combined, and he was not concerned about the remaining thirty-eight members of the pool. In almost every trial, he hired consultants to dig into the backgrounds of the jurors, but once he saw them in the flesh he knew he could read them. And though he did not say so, he liked what he had seen that morning.
Lanier still had two great secrets up his sleeve-the handwritten will of Irene Pickering, and the testimony of Julina Kidd. To his knowledge, Jake had no idea what was coming. If Lanier managed to successfully detonate these two bombs in open court, he might just walk away with a unanimous verdict. After considerable negotiating, Fritz Pickering had agreed to testify for $7,500. Julina Kidd had jumped at the offer of only $5,000. Neither Fritz nor Julina had spoken to anyone on the other side, so Lanier was confident his ambushes would work.
So far, his firm had either spent or committed to spending just over $85,000 in litigation expenses, moneys the clients were ultimately responsible for. The cost of the case was rarely discussed, though it was always in their thoughts. While the clients were troubled by rising expenses, Wade Lanier understood the economic realities of big-time litigation. Two years earlier, his firm had spent $200,000 on a product liability case, and lost.
You roll the dice and sometimes you lose. Wade Lanier, though, was not contemplating a loss in the Seth Hubbard case.
Nevin Dark settled into a booth at the Coffee Shop with three of his new friends and ordered iced tea from Dell. All four wore white lapel buttons with the word “Juror” in bold blue letters, as if they were now officially off- limits and beyond approach. Dell had seen the same buttons a hundred times, and knew she should listen hard but ask no questions and offer no opinions.
The thirty-eight remaining jurors had been warned by Judge Atlee not to discuss the case. Since none of the four at Nevin’s table had ever met, they chatted about themselves for a few minutes while looking over the menus. Fran Decker was a retired schoolteacher from Lake Village, ten miles south of Clanton. Charles Ozier sold farm tractors for a company out of Tupelo and lived near the lake. Debbie Lacker lived in downtown Palmyra, population 350, but had never met Seth Hubbard. Since they couldn’t talk about the case, they talked about the judge, the courtroom, and the lawyers. Dell listened hard but gleaned nothing from their lunch conversation, at least nothing she could report to Jake in the event he stopped by later for the gossip.
At 1:15, they paid their separate checks and returned to the courtroom. At 1:30, when all thirty-eight were accounted for, Judge Atlee appeared from the rear and said, “Good afternoon.” He went on to explain that he would now continue with the selection of the jury, and he planned to do so in a manner that was somewhat unusual. Each juror would be asked to step into his chambers to be quizzed by the lawyers in private.
Jake had made this request because he assumed the jurors, as a group, knew more about the case than they were willing to admit. By grilling them in private, he was confident he could elicit more thorough responses. Wade Lanier did not object.
Judge Atlee said, “Mr. Nevin Dark, would you join us in my chambers, please?”
A bailiff showed him the way, and Nevin nervously walked past the bench, through a door, down a short hallway, and into a rather small room where everyone was waiting. A court reporter sat ready to transcribe every word. Judge Atlee occupied one end of the table and the lawyers crowded around the rest of it.
“Please remember that you’re under oath, Mr. Dark,” Judge Atlee said.
“Of course.”
Jake Brigance flashed him an earnest smile and said, “Some of these questions might be kind of personal, Mr. Dark, and if you don’t want to answer them, that’s fine. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Do you currently have a last will and testament?”
“I do.”
“Who prepared it?”
“Barney Suggs, a lawyer in Karaway.”
“And your wife?”
“Yes, we signed them at the same time, in Mr. Suggs’s office, about three years ago.”
Without asking the specifics of their wills, Jake nibbled around the edges of the will-making process. What prompted them to prepare their wills? Do their children know what’s in the wills? How often have they changed their wills? Did they name each other as executor of their wills? Have they ever inherited anything from another will? Did he, Nevin Dark, believe a person should have the right to leave his property to anyone? To a non-family member? To charity? To a friend or employee? To cut out family members who may have fallen out of favor? Had either Mr. Dark or his wife ever considered changing their wills to exclude a person currently named as a beneficiary?
And so on. When Jake finished, Wade Lanier asked a series of questions about drugs and painkillers. Nevin Dark said he’d used them only sparingly, but his wife was a breast cancer survivor and at one time had relied on some strong medications for pain. He could not remember their names. Lanier showed genuine concern for this woman he’d never met, and poked and prodded enough to convey the message that strong painkillers taken by very sick people often cause a lapse in rational thinking. The seed was skillfully planted.
Judge Atlee was watching the clock, and after ten minutes he called time. Nevin returned to the courtroom, where everyone stared at him. Juror Number Two, Tracy McMillen, was waiting in a chair by the bench, and was quickly led to the back room, where she faced the same questioning.
Boredom hit hard and many of the spectators left. Some of the jurors napped while others read and reread newspapers and magazines. Bailiffs yawned and gazed from the large plate-glass windows overlooking the courthouse lawn. One prospective juror replaced the next in a steady parade to Judge Atlee’s chambers. Most disappeared for the full ten minutes, but a few were finished in less time. When Juror Number Eleven emerged from her interrogation, she passed the benches and headed for the door, excused from service for reasons those sitting in the courtroom would never know.
Lettie and Phedra left for a long break. As they walked down the aisle toward the double doors, they were careful to avoid glancing at the Hubbard clan, bunched together on the back row.
It was almost 6:30 when Juror Number Thirty-eight left chambers and returned to the courtroom. Judge Atlee, showing remarkable energy, rubbed his hands together and said, “Gentlemen, let’s finish this job now so we can start fresh with the opening statements in the morning. Agreed?”
Jake said, “Judge, I’d like to renew my motion for a change of venue. Now that we’ve interviewed the first thirty-eight jurors, it is apparent that, as a whole, this panel knows far too much about this case. Almost every juror was willing to admit he or she had heard something about it. This is quite unusual in a civil case.”
“Quite the contrary, Jake,” Judge Atlee said. “I thought they answered the questions well. Sure they’ve heard about the case, but almost all of them claimed to be able to keep an open mind.”
“I agree, Judge,” Wade Lanier said. “With a few exceptions, I’m impressed with the panel.”
“Motion is overruled, Jake.”
“No surprise,” Jake mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.
“Now, can we pick our jury?”
“I’m ready,” Jake said.
“Let’s go,” replied Wade Lanier.
“Very well. I’m dismissing jurors number three, four, seven, nine, fifteen, eighteen, and twenty-four for cause. Any discussion?”
Slowly, Lanier said, “Yes, Your Honor, why number fifteen?”
“He said he knew the Roston family and was deeply saddened by the deaths of their two sons. I suspect he holds a grudge against anyone with the last name of Lang.”
“He said he did not, Your Honor,” Lanier argued.
“Of course that’s what he said. I just don’t believe him. He’s excused for cause. Anyone else?”
Jake shook his head no. Lanier was angry but said nothing. Judge Atlee pressed on, “Each side has four peremptory challenges. Mr. Brigance, you must present the first twelve.”
Jake nervously scanned his notes, then slowly said, “Okay, we’ll take numbers one, two, five, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, and twenty-two.” There was a long pause as everyone in the room looked at their charts and made notes. Finally, Judge Atlee said, “So you struck six, thirteen, twenty, and twenty-three, correct?”
