The Brass Verdict

progressed. I knew that Golantz had made a tactical error. He had eliminated the sanitation worker with one challenge and had ended up with a juror seemingly even more detrimental to his cause. He would now have to live with the mistake or use his final challenge to remove the artist and run the same risk all over again.
    When the judge finished his general inquiries, it was the lawyers’ turn. Golantz went first and asked a series of questions he hoped would draw out a bias so that the artist could be removed for cause instead of through the use of his last preemptory. But the woman held her own, appearing very honest and open-minded.
    Four questions into the prosecutor’s effort, I felt a vibration in my pocket and reached in for my cell. I held it down below the defense table between my legs and at an angle where it could not be seen by the judge. Julie Favreau had been texting me all day.
    Favreau: She’s a keeper.
    I sent her one back immediately.
    Haller: I know. What about 7, 8 and 10? Which one next?
    Favreau, my secret jury consultant, had been in the fourth row of the gallery during both the morning and afternoon sessions. I had also met her for lunch while Walter Elliot had once again gone back to the studio to check on things, and I had allowed her to study my chart so that she could make up her own. She was a quick study and knew exactly where I was with my codes and challenges.
    I got a response to my text message almost immediately. That was one thing I liked about Favreau. She didn’t overthink things. She made quick, instinctive decisions based solely on visual tells in relation to verbal answers.
    Favreau: Don’t like 8. Haven’t heard enough from 10. Kick 7 if you have to.
    Juror eight was the tree trimmer. I had him in blue because of some of the answers he gave when questioned about the police. I also thought he was too eager to be on the jury. This was always a flag in a murder case. It signaled to me that the potential juror had strong feelings about law and order and wasn’t hesitant about the idea of sitting in judgment of another person. The truth was, I was suspicious of anybody who liked to sit in judgment of another. Anybody who relished the idea of being a juror was blue ink all the way.
    Judge Stanton was allowing us a lot of leeway. When it came time to question a prospective juror, the attorneys were allowed to trade their time to question anyone else on the panel. He was also allowing the liberal use of back strikes, meaning it was acceptable to use a preemptory challenge to strike out anybody on the panel, even if they had already been questioned and accepted.
    When it was my turn to question the artist, I walked to the lectern and told the judge I accepted her on the jury at this time without further questioning. I asked to be allowed instead to make further inquiries of juror number eight, and the judge allowed me to proceed.
    “Juror number eight, I just want to clarify a couple of your views on things. First, let me ask you, at the end of this trial, after you’ve heard all the testimony, if you think my client might be guilty, would you vote to convict him?”
    The tree trimmer thought for a moment before answering.
    “No, because that wouldn’t be beyond a reasonable doubt.”
    I nodded, letting him know that he had given the right answer.
    “So you don’t equate ‘might’ve’ with ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’?”
    “No, sir. Not at all.”
    “Good. Do you believe that people get arrested in church for singing too loud?”
    A puzzled look spread across the tree trimmer’s face, and there was a murmur of laughter in the gallery behind me.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “There’s a saying that people don’t get arrested in church for singing too loud. In other words, where there’s smoke there’s fire. People don’t get arrested without good reason. The police usually have it right and arrest the right people. Do you believe that?”
    “I believe that everybody makes mistakes from time to time – including the police – and you have to look at each case individually.”
    “But do you believe that the police
usually
have it right?”
    He was cornered. Any answer would raise a flag for one side or the other.
    “I think they probably do – they’re the professionals – but I would look at every case individually and not think that just because the police usually get things right, they automatically got the right man in this case.”
    That was a