The Runaway Jury

"Our people in New York think an adverse verdict could send shock waves through the retail economy, especially in our business. God knows where insurance rates will go."

"I’ll do what I can," Lonnie promised. "Surely the jury isn’t serious about a big verdict, is it?"

"Hard to tell right now. We’re halfway through the plaintiff’s case, it’s just too early."

"You’ve gotta protect us on this, Lonnie. I know it puts you in the bull’s-eye, but, damn, you just happen to be there, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I understand. I’ll do what I can."

"We’re counting on you up here. Hang in there."

THE CONFRONTATION with Fitch was brief and went nowhere. Durwood Cable waited until almost nine, Monday night, when the offices were still busy with trial preparation and a late, catered dinner was being completed in the conference room. He asked Fitch to step into his office. Fitch obliged, though he wanted to leave and return to the dime store.

"I’d like to discuss a matter," Durr said stiffly, standing on his side of his desk.

"What is it?" Fitch barked, choosing also to stand with hands on hips. He knew exactly what Cable had in mind.

"We were embarrassed in court this afternoon."

"You were not embarrassed. As I recall, the jury was not present. So whatever happened was of no consequence to the final verdict."

"You got caught, and we got embarrassed."

"I did not get caught."

"Then what do you call it?"

"I call it a lie. We did not send people to follow Stella Hulic. Why would we do that?"

"Then who called her?"

"I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t any of our people. Any more questions?"

"Yeah, who was the guy in the apartment?"

"He was not one of my men. I didn’t get to see the video, you understand. So I didn’t see his face, but we have reason to believe he was a goon employed by Rohr and his boys."

"Can you prove this?"

"I don’t have to prove a damned thing. And I don’t have to answer any more questions. Your job is to try this lawsuit, and you let me worry about security."

"Don’t embarrass me, Fitch."

"And don’t you embarrass me by losing this trial."

"I rarely lose."

Fitch turned and headed for the door. "I know. And you’re doing a fine job, Cable. You just need a little help from the outside."

NICHOLAS ARRIVED FIRST with two gym bags stuffed with clothes and toiletries. Lou Dell and Willis and another deputy, a new one, were waiting in the hallway outside the jury room to collect the bags and store them for a while in an empty witness room. It was eight-twenty, Tuesday.

"How do the bags get from here to the motel?" Nicholas asked, still holding his and quite suspicious.

"We’ll haul them over sometime during the day," Willis said. "But we have to inspect them first."

"I’ll be damned."

"I beg your pardon."

"No one is inspecting these bags," Nicholas pronounced and stepped into the empty jury room.

"Judge’s orders," said Lou Dell, following.

"I don’t care what the Judge has ordered. No one is inspecting my bags." He placed them in a corner, walked to the coffeepot, and said to Willis and Lou Dell in the doorway, "Leave, okay. This is the jury room."

They shuffled backward and Lou Dell closed the door. A minute passed before there were words in the hallway. Nicholas opened the door and saw Millie Dupree, sweat lining her forehead, confronting Lou Dell and Willis with two huge Samsonite suitcases. "They think they’re gonna inspect our bags, but they’re not," Nicholas explained. "Let’s put them in here." He grabbed the nearest, and with great effort lifted it and hauled it to the same corner in the jury room.

"Judge’s orders," Lou Dell was heard to mumble.

"We’re not terrorists," Nicholas snapped, heaving. "What’s he think we’re gonna do, smuggle in some guns or drugs or something?" Millie grabbed a doughnut and expressed her gratitude to Nicholas for protecting her privacy. There were things in there that, well, she just wouldn’t want men such as Willis or anybody for that matter to touch or feel.

"Leave," Nicholas yelled, pointing at Lou Dell and Willis, who again retreated into the hallway.

By eight forty-five, all twelve jurors were present and the room was cramped with baggage Nicholas had rescued and stored. He’d ranted and raved and grown angrier with each new load, and had done a fine job of whipping the jury into a nasty bunch ready for a showdown. At nine, Lou Dell knocked on the door, then turned the knob to enter.

The door was locked from the inside.

She knocked again.

In the jury room, no one moved but Nicholas. He walked to the door, said, "Who is it?"

"Lou Dell. It’s time to go. The Judge is ready for you."

"Tell the Judge to go to hell."

Lou Dell turned to Willis, who was bug-eyed and reaching for his rusty revolver. The harshness of his reply startled even some of the angrier jurors, but there was no break in their unity.

"What did you say?" Lou Dell asked.

There was a loud click, then the doorknob turned. Nicholas walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "Tell the Judge we’re not coming out," he said, glaring down at Lou Dell and her dirty gray bangs.

"You can’t do that," Willis said as aggressively as possible, which was not aggressive at all but rather feeble.

"Shut up, Willis."

THE EXCITEMENT of jury trouble lured people back to the courtroom Tuesday morning. Word had spread quickly that one juror had been bounced and that another had had his apartment broken into, and that the Judge was angry and had ordered the entire panel locked up. Rumors ran wild, the most popular of which was the one about a tobacco snoop actually getting caught in a juror’s apartment and a warrant being issued for his arrest. Cops and FBI were looking everywhere for the man.

The morning papers from Biloxi, New Orleans, Mobile, and Jackson ran large stories either on the front page or front page-Metro.

The courthouse regulars were back in droves. Most of the local bar suddenly had pressing business in the courtroom and loitered about. A half-dozen reporters from various papers held the front row, plaintiff’s side. The boys from Wall Street, a group that had been dwindling as its members discovered casinos and deep sea fishing and long nights in New Orleans, were back in full force.

And so there were many witnesses to the sight of Lou Dell nervously tiptoeing through the jury door, across the front of the courtroom to the bench, where she leaned up and Harkin leaned down, and they conferred. Harkin’s head cocked sideways as if he didn’t catch it at first, then he looked blankly at the jury door where Willis was standing with his shoulders up in a frozen shrug.

Lou Dell finished delivering her message and walked quickly back to where Willis was waiting. Judge Harkin studied the inquiring faces of the lawyers, then looked at all the spectators out there. He scribbled something he couldn’t read himself. He pondered about what to do next.

His jury was on strike!

And what exactly did his judge’s handbook say about that?

He pulled his microphone closer and said, "Gentlemen, there is a small problem with the jury. I need to go speak with them. I’ll ask Mr. Rohr and Mr. Cable to assist me. Everyone else is to remain in place."

The door was locked again. The Judge knocked politely, three light raps followed by a twist of the doorknob. It wouldn’t open. "Who is it?" came a male voice from inside.