The Night Swim(42)

There was a unanimous groan when we were told that it was a financial crimes trial and not a murder case. “Fraud,” someone said with distaste. “I got fraud last time,” another potential juror complained. “What does it take to get murder?”

Whether murder or fraud, the fact was that for most of the jury pool, getting called for jury duty was a major pain in the ass. Most of them were hardworking people, juggling kids and minimum-wage jobs. Few of them were college educated. Most were struggling to get by. They needed jury duty like they needed a hole in their heads.

Eventually it was my turn to be grilled by the lawyers. I didn’t last long. The second the defense attorney heard I had two college degrees, he used a preemptory challenge to have me dismissed. He did the same for other college-educated potential jurors until he’d whittled down the jurors to those with little more than a high school education.

I left court that day with the feeling that the jury system was being gamed. That it’s all psychological manipulations and obfuscations. That it’s about winning. And losing. A game of wits and ego. That it has nothing to do with law, let alone order. Guilt, or innocence. Justice. Or truth.

That feeling was reinforced when, out of curiosity, I watched the trial for a couple of days when it was in full swing. I sat in the public gallery and listened to a befuddling array of evidence and witness testimony that I could barely follow. The jurors looked as if they were suffering from a form of death by a thousand cuts as they listened to the dry-as-dust testimony of a forensic accountant breaking down the details of one forged receipt after the next.

I left court with the impression that particular financial fraud case was so complex that even my brother, a financial accountant, would have had trouble keeping up with the complexities of the case. Let alone a jury of ordinary people without much exposure to the intricacies of the financial world.

It didn’t surprise me when I heard the jury had found the defendant guilty in record time. Anything to get out of there and go back to their lives.

The theatrics from Mitch Alkins and Dale Quinn underscored that impression today in court on the first day of the trial. They tried every trick in the book to get the jury’s sympathy. And quite a few tricks that aren’t in any books. Yet.

They were good. Among the best. They modulated their voices to the right pitch. Their pauses were perfectly timed. Their hand gestures were choreographed to perfection. The wily way they selected facts to suit their arguments while undermining any suggestion they might be wrong. They played each juror. They played their emotions, and they played their perception of the case. They vied for the sympathy of each and every juror.

To be fair, maybe, I’m underestimating the jury. Maybe the jurors in the Blair trial will ignore the theatrics and focus on piecing together the granules of truth that will come out during the trial until they have a big enough picture to reach a fair verdict. I hope that happens. That’s what they’re there for after all.

There are thirteen jurors. That includes one alternate juror who has to listen to the evidence and testimony but will almost certainly not be allowed to deliberate. Not unless one of the other jurors drops out or is kicked out for breaking one of Judge Shaw’s rules. Such as listening to my podcast or following other media coverage of the case.

There are seven men on the jury. Six women. All but three of the jurors are over the age of forty. Word is that such a composition favors the defense. Older women are said to be more judgmental of rape victims. The oldest jurors are in their late sixties. The youngest juror is in his mid-twenties. He is expected to be partial to the defense as well because he’s a guy and the same approximate age as the defendant. That makes them kindred spirits, so the theory goes. In reality, who knows?

Three of the jurors visibly resent being in the jury. Their eyes wander longingly to the courtroom doors. You’d have to be blind not to notice that they wish they were anywhere else.

That’s a point in favor of the prosecution, because research shows that reluctant jurors tend to take out their wrath on the defendant. They’re more likely to convict. One of the three is an accountant. The other is in sales. The third is a plumber who runs his own small business. He begged Judge Shaw to recuse him from jury duty. He’s gone so far as to bring his accounting ledger to court to show the judge how desperately he needs to be working full-time. Judge Shaw was unsympathetic. It wasn’t easy finding jurors who could be impartial, who didn’t know the parties in this case. Not in a town like Neapolis, where the old families go back generations.

The jury foreman is a hardware store manager. He’s the only juror who volunteered to be foreman. I guess he figured that since he runs a store, he can run a jury, too. There’s another juror who I think will be influential. He’s a construction supervisor. Burly, with dark brown hair and laughing eyes. He is charismatic. The other jurors seem to defer to him. Dale Quinn made a special effort to connect with him when he gave his opening statement.

The jurors are still getting to know each other. Still breaking the ice. We’re watching them closely. Watching their gestures and their personal tics as they listen to testimony.

I’ve covered my share of trials. I’ve seen a few juries in my time. One thing is always the same. The jurors avoid looking at the defendant when the trial begins. By the time closing arguments are delivered, they will stare him down as if trying to see into his soul. Their job is simple. It’s to convict the defendant if he is guilty. Or acquit if he is innocent. The problem is: What happens if they get it wrong?