think they have the right to. To kill because of an ancient grudge. To kill for their cultural beliefs.”
Santoro paused. “Ms. Carrier spoke personally, and so will I. I am an Italian-American, and I must tell you, I am absolutely offended by this defendant. Because this is not prewar Italy; this is America. This is not a time of war and disorder; this is a time of peace, and order. We in America are not about tyranny, we are about democracy and the law. We Americans all must abide by the law, for the safety and good of the whole. When the defendant came to this country from Italy, as did my own grandfather, he took on the responsibility to accept our laws. Just as he accepts our benefits and our riches.”
Santoro eyed the jury, the front row and then the back. “In the beginning of this case, I told you that every murder case is a story. Now we are at the end of this one. All of us are here to hear it and witness it, except for one man. Angelo Coluzzi. The law will guide you, and Judge Vaughn will charge you on it. And when you follow it, you will be doing justice, not only for all of us, but for Angelo Coluzzi.
“Thank you,” he said, and left the podium.
Judy couldn’t ease the tightness in her stomach as Judge Vaughn began reading the law to the jury, taking them through the early paragraphs of the charge, regarding the jury as the ultimate fact finder. Though the boilerplate had always sounded like a bar-review course before, it took on a special significance now. Pigeon Tony listened to every word, sitting upright in his chair, and Judy was sure that Judge Vaughn was reading more slowly so he could understand it. Until the judge had heard Pigeon Tony’s admission on the stand, he had liked him. Judy hoped the jury wouldn’t feel the same way.
She stole a glance at them as the judge read. Each face was grave, and from time to time many of them glanced over at Pigeon Tony and Judy, then at Santoro and back again, as if trying to reach a decision visually. Judy took a mental head count. The Abruzzese schoolteacher would vote for Pigeon Tony, and maybe the older woman next to her. Everyone else was against, and the back row wanted him drawn and quartered—with his lawyer. Judy stopped counting. It was a guessing game anyway.
Her head began to throb, as the judge segued into reading the jury the definition of first-degree murder. It would be the only degree of guilt that went to the jury, on Pigeon Tony’s insistence, even though Judge Vaughn had raised a question about it during their earlier conference. Judy had told him this was her client’s wish, and he’d acceded to it. Legally the judge couldn’t add a lesser degree of guilt to the charge without a request from the defense or the Commonwealth. It had been obvious at the conference that Santoro was too confident of victory on murder one to do so. The case would go to the jury as all or nothing.
It set Judy’s teeth on edge. She blamed herself, she blamed Pigeon Tony, then she blamed Italy and Mussolini, and then came back to herself again. She glanced over at Pigeon Tony, but he was listening to the charge. It was impossible for her to keep a professional mask for the jury, so she looked away.
In the front row of the gallery, beyond the bulletproof divider, sat Frank, his eyes as worried as Judy’s. He caught her glance and forced a tense smile, but Judy couldn’t find one. She could only imagine how Frank would react when his grandfather was sentenced to death, or life in prison. Or what would happen between them, when Judy became the lawyer who had put him there. She faced the front of the courtroom, where Judge Vaughn was finishing the charge and dismissing the jury to deliberate.
“I am giving the bailiff a verdict sheet for you to take with you into your deliberations,” the judge said, handing several pieces of paper to the bailiff. The bailiff then brought one sheet to the jury, walked to the Commonwealth’s table and handed one to Santoro, and finally carried one to Judy, leaving it on counsel table in front of her. “Thank you in advance for your time and your best efforts. Court is now adjourned.” He banged the gavel as the jury rose and filed out of the pocket door beside the dais.
Only then did Judy’s gaze fall to the verdict sheet, which contained but a single interrogatory:
Chapter 49
Judy sat with Bennie in the courthouse conference room. The small room was dead quiet. The lighting was harsh. Nobody was talking. They were all talked out. They had spent the first two hours of the jurors’ deliberations psyching them out, comparing notes on the raise of an eyebrow or a sniff of contempt. Extrapolating from stereotype and anecdote and sheer guesswork which way they would go. Who would be the foreperson? Who the holdout? How long would they be out? Would they come back with a question? Or worse, an answer?
