James Huston - Marine One

After the voir dire panel had been seated, Mrs. Collins entered the courtroom. Nice timing. Everybody knew who she was. Her picture had been in the paper hundreds of times over the last few months. She was always the sympathetic and grieving widow, who was extremely pretty and everyone wanted to meet. She had not granted a single interview since the accident, and the public was starving to hear her voice and find out more about her. As she made her way down the aisle, Hackett feigned surprise as he stood to welcome her. He walked over to open the gate for her, and she sat down gracefully next to him. She looked even prettier and more radiant than during her deposition. She obviously knew how to take care of herself. She wore a nicely fitted suit with a gold Celtic cross around her neck. As she sat, she turned back around toward the gallery and smiled at the prospective jurors. Her smile was perfect for the occasion. It wasn't a smile ingratiating herself to the jury, nor was it a smile of embarrassment. It was an acknowledgment of their presence, a statement of her appreciation of them, and a quick demonstration of humility. I just couldn't imagine it had been rehearsed, but I also couldn't dismiss that as a possibility.

The judge came in, the courtroom was called into session, and jury selection began in earnest. The court had sent out a large number of jury subpoenas to accommodate the necessary jury pool for this case. It was thought that a lot of people would be dismissed for cause, for not being able to be fair in a trial. That was certainly my expectation. A French corporation that "killed the president" was likely to be unpopular. Some would probably want to make speeches about how outraged they were. It was important that the court acknowledged that, but equally disheartening. No one was going to be biased against the first lady or the widow of the pilot; any bias was going to run toward WorldCopter, the evil foreign corporation.

The judge had required everyone in the jury pool fill out a questionnaire. The jurors were identified by number. We had copies of all the questionnaires and had stayed up late the night before going over them. Rachel and I had huddled together in my office to make a list of those we planned to challenge for cause depending on who from the larger group ended up in the actual jury box. You don't know that until the clerk calls out the numbers randomly selected from the larger group.

My final list was given to Braden and Lynn Carpenter, two of our contract attorneys, in the morning so they could compare our thoughts to their own. WorldCopter had also insisted we use and at least "include in our decision process." The consultant was sitting in the audience looking like any other observer. If we had time to talk, we'd compare notes, but if not, the consultant would send me a "Must Strike!" list by BlackBerry. It made it a little more challenging, but I refused to have a jury consultant sit at counsel table during voir dire the way some lawyers did. It's the kiss of death with a jury, in my opinion. It was like bringing a psychologist with you on a first date.

Judge Betancourt motioned to the clerk and said, "Call the first twenty-four." Judges selected juries differently, but this judge had decided to bring twenty-four people up, twelve into the box, and twelve outside the box, for initial questioning. This would allow us to question them together and know who was coming next if someone inside the box was stricken. In addition to trying to remove somebody for admitted bias, we were each entitled to three peremptory challenges, where we could strike a juror without any explanation at all. I watched as the clerk called each person by juror number, each of whom was then told exactly where to sit, from seat number one, whose occupant would become juror number one if sworn in, through juror number twelve, and then four alternates. Federal court, of course, has no alternate jurors. The requirement is a minimum of six jurors in a civil trial, with no fewer without a stipulation by all parties. Judge Betancourt had told us she intended to seat twelve because it was going to be a long trial. Fine with me. I'd have preferred fifty. Hackett had to convince all of them; he needed a unanimous jury to win in federal court.

The clerk called out the numbers. The twelve in the box were a diverse group of old and young, men and women, black, Hispanic, and white. It was a cross section of America. I liked the looks on their faces. They were intelligent, and ready. One of the concerns, one of the things I was watching for, was eagerness. People really wanted to sit on this jury. They would be able to tell their grandchildren about this trial. Some were probably thinking they could cash in on this experience somehow. They'd be interviewed by innumerable television shows like a cat with a new toy. But they wouldn't know they were the toy. They'd get their fifteen minutes of fame, then the interest of the world would turn to the next question or crisis. If you were able to discern who those people were, it would be best to ask them to leave, especially on my side of the case. Because what kind of book would be most likely to sell? One about a defense verdict saying the French company did nothing wrong, or the first trillion-dollar verdict in the first presidential wrongful-death case that found a foreign corporation killed the president?

The judge began the voir dire herself by asking questions that had been agreed upon before the trial by the parties. The prospective jurors were asked whether they knew any of the attorneys. Many knew of Hackett, but nobody knew him. They were asked about their knowledge of the case from the press and whether they had formed an opinion based on the press reporting. No, no. No one had, they all assured the judge. They were asked about their understanding of helicopters, the safety of helicopters, the safety of flying, foreign corporations, foreign manufacturing of goods destined for the American military, and their ability to be fair to a foreign corporation. All the usual kinds of questions that any high school student would know to ask when trying to find out whether a juror was biased.

The prospective jurors assured everybody in the room that they were certainly not biased against either party and would absolutely give a fair hearing if allowed to serve. Most of the jurors were nearly gleeful. The press hung on every word, although they knew the jurors only by number. The judge didn't want the press doing background investigations on every juror to try to figure out how they might vote or digging up dirt on them to throw the trial into disarray. They were to be known by numbers only until the conclusion of the trial or they were dismissed from the jury pool.

After the judge completed her preliminary questioning, she looked at Hackett. "Mr. Hackett, you may examine the jury."

HACKETT BEGAN WITH flare. He would select a juror by number, all of which he had memorized. He followed up gently on several of the questions that had been asked by the judge, then picked one woman, juror number six, the last person in the top row to the left, and asked her questions that were obviously aimed not only at her but at everybody in the jury pool.

He glanced around the entire room, even looking at the remaining jurors sitting in the gallery, to make sure everyone was listening. He wanted them to know that he was going to ask them all essentially the same questions. He began with his voice so low that the room grew even quieter as everyone strained to hear him. "Good morning, ma'am. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to consider sitting on this jury panel."

She smiled. "I didn't really have much choice. They sent me a subpoena." This caused a great deal of laughter in the courtroom and broke the tension.