John - The Runaway Jury

At six-fifteen Thursday morning, Nicholas said hello to the Colonel as he poured a cup of coffee, then endured a brief discussion about the weather. He left the makeshift dining room and eased quietly down the empty, darkened hall. Several TV's could already be heard. Someone was talking on the phone. He unlocked his door and quickly set the coffee on the dresser, removed a stack of newspapers from a drawer, then left the room.

Using a key he'd stolen from the rack under the front desk, Nicholas entered Room 50, the Colonel's. The smell of cheap aftershave lingered heavily. Shoes were assembled in a perfect row against one wall. The clothes in the closet were neatly hung and precisely starched. Nicholas fell to his knees, lifted the edge of the bedspread, and deposited the newspapers and magazines under the bed. One was a copy of yesterday's Mogul.

He silently left the room and returned to his. An hour later he called Marlee. Assuming Fitch was listening to all of her calls, he simply said, “Darlene, please.” To which she said, “Wrong number.” Both hung up. He waited five minutes and dialed the number to a cellphone Marlee kept hidden in a closet. They expected Fitch to tap her phones and wire her apartment.

“Delivery's complete,” he said.

Thirty minutes later Marlee left her apartment and found a pay phone at a biscuit drive-through. She called Fitch, and waited for her call to be routed.

“Good morning, Marlee,” he said.

“Hey, Fitch. Look, I'd love to talk on the phone, but I know all this is getting recorded.”

“No it's not. I swear.”

“Right. There's a Kroger at the corner of Fourteenth and Beach Boulevard, five minutes from your office. There are three pay phones near the front entrance, right side. Go to the one in the middle. I'll call in seven minutes. Hurry, Fitch.” She hung up.

“Sonofabitch!” Fitch screamed as he threw down the receiver and bolted for the door. He yelled at Jose and together they raced out the back door and jumped into the Suburban.

As expected, the pay phone was ringing when Fitch got there.

“Hey, Fitch. Look, Herrera, number seven, is really getting on Nick's nerves. I think we'll lose him today.”

“What!”

“You heard me.”

“Don't do it, Marlee!”

“Guy's a real pain. Everybody's sick of him.”

“But he's on our side!”

“Oh, Fitch. They'll all be on our side when it's over. Anyway, be there at nine for the suspense.”

“No, listen, Herrera is vital to-“ Fitch got himself cut off in mid-sentence when he heard the click on her end. Then the line was dead. He gripped the receiver and began pulling on it, as if he'd slowly rip it from the phone and hurl it across the parking lot. Then he released it, and without cursing or yelling he calmly walked back to the Suburban and told Jose to go to the office.

Whatever she wanted. It didn't matter.

JUDGE HARKIN lived in Gulfport, fifteen minutes from the courthouse. For obvious reasons, his phone number was not listed in the local directory. Who needed convicts from the jail calling at all hours of the night?

As he was in the process of kissing his wife and gathering his cup of coffee for the road, the phone in the kitchen rang and Mrs. Harkin took it. “It's for you, dear,” she said, handing it to His Honor, who set down his coffee and briefcase and glanced at his watch.

“Hello,” he said.

“Judge, I'm sorry to bother you at home like this,” said a nervous voice, one almost in a whisper. “This is Nicholas Easter, and if you want me to hang up right now, I'll do it.”

“Not yet. What's the matter?”

“We're still at the motel, getting ready to leave, and, well, I think I need to talk to you first thing this morning.”

“What is it, Nicholas?”

“I hate to call you, but I'm afraid some of the other jurors might be getting suspicious of our notes and chats in chambers.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“So I thought I'd call you. This way they'll never know we've talked.”

“Let's try it. If I think we should stop the conversation, then I'll do so.” Harkin wanted to ask how a sequestered juror obtained his phone number, but decided to wait.

“It's about Herrera. I think maybe he's reading some stuff that isn't on the approved list.”

“Like what?”

“Like Mogul I walked into the dining room early this morning. He was there all alone, and he tried to hide a copy of Mogul from me. Isn't that some kind of business magazine?”

“Yes, it is.” Harkin had read yesterday's column by Barker. If Easter was telling the truth, and why should he doubt him, then Herrera would be sent home immediately. The reading of any unauthorized material was grounds for dismissal, maybe even contempt. The reading of yesterday's Mogul by any juror bordered on grounds for a mistrial. “Do you think he's discussed it with anyone else?”

“I doubt it. Like I said, he was trying to hide it from me. That's why I got suspicious. I don't think he'd discuss it with anyone. But I'll listen carefully.”

“You do that. I'll call Mr. Herrera in first thing this morning and interrogate him. We'll probably search his room.”

“Please don't tell him I'm the snitch. I feel rotten doing this.”

“It's okay.”

“If the other jurors get word we're talking, then my credibility is gone.”

“Don't worry.”

“I'm just nervous, Judge. We're all tired and ready to go home.”

“It's almost over, Nicholas. I'm pushing the lawyers as hard as I can.”

“I know. Sorry, Judge. Just make sure no one knows I'm playing the mole here. I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“You're doing the right thing, Nicholas. And I thank you for it. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

Harkin kissed his wife much quicker the second time, and left the house. By car phone, he called the Sheriff and asked him to go to the motel and wait. He called Lou Dell, something he did most mornings while driving to court, and asked her if Mogul was sold at the motel. No, it wasn't. He called his law clerk and asked her to locate both Rohr and Cable and have them waiting in chambers when he arrived. He listened to a country station and wondered how in the world a sequestered juror got a copy of a business magazine not readily available on the streets of Biloxi.

Cable and Rohr were waiting with the law clerk when Judge Harkin entered his chambers and closed his door. He removed his jacket, took his seat, and summarized the allegations against Herrera without divulging his source. Cable was annoyed because Herrera was deemed by all to be a solid defense juror. Rohr was irritated because they were losing another juror and a mistrial couldn't be far away.

With both lawyers unhappy, Judge Harkin felt much better. He sent his law clerk to the jury room to fetch Mr. Herrera, who was sipping his umpteenth cup of decaf and chatting with Herman over his braille computer. Frank glanced around quizzically after Lou Dell called his name, and left the room. He followed Willis the deputy through the back corridors behind the courtroom. They stopped at a side door, where Willis knocked politely before entering.

The Colonel was greeted warmly by the Judge and the lawyers, and he was shown a chair in the cramped room, a chair sitting snugly next to one occupied by the court reporter, who sat ready with her stenographic machine.

Judge Harkin explained that he had a few questions which would require responses under oath, and the lawyers suddenly produced yellow legal pads and started their scribbling. Herrera immediately felt like a criminal.

“Have you been reading any materials not expressly authorized by me?” Judge Harkin asked.

A pause as the lawyers looked at him. The law clerk and the court reporter and the Judge himself were poised to pounce on his response. Even Willis by the door was awake and paying remarkable attention.