Judy checked her watch. 6:30. The jury had gone out at 3:13, but who was counting? When would they come back? How would they decide? Judy’s anxious gaze roved over a table cluttered with briefcases, papers, newspapers, and a copy of the charge, which she had explained to Pigeon Tony, just for something to do. He hadn’t seemed all that interested, and truth to tell, neither was she. They had rolled the dice and were waiting for them to stop.
Judy checked her watch. It was 6:31. Pigeon Tony looked down at his lap, silent but not dozing. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, because Frank, sitting next to him, had an arm around him and was rubbing his back, jiggling Pigeon Tony with each stroke. They had been doing this for so long, Judy wondered if Frank would wear a hole in Pigeon Tony’s new jacket, but she didn’t say anything. Nobody acted normal when a jury was out, least of all the client, whose life, or money, was at stake. And for the lawyers it was a limbo of the worst sort. Because whatever happened, they would be responsible for it, and the words of that closing would be a refrain of sleepless nights to come, causing a cringe of regret, or even a tear, in a dark bedroom.
Judy sighed inwardly. Looked nowhere and everywhere. Tried not to think about it but failed. Every profession had its moments, moments only insiders experienced, and lawyering was no different. But for all the highs and lows of being a trial lawyer, Judy thought this was the most incredible moment the law had to offer. A moment that turned a job into a profession, and a profession into a love. A moment when life hung in the balance. A moment when human beings struggled together to govern themselves, to make sense of conflicting facts, and to discover and determine the most elusive of ideals. Justice. Truth. Fairness. Law. Morality. A moment to fix and define ideas that refused to be charted, that defied definition.
Judy marveled at it, truly, anytime any jury went out, but in this case realized something for the first time. The law really wasn’t found in the green casebooks that contained the Pennsylvania Statutes or the pebbled maroon books that spelled out the United States Code. It lived in this moment, in the hearts and minds of the jurors who decided it day by day, in courtrooms big and small, everywhere across the country, under a system of law that had become a model for nations around the world. And even though it dealt with such lofty ideals, it always came down to one thing—
A knock at a conference room door, a startled lawyer jumping up to open it, and a solemn bailiff standing at the threshold.
“They’re back,” he said simply.
In the courtroom the jurors filed from the pocket door into the jury box. Judy struggled to read each face, but they were all looking down as they found their seats. Courtroom lore held that it was bad news when the jury didn’t look happy, but Judy never got that. All verdicts were bad news for one side. She prayed it wasn’t her side, this time. Pigeon Tony’s side.
She watched, almost breathless while the foreperson, a reserved older man in the front row that nobody had bet on, handed the verdict sheet to the bailiff, who delivered it folded to Judge Vaughn.
Judge Vaughn was collecting himself behind the dais, his features falling into somber lines and his dark robes drawn about him. He reached over and accepted the verdict sheet, opened it slowly, then closed it and handed it back to the bailiff without reaction. Judy almost burst with frustration. Didn’t these people have any emotions? Wasn’t there an Italian among them? Pigeon Tony fidgeted in his seat. She didn’t dare look at Frank, in the gallery. Or Bennie, The Tonys, and Mr. DiNunzio. The bailiff gave the verdict sheet back to the foreperson, who nodded as he took it, seated.
The bailiff addressed the jury. “Mr. Foreperson, would you please rise?”
It was time for the verdict to be read. Judy found herself reaching for Pigeon Tony’s hand. He would need the support. She would need the support. They would get through this together.
The bailiff spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, on the charge of murder in the first degree in the matter of Commonwealth versus Lucia, how do you find?”
The foreperson cleared his throat. “We find the defendant not guilty.”
Judy thought she’d heard it wrong. Pigeon Tony closed his eyes in thankful prayer.
