Ordinarily, potential jurors come in armed to the teeth with excuses not to serve. Few people have the time or the inclination to tie themselves down to a lengthy trial, in the process putting their own lives on hold. They all seem to have reasons why their business or their sick relative or their very future cannot survive the ordeal.
Not this time. Jury service in the trial of New Jersey v. Kenneth Schilling is seen as a plum assignment, guaranteeing a shot on Regis and Kelly, if not a lucrative book deal. This is the first trial-of-the-century trial, and everybody wants a piece of it.
Everybody but me. I’m always a pessimist at the start of a trial, but this time it’s justified. We have done little to counter the physical evidence and could never do anything to counter the image that America has of Kenny holed up in his house with a gun, fending off the police. Things can change within a trial-there is an inevitable ebb and flow-but from my vantage point right now it looks like there will be a lot more ebbing than flowing.
The media have been speculating on whether I am going to play “the race card” and that if I’m going to do so, it will most likely be evident in jury selection. I’m not above playing any cards that are dealt to me, but I honestly have no idea what the race card is. Kenny Schilling and his alleged victim are both African-Americans, so if there is an advantage to be gained, I’m not a good enough card player to pick up on it.
Kevin and I meet briefly with Kenny in an anteroom before the court session begins, and I can tell that he is pumped. The endless waiting is over, and he thinks we can go on the offensive. I have to spend some time educating him on what constitutes jury selection and how boring it can be.
The courtroom is a place where the truth is revered, so it’s a bad sign that at least ninety percent of the prospective jurors here today are full of shit. Almost without exception they claim to have an open mind, to have no preconceived notions about the case. In fact, most of them claim to have had little exposure to it, which means they have been spending the last three months in a coma.
Judge Harrison seems even more cynical about the process than I am. He exercises his right to question the jurors along with the lawyers, and at times he is openly incredulous at their claims of purity of thought and knowledge.
I infuriate Dylan by asking many of the prospective jurors if anyone they know or any members of their family have had any drug problems, or drug-related encounters with the police. The press in the gallery buzzes at the mere mention, knowing that I’m going to be using Quintana as a possible other suspect. Dylan wants drugs to enter this case only in that Preston and Kenny were both under the influence when Preston was killed.
The juror wannabes fall into two categories: those who sit on the stand and stare at Kenny and those who deliberately avoid staring, stealing quick glances whenever they think they can do so without being noticed. Kenny was a popular player before, but he has now achieved true stardom through this case. Somehow these jurors, though professing to be open-minded and barely aware of the facts of the case, seem to understand that.
Dylan seems less annoyed by the dishonesty running rampant in the courtroom than I am, but we both use up most of our challenges. We finally empanel a jury that I can live with, though am not thrilled by. There are eight males, of which three are African-American and one Hispanic. The four females are three whites and one African-American. The chosen group seems to be reasonably intelligent and likely to at least listen to our case, should we happen to find one along the way.
Judge Harrison asks Dylan and me if we want to sequester the jury. We both say that we do not, which is pretty much what we have to say. Neither of us wants to be responsible for imprisoning these people in a motel for weeks; they might take it out on us when it’s time to reach a verdict. Harrison agrees, and the jury will not be sequestered, though he lectures them sternly on the need to avoid all media coverage of the case. Yeah, right.
During a trial I make it a practice to have our team meet every night to prepare for the next day’s witnesses, as well as go over everything, so as not to let anything slip between the cracks. Tonight will be the first of these regular meetings, with the main purpose being to prepare for opening statements.
The regular team for the duration of the trial will consist of Laurie, Kevin, Adam, and myself. Marcus will come when he has something specific to contribute, but these are basically strategy sessions, and strategy is not Marcus’s strong point.
We kick around the limited options open to us in our opening statement, until it gets too depressing. I like to speak more or less off the cuff so as to sound natural and more sincere. The difficulty I sometimes have is when I have a lot of points to make, and want to make sure I don’t forget anything. That is not the case here; I have disturbingly few points to make.
The meeting ends, and Kevin is about to leave when Pete Stanton shows up. Pete lives more than a half hour out of town, and I wouldn’t expect him to be working this late unless something significant had happened. I also wouldn’t expect him to drop by without calling; he knows as well as anyone the intensity with which we work during a trial.
Pete greets everyone, but I can tell by the look on his face that something is wrong. He asks, “What’s the word for when you make a contract with someone and then they die, so the deal can no longer be enforced?”
Kevin answers, “The contract is voided.”
Pete nods and speaks to me. “Then you just got voided. Paul Moreno took a bullet in the head coming out of the Claremont tonight. Pronounced dead at the scene.”
We throw questions at Pete and learn that in recent weeks the situation has grown increasingly tense between Moreno and Quintana on the one side and Dominic Petrone on the other. More and more Petrone has felt his operations being challenged by the Mexican drug ring, and it had apparently become financially intolerable, as well as personally and professionally embarrassing.
Local and federal authorities alike were expecting a war to break out, though the expectation was that it would not be full-scale, but rather a couple of messages sent in the form of killings. No one believed that Petrone would start it by taking out Moreno.
Pete considers it a brilliant stroke by Petrone. Moreno was the absolute brains of his operation, and though Quintana will no doubt respond with violence, Pete doesn’t consider him smart enough to prevail in a war.
Laurie disagrees. In Moreno she believes that Petrone had an adversary smart enough to make a deal when one was called for, a deal that could leave both sides alive and in profit. No deal is possible with Quintana, she feels, and on that Pete agrees.
What hasn’t yet been mentioned is the effect this will have on me. My deal with Moreno to get Quintana to keep away from me is no longer operative. “Anybody want to take a stab at where that leaves my general life expectancy?” I ask.
“I certainly wouldn’t make any long-term plans,” Pete says.
Laurie tries some optimism. “I think Quintana will have his sights set on Petrone and his people. And that should certainly be enough to keep his hands full.”
“But I represent an easier target. He could take me out for practice.”
“I’ve got a black-and-white outside with two patrolmen,” Pete says. “They’ll keep an eye out tonight, but I think that tomorrow you should get Marcus back watching your ass.”
I look out the window, and sure enough, Pete has called for a patrol car to protect me. It’s a sign that he’s worried for my safety, or maybe he’s worried that he’ll have to find new financing for next year’s birthday bash.
The timing of this is particularly terrible. Quintana was pissed off that I brought his name into the Kenny Schilling furor, and my entire strategy in the trial that starts tomorrow is to bring Quintana’s name into the Kenny Schilling furor. Since rational is not one of the many adjectives I’ve heard used to describe Quintana, it could provoke a deadly reaction. Or if he is rational, he could well decide it’s a hell of a lot easier to show how macho he is by taking on me rather than Dominic Petrone.