James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

So as Jack began the process, to find clues to their personality he asked all the potential jurors detailed questions about their family, their job, their relatives, their thoughts about current affairs, the books they read, and their hobbies. He asked how they felt about the legal system. As an experienced litigator, Jack knew that no matter how good a case you put on, no matter how well you cross-examined the other side’s witnesses, if you picked a bad jury you were dead out of the box. Jury selection was the most important part of any trial.

He had a laundry list of questions addressed to the burden of proof. This was where he started conditioning jurors to his case.

“Mrs. Jones, do you understand that the state has the burden of proof to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt?

“Do you understand what a reasonable doubt is?

“Do you understand that the defendant does not have to present any evidence whatsoever?

“Do you understand that the defendant himself has a constitutional right not to testify?

“How do you feel about that?

“If the state fails to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt, do you understand that it is your sworn duty to find the defendant not guilty?

“Will you do that if the evidence does not support the state’s case beyond a reasonable doubt?”

That last one was particularly important. He had to get that commitment and he had to evaluate each person’s demeanor as they gave that commitment. It was an art, not a science, and Jack was an artist.

It took two days of questioning potential jurors before both sides were satisfied with a panel of twelve and two alternates. The process had gone rather smoothly. The lawyers had conducted themselves professionally, and Judge Middleton was continuing to feel comfortable. He swore the jurors in at six o’clock on Tuesday evening.

The fireworks would begin promptly at nine o’clock the next morning.

Jack had still not heard from Charlie since their conversation on the previous Monday, so he gave her a call that evening from Mike McDermott’s office.

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” she told him. “I found the telephone records. They were tucked away in the back of the last box. I think that was intentional.”

“Probably so,” Jack replied. He was antsy. He wanted to cut through the small talk, but he knew Charlie needed to have her say. She was the one buried under mounds of paper. “So, did you find anything?”

“Yeah. There was a person in Florida that Carl Robertson was calling all the time. He wasn’t in Gainesville, though. He was in a little town called Micanopy. I found thirty-eight calls in the month before Robertson’s death-twenty the month before that.”

“Do you have a name and an address?”

“Yeah, I do. His name is Leonard Woods and his address is 26 Robin Lane, Micanopy. I called the number; it’s been disconnected.”

Jack didn’t know if this was a break or not. So Carl Robertson had a good friend somewhere in Florida that he talked to a lot. So what? He would have to pursue it, though.

“Where the hell is Micanopy anyway?” he asked Charlie. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“I checked on that for you too. It’s a small town north of Ocala.”

“Okay. I’ll get Henry on it right away. What’s the bad news?”

“I haven’t even started wading through the financial records. Where are you in the trial?”

“We’ve picked a jury. We start opening statements in the morning.”

“How long will it take for the state to put on its case?”

“I think they could do it in two days.”

“If that’s the case, Jack, you’d better hope Leonard Woods has something for you, because I won’t.”

“I understand, Charlie, but keep at it. You never know what might happen.”

He called Henry as soon as he got off the phone.

“We got a name. Charlie says Carl Robertson called a guy named Leonard Woods in Micanopy, Florida. Apparently it’s a little ways north of Ocala. The exact address is 26 Robin Lane, and the closest major airport is probably Tampa.”

“So I take it you want me to get on a plane and go visit Mr. Leonard Woods.”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“That’s right. It may be our only lead. Charlie hasn’t even touched the financials yet.”

“All right. I’ll see if I can find a red-eye and get down there. Jack, remember everything I told you. Watch yourself. And be sure to call on your way home so somebody is waiting for you. And take a cab.”

“I will.”

Jack worked for another hour until his brain was no longer functioning. He wasn’t ready to go to sleep, and a drink or two to calm his nerves seemed like a good idea. He reached into his wallet to see how much cash he had and found the note from Molly with her phone number.

Molly answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Molly, this is Jack.”

“Jack, I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. How’s the trial going? I’ve been following it a little bit in the paper. You’ve been doing jury selection, is that right?”

“That’s right. You’ve been paying attention, I see. It’s going very well. We finished picking the jury today. Assuming we get through opening statements, the prosecution will start putting on evidence tomorrow. Listen, I know it’s late, but would you like to have a drink?”

Molly didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Where are you now? I can meet you.”

“I’m downtown still. I know you’re in the West Village. Is there someplace in between?”

“Yeah. There’s a little Irish bar called Colin’s Place over on Spring Street, two blocks east of Broadway. I can’t remember the cross street. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

Molly was already there when he arrived. She was a sight for sore eyes even though the red bikini had been replaced by a bulky wool knit sweater, boots, and jeans. Jack gave her a big kiss. Molly glowed.

“Here we are in New York City,” she said with that familiar sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah. It’s a far cry from Bass Creek, isn’t it?”

“They both have their advantages, don’t you think?”

“I do. Still, I’ve been in the city for only a week and I’m already missing Bass Creek.”

They chatted for about an hour. It was precisely what Jack needed to relax. He wanted more than anything to invite himself home with Molly, but he knew he couldn’t. He had an early morning, and Henry’s words were ringing in his ears. After his second beer, he told Molly he had to leave.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night. Maybe we’ll meet again for a drink.”

Molly gave him the kind of good-bye kiss that ensured he would call the next day.

“Good luck tomorrow,” she said, her eyes holding the connection between them as he headed for the door.

Jack knew that Wednesday morning outside the courthouse would be different from the previous two days. He hadn’t anticipated how different.

George, the bodyguard, drove him downtown in an old Mercedes with heavily tinted windows. George was not a talkative person, and no words passed between them during the trip. He let Jack off on a side street a couple of blocks from Centre Street so that nobody would see how he’d arrived and be able to recognize the car and follow it.

“I’ll call you tonight when I’m on my way home,” Jack told him before shutting the car door.

“Uh-huh,” George muttered.

The crowds were thick, and there was some pushing and shoving when he reached Centre Street. He was carrying his trial briefcase and had trouble working his way through the mayhem. He saw the kiosks all lit up across the street. Several people in the crowd were carrying signs. In the immediate group around him all the signs had slogans against the death penalty. On the other side of the entrance to the criminal courts building the signs were all pro death penalty. The two groups were shouting at each other and chanting in unison like opposing fans at a football game.