Juror #3(79)

LEE GREENE AND I stood shoulder to shoulder at the defense table as the jury filed into the jury box. My client’s chest rose and fell so rapidly that his breathing made his power tie dance. Behind us, I could sense the panic emanating from Lee’s mother. I’d swear I could hear her teeth rattle.

I focused my attention on the men and women in the jury box. My brow wrinkled as I studied them. Something looked off.

But when I saw that the verdict form was in the hands of a woman who’d been one of Lee’s most ardent admirers, my shoulders relaxed.

As the judge said, “Ms. Foreman, do you have a verdict?” I made eye contact with Lee and gave him a ghost of a smile. He nodded in understanding. The foreman of the jury was on our side.

The woman held up her sheet of paper and said, “We do, Your Honor.”

The bailiff was peering into the jury room. He turned to the judge with an expression of dismay. He sprinted to the bench with more speed than I thought the old guy could muster and whispered into the judge’s ear.

The judge shook his head and fiddled with his hearing device. The whine that pierced my ears made me shudder involuntarily.

Looking from the judge to the jury, I finally realized what I’d missed. One of the spots in the jury box was unoccupied; there was an empty chair in the middle of the first row. I counted heads to be certain: eleven. A juror was missing.

When the whine from the hearing aid subsided, Judge Ashley said, “What’s wrong with the remaining member of the jury?”

The woman holding the verdict form answered. “He’s in there, Judge.” She held up the sheet of paper in her hand. “We all voted before it happened.”

Judge Ashley shut his eyes and shook his head. Then he said to the bailiff, “Get in there and get him into the jury box.”

The bailiff disappeared into the jury room, and Deputy Brockes ran to join him.

Lee elbowed me. Under his breath, he said, “What the hell?”

I met his eye and a wave of panic engulfed me. We had come so far, and our evidence was compelling. Why was there a holdout?

The events of the past few days had even been a game changer for the prosecution. After the shooting of Cary Reynolds and subsequent arrests of Reynolds and Potts, Keet bent over backward to let the jury see what the defense wanted to reveal. I was certain that we had created a reasonable doubt for the jury. Dead certain.

But only eleven jurors walked out of that room. The verdict in a criminal case had to be unanimous.

I was counsel for the defendant; I was responsible for presenting and arguing our case. Had the points in my closing argument not been convincing enough? If there was a hung jury, Lee’s case would not be resolved. And it would be all my fault.





Chapter 75



IN MY HEAD, I was reviewing the matters I’d driven home in my argument—maybe I hadn’t been clear. Behind me, Suzanne was sitting beside Lee’s parents. They were whispering, but I could hear Suzanne’s response.

“Y’all just settle down. We’ll know in a minute.”

She fell silent as the bailiff and Deputy Brockes walked out of the jury room with the last juror. I was desperate to see what was happening, but Lee was blocking my view. To get a good look, I leaned so far over the counsel table that I was in danger of flashing my panties for the whole courthouse.

When I saw the juror, I forgot to worry about my underwear. Brockes and the bailiff were straining to hold the man up. His head dangled from his neck, and his feet dragged on the tile floor.

The judge’s voice boomed from the bench, causing me to jump. “Which one is he? Which juror?”

The bailiff answered. “This one’s Morris. He’s number three.”

I snickered. Lee looked at me, shocked. I covered my mouth; this was no time to explain my inappropriate reaction.

But my eyes strayed to that empty chair in the front row of the jury box. Lord, have mercy: what were the odds? Juror number three. Again.

Judge Ashley said, “Is juror number three sick? Did he fall ill?”

The jury foreman leaned forward, grasping the railing. She said, “He wanted to try it. The defendant’s exhibit, that water bottle.”

Judge Ashley stared at her with shock. “What’s that, ma’am?”

She nodded and lifted her shoulders. “The water in the bottle. He didn’t believe it could knock out a grown man. He said he didn’t buy Ms. Bozarth’s scientific evidence.” She paused, then added, “That’s a quote.”

Judge Ashley took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

The foreman continued: “Even when we said to him that Ms. Bozarth called a real scientist who tested it to the stand. And that scientist swore under oath and testified what was in that water bottle and what it could do to anybody who drank it. But that polecat said he’d have to see it to believe it.” She glanced over at the slumped figure of the twelfth juror and snorted.

The judge tapped the gavel on the bench. “Read your verdict, Ms. Foreman.”

She stood up straight and shot a look at Lee, then turned her eyes to the verdict form.

“We, the undersigned, find the defendant, Lee Greene, not guilty.”

Lee’s head dropped back on his neck as a smattering of applause broke out in the courtroom gallery. Lee’s mother lunged over the railing, hugging him from behind. I edged away, to give him room to turn around and share the moment with his parents.