There was no decaf coffee. He made a note of this. And no hot water for tea, just in case some of his new friends weren't coffee drinkers. Lunch had better be good. He would not eat tuna salad for the next six weeks.
Twelve chairs were arranged neatly around the table, which was in the center of the room. The thick layer of dust he had noticed three weeks ago had been removed; the place was much tidier, and ready for use. On one wall was a large blackboard, with erasers and fresh chalk. Across the table, on the opposite wall, three large windows, from floor to ceiling, looked upon the courthouse lawn, still green and fresh though summer had ended over a month ago. Nicholas looked through a window and watched the foot traffic on the sidewalks.
The latest from Judge Harkin was a list of a few things to do, and many to avoid: Get organized. Elect a foreman, and if you are unable to do so, notify His Honor and he will be happy to select one. Wear the red-and-white Juror buttons at all times. Lou Dell would dispense these. Bring something to read during downtimes. Do not hesitate to ask for anything. Do not discuss the case among yourselves until you are instructed to do so by His Honor. Do not discuss the case with anyone, period. Do not leave the courthouse without permission. Do not use the telephones without permission. Lunch will be catered and eaten in the jury room. A daily menu will be provided each day before the trial resumes at nine. Notify the court immediately if you or anyone you know is in any way contacted with regard to your involvement in this trial. Notify the court immediately if you see or hear or notice anything suspicious which may or may not be related to your service as a juror in this case.
Odd directions, these last two. But Nicholas knew the details of a tobacco trial in east Texas, a trial which blew up after only one week when it was discovered that mysterious agents were slinking through the small town and offering huge sums of money to relatives of jurors. The agents disappeared before they were caught, and it was never learned which side they worked for, though both made heated accusations. Cooler heads laid heavy odds that it was the work of the tobacco boys. The jury appeared to have a strong sympathy bent to it, and the defense was delighted when the mistrial was declared.
Though there was no way to prove it, Nicholas was certain Rankin Fitch was the phantom behind the payoffs. And he knew Fitch would quickly go to work on his new set of friends.
He signed the bottom of the sheet and left it on the table. There were voices in the hallway, and Lou Dell was meeting another juror. The door opened with a kick and a thud, and Mr. Herman Grimes entered first with his walking stick tapping along in front of him. His wife was close behind, not touching him but instantly inspecting the room and describing it under her breath. “Long room, twenty-five by fifteen, length in front of you, width from left to right, long table running lengthwise in center with chairs around it, nearest chair to you is eight feet.” He froze as he gathered this in, his head moving in whatever direction she was describing. Behind her, Lou Dell stood in the doorway with hands on hips and just dying to feed the blind man a muffin.
Nicholas took a few steps and introduced himself. He grabbed Herman's outstretched hand and they exchanged pleasantries. He said hello to Mrs. Grimes, then led Herman to the food and coffee where he poured him a cup and stirred in sugar and cream. He described the doughnuts and the muffins, a preemptive strike against Lou Dell, who lingered near the door. Herman was not hungry.
“My favorite uncle is blind,” Nicholas said for the benefit of all three. “I'd consider it an honor if you'd allow me to assist you during the trial.”
“I'm perfectly capable of handling myself,” Herman said with a trace of indignation, but his wife couldn't conceal a warm smile. Then she winked and nodded.
“I'm sure you are,” Nicholas said. “But I know there are lots of little things. I just want to help.”
“Thank you,” he said after a brief pause.
“Thank you, sir,” his wife said.
“I'll be outside in the hallway if you need anything,” Lou Dell said.
“What time should I come get him?” Mrs. Grimes asked.
“Five. If sooner, I'll call.” Lou Dell was closing the door as she rattled off instructions.
Herman's eyes were covered with dark glasses. His hair was brown, thick, well greased, and barely yielding to gray.
“There's a bit of paperwork,” Nicholas said when they were alone. “Take a seat there in front of you and I'll go over it.” Herman felt the table, set down his coffee, then groped for a chair. He outlined it with his fingertips, got his bearings, and sat down. Nicholas took an instruction sheet and began reading.
AFTER SPENDING FORTUNES on the selection, the opinions came cheap. Everybody had one. The experts for the defense congratulated themselves on picking such a fine jury, though most of the puffing and posturing was done for the benefit of the legion of lawyers working round the clock. Durr Cable had seen worse juries, but he'd seen much friendlier ones too. He'd also learned many years ago that it was virtually impossible to predict what any jury would do. Fitch was happy, or as happy as 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 sufficiently described 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.