William Bernhardt - Murder One

Some of the prejudices LaBelle tried to unearth were not exactly on the standard ACLU list. “Now there’s another subject I need to address with you good people,” LaBelle explained. “This is a delicate subject, and I apologize in advance if this discussion causes you any discomfort. It’s always awkward to discuss matters that are … sexual in nature, but I’m afraid in this case, it can’t be avoided.” This, of course, was an introduction that ensured every juror would be listening to him with rapt attention.

“This relates to the defendant, Keri Dalcanton,” LaBelle continued. “As the subsequent evidence will show, prior to this trial, and at the time of the crime in question, Ms. Dalcanton was employed as …” He let his head hang low, as if he somehow bore part of her great shame. “… as a stripper. For those of you who don’t know what a stripper is—”

Ben rolled his eyes. Right.

“—a stripper is a woman who removes her clothing—in a public place in front of a group of men—for money. Usually this takes place in a smoky crowded bar that does not exactly cater to the highest strata of our society. It’s my understanding that loud music and, well, frankly erotic dancing are usually a part of this performance.”

Christina looked at Ben sharply. “Would this perhaps be the time to object?”

Ben shook his head “Not yet. She was a stripper, like it or not, and they’re going to find out sometime.”

LaBelle continued “But I must caution you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that no matter how distasteful you find these … elements of the defendant’s life, you must not let them prejudice you. The decision that you ultimately reach—that I am confident you will reach—must be based upon the evidence, and nothing else. I want to make sure you do not allow these unpleasant realities to bias your verdict unfairly.”

Which of course was a gigantic crock LaBelle was bringing up Keri’s status as stripper for the sole purpose of prejudicing the jury—principally composed of older women—against her. He knew they wouldn’t “meet” Keri, so to speak, on the witness stand, until well after he had finished putting on his case—and maybe not even then. He would take advantage of that fact by attacking her well before she could defend herself. He wanted the jury disliking her from the get-go.

“Ben,” Christina said, “I think this is getting—”

“Not yet.”

LaBelle placed his hand against his brow, his expression suggesting that there were even more unpleasant topics yet to come.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “our discussion of matters pertaining to … sex … cannot end there. In the trial to follow, there will be considerable discussion of … uh, sexual activities involving the defendant and the victim, which could be equally prejudicial. The evidence will show that Ms. Dalcanton regularly enjoyed sexual practices that many of you will find strange or even … aberrant. That she promoted and enjoyed—”

“Now?” Christina asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ben replied.

Christina jumped to her feet. “Objection, your honor. This has gone well past the scope of proper voir dire.”

The judge agreed. After a brief bench conference, Cable instructed LaBelle to get off the defendant and back to his own case. LaBelle acquiesced easily. Presumably he knew he was on dubious ground and was just trying to see how far he could get.

LaBelle questioned the jury on a few more miscellaneous topics, then finished up with a tremendous push-and-pressure routine on the subject of the death penalty. Needless to say, with a gruesome, public, torture-murder and dismemberment, LaBelle wanted the ultimate sanction, and he was determined to uproot any juror not capable of delivering.

“Most of us are, at heart, I believe, good Christian people,” LaBelle opined. “We are generous and forgiving. We want to be kind. And therefore, it goes against the grain to issue the greatest of all penalties the law allows, the one that permits no second chance. And statistics show we are particularly hesitant to issue that sanction when the defendant is a woman.” He paused, leaning against the rail for dramatic effect. “But I will suggest to you, ladies and gentlemen, that it is not the gender of the defendant that matters, not the goodness of your hearts. There are some crimes so extreme—so abominable—that they cry out for justice. An eye for an eye. To preserve our principles—and our safety—there are times when the death penalty cannot, and should not, be avoided.”

He called for a show of hands of those who would, if the right facts were presented, be capable of delivering the death penalty. He was not disappointed. He quizzed many of them personally, leaning on them ever so subtly. Again, he was not disappointed.

When all was said and done, LaBelle had the death-qualified panel he wanted.

Ben’s questioning was considerably briefer than LaBelle’s had been, but by the time he got the jury, they were tired of this routine and most of the obvious inquiries had already been made. And at heart, even though he knew other attorneys would never agree with him, or admit it publicly anyway, he thought the whole jury-selection process was a big crap shoot. He could question these people for a month; he’d still not really know anything about them. He couldn’t predict how they would rule in a trial; no one could. All he could do was watch their eyes, listen to their answers, and hope for the best.

He started with his usual spiel on the importance of the four magic words: beyond a reasonable doubt. It might not be exciting stuff, but Ben knew it was the most important point he could make at this stage of the trial—maybe at any stage of the trial. LaBelle could rant about the death penalty all he wanted; if Ben could convince these twenty people that the defendant really was presumed innocent, and that the burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt was as tough a standard as it sounded, the penalty stage could become irrelevant.

Unfortunately, what he soon learned was that virtually everyone on the jury already had, via the media, some passing familiarity with Keri Dalcanton—and that they didn’t need LaBelle’s influence to dislike her.

“I heard she was after the guy’s money,” Juror Number Eight admitted, after Ben pressed her for details on what she had read about this case. What he got from the other jurors was no more encouraging.

“I knew a woman who stripped once. She was nasty.”

“A nice girl would not have been involved with a married man.”

“She had to be pissed when he broke it off with her. Look what happened to the body.”

“My cousin’s girlfriend’s mother saw her once in a restaurant. She said she was wearing black leather.”

“I heard this wasn’t the first. Like she’s got chained and dismembered victims buried all over the state.”

Ben tried to suppress the deep despair he felt. The media saturation on this case was greater than he had imagined. Keri Dalcanton appeared to have been turned into some kind of nouveau urban legend. He didn’t have nearly enough preemptory challenges to remove all the problems on this jury panel.

Ben questioned those who had negative preconceptions about whether they could still be fair and unprejudiced. If anyone indicated that they could not, Ben could get the judge to remove them for cause, thus saving his precious and limited preemptory challenges. But so long as they indicated they thought they could be fair, no matter how unlikely that seemed, the judge would not remove them from the jury panel. One woman admitted she might have troubles (probably because she had other things to do and wanted off the jury), but the others insisted they thought they could still evaluate the case without prejudice. Which ironically enough, at that point, was exactly what Ben did not want to hear.