Randy Singer - The Justice Game

The beach wasn’t crowded, but there were plenty of others who’d had similar ideas. Families on blankets, couples huddled together, small bands of tourists throwing Frisbees or footballs, locals with their dogs. A few father-and-son combinations were already lighting sparklers and setting off their own firecrackers.

Bella and Jason faced the southern end of the beach. “I think they set them off from a barge in the ocean, down that way,” Bella said.

They watched the other beachcombers while the light faded, Bella making snarky remarks that had Jason smiling to himself. She started talking about the case once or twice, but Jason shut her down-“No shop talk tonight.” With work off-limits, it didn’t take long for them to run out of things to say. They waited for the fireworks in relative silence.

As Bella predicted, the fireworks were launched from a barge anchored several hundred yards offshore, lighting up both the night sky and the spectators on the beach, turning the ocean waves luminescent purple, red, blue, and green. Each new burst brought a smattering of ooohs and aaahs, and an occasional after-burst or particularly bright explosion seemed to suck the collective breath out of the crowd.

Jason hadn’t been to a fireworks display in years and found himself, strangely, thinking back to the times his dad had taken him to Stone Mountain on July Fourth when Jason was little. They always left a little early, catching the grand finale over their shoulders on the way to the car as they tried to beat the traffic out of the parking lot.

It was one of the few pleasant memories Jason had of time spent with his dad.

“Did you see that?” Bella asked, suddenly transformed into a kid. “I love those ones that spiderweb out like that.”

As Jason left the beach that night, the sand squeezing between his toes while he walked toward the boardwalk, Bella huffing and puffing beside him, gushing about what a great idea this had been, Jason found himself feeling melancholy. He wondered about his dad. The last word from Matt Corey had been that his father was still struggling at work. He had been cleared in the internal investigation but, in Detective Corey’s opinion, that had only prolonged the inevitable.

His dad was going to crash. And nobody would be there to help pick up the pieces.

“Don’t you agree?” asked Bella, between breaths.

“Sure,” Jason said.

“Good, I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“For what?”

“Church,” Bella said. “You just agreed that you needed to get away from the office more. Maybe go to church or something.”

“I wasn’t listening,” Jason said. “This is my last break until the trial’s over.”

In truth, he was anxious to get back to work. The pressures of an impending trial had an amazing way of keeping him from thinking about anything else for very long.

That was a blessing.

The first day of any big trial starts with a scintillating media buildup followed by the drudgery of picking a jury. To most observers, it is the legal equivalent of going to a big football stadium with bands and cheerleaders and hot dog vendors just to watch the grass grow. But to Jason Noble and Andrew Lassiter, jury selection was the most critical and intriguing aspect of the case.

Judge Garrison, preening for the cameras he had allowed in the courtroom, took some of the fun out of it by planting himself firmly center stage. Jason knew there were basically two models in the jury selection world-the judge could have the starring role or the lawyers could. Garrison made it very plain from the outset that in this process the lawyers would stay backstage.

Before he started court, Garrison ushered Kelly Starling and Jason Noble into his chambers. Sitting behind his desk in his seersucker suit, the pudgy judge took off his wire rims and laid down the law. Court would start each day on time or maybe even a few minutes early. Lawyer hotdogging would not be tolerated-was that clear? He would ask most of the questions to the jurors himself; the lawyers could weigh in only when granted permission by his honor.

Throughout the five-minute conference, Kelly and Jason did a lot of nodding and muttered, “Yes, Your Honor” often.

“I’ve got a number of standard questions I’ll run through with the jury,” he informed them. “I’ll follow up one-on-one with any jurors that we might have to dismiss for cause. When I’m done, we’ll take a break, and you can submit any supplemental questions you want me to ask and make your Motions to Dismiss. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Jason and Kelly said in unison.

Jason still found the judge hard to read. Rafael’s team had continued to monitor Garrison’s financial accounts and extracurricular activities prior to trial but had seen nothing to indicate the judge was on the take. “He’s got his eye on the Virginia Supreme Court,” Rafael told Jason. “And the other Beach judges would be happy to see him go. He’s obnoxious and narcissistic-but as far as we can tell, he’s clean.”

Judge Garrison started the first day of the trial with a thirty-minute lecture for the media and court observers. There would be no displays of emotion. No whispering or talking during court. Court would start on time, and he didn’t want spectators coming in late and disrupting the proceedings. Fifteen-minute breaks would actually be limited to fifteen minutes-no more, no less. All cell phones, beepers, and computers must be checked at the metal detectors. “The first time somebody’s cell phone goes off, I own it,” Garrison declared. This was a very important legal proceeding, the judge said gravely, not entertainment. If anyone wanted to be entertained, go watch Judge Judy.

“Now,” asked Garrison, “are there any questions?”

There were none. The judge looked like Elmer Fudd, but he spoke with the authority of General Patton. His bailiff scoured the spectators to see if anybody dared violate even one of the judge’s recently pronounced rules.

Jason Noble, already sweating like a steel worker, began to perspire even more. Case McAllister, sitting next to him at counsel table as the representative of MD Firearms, looked like he was stifling a yawn.

Finally, after asserting his unchallenged authority, Judge Garrison directed the bailiff to bring in the jury panel. Four rows of wooden benches that served as spectator seating in the courtroom had been cleared for the first panel of sixty prospective jurors. Each attorney was handed a numbered list of the jurors with some minimal background information. The first fourteen jurors on the list were seated in the jury box; the next twelve sat in the first row of seats behind the plaintiff’s table, the next twelve in the next row, and so on.

After the jury panel was sworn in, Judge Garrison delivered a civics lecture on how important their job was and how lucky all of them were as Americans to have a jury system.

Jason stole glances at the jurors, giving them a pleasant but closed-lipped smile. When he turned around, he saw Andrew Lassiter, seated immediately behind Jason, staring at the jurors like a serial killer. He would check his laptop, zero in on a particular juror, type in a few lines, and then stare at the next victim. Most ignored him. Or at least tried to.

Jason reminded Andrew not to study them as if they were animals in a zoo. Andrew nodded and kept staring.

Virginia law required seven jurors for a civil case. In a complex matter like this one, it was customary for the judge to impanel at least two alternates. Jurors who demonstrated bias would be dismissed for cause. After that, each side would have three preemptory challenges for the main jury and one for the alternates. The lawyers could use those preemptories on whomever they wanted.