Chapter 18 – All Rise, Jurors Entering
Thursday morning June 5, 2008 – 10:00 AM
“Everybody ready,” yammered a skittish Billy. He never failed to muster up an extra dose of adrenaline whenever a sensational trial was about to begin, and being selected to work on one of the three “horrible hubby” cases was about as big as it got; in fact, he considered it to be an honor.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” grunted Newlan as he stood sideways leaning against the near wall of the deliberation room, adjacent to the doorway; number 8 right smack dab in the middle of the line of 16 jurors.
After waiting out the lengthy delay, Newlan’s marijuana high had completely dissipated, which was just as well since he was beginning to think that getting stoned before the start of a long day locked up in a pressure-packed courtroom wasn’t one of the brightest ideas he had ever had…but of course, by tomorrow morning he might be singing a different tune altogether.
On the plus side (at least in Newlan’s ledger), there was the happy coincidence that the juror in seat number 7, by chance, just so happened to be the attractive woman he had been eyeballing, off and on, since yesterday afternoon.
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” vented Newlan to his pretty colleague, partly in an effort to strike up a conversation, and partly because he truly was still stuck in a state of suspended disbelief over their unanticipated ordeal.
“Well, whether you believe it or not, this is about as real as it gets,” replied the comely stranger in a somewhat cold tone, without even bothering to look at Newlan; although, she did turn around just far enough for him to catch wind of a sparkling rock-sized diamond wedding band wrapped around her ring finger.
“Just as well…I don’t think little Ms. Ice Princess is my type anyway,” wordlessly griped Newlan as he rocked his shoulders to and fro in nervous anticipation of what was about to go down.
As a whole, the jurors’ uneasy facial expressions instantaneously guided Billy to the logical conclusion that they were all on pins-and-needles as the stood there in line, waiting to enter the courtroom, and so he attempted to ease their stress by resorting to one of his patented lame juror jokes.
“Relax people…just think, in three more days you start earning fifty big ones,” exclaimed Billy in reference to the fact that by law, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was required to pay the jurors fifty dollars a day for every day of service after their first three days.
“Fifty bucks a day…a lot of good that’s gonna do me,” good-naturedly groaned Newlan, and then, in a more somber tone, he confessed; “But seriously Billy, I can’t relax. I don’t know what to expect out there.”
And as if on cue, a suddenly solemn Billy looked Newlan dead in the eyes and ominously replied; “A word of advice to all of you…expect the unexpected.”
Newlan’s concerns were echoed by a bulk of the jurors, but regardless of their fear of the unknown, shortly thereafter, Brandon’s muffled voice came squawking out from Billy’s two-way radio, posing the million dollar question; “Ready to roll?”
“Ten four,” replied Billy as he swung open the door of the deliberation room and barked, “Follow me.”
And like dogs on a leash, the jurors obediently followed Billy’s lead through the cramped corridor; the narrow passageway was literally the only barrier separating the deliberation room from their entrance into the courtroom; the lonely canal was figuratively the only obstacle standing between them and their seats in the jury box…and as the gruff court officer pulled opened the heavy mahogany door marked “Courtroom 630” he shouted in an authoritative tone, “All rise…jurors entering.”
For his part, Newlan took a deep breath as he crossed the awe-inspiring threshold, and he unconvincingly muttered under his breath, “Well, here goes nothing.”
As the jurors wended their way into the courtroom, Newlan briefly looked up and out towards the gallery, and when he saw that the courtroom was packed with people, he trained his gaze back downwards; when he saw that all eyes appeared to be pointed directly at him, his entire body shook from a bad case of panic-stricken tremors and his knees nearly buckled beneath him. Needless to say, he was a bundle of nerves.
After this initial “grand entrance” debacle, Newlan concluded that for the remainder of the trial he would keep his head bowed and his eyes focused on the floor each and every time he made his way to or from his seat in the juror box. His plan (and it turned out to be a good one) was to avoid at all costs making eye-contact with anyone in the audience, and to keep his swivel chair pointed away from the gallery at all times.
In order to reach the jury box, the jurors were required to shuffle directly past both the defense and DA’s tables, and Newlan could almost feel Breslin’s eyes burning a hole through him as he and his fellow jurors trudged on by. He could almost feel Judge Gershwin searching his soul for signs of weakness. He could almost feel the stares coming from every corner of the stifling courtroom.
…
Dear reader, just as lawyers are compelled to do, at this time we would like to present you with a rudimentary diagram of the courtroom and the juror deliberation room, so that you might have a visual picture of the layouts as have been described thus far. Although we are not attorneys, we take our cue from them in this regard, and so in that respect, we direct you to make special note of the positioning of seat number 8 in the jury box: