RG2 - Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons (4 page)

I shook my head. “Oh, me? No.”

“Boyfriend?”

My face heated. I still wasn’t used to admitting it.

“You’re blushin’. That’s so cute!”

While I glued my heel, Neely Kate continued talking about her fiancé, her momma, the house she hoped to buy, her cat, her car, a dead deer she saw on the side of the road, and the donut she’d dropped on her lap on the drive to the courthouse that had left a stain resembling an unfortunate bathroom accident. She leaned forward, raising an eyebrow and whispered, “If you know what I mean.”

If she wasn’t so cute, I might have found her annoying. Instead, I found her wonderfully distracting. I forgot about my vision and I didn’t have time to feel sad about Joe.

“If I could get everyone’s attention.” Marjorie Grace called from the front of the room. “I’ve just gotten word that there’s a case on the docket and we’re going to pick the jurors from the jury pool.”

“What?” Neely Kate whispered. “There wasn’t supposed to be any trials this week.” She turned to me with a mischievous smile. “Maybe I’ll get the whole day off now.”

Once everyone had returned to their seats, Marjorie Grace stood next to a giant wire sphere filled with numbers, just like the bingo balls at the VFW. Marjorie Grace explained she would call out numbers and if it matched the number on our jury letter, we would be part of the juror panel. But it was only the first step to being on a jury. If our number was called, we were to gather our things and go to the front of the room.

“Fourteen.”

A woman stood and walked to the front.

“Thirty-seven. Forty-four. Seventy-two.”

One by one, people started lining up at the door.

“Twelve.”

“Oh!” Neely Kate shouted in glee, like she’d won a prize. “That’s me!” People laughed as she walked past me. “It was nice meetin’ ya, Rose.”

Person after person filed to the front and I was sure I was going to escape selection, though I was already dreading seeing Suzanne.

“Twenty-nine.”

I looked down at my paper to verify I wasn’t mistaken. Marjorie Grace had just called my number.

“Number twenty-nine,” she repeated.

I picked up my purse and stood.

Marjorie Grace smiled. “And that concludes the jury panel selection. The rest of you are dismissed.”

I followed the other panelists into the hall, trying to ignore the dread burrowing in my gut. I had a sneaking suspicion my day was about to get even worse.

The bailiff, Mr. Spencer, led us to an empty courtroom and had us sit in the audience chairs. Once we were seated, he passed out clipboards with attached questionnaires.

“Answer all the questions honestly. If you lie, Judge McClary will find out and throw you in jail for perjury,” the bailiff said.

More than a few heads popped up in alarm.

Mr. Spencer continued, “We’ll collect your questionnaire when everyone’s done.”

The questions were simple enough. My age, my occupation. I had to give more time to
Have you ever been a victim of a violent crime
?
If yes, please describe
.

After the questionnaires were collected, we were escorted back to the original room. Neely Kate sat next to me. “There’s no way I’ll get picked. I know too much about this case, not to mention I work in the courthouse.”

An hour later, Marjorie Grace announced that we needed to go back to the courtroom.

The bailiff had us line up against the wall. “Will the following jurors please sit in the juror box…” He paused, scanning the lineup. “This doesn’t mean you’ve been picked for jury duty, it just means that the attorneys wanna ask more questions.” He looked down at the clipboard. “Four, twelve, twenty-three, twenty-nine, thirty-three…”

The rest of the numbers faded as I walked to the juror box, more than a little frightened. What could they possibly ask?

Once everyone was settled in their seats, men filed through the door and sat at the two tables in front of the judge’s bench. One of the men was Mr. Deveraux.

My stomach knotted into a ball. This couldn’t go well.

“All rise,” the bailiff announced. “The Honorable Benjamin McClary.”

A middle-aged man with salt a pepper hair and a stout body that wasn’t helped by his black robes entered through a door in the back wall. Once he sat at the judge’s bench, the bailiff motioned for everyone to sit down.

The judge looked out into the gallery, folding his hands on the counter in front of him. “I’m Judge McClary. I apologize for not being able to meet with you earlier, but I was told that Bailiff Spencer filled in for me.” He nodded to the bailiff, then turned his attention to the jurors. “Thanks to all of you who’ve taken time out of their busy schedules to fulfill your civic duty. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for many of you, but rest assured, your effort hasn’t gone unnoticed. Okay then, first I’m going to swear you in.”

