On the benches directly behind the defense table, I notice two well-dressed strangers. Jury consultants, I presume. They watch every move from these people. Wonder what our little ploy did to their in-depth psychological profiles? Ha, ha, ha. Bet they’ve never had to factor in a couple of nuts out there the night before chatting with the jury pool.
His Honor dismisses seven more, so we’re down to fifty. He then gives a sketchy summary of our case, and introduces the parties and the lawyers. Buddy is not in the courtroom. Buddy is in the Fairlane.
Kipler then starts the serious questioning. He urges the jurors to raise their hands if they need to respond in any way. Do any of you know any of the parties, any of the lawyers, any of the witnesses? Any of you have policies issued by Great Benefit? Any of you involved in litigation? Any of you ever sued an insurance company?
There are a few responses. They raise their hands, then stand and talk to His Honor. They’re nervous, but after a few do it the ice is broken. There’s a humorous comment, and everybody relaxes a bit. At times, and for very brief intervals, I tell myself that I belong here. I can do this. I’m a lawyer. Of course, I have yet to open my mouth.
Kipler gave me a list of his questions, and he’ll ask everything I want to know. Nothing wrong with this. He gave the same list to Drummond.
I make notes, watch the people, listen carefully to what’s said. Deck is doing the same thing. This is cruel, but I’m almost glad the jurors don’t know he’s with me.
It drags on as Kipler plows through the questions. After almost two hours, he’s finished. The vicious knot returns to my stomach. It’s time for Rudy Baylor to say his first words in a real trial. It’ll be a brief appearance.
I stand, walk to the bar, give them a warm smile and say the words that I’ve practiced a thousand times. “Good morning. My name is Rudy Baylor, and I represent the Blacks.” So far so good. After two hours of being hammered from the bench, they’re ready for something different. I look at them warmly, sincerely. “Now, Judge Kipler has asked a lot of questions, and these are very important. He’s covered everything I wanted to ask, so I won’t waste time. In fact, I have only one question. Can any of you think of any reason why you shouldn’t serve on this jury and hear this case?”
No response is expected, and none is received. They’ve been looking at me for over two hours, and I merely want to say hello, give them another nice smile and be very brief. There are few things in life worse than a long-winded lawyer. Plus, I have a hunch Drummond will hit them pretty hard.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile, then I slowly turn to the bench and say loudly, “The panel looks fine to me, Your Honor.” I return to my seat, patting Dot on the shoulder as I sit.
Drummond is already on his feet. He tries to look calm and affable, but the man is burning. He introduces himself and begins by talking about his client, and the fact that Great Benefit is a big company with a healthy balance sheet. It’s not to be punished for this, you understand? Will this influence any of you? He’s actually arguing the case, which is improper. But he’s close enough to the line not to get called down. I’m not sure if I should object. I’ve vowed that I’ll do so only when I’m certain I’m right. This line of questioning is very effective. His smooth voice begs to be trusted. His graying hair conveys wisdom and experience.
He covers a few more areas without a single response. He’s planting seeds. Then it hits the fan.
“Now, what I’m about to ask you is the most important question of the day,” he says gravely. “Please listen to me carefully. This is crucial.” A long, dramatic pause. A deep breath. “Have any of you been contacted about this case?”
The courtroom is perfectly still as his words linger, then slowly settle. It’s more of an accusation than a question. I glance at their table. Hill and Plunk are glaring at me. Morehouse and Grone are watching the jurors.
Drummond is frozen for a few seconds, ready to pounce on the first person who’s brave enough to raise a hand and say, “Yes! The plaintiff’s lawyer stopped by my house last night!” Drummond knows it’s coming, he just knows it. He’ll extract the truth, expose me and my corrupt paralawyer partner, move to have me admonished, sanctioned and ultimately disbarred. The case will be postponed for years. It’s coming!
But his shoulders slowly sink. The air quietly rushes from his lungs. Buncha lying schmucks!
“This is very important,” he says. “We need to know.” His tone is one of distrust.
Nothing. No movement anywhere. But they’re watching him intensely, and he’s making them very uneasy. Keep going, big boy.
“Let me ask it another way,” he says, very coolly. “Did any of you have a conversation yesterday with either Mr. Baylor here or Mr. Deck Shifflet over there?”
I lunge to my feet. “Objection, Your Honor! This is absurd!”
Kipler is ready to come over the bench. “Sustained! What are you doing, Mr. Drummond!” Kipler yells this directly into his microphone, and the walls shake.
Drummond is facing the bench. “Your Honor, we have reason to believe this panel has been tampered with.”
“Yeah, and he’s accusing me,” I say angrily.
“I don’t understand what you’re doing, Mr. Drummond,” Kipler says.
“Perhaps we should discuss it in chambers,” Drummond says, glaring at me.
“Let’s go,” I shoot back, as if I’m just itching for a fight.
“A brief recess,” Kipler says to his bailiff.
Drummond and I sit across the desk from His Honor. The other four Trent & Brents stand behind us. Kipler is extremely perturbed. “You better have your reasons,” he says to Drummond.
“This panel has been tampered with,” Drummond says.
“How do you know this?”
“I can’t say. But I know it for a fact.”
“Don’t play games with me, Leo. I want proof.”
“I can’t say, Your Honor, without divulging confidential information.”
“Nonsense! Talk to me.”
“It’s true, Your Honor.”
“Are you accusing me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You are acting rather bizarre, Leo,” His Honor says.
“I think I can prove it,” he says smugly.
“How?”
“Let me finish questioning the panel. The truth will come out.”
“They haven’t budged yet.”
“But I’ve barely started.”
Kipler thinks about this for a moment. When this trial’s over, I’ll tell him the truth.
“I would like to address certain jurors individually,” Drummond says. This is usually not done, but it’s within the judge’s discretion.
“What about it, Rudy?”
“No objection.” Personally, I can’t wait for Drummond to start grilling those we allegedly polluted. “I have nothing to hide.” A couple of the turds behind me cough at this.
“Very well. It’s your grave you’re digging, Leo. Just don’t get out of line.”
“What’d y’all do in there?” Dot asks when I return to the table.
“Just lawyer stuff,” I whisper. Drummond is at the bar. The jurors are highly suspicious of him.
“Now, as I was saying. It’s very important that you tell us if anyone has contacted you and talked about this case. Please raise your hand if this has happened.” He sounds like a first-grade teacher.
No hands anywhere.
“It’s a very serious matter when a juror is contacted either directly or indirectly by any of the parties involved in a trial. In fact, there could be severe repercussions for both the person initiating the contact, and also for the juror if the juror fails to report it.” This has a deathly ring to it.