarette smoke. It was all mahogany and brass, comfortable wide booths, and superefficient waiters and waitresses. The food was excellent because all Duffy’s served were half-pound Kobe beef burgers on homemade, from-scratch buns and onion rings made on the premises with their own batter. From opening to closing, the beer flowed freely from a large keg that was the centerpiece of the pub. Every seat at the bar was full, even at that time of day, because lawyers and reporters weren’t held to hard-and-fast schedules. Duffy’s was the epitome of the perfect watering hole. A place to meet and greet. A place to snag a pickup. A place to bitch and moan and plot someone’s downfall, usually some ornery judge, after a harrowing day in court.
The little group made small talk when the waiter took their orders, which really wasn’t necessary, more a formality because everyone got the same thing, a burger to die for, out-of-this-world onion rings, and beer so cold it froze your nostrils when you brought the glass to your lips.
The moment the waitress was out of sight, the threesome started to jabber at once. The gist of the yammering was, How do you think it went?
Jed looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure I can call it. Those women were pretty damn feisty. They let themselves be bamboozled by that
Patty beamed.
“Do you two have any idea how sappy you look?” Nick growled, as their cold beer arrived. They picked up their glasses. Nick made the toast. “To Sophie Lee!”
“You still have a thing for Sophie, huh?” Jed said quietly. He wasn’t being snide or brash, and Nick responded in kind, his eyes on Patty.
“Always did, but she could never get past that big-brother thing. I got past it. I was hoping, and we were actually making progress, when the dark stuff hit the fan. Where is she, Jed?”
Jed sighed as he flopped back against the booth. “You know I can’t tell you that. I would if I could. Don’t badger me, please.”
