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Authors: John Grisham
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he could allow himself, though that didn’t stop his bitching and snarling about everything. Four smokers were on the jury. Fitch clung to the unspoken belief that the Gulf Coast, with its topless joints and casinos and proximity to New Orleans, was not a bad place to be right now because of its tolerance for vice.
On the other side of the street, Wendall Rohr and his trial counsel declared themselves satisfied with the composition of the jury. They were especially delighted with the unexpected addition of Mr. Herman Grimes, the first blind juror in the history of anyone’s memory. Mr. Grimes had insisted on being evaluated just the same as those “with sight,” and had threatened legal action if treated differently. His hair-trigger reliance on lawsuits greatly warmed the hearts of Rohr and company, and his handicap was a plaintiff’s lawyer’s dream. The defense had objected on all imaginable grounds, including the inability to see the forthcoming exhibits. Judge Harkin had allowed the lawyers to quietly quiz Mr. Grimes about this, and he assured them he could see the exhibits if the exhibits could be sufficientlydescribed in writing. His Honor then decided that a separate court reporter would be used to type descriptions of the exhibits. A disc could then be fed into Mr. Grimes’ braille computer, and he could read at night. This made Mr. Grimes very happy, and he quit talking about discrimination suits. The defense softened a bit, especially when it learned that he had once smoked for many years and had no problems being around people who continued the habit.
So, both sides were cautiously pleased with their jury. No radicals had been seated. No bad attitudes had been detected. All twelve had high school diplomas, two had college degrees, and another three had accumulated credits. Easter’s written answers admitted completion of high school, but his college studies were still a mystery.
And as both sides prepared for the first full day of real trial activities, they quietly pondered the great question, the one they loved to guess about. As they looked at the seating charts and studied the faces for the millionth time, they asked over and over, “Who will be the leader?”
Every jury has a leader, and that’s where you find your verdict. Will he emerge quickly? Or will she lie back and take charge during deliberations? Not even the jurors knew at this point.
AT TEN SHARP, Judge Harkin studied the packed courtroom and decided everyone was in place. He pecked his gavel lightly and the whispers ceased. Everyone was ready. He nodded at Pete, his ancient bailiff in a faded brown uniform, and said simply, “Bring in the jury.” All eyes watched the door beside the jury box. Lou Dell appeared first, leading herflock like a mother hen, then the chosen twelve filed in and went to their assigned seats. The three alternates took their positions in folding chairs. After a moment of settling in—adjusting seat cushions and hem lengths and placing purses and paperbacks on the floor—the jurors grew still and of course noticed that they were being gawked at.
“Good morning,” His Honor said with a loud voice and a large smile. Most of them nodded back.
“I trust you’ve found the jury room and gotten yourselves organized.” A pause, as he lifted for some reason the fifteen signed forms Lou Dell had dispensed then collected. “Do we have a foreman?” he asked.
The twelve nodded in unison.
“Good. Who is it?”
“It’s me, Your Honor,” Herman Grimes said from the first row, and for a quick second the defense, all its lawyers and jury consultants and corporate representatives, suffered a collective chest pain. Then they breathed, slowly, but never allowing the slightest indication that they had anything but the greatest love and affection for the blind juror who was now the foreman. Perhaps the other eleven just felt sorry for the old boy.
“Very well,” His Honor said, relieved that his jury was able
On the other side of the street, Wendall Rohr and his trial counsel declared themselves satisfied with the composition of the jury. They were especially delighted with the unexpected addition of Mr. Herman Grimes, the first blind juror in the history of anyone’s memory. Mr. Grimes had insisted on being evaluated just the same as those “with sight,” and had threatened legal action if treated differently. His hair-trigger reliance on lawsuits greatly warmed the hearts of Rohr and company, and his handicap was a plaintiff’s lawyer’s dream. The defense had objected on all imaginable grounds, including the inability to see the forthcoming exhibits. Judge Harkin had allowed the lawyers to quietly quiz Mr. Grimes about this, and he assured them he could see the exhibits if the exhibits could be sufficientlydescribed in writing. His Honor then decided that a separate court reporter would be used to type descriptions of the exhibits. A disc could then be fed into Mr. Grimes’ braille computer, and he could read at night. This made Mr. Grimes very happy, and he quit talking about discrimination suits. The defense softened a bit, especially when it learned that he had once smoked for many years and had no problems being around people who continued the habit.
So, both sides were cautiously pleased with their jury. No radicals had been seated. No bad attitudes had been detected. All twelve had high school diplomas, two had college degrees, and another three had accumulated credits. Easter’s written answers admitted completion of high school, but his college studies were still a mystery.
And as both sides prepared for the first full day of real trial activities, they quietly pondered the great question, the one they loved to guess about. As they looked at the seating charts and studied the faces for the millionth time, they asked over and over, “Who will be the leader?”
Every jury has a leader, and that’s where you find your verdict. Will he emerge quickly? Or will she lie back and take charge during deliberations? Not even the jurors knew at this point.
AT TEN SHARP, Judge Harkin studied the packed courtroom and decided everyone was in place. He pecked his gavel lightly and the whispers ceased. Everyone was ready. He nodded at Pete, his ancient bailiff in a faded brown uniform, and said simply, “Bring in the jury.” All eyes watched the door beside the jury box. Lou Dell appeared first, leading herflock like a mother hen, then the chosen twelve filed in and went to their assigned seats. The three alternates took their positions in folding chairs. After a moment of settling in—adjusting seat cushions and hem lengths and placing purses and paperbacks on the floor—the jurors grew still and of course noticed that they were being gawked at.
“Good morning,” His Honor said with a loud voice and a large smile. Most of them nodded back.
“I trust you’ve found the jury room and gotten yourselves organized.” A pause, as he lifted for some reason the fifteen signed forms Lou Dell had dispensed then collected. “Do we have a foreman?” he asked.
The twelve nodded in unison.
“Good. Who is it?”
“It’s me, Your Honor,” Herman Grimes said from the first row, and for a quick second the defense, all its lawyers and jury consultants and corporate representatives, suffered a collective chest pain. Then they breathed, slowly, but never allowing the slightest indication that they had anything but the greatest love and affection for the blind juror who was now the foreman. Perhaps the other eleven just felt sorry for the old boy.
“Very well,” His Honor said, relieved that his jury was able
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