John - The Runaway Jury

“I guess so,” he mumbled.

“Your wife must become an advocate, Hoppy. Do you realize this? Millie Dupree has to be a force in that jury room. Since you've been unable to convince her with the merits, now you have to motivate her with the fear of seeing you go off to prison for five years. You have no choice.”

At the moment, he'd rather face prison than face Millie with the truth. But he didn't have that choice. If he didn't convince her, she'd learn the truth and he'd go off to prison.

Hoppy started crying. He bit his lip and covered his eyes and tried to stop the damned tears, but he couldn't help it. As they drove peacefully along the highway, the only sounds for several miles were the pitiful whimperings of a broken man.

Only Nitchman couldn't conceal a tiny grin.

The second meeting in Marlee's office began an hour after the first one ended. Fitch arrived again on foot with a briefcase and a large cup of coffee. Marlee scanned the briefcase for hidden devices, much to his amusement.

When she finished, he closed his briefcase and sipped his coffee. “I have a question,” he announced. “What?”

“Six months ago, neither you nor Easter lived in this county, probably not in this state. Did you move here to watch this trial?” He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to see how much she would admit, now that they were business partners and supposedly working on the same side.

“You could say that,” she said. Marlee and Nicholas were assuming that Fitch had now tracked them back to Lawrence, and this was not altogether bad. Fitch had to appreciate their ability to hatch such a plot, and their commitment to carry it out. It was Marlee's pre-Lawrence days that had them losing sleep.

“You're both using aliases, aren't you?” he asked.

“No. We're using our legal names. No more questions about us, Fitch. We're not important. Time is short, and we have work to do.”

“Perhaps we should begin by your telling me how far you've gone with the other side. How much does Rohr know?”

“Rohr knows nothing. We danced and shadow-boxed, but never connected.”

“Would you have cut a deal with him had I not been willing?”

“Yes. I'm in it for the money, Fitch. Nicholas is on that jury because we planned it that way. We have worked for this moment. It'll work because all the players are corrupt. You're corrupt. Your clients are corrupt. My partner and I are corrupt. Corrupt but smart. We pollute the system in such a way that we cannot be detected.”

“What about Rohr? He'll be suspicious when he loses. In fact, he'll suspect you've cut a deal with the tobacco company.”

“Rohr doesn't know me. We never met.”

“Come on.”

“I swear it, Fitch. I made you think I had met him, but it never happened. It would have, though, had you not been willing to negotiate.”

“You knew I'd be willing.”

“Of course. We knew you'd be more than anxious to purchase a verdict.”

Oh, he had so many questions. How did they learn of his existence? How did they get his phone numbers? How did they make certain Nicholas would be summoned for jury duty? How did they get him on the jury? And how in hell did they learn about The Fund?

He would ask them one day when this was behind them and the pressure was off. He'd love to chat with Marlee and Nicholas over a long dinner and get all his questions answered. His admiration for them grew by the moment. “Promise me you won't bump Lonnie Shaver,” he said.

“I'll make the promise, Fitch, if you'll tell why you're so fond of Lonnie.”

“He's on our side.”

“How do you know this?”

“We have ways.”

“Look, Fitch, if we're both working for the same verdict, then why can't we be honest?”

“You know, you're right. Why'd you bump Herrera?”

“I told you. He's an ass. He didn't like Nicholas and Nicholas didn't like him. Plus, Henry Vu and Nicholas are buddies. So we didn't lose anything.”

“Why'd you bump Stella Hulic?”

“Just to get her out of the jury room. She was horribly obnoxious. Everything about her was disruptive.”

“Who's next?”

“I don't know. We have one left. Who should we get rid of?”

“Not Lonnie.”

“Then tell me why.”

“Let's just say Lonnie has been bought and paid for. His employer is someone who'll listen to us.”

“Who else have you bought and paid for?”

“No one.”

“Come on, Fitch. Do you want to win or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then come clean. I'm your easiest way to a quick verdict.”

“And most expensive.”

“You didn't expect me to be cheap. What do you gain by withholding information from me?”

“What do I gain by giving it to you?”

“That should be obvious. You tell me. I tell Nicholas. He has a better handle on where the votes are. He knows where to spend his time. What about Gladys Card?”

“She's a follower. We have nothing on her. What does Nicholas think?”

“The same. What about Angel Weese?”

“She smokes and she's black. Flip a coin. Another follower. What does Nicholas think?”

“She'll follow Loreen Duke.”

“And who will Loreen Duke follow?” ,

“Nicholas.”

“How many followers does he have now? How many members are in his little cult?”

“Jerry for starters. Since Jerry is sleeping with Sylvia, then count her in. Add Loreen and you get Angel.”

Fitch held his breath and counted rapidly. “That's five. Is that all?”

“And Henry Vu makes six. Six in the bank. You do the math, Fitch. Six and counting. What do you have on Savelle?”

Fitch actually glanced at some notes as if he wasn't sure. Everything brought to the meeting in his briefcase had been read a dozen times. “Nothing. He's too much of a weirdo,” he said sadly, as if he'd been a miserable failure in his efforts to find some way to coerce Savelle.

“Any dirt on Herman?”

“No. What does Nicholas think?”

“Herman will be listened to, but not necessarily followed. He hasn't made a lot of friends, but then he's not disliked either. His vote will probably stand alone.”

“Which way is he leaning?”

“He's the one juror who's hardest to read now because he is determined to follow the Judge's orders against discussing the case.”

“Of all the nerve.”

“Nicholas will have nine votes before the closing arguments, maybe more. He just needs a little leverage with some of his friends.”

“Like who?”

“Rikki Coleman.”

Fitch took a drink without looking at the cup. He set it down and pressed the whiskers around his mouth. She watched every move. “We, uh, may have something there.”

“Why are you playing games, Fitch? Either you have something or you don't. Either you tell me so I can tell Nicholas so we can nail her vote, or you sit there hiding your memos and hoping she jumps on board.”

“Let's just say it's a nasty personal secret she'd prefer to keep from her husband.”

“Why keep the secret from me, Fitch?” Marlee said angrily. “Are we working together?”

“Yes, but I'm not sure I need to tell you at this point.”

“Great, Fitch. Something in her past, right? An affair, an abortion, a DUI?”

“I'll think about it.”

“You do that, Fitch. You keep playing games, I'll keep playing games. What about Millie?”

Fitch was reeling while appearing cool and calm. How much should he tell her? His instincts said to be cautious. They'd meet again tomorrow, and the next day, and if he chose to he could tell her about Rikki and Millie and maybe even Lonnie. Go slow, he told himself. “Nothing on Millie,” he said, glancing at his watch and thinking that at that very moment poor Hoppy was locked inside a big black car with three FBI men and probably bawling by now.