Randy Singer - The Justice Game

Jason moved his chair back so he was sitting next to Andrew Lassiter and turned sideways so he could face the jurors. Garrison started in with the standard questions: Do you know either of the parties in this case? How about the attorneys? Have you heard about this case? Would what you’ve heard affect your ability to be fair and impartial?

On and on he went. Sometimes he had the jurors raise their hands as the group answered his questions; other questions he asked them individually. Jason took notes of any juror responses that bothered him.

Not surprisingly, many of the jurors had strong opinions about gun control. Others were probably just looking for a way to avoid jury duty and thought that if they demonstrated bias they might get dismissed by lunch. By the end of the morning, Garrison’s questions had claimed thirty casualties.

Garrison adjourned for lunch with a long diatribe about how the jury panel should avoid talking to anybody about the case, including “your therapist, your spouse, or your lover.” He ended with a veiled warning about sequestering the jury if they didn’t behave themselves and then told the jurors to enjoy their lunch.

As soon as Garrison left the bench, Andrew Lassiter began to complain. “He’s destroying this jury panel,” Andrew whispered frantically, eyes blinking like crazy. He shook his head at the computer screen, as if by staring hard enough he could will the data to change. “These gun lovers have got to learn to keep their mouths shut.”

It was true that Garrison had dismissed more gun-rights advocates than gun-control advocates, but Jason had expected that. In some respects he was pleased that the jurors were so passionate about his side of the case. So far, the gun-rights advocates seemed to outnumber their counterparts by a margin of about two to one, confirming Jason’s decision to leave this case in Virginia Beach state court.

“Let’s see how it plays out,” Jason said. He was nervous enough without being sucked into Andrew’s paranoia. “The jury’s still out.”

Andrew didn’t even smile at the remark. “I’m just saying-” he turned his palms up in frustration, his face showing concern-“I don’t like where this is headed.”

Jason and Case ate lunch at a nearby deli.

During his trials at Justice Inc., Jason had often found himself wound so tight that he skipped lunch on the first day. As the trial progressed, he eventually went for something light-a salad or some kind of wrap. At night, when the pressure of the day was over, he ate pizza or burgers or some other greasy meal while reviewing documents in preparation for the next day’s proceedings.

But Jason was in character mode now-the calm, cool, collected trial wizard-and Case wanted company for lunch. Jason went along and ordered soup and a sandwich.

Andrew Lassiter begged off, choosing instead to pore over his computer program and fret over the waning and anemic-looking jury pool.

Eating lunch with Case was the next best thing to therapy. Case only wanted to talk about the trial for a few minutes before he launched into stories about other trials or hunting trips or political figures with whom he had crossed swords. He spilled a little mustard on his white shirt and cursed, then dipped his napkin into his water glass and tried to rub it out.

This brought to mind the story about the time he had spilled his drink into his lap during lunch just before an opening statement. “I get a little nervous sometimes,” he had told the jury.

By the time they returned to the courthouse, Jason felt better. He enjoyed watching Case banter with the reporters who followed them across the parking lot toward the courthouse.

“What do you think of Judge Garrison?” someone asked.

“The wisdom of Solomon,” Case shot back.

“Are you worried about all the publicity this case is generating about MD Firearms?”

“Not if they spell our name right.”

“Does MD Firearms have any regrets about supplying guns to Peninsula Arms?”

“I don’t know,” Case said. He stopped walking for a second. “What about you?”

The reporter looked at Case, confusion on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Have you stopped beating your kids yet?”

She rolled her eyes, and Case resumed leading his little parade toward the courthouse.

They arrived upstairs at the courtroom fifteen minutes early, and Jason decided to head to the men’s room. A call arrived from Bella at precisely the wrong time, and Jason just let it ring. A few minutes later, she called back.

This time he answered. “What’s up?” He was back in the hallway heading to the courtroom.

“I just got a strange call,” Bella said. She sounded shaken. “One of those digitally altered voice deals.”

Jason’s heart stuck in his throat. He waited for the punch line.

“It was a man’s voice. He said to make sure you check your e-mail,” Bella said. “There’s supposed to be some information about potential jurors that you won’t want to miss.”

“That’s it?”

“He said to make sure you check it over your lunch break. Then he hung up.”

“I don’t suppose his number showed up on your screen.”

“He had it blocked.”

They talked for a few more minutes as Jason answered Bella’s questions about the morning’s events. He kept it short; he needed to get off the line and check his e-mail.

“Sounds like we’re off to a good start,” Bella said. “I’m praying for you.”

The comment caught Jason off guard. He found it a little strange to invoke the help of the Almighty against a grieving widower.

He thanked Bella, ended the phone call, and checked his e-mail. There were no new messages since lunch. Strange.

Three minutes later, while he was sitting at counsel table, his BlackBerry vibrated. Jason: Do not strike Juror 3 or Juror 7. It would be a bad time for publicity to surface about your DUI. Trust me, I’m only trying to help. These jurors will be your champions. Luthor

Heart racing, Jason turned to Andrew Lassiter. “Can I see where we are?”

Andrew brought up his summary screen, showing the first thirteen jurors left on the panel if Judge Garrison didn’t throw anyone else off for cause. As it stood now, Andrew was recommending that Jason use a preemptory challenge on Juror 3. Juror 7 had a low score in Andrew’s system but was safe at the moment-but only because three jurors with even worse scores were still on the panel.

What did Luthor know about these two jurors that Jason and Andrew didn’t?

It would be hard to justify keeping Juror 3. His name was Rodney Peterson, an African American professor of history at Virginia Wesleyan. He had several strikes against him from a micromarketing perspective. Wrong political party. Wrong religious affiliation. He lived in Virginia Beach, but he did a lot of work with the Boys and Girls Club in inner-city Norfolk, seeing firsthand the lethal combination of guns and gangs. He had a doctoral degree, another strike. Jason preferred blue collar. The only thing in his favor was his gender. The focus groups showed that women had far more sympathy for Blake Crawford than men.

Juror 7, a middle-aged white woman named Marcia Franks, had some pluses and minuses. Another Democrat, strike one. No religious affiliation, strike two. She had other issues as well, maybe not complete strikes but at least foul balls. She read the wrong magazines, enrolled her kids in a private, nonreligious school, and shopped at organic grocery stores. She had an Obama bumper sticker on her car.

On the plus side, her spouse was retired military and now worked in a private security firm. There were guns in the house. Occasionally, her husband went hunting on the eastern shore.