John Grisham

We hang up, and fifteen minutes later the phone rings. A vaguely familiar voice says, "Rudy Baylor, please."

"This is Rudy Baylor."

"This is Billy Porter. You stopped by the shop today."

Billy Porter is a white male, wears a tie to work and manages a Western Auto. He’s a weak one on our scale to ten. We don’t want him.

"Yes, Mr. Porter, thanks for calling."

It’s actually Butch. He agreed to help us with a brief cameo. He’s with Deck, both probably huddled over the pay phone trying to stay warm. Butch, ever the consummate professional, went to the Western Auto and talked to Porter about a set of tires. He’s trying his best to imitate his voice. They’ll never see each other again.

"What do you want?" Billy/Butch demands. We told him to appear gruff, then come around quickly.

"Yes, well, it’s about the trial, you know, the one you got a summons for. I’m one of the lawyers."

"Is this legal?"

"Of course it’s legal, just don’t tell anybody. Look, I represent this little old lady whose son was killed by a company called Great Benefit Life Insurance."

"Killed?"

"Yep. Kid needed an operation, but the company wrongfully denied the treatment. He died about three months ago of leukemia. That’s why we’ve sued. We really need your help, Mr. Porter."

"That sounds awful."

"Worse case I’ve ever seen, and I’ve handled lots of them. And they’re guilty as hell, Mr. Porter, pardon my language. They already offered two hundred thousand bucks to settle, but we’re asking for a lot more. We’re asking for punitive damages, and we need your help."

"Will I get picked? I really can’t miss work."

"We’ll pick twelve out of about seventy, that’s all I can tell you. Please try to help us."

"All right. I’ll do what I can. But I don’t want to serve, you understand."

"Yes sir. Thanks."

DECK COMES TO THE OFFICE, where we eat a sandwich. He leaves twice more during the evening and calls me back. We kick around more names, folks we allegedly talk to, all of whom are now most anxious to punish Great Benefit for its misdeeds. We give the impression that both of us are out there on the streets, knocking on doors, pitching our appeals, violating enough ethical canons to get me disbarred for life. And all this horribly sleazy stuff is taking place the night before the jurors gather to be examined!

Of the sixty-odd people who’ll make the next round of cuts and be available for questioning, we’ve managed to cast heavy doubts on a third of them. And we carefully selected the ones we are most fearful of.

I’ll bet Leo Drummond does not sleep a wink tonight.

Chapter Forty-two

FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE CRUCIAL. THE JU-rors arrive between eight-thirty and nine. They walk through the double wooden doors nervously, then shuffle down the aisle, staring, almost gawking at the surroundings. For many, it’s their first visit to a courtroom. Dot and I sit together and alone at the end of our table, facing the rows of padded pews being filled with jurors. Our backs are to the bench. A single legal pad is on our table, nothing else. Deck is in a chair near the jury box, away from us. Dot and I whisper and try to smile. My stomach is cramped with frenzied butterflies.

In sharp contrast, across the aisle the defense table is surrounded by five unsmiling men in black suits, all of whom are poring over piles of paper which completely cover the desk.

My theme of David versus Goliath is decisive, and it begins now. The first thing the jurors see is that I’m out-manned, outgunned and obviously underfunded. My poor little client is frail and weak. We’re no match for those rich folks over there.

Now that we’ve completed discovery, I’ve come to realize how unnecessary it is to have five lawyers defending this case. Five very good lawyers. Now, I’m amazed that Drammond does not realize how menacing this looks to the jurors. His client must be guilty of something. Why else would they use five lawyers against only one of me?

They refused to speak to me this morning. We kept our distance, but the sneers and scowls of contempt told me they’re appalled by my direct contact with the jurors. They’re shocked and disgusted, and they don’t know what to do about it. With the exception of stealing money from a client, contacting potential jurors is probably the gravest sin a lawyer can commit. It ranks right up there with illegal wiretaps on your opponent’s phone. They look stupid trying to appear indignant.

The clerk of the court herds the panel together on one side, then seats them in random order on the other side, in front of us. From the list of ninety-two, sixty-one people are here. Some could not be found. Two were dead. A handful claimed to be sick. Three invoked their age as an excuse. Kipler excused a few others for various personal reasons. As the clerk calls out each name I make notes. I feel like I’ve known these people for months. Number six is Billy Porter, the Western Auto manager who allegedly called me last night. It’ll be interesting to see what Drum-mond does to him.

Jack Underhall and Kermit Aldy are representing Great Benefit. They sit behind Drummond and his team. That’s seven suits, seven serious and forbidding faces glowering at the jury pool. Lighten up, guys! I keep a pleasant look on my face.

Kipler enters the courtroom and everybody rises. Court is opened. He welcomes the panel, and delivers a brief and effective speech on jury service and good citizenship. A few hands go up when he asks jf there are valid excuses.

He instructs them to approach the bench one at a time, where they plead their cases in muted voices. Four of the five corporate execs on my blacklist whisper with the judge. Not surprisingly, he excuses them.

This takes time, but it allows us to study the panel. Based on the way they’re seated, we’ll probably not get past the first three rows. That’s thirty-six. We need only twelve, plus two alternates.

On the benches directly behind the defense table, I notice two well-dressed strangers. Jury consultants, I presume. They watch every move from these people. Wonder what our little ploy did to their in-depth psychological profiles? Ha, ha, ha. Bet they’ve never had to factor in a couple of nuts out there the night before chatting with the jury pool.

His Honor dismisses seven more, so we’re down to fifty. He then gives a sketchy summary of our case, and introduces the parties and the lawyers. Buddy is not in the courtroom. Buddy is in the Fairlane.

Kipler then starts the serious questioning. He urges the jurors to raise their hands if they need to respond in any way. Do any of you know any of the parties, any of the lawyers, any of the witnesses? Any of you have policies issued by Great Benefit? Any of you involved in litigation? Any of you ever sued an insurance company?

There are a few responses. They raise their hands, then stand and talk to His Honor. They’re nervous, but after a few do it the ice is broken. There’s a humorous comment, and everybody relaxes a bit. At times, and for very brief intervals, I tell myself that I belong here. I can do this. I’m a lawyer. Of course, I have yet to open my mouth."

Kipler gave me a list of his questions, and he’ll ask everything I want to know. Nothing wrong with this. He gave the same list to Drummond.

I make notes, watch the people, listen carefully to

what’s said. Deck is doing the same thing. This is cruel, but I’m almost glad the jurors don’t know he’s with me.

It drags on as Kipler plows through the questions. After almost two hours, he’s finished. The vicious knot returns to my stomach. It’s time for Rudy Baylor to say his first words in a real trial. It’ll be a brief appearance.

I stand, walk to the bar, give them a warm smile and say the words that I’ve practiced a thousand times. "Good morning. My name is Rudy Baylor, and I represent the Blacks." So far so good. After two hours of being hammered from the bench, they’re ready for something different. I look at them warmly, sincerely. "Now, Judge Kipler has asked a lot of questions, and these are very important. He’s covered everything I wanted to ask, so I won’t waste time. In fact, I have only one question. Can any of you think of any reason why you shouldn’t serve on this jury and hear this case?"