We raised our right hands and repeated the short oath.

I knew I was just a potential juror, but being sworn in made me nervous.

“I’m going to introduce the attorneys for this case, as well as the defendant. If you know anyone here, I’ll need you to raise your hand and tell us how you know him. I hope I don’t need to remind you that you’re under oath and lyin’, either through your words or by omission, is grounds for perjury, which can be punished with time in jail.”

A few potential jurors looked anxious.

“First is Mr. Mason Deveraux III, the assistant district attorney of Fenton County, who will be prosecuting this case. Does anyone know Mr. Deveraux, or had any dealin’s with him?”

I squirmed in my seat, unsure what to do. I’d never met him before this morning, but I
had
talked to him. Did that count? Judge McClary said I could go to jail for not telling him things and I wasn’t so sure Suzanne was required to give me time off to sit in county lockup. Biting my lip, I raised my hand.

Mr. Deveraux’s eyes just about bugged out of his head.

“Yes, miss,” Judge McClary said. “Which juror number are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“How do you know Mr. Deveraux?”

“We weren’t actually formally introduced.”

The judge’s eyes darkened. “That’s okay, seein’ as how you aren’t goin’ to a cotillion. Just tell us how you know him.”

I urged my racing heart to slow down, not that it paid attention. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. “We met this morning. I was late to jury duty because I got a parking ticket, and then my heel broke, and I had to use the restroom…” I looked at the judge. “I didn’t mean to be late, I swear it, but then Ol’ Matt in security held me up until Officer Ernie showed up to watch Matt frisk me so I wouldn’t sue for sexual harassment, even though I swore I wouldn’t.”

The judge’s eyebrows rose.

“So I had to wait for Ernie to show up, and the elevator was slow and when it stopped I really had to go to the bathroom and I…” I decided to keep the men’s bathroom out of it. “I ran right into Mr. Deveraux, causing his papers to fly everywhere. And that’s when I had an interaction with him.” I glanced over at Mr. Deveraux, whose face had turned a shade of red that resembled the red peppers in Miss Mildred’s garden.

“That’s it?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

His eyes roamed around the room and he seemed uncertain what to say. He cleared his throat. “While I appreciate your honesty, miss, I was looking for something a little more substantive than that.” He looked around the room. “Anyone else?”

A couple of people raised their hands. One man was his neighbor. Another was a woman who regularly served him at a restaurant where she waitressed. When the judge asked if they could be impartial in spite of their association with him, the man said he couldn’t and the judge dismissed him.

He next introduced the defendant’s attorney, William Yates. When the judge asked if anyone knew him, he looked at me with raised eyebrows. I studied Mr. Yates to be sure. He was a short, older man with thinning grayish-brown hair. His mouth was turned into a frown. Since I’d never seen him before, I gave Judge McClary a tight smile. Several potential jurors raised their hands, saying they knew him, all saying they couldn’t be impartial. The judge dismissed them, too.

“The murder victim was Frank Mitchell. He was the evening manager for the hardware store. Did anyone know Mr. Mitchell or have any dealings with him that would affect your impartiality?”

No one raised a hand.

“And now this is the defendant, Bruce Wayne Decker. Mr. Decker has been charged with aggravated robbery and murder in the second degree. He’s been accused of killing Frank Mitchell at Archer’s Hardware store after the store closed. Take a good look at Mr. Decker. Do you know him or does he look familiar to you?” He looked like he was in his twenties, and even though he wore a dress shirt with a tie, the way he tugged at his collar suggested he wasn’t used to wearing it. Mr. Decker had a wild look in his eye and his hand twitched. When he realized we were all watching him, he stuffed his hand in his lap.

Both the judge and Mr. Deveraux looked at me, but it wasn’t me they needed to worry about. Out of the forty jurors in the original panel, about fifteen raised their hands. Quite a few were vague about how they knew him, but when asked if they could be impartial, almost all answered no. The judge told them they could go.

