Whatever she wanted. It didn't matter.
JUDGE HARKIN lived in Gulfport, fifteen minutes from the courthouse. For obvious reasons, his phone number was not listed in the local directory. Who needed convicts from the jail calling at all hours of the night?
As he was in the process of kissing his wife and gathering his cup of coffee for the road, the phone in the kitchen rang and Mrs. Harkin took it. "It's for you, dear," she said, handing it to His Honor, who set down his coffee and briefcase and glanced at his watch.
"Hello," he said.
"Judge, I'm sorry to bother you at home like this," said a nervous voice, one almost in a whisper. "This is Nicholas Easter, and if you want me to hang up right now, I'll do it."
"Not yet. What's the matter?"
"We're still at the motel, getting ready to leave, and, well, I think I need to talk to you first thing this morning."
"What is it, Nicholas?"
"I hate to call you, but I'm afraid some of the other jurors might be getting suspicious of our notes and chats in chambers."
"Maybe you're right."
"So I thought I'd call you. This way they'll never know we've talked."
"Let's try it. If I think we should stop the conversation, then I'll do so." Harkin wanted to ask how a sequestered juror obtained his phone number, but decided to wait.
"It's about Herrera. I think maybe he's reading some stuff that isn't on the approved list."
"Like what?"
"Like Mogul I walked into the dining room early this morning. He was there all alone, and he tried to hide a copy of Mogul from me. Isn't that some kind of business magazine?"
"Yes, it is." Harkin had read yesterday's column by Barker. If Easter was telling the truth, and why should he doubt him, then Herrera would be sent home immediately. The reading of any unauthorized material was grounds for dismissal, maybe even contempt. The reading of yesterday's Mogul by any juror bordered on grounds for a mistrial. "Do you think he's discussed it with anyone else?"
"I doubt it. Like I said, he was trying to hide it from me. That's why I got suspicious. I don't think he'd discuss it with anyone. But I'll listen carefully."
"You do that. I'll call Mr. Herrera in first thing this morning and interrogate him. We'll probably search his room."
"Please don't tell him I'm the snitch. I feel rotten doing this."
"It's okay."
"If the other jurors get word we're talking, then my credibility is gone."
"Don't worry."
"I'm just nervous, Judge. We're all tired and ready to go home."
"It's almost over, Nicholas. I'm pushing the lawyers as hard as I can."
"I know. Sorry, Judge. Just make sure no one knows I'm playing the mole here. I can't believe I'm doing this."
"You're doing the right thing, Nicholas. And I thank you for it. I'll see you in a few minutes."
Harkin kissed his wife much quicker the second time, and left the house. By car phone, he called the Sheriff and asked him to go to the motel and wait. He called Lou Dell, something he did most mornings while driving to court, and asked her if Mogul was sold at the motel. No, it wasn't. He called his law clerk and asked her to locate both Rohr and Cable and have them waiting in chambers when he arrived. He listened to a country station and wondered how in the world a sequestered juror got a copy of a business magazine not readily available on the streets of Biloxi.
Cable and Rohr were waiting with the law clerk when Judge Harkin entered his chambers and closed his door. He removed his jacket, took his seat, and summarized the allegations against Herrera without divulging his source. Cable was annoyed because Herrera was deemed by all to be a solid defense juror. Rohr was irritated because they were losing another juror and a mistrial couldn't be far away.
With both lawyers unhappy, Judge Harkin felt much better. He sent his law clerk to the jury room to fetch Mr. Herrera, who was sipping his umpteenth cup of decaf and chatting with Herman over his braille computer. Frank glanced around quizzically after Lou Dell called his name, and left the room. He followed Willis the deputy through the back corridors behind the courtroom. They stopped at a side door, where Willis knocked politely before entering.
The Colonel was greeted warmly by the Judge and the lawyers, and he was shown a chair in the cramped room, a chair sitting snugly next to one occupied by the court reporter, who sat ready with her stenographic machine.
Judge Harkin explained that he had a few questions which would require responses under oath, and the lawyers suddenly produced yellow legal pads and started their scribbling. Herrera immediately felt like a criminal.
"Have you been reading any materials not expressly authorized by me?" Judge Harkin asked.
A pause as the lawyers looked at him. The law clerk and the court reporter and the Judge himself were poised to pounce on his response. Even Willis by the door was awake and paying remarkable attention.
"No. Not to my knowledge," the Colonel said, truthfully.
"Specifically, have you been reading a business weekly called Mogul?"
"Not since I've been sequestered."
"Do you normally read Mogul?"
"Once, maybe twice a month."
"In your room at the motel, do you possess any reading materials not authorized by me?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Will you consent to a search of your room?"
Frank's cheeks went red and his shoulders jerked. "What're you talking about?" he demanded.
"I have reason to believe you've been reading unauthorized materials, and that this has occurred at the motel. I think a quick search of your room might settle the matter."
"You're questioning my integrity," Herrera said, wounded and angry. His integrity was vital to him. A glance at the other faces revealed that they all thought he was guilty of some heinous transgression.
"No, Mr. Herrera. I simply believe a search will allow us to proceed with this trial."
It was just a motel room, not like a home where all sorts of private things are hidden. And, besides, Frank knew damned well there was nothing in his room that could incriminate him. "Then search it," he said with clenched teeth.
"Thank you."
Willis led Frank into the hallway outside chambers, and Judge Harkin called the Sheriff at the motel. The manager opened the door to Room 50. The Sheriff and two deputies conducted a delicate search of the closet and drawers and bathroom. Under the bed, they found a stack of Wall Street Journals and Forbes magazines, and also a copy of yesterday's Mogul. The Sheriff called Judge Harkin, relayed what they'd found, and was instructed to bring the unauthorized items to chambers at once.
Nine-fifteen, no jury. Fitch sat rigid on a back pew, eyes peering just barely over the top of a newspaper and staring hard at the door near the jury box, knowing full and damned well that when they finally emerged, juror number seven would not be Herrera but rather Henry Vu. Vu was mildly tolerable from a defense view because he was Asian, and Asians typically weren't the big spenders of other people's moneys in tort cases. But Vu was no Herrera, and Fitch's jury people had been telling him for weeks now that the Colonel was with them and would be a force during deliberations.
If Marlee and Nicholas could bounce Herrera on a whim, who might be next? If they were doing this solely to get Fitch's attention, then they were surely successful.
THE JUDGE and the lawyers stared in disbelief at the newspapers and magazines now lined neatly across Harkin's desk. The Sheriff dictated into the record a brief narrative of how and where the items were found, then left.