Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

That calendar would include anywhere from 100 to 200 names with corresponding indictment numbers and named offenses to be tried that week. About half of the defendants would plead guilty that morning when faced with the prospect of sixty fresh jurors waiting in the courthouse hall just outside the doors to the courtroom. Bravado of weeks and months sitting in the jail bragging about their upcoming jury trials flattened like a punctured balloon when they locked eyes with a jury.

How the calendar clerk could be in such a good mood with sixty jurors trailing behind her and 200 inmates left to process on top of an obviously imminent jury trial to manage was beyond Hailey. The clerk and the bailiffs, though, were the only people the jurors could legally talk to during a trial.

Good thing this bunch was in a great mood! They all shuffled down the ramp, merging into food lines, clutching their free lunch vouchers, all under the watchful eyes of their three guardians. They each wore white stick-on badges announcing they were jurors. Translation: Don’t talk to me or risk a jury tampering charge!

It was high drama for a juror to be questioned and possibly thrown off an already impaneled jury because of contact with the outside world. Discussing the facts, or really any aspect of the trial prior to actual jury deliberations, would legally poison the juror, disallowing them from hearing facts and evidence with an open mind.

Hailey watched as the still-happy group ambled through the cafeteria lines. The sheriffs and the clerk split up to follow them like mother ducks. The woman’s laughing brown eyes matched the curve of her smile as she plopped her stack of papers down on one of the longer tables that could accommodate a dozen lunch-goers. She then hopped back into her place in the lunch line, which an elderly juror was holding open for her in front of the Jell-O.

More peals of laughter came from the food lines and Hailey turned back to Fincher. “What was it you said about Adams?”

He was right in the middle of a huge bite of hamburger. He chewed a few seconds, swallowed, and took a gulp of soda. “What did I just say? I dunno, maybe that Adams is coming off like an arrogant jerk in front of the jury?”

“I hear you, but I disagree. I think a lot of the jurors are going to find him attractive.”

“What? Hailey, I can’t believe my ears. You think Adams is attractive? That’s a first, that you’d have anything good to say about a man charged with killing his wife and baby.” Fincher was incensed at this unforeseen turn of events.

“Fincher, get a hold of yourself. I didn’t say I found him attractive. As a matter of fact, I don’t. He’s too slick for me, too suave, too smooth.”

“Then why’d you say…”

“To win a case, you have to put your own feelings aside and deal with the facts. The hard, cold facts. And, whether you and I like it or not, we have to face the fact that some members of the jury will think he’s attractive. Men and women both.”

“What? What was that you just said? Women and men jurors think Todd Adams is attractive? What are you talking about?”

For a split second, Hailey thought Fincher was going to jump out of his seat with outrage, but he settled for dramatically throwing his paper cafeteria napkin onto the table beside his food tray.

“Yes, Finch, that’s what I just said. That men and women will find him attractive. Women will love him regardless of their age. He reminds them of the man they think they’d like to be with or the ‘one that got away.’ Adams is also the kind of guy men jurors connect with as well, depending on their age. Younger male jurors might like to go have a beer with him. For the older men, he reminds them of their so-called ‘glory days,’ a young guy with a full head of hair, an athlete, in the prime of his life… just like they were, or how they think they were. Men jurors may see a little of themselves in Todd Adams.”

Hailey was dead serious. Leaning toward Finch over the table, she went on. “That’s dangerous, Fincher. That’s how killers walk free… because prosecutors underestimate unspoken emotions at trial.”

Fincher looked shocked, his mouth slightly open, staring at her like she was the enemy. Hailey went on, unfazed by the hairy eyeball Finch was giving her.

“I mean look at him, the thick dark hair swept back off his forehead, chiseled features, warm brown eyes. He’s built like an athlete and he looks great in that Armani suit. His outfit alone costs about $800, $1,000 at the least if you include the shoes, belt, and shirt. Maybe more.”

Finch looked as if he had been struck deaf, dumb, and blind. “Face it, Finch, women want to be with him, men want to be him.”

Hailey said all of this as if she were simply doing a crossword puzzle, unattached yet intrigued. “I don’t care about his looks one way or another, Finch. It’s all about the psychology behind it. The behavioral evidence. That’s what wins a case.”

“It’s pretty amazing, Hailey. Just the way you read things, the way you analyze every detail and break it down to, basically, evidence. Even the cut of the guy’s suit and the color of his eyes.”

Before she could answer, they both looked down when Hailey’s iPhone started buzzing with an incoming text. Hailey picked it up and read it.

“Work?” Finch asked, still watching the jurors in line pushing trays along in front of them.

“Yep. It’s Billings. He wants to go over the Alton Turner case after we leave court today.”

“That’ll be late. Hope he throws in dinner. And it better be somewhere good. No drive-through.”

“He didn’t mention anything about dinner, nothing like Alton Turner’s severed torso to ruin your appetite. So let’s you and me go somewhere, you pick. Hey, you getting coffee or dessert or anything?”

“I might. Yeah, probably. I did see some peach pie over there…” Fincher’s voice trailed away as he glanced toward the food line.

“What you saw were canned peaches. They’re not fresh. I wouldn’t bother,” Hailey cut in.

“Now how would you know they’re canned?” Finch’s question came out mid-bite.

“Because the crust on that peach pie they have up there was already sliced open and I happened to notice all the peaches were cut so uniformly, they had to be from a factory kitchen. I mean, I’m just saying.”

“I was all set for some homemade peach pie and a cup of coffee and then you, what with all your analysis, ruined it!”

After giving him one long look, Hailey burst into laughter. “You lose your appetite? You know you’re going to eat it anyway!”

“Yeah, I am.” He grinned and took a bite of burger. The two sat in friendly, comfortable silence as they both finished their lunches. It was the kind of silence that’s unstrained or lacking.

Fincher started in about the trial again. “But how can the jury be so blind? Can’t they see he did it?”

“Have you lost your mind, Fincher? What do you mean? ‘Can’t they see he did it?’ See what? The state’s still putting up witnesses! We haven’t even heard the defense! Or closing arguments for that matter! Talk about putting the cart before the horse… I mean, really.”

Fincher looked back at her with a sulk. “Well, all I know is this. If you and I were putting the Todd Adams case to a jury, they’d already be rolling their eyes every time DelVecchio stood up to open his mouth. They’d be staring daggers at Adams and groaning every time that mother of his cries into a hanky. That’s what I know, little girl.”

“Fincher…” Hailey’s retort was drowned out by a sharp, shrill, high-pitched scream. They both turned just in time to see a woman juror leaping up from her seat to the simultaneous sound of lunch trays clattering to the floor.