Mr. Deveraux looked miffed. The number of potential jurors was dwindling fast.

Judge McClary said next they would ask questions of some of us based on our responses to the questionnaire. Lucky for me, I was first.

Mr. Yates stood. “Ms. Gardner.” He looked over the top of his reading glasses. “You listed that you’d been a victim of a violent crime.”

I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

He peered at a paper in his hand. “You were involved in the big bust of the marijuana and stolen car parts ring that occurred about a month ago.” He looked up again.

I nodded.

“Miss, you’ll need to answer out loud so the court reporter can record your answer.” The judge motioned to a woman sitting to the side.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Was that a ‘yes,’ you were involved?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Yates cleared his throat. “You didn’t elaborate much on this. Could you tell us more about your involvement?”

I told him how Daniel Crocker thought I was the anonymous informant he’d paid money to but who was withholding the promised information. And how the undercover policeman living next door to me thought I was involved, too. But I left a lot out, perjury or not. He’d never believe it was my visions that got me in the mess in the first place.

Mr. Yates sat on the corner of his table and crossed his arms, staring straight at me. “Ms. Gardener, since you’ve been a victim of a violent crime, we’re concerned you’re incapable of being impartial. This isn’t a judgment on you or your character. We think it would be best if you recuse yourself from the case.”

My face burned, not believing what I’d heard. “Excuse me?”

Mr. Yates leaned forward and enunciated his words. “Recuse means to excuse yourself.”

Resentment at his insult burned deep. “I know what recuse means. What I’m confused about is why you think I can’t be impartial.”

“I’ve already explained that to you.”

“Then I obviously didn’t understand it. Maybe you should explain it to me again.”

I caught Mr. Deveraux smirk as he gave the paper on the table in front of him his full attention.

“All right, Ms. Gardner.” Mr. Yates stood and walked toward me. “My client has been accused of armed robbery and murder. Since you were the victim of an assault and your mother was a murder victim, I’m having some trouble believing that you can judge him without bias. Wouldn’t you say that you’ll be more inclined to find him guilty and suggest a stiffer penalty because of the ordeal you yourself have been through?”

The fact I’d had the worst morning in the history of mornings didn’t help me hold back all the things I wanted to say to that shortsighted, arrogant man. But every eye in the room was focused on me, waiting to hear how I was gonna answer. That is, with the exception of Mr. Deveraux, who looked like he was choking on something. I refused to embarrass myself.

I plastered a sugary smile on my face and looked the defense lawyer straight in the eye. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yates, but I was under the assumption that Mr. Decker was innocent until proven guilty. Are you sayin’ that he’s not?”

Mr. Deveraux broke into a coughing fit as half the courtroom burst into laughter.

Judge McClary banged his gavel. “Order in the courtroom. Settle down, people.” He turned to me. “Ms. Gardner,” he exhaled my name in a long breath. “You must understand Mr. Yates’s concern.”

“I do, Your Honor, but he has to understand mine. Although I’ve never served on jury duty before, I was taught the defendant is innocent until proven guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. Isn’t the juror’s duty to listen to the evidence and make a decision based on what’s presented?”

“Well, yes…”

“How can I be biased against the defendant if I believe he’s innocent until it’s been proven otherwise?”

“I’m sure you
feel
that way, Ms. Gardner,” Mr. Yates drawled. “But once you start hearing evidence about crime scenes and victims’ testimonies, memories of your own
unfortunate
experience are bound to resurface, makin’ it difficult to for you to concentrate on the case at hand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. No one thinks badly about you recusing yourself.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look, Mr. Yates, and I never said I was recusin’ myself.”

“Ms. Gardner—”

I lifted my chin. “I’m not gonna do it.”

Mr. Yates turned to face the judge, clenching his fists at his sides. “Your Honor!”

Judge McClary leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Ms. Gardner. No one’s doubting how strong you are, but when evidence is presented, you might experience some fear or animosity toward the defendant.”

“And I might get struck by lightnin’ in the next thunderstorm, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen.”

The judge rubbed his eyes then looked up with a pained expression. “Ms. Gardner, can you see how it would be in everyone’s best interest if you’d just recuse yourself?”