The Reversal

quickly gathered around him.

Twenty-five
    Monday, April 5, 9:00 A.M .
    I watched the jury file in and take their assigned seats in the box. I watched them closely, keying on their eyes mostly. Checking for how they looked at the defendant. You can learn a lot from that; a furtive glance or a strong judgmental stare.
    Jury selection had gone as scheduled. We went through the first panel of ninety prospective jurors in a day but had sat only eleven after most were eliminated because of their media knowledge of the case. The second panel was just as difficult to choose from and it wasn’t until Friday evening at five-forty that we had our final eighteen.
    I had my jury chart in front of me, and my eyes were jumping between the faces in the box and the names on my Post-its, trying to memorize who was who. I already had a good handle on most of them but I wanted the names to become second nature to me. I wanted to be able to look at them and address them as if they were friends and neighbors.
    The judge was on the bench and ready to go at nine sharp. She first asked the attorneys if there was any new or unfinished business to address. Upon learning there was not, she called in the jurors.
    “Okay, we are all here,” she said. “I want to thank all of the jurors and other parties for being on time. We begin the trial with opening statements from the attorneys. These are not to be construed as evidence but merely—”
    The judge stopped, her eyes fixed on the back row of the jury box. A woman had timidly raised her hand. The judge stared for a long moment and then checked her own seating chart before responding.
    “Ms. Tucci? Do you have a question?”
    I checked my chart. Number ten, Carla Tucci. She was one of the jurors I had not yet committed to memory. A mousy brunette from East Hollywood. She was thirty-two years old, unmarried and she worked as a receptionist at a medical clinic. According to my color-coded chart, I had her down as a juror who could be swayed by stronger personalities on the panel. This was not a bad thing. It just depended on whether those personalities were for a guilty verdict or not.
    “I think I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see,” she said in a frightened voice.
    Judge Breitman hung her head for a moment and I knew why. She couldn’t get the wheels out of the mud. We were ready to go and now the trial would be delayed before opening statements were even in the record.
    “Okay, let’s try to take care of this quickly. I want the jury to stay in place. Everyone else stay in place and Ms. Tucci and the attorneys and I will go quickly back to chambers to find out what this is about.”
    As we got up I checked my jury chart. There were six alternates. I had three of them pegged as pro-prosecution, two in the middle and one siding with the defense. If Tucci was ejected for whatever misconduct she was about to reveal, her replacement would be chosen randomly from the alternates. This meant that I had a better-than-even chance of seeing her replaced with a juror who was partial to the prosecution and only a one in six chance of getting a juror who was pro-defense. As I followed the entourage into chambers I decided that I liked my chances and I would do what I could to have Tucci ejected from the panel.
    In chambers, the judge didn’t even go behind her desk, perhaps hoping this was only going to be a minor question and delay. We stood in a group in the middle of her office. All except the court reporter, who sat on the edge of a side chair so she could type.
    “Okay, on the record,” the judge said. “Ms. Tucci, please tell us what you saw and what is bothering you.”
    The juror looked down at the ground and held her hands in front of her.
    “I was riding on the Metro this morning and the man sitting across from me was reading the newspaper. He was holding it up and I saw the front page. I didn’t mean to look but I saw a photo of the man on trial and I saw the headline.”
    The judge nodded.
    “You are talking about Jason Jessup, correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “What newspaper?”
    “I think it was the Times .”
    “What did the headline say, Ms. Tucci?”
    “New trial, old evidence for Jessup.”
    I hadn’t seen the actual L.A. Times that morning but had read the story online. Citing an unnamed source close to the prosecution, the story said the case against Jason Jessup was expected to be comprised entirely of evidence from the first trial and leaning heavily on the