No Regrets

murder; and guilty of first-degree manslaughter.
    If Ruth Neslund was found guilty of first-degree murder, a life sentence was mandatory. If she should be found innocent, she could go home to the Alec Bay Inn and resume her life, and never have to be wary of the San Juan County sheriff’s investigators again.
    •  •  •
    The jury began their deliberations at 9:00 A.M . Thursday, December 12. Their first order of business was to elect a foreman. They were a diverse group—the youngest thirty-two and the oldest a woman in her late seventies. Someone said, “Who would like to be foreman?” A few people raised their hands.
    One juror, an older man with snow-white hair, wanted that job, and was annoyed when he didn’t win the show of hands. They elected Elizabeth Roberts as foreman instead. She had once owned a Friday Harbor restaurant. She proved to be an excellent choice.
    One juror, a woman who worked in the medical field, had a scientific mind. They would rely on her for the forensic science and medical details. Several were involved in real estate, appraising, or banking. One man had played softball with Ruth’s attorney, and some had worked on real estate transactions with him. Basically, it had been impossible to find jurors who had no history at all with the participants in the trial. But at the beginning, they had all been sure they could evaluate Ruth’s guilt or innocence with an open mind.
    They agreed to deliberate until 7:00 P.M . for as many days as it took. Many of them were emotionally exhausted from six weeks of trial already, but they were prepared to discuss the verdict ten hours a day until they agreed.
    Two jurors said they should vote immediately. One man and one woman had been absolutely convinced by the prosecution. “It’s a no-brainer,” the man said. “Let’s vote for conviction and go home.”
    The others shook their heads. Betsy Roberts led them through Charlie Silverman’s overview of the entire case.She played “devil’s advocate,” taking the other side of dissidents’ arguments.
    They did not return a verdict on Thursday.
    Nor did they reach a verdict on Friday, the thirteenth.
    They elected to continue deliberating on the weekend. When the jury failed to reach a verdict by Saturday night, the defense team and the accused had reason to feel a bubbling up of hope. Surely, if the jurors were so torn after three full days, they must be leaning toward acquittal.
    No one knew what was going on in the jury room. A long time later, some of the jurors talked about their deliberation.
    “We just couldn’t decide to convict,” Lisa Boyd said. “We talked about how long someone has to plan a murder for it to be premeditated. Was it weeks? Days? Minutes? We finally realized it didn’t have to be very long.”
    They talked about the fact that Ruth and Rolf had the same blood type. And time lines. And they wondered about the gun used. One man wanted “smoking gun” evidence—not necessarily a real gun—that would make the verdict easier. But there wasn’t one.
    A few of the women commented that Ruth had been ridiculously “cheap” when she had saved money by not replacing the bloodstained carpet padding, and for failing to texture her whole ceiling. Her stinginess had cost her a lot.
    They all found Paul Myers a weak witness, but didn’t rule out his testimony.
    These twelve ordinary citizens were going through the time-worn process that had turned them into cohesive, thoughtful decision makers. But it was not without angst and tears and frustration.
    •  •  •
    Finally, near 5:00 P.M . on Sunday, December 15, the jurors signaled that they had a verdict. Word spread like wildfire around the islands. The principals hurried to the courthouse by ferry, car, and chartered plane. Judge Bibb had been attending a Christmas party, and he was flown in in a small plane. The dignified, white-haired judge still wore his large, bright red, holiday bow tie.
    Superior Court Clerk Mary Jean Cahail got the call that the jury had a verdict from Fred Weedon. She said she and her husband would be glad to give Ruth Neslund a ride to the courthouse. Ruth had been staying at a Friday Harbor bed-and-breakfast while she and everyone else waited for the jury to return.
    “We picked her up,” Mary Jean recalls, “and it was as if we were just going for a Sunday evening outing. She was very casual, and didn’t seem worried at all.”
    The jurors themselves, who were fully aware of