Hit List

they had chosen him. Morgan Freeman had a kind of moral authority. Whether he was playing a good guy or a bad guy, you somehow knew you could count on him.
    “Well,” Simmons said now, “we’re going to have to figure out how to do this. I guess the question is, did the state prove their case?”
    “Beyond a reasonable doubt,” someone said, and a lot of heads nodded along with the phrase.
    Keller felt keyed up, eager to get to it. Closing arguments had been extended, and Keller didn’t think either of the lawyers was particularly good. Nierstein had led off, picking the prosecution’s case apart piece by piece, switching from earnest reasoning to blistering sarcasm and back again. Then Sheehy, the prosecutor, took just as much time putting it back together again. Then, finally, the judge had charged the jury.
    Keller loved the expression. He could picture the judge, lowering his head, pawing the ground, then charging the jury box like a bull, his black robes sweeping the floor.
    The judge’s charge had been less dramatic than that, and lengthy, and impossibly tedious. He kept saying the same thing over and over, as if they were children, and not particularly bright children, either. And finally the twelve of them had been led away and locked up together, and here they were, entrusted with the awesome responsibility of determining the fate of a fellow human being.
    “It seems to me,” one woman began, and left it at that when there was a knock on the door. The bailiff entered, followed by a pair of willowy young men who moved like dancers, each bearing a tray and depositing it gracefully on the side table.
    “State of New York’s buying you lunch,” the bailiff announced. “There’s turkey sandwiches, all white meat, and there’s ham and cheese sandwiches, and the cheese is Swiss. I asked before was there any vegetarians, and nobody said a word, but just in case there’s a couple of peanut butter and jellies. Coffee and iced tea and Diet Coke, plus water if there’s any Mormons. Enjoy your meal.”
    He followed the two young men out of the room. There was a silence, broken at length by Morgan Freeman. “I guess we’ll eat,” he said, “and talk later.”
    Keller had a ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of iced tea. When there turned out to be no takers for the peanut butter sandwiches, he had one of those as well. Lunch was a curious business, with all conversation suspended, and the room dead silent but for the hum of the air conditioner and the resolute chomping of twelve pairs of jaws. When they’d all finished, one woman proposed summoning the bailiff and having the rest of the food removed. Mr. Bittner, who’d brightened up considerably when lunch arrived, pointed out that the bailiff hadn’t told them to do so, and suggested they leave the leftovers on the table, in case anyone got hungry during deliberations.
    Keller looked across the table at Gloria, who rolled her eyes. One of the Asians said she couldn’t possibly eat another bite, and the foreman said neither could he at the moment, but that wasn’t to say he might not get the munchies down the line. Another woman said the sandwiches would get stale, just sitting out in the open like that, and someone countered that they were going to waste anyway, that the bailiff would just have them tossed out once they were removed from the room.
    “It’s not like they could take them out of here and ship them to Somalia for famine relief,” she said, and a black woman across the table from Keller frowned momentarily, then evidently decided there was nothing essentially racist in the remark and let it go.
    “Is there a consensus?” Morgan Freeman asked. “Are we all agreed that we’ll keep the food and drink handy?” No one said otherwise, and he smiled. “Well, we’ve settled the difficult issue,” he said. “Now we can turn our attention to the question of whether the defendant is guilty or innocent.”
    “Guilty or not guilty,” Gloria said.
    “I stand corrected,” he said, “and thank you. Judge hammered away at that one, didn’t he? We don’t need to believe in the man’s innocence to acquit him, just so he hasn’t been proved guilty. Anybody have any thoughts on how to approach the question?”
    A hand went up, a Mrs. Estévez. The foreman nodded to her, and smiled expectantly.
    “I got to go to the bathroom,” she said.
    The bailiff was summoned. He led the woman off. When he brought her back, he was