And Bullock was a master at earning jurors’ trust. Ben knew that by the time Bullock was done, the jurors would have nothing but respect for the assistant district attorney. Ben would have to be just as good, and to have better evidence, if he expected to win them over.
As he watched Bullock examine the jury, Ben made two distinct observations, both disturbing. First, he noticed that the jury seemed uncommonly cooperative, even eager. Jurors were usually indifferent as to whether they were chosen. These people, however, seemed to want to be chosen. Ben supposed that was only natural. It was a big trial; it was something you could tell your grandchildren about.
The other thing Ben noticed was the serious, probing, nonhyperbolic nature of the questions Bullock was asking. The prosecutor seemed to want a smart jury.
Now that was a frightening thought.
Ben’s opportunity to examine the jurors did not arrive until mid-afternoon. He straightened his tie, put on his most earnest expression, approached the jury box and introduced himself.
“All we are interested in is fairness,” Ben told them, and he hoped they believed it. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered from Mr. Bullock’s remarks, the charges against my client, Wallace Barrett, are very serious, so we want him to have the most fair hearing possible.”
He glanced back at Barrett and smiled. “That’s why I’ll be asking you these questions. Please don’t feel like I’m trying to pry into your personal life. I’m not. I’m just trying to learn as much as possible so that we can choose the fairest jury possible.”
With that, Ben launched into a harmless series of questions designed to elicit the most obvious kinds of bias. Do you know the mayor personally? Did you ever work for him or his staff? Were you involved in the mayoral campaign? Ben knew the answers would be no, but he needed something safe and nonconfrontational to get the ball rolling.
The next level of scrutiny was considerably more complicated. Normally Ben would begin by asking if anyone knew the defendant. The problem here was everyone knew the defendant. Everyone had seen him on television. Everyone had voted for or against him. And everyone knew what he was accused of doing.
“I know you all know who Mr. Barrett is. You’ve already told Mr. Bullock about that. But are there any of you who have some personal or private information that might affect your deliberations?”
A middle-aged man on the second row raised his hand.
“Mr. Torres,” Ben asked, “do you think you might have some preconceptions or ideas that might affect your serving on this jury?”
“I do,” the man said firmly. “I don’t like what he done. Not one bit.”
Ben proceeded cautiously. “You must realize, sir, that we are gathered here to determine what, if anything, he has done.”
“I ain’t talkin’ about no murder. I’m talkin’ about that pension plan for sanitation workers.”
Ben did a double take. “That what?”
“The pension plan. He cut back the pension plan. Said he had to cut the sales tax. Fools like me that’s worked for the city for twenty years, we were depending on that money.”
“Sir, you must realize that that is not what this trial is about.”
“I know that. I ain’t no fool. Jus’ the same, I’m gonna have a hard time forgettin’ that he’s the man who screwed up my retirement. I bet a lot of other folks feel the same way.”
Ben took a deep breath. This was a wrinkle he had not anticipated. Barrett had told Ben he tried to get raises for city employees; he hadn’t said anything about cutting the pension plan. At least four of the jurors worked for the city in one capacity or another, as well as two of the jurors’ spouses. “Sir, this trial is being convened to consider whether Mr. Barrett has committed a crime. It is not a referendum on his political positions.”
“That may be, Mr. Defense Attorney,” Torres snapped back. “But I still don’t have my pension plan.”
Ben glanced back at Barrett. He was tugging his left earlobe, their prearranged signal for “get this man off the jury!” Unfortunately, Torres had said nothing that would absolutely indicate that he was unable to evaluate innocence or guilt and thus would mandate dismissal for cause. Ben would have to wait and use one of his preemptories.
“Is there anyone else who feels that their political differences might make it difficult to consider the accusations against Mr. Barrett fairly?”
Ben detected a few tiny movements, but no hands rose. But of course not. He had asked the question wrong, had asked them to draw the conclusion.
“Well, is there anyone in the jury who particularly dislikes a political decision my client has made?”
Six hands shot into the air. Add that to the six jurors connected to city employees, and Ben realized he was going to be discussing this subject for a good long time.
Two hours later, Ben decided that he had learned all he could possibly know, and far more than he had wanted to know. The truth was, his client was a celebrity, and whether anyone cared to admit it or not, celebrities were treated differently in this country, including in the justice system. The idea that he could select a panel of jurors who would not bring any preconceived notions to the trial was laughable.
The next topic on Ben’s agenda was even more delicate than the previous one. Racism. The problem here was that no one was going to admit to being a racist, not even the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. Ben knew—he’d tried it before. If he was going to make any headway, he was going to have to try a subtler approach.
“As you’re all aware, my client is a black man. As I gaze out in the jury box, though, I see that only two of you are black, and one Hispanic. Is this a problem?”
Ben knew he wasn’t going to get an answer to a question like that. He just wanted to put the topic on the table and let them think about it.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not accusing anybody of anything. But I know very well, from the work I’ve done on previous cases, that some people harbor less than charitable feelings about members of other races. Maybe you had a bad experience when you were young. Maybe your parents told you things that you accepted without questioning. It doesn’t matter how it happens, but sometimes it does happen. It’s nothing we like to admit. But it’s there.”
There was a long pause. Ben walked to the opposite end of the jury box. “I’m not going to put anyone on the spot. I’m not going to try to trick you into confessing your sins in public. I’m just going to do this. I’m going to ask you all to close your eyes.”
Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw Bullock twitch and half rise to his feet. Then he stopped. Ben could imagine the thoughts racing through his head. Yes, this was certainly irregular. But what exactly would your objection be? Bullock settled back into his chair.
Ben returned his attention to the jury box. “All right, all eyes closed? Fine. Now I want anyone who thinks they may have some biases or prejudices that might prevent them from being absolutely fair in this trial to raise their hand. No one will know. Just raise your hand. I won’t identify you. I will see that you’re removed from the jury, but I won’t say why. You’ll just be one of many who end up not serving. Okay? Look deep into your heart. Be honest with me. Be honest with yourself. If you can’t be a fair and impartial juror, raise your hand. Please.”
Ben waited a full ten seconds. No one raised a hand. Well, it was a nice try.
And then, to his astonishment, a hand inched into the air. Mrs. Applebee, an older woman in the middle row, slowly hoisted her hand.
“All right,” Ben said, “all hands down. And you may open your eyes. Thank you for your cooperation.”