An impromptu checkers tournament began in the dining room after dinner. Herman had a braille board with numbered spaces, and the night before, he'd whipped Jerry eleven straight games. Challenges were issued, and Herman's wife brought his board to the room and a crowd gathered. In less than an hour, he took three straight from Nicholas, three more from Jerry, three from Henry Vu, who'd never played the game, three straight from Willis, and was about to play Jerry again, this time for a small wager, when Loreen Duke entered the room in search of another dessert. She'd played the game as a child with her father. When she beat Herman in the first game, there was not the slightest trace of sympathy for the blind man. They played until curfew.
Phillip Savelle stayed in his room, as usual. He spoke occasionally during meals at the motel and during coffee breaks in the jury room, but he was perfectly content to keep his nose in a book and ignore everyone.
Nicholas had tried twice to reach him, to no avail. He would not suffer small talk, and wanted no one to know anything about him.
Chapter Thirty-One
After almost twenty years of shrimping, Henry Vu seldom slept past four-thirty. He got his hot tea early on Friday, and with the Colonel gone he sat alone at the table and scanned a newspaper. Nicholas soon joined him. As he often did, Nicholas hurried through the pleasantries and asked about Vu's daughter at Harvard. She was the source of immense pride, and Henry's eyes danced when he told of her last letter.
Others came and went. The conversation turned to Vietnam and the war. Nicholas confided in Henry for the first time that his father had been killed there in 1972. It wasn't true, but Henry was deeply touched by the story. Then, when they were alone, Nicholas asked, "So what do you think about this trial?"
Henry took a long drink of heavily creamed tea, and licked his lips. "Is it okay to talk about it?"
"Sure. It's just me and you. Everybody's talking, Henry. That's the nature of a jury. Everybody but Herman."
"What does everybody else think?"
"I think most of us have an open mind. The most important thing is that we stick together. It's crucial that this jury reach a verdict, preferably unanimous, but at least a vote of nine to three one way or the other. A hung jury would be disastrous."
Henry took another drink and pondered this. He understood English perfectly, could speak it well though with an accent, but like most laymen, natives and immigrants alike, had little grasp of the law. "Why?" he asked. He trusted Nicholas, as did virtually all the jurors, because Nicholas had studied the law and seemed incredibly adept at comprehending facts and issues the rest of them missed.
"Very simple. This is the mother of all tobacco trials-Gettysburg, Iwo Jima, Armageddon. This is where the two sides have met to unload their heaviest ammo. There's gotta be a winner, and there's gotta be a loser. Clear and decisive. The issue of whether tobacco companies are to be held liable for cigarettes has to be settled right here. By us. We've been chosen, and it's up to us to reach a verdict."
"I see," Henry said, nodding, still confused.
"The worst thing we can do is hang ourselves, split down the middle and have a mistrial declared."
"Why would that be so bad?"
"Because it's a cop-out. We'd simply be passing the buck to the next jury. If we get hung up and go home, it'll cost each side millions of dollars because they'll have to come back in two years and replay the whole thing. Same judge, same lawyers, same witnesses, everything will be the same but the jury. We will, in effect, be saying that we didn't have enough sense to reach a decision, but the next jury from Harrison County will be smarter."
Henry leaned to his right a bit, in the direction of Nicholas. "What're you gonna do?" he asked, just as Millie Dupree and Mrs. Gladys Card entered giggling and went for the coffee. They chatted with the guys for a moment, then left to watch Katie on the "Today Show." They just loved Katie.
"What're you gonna do?" Henry whispered again, eyes on the door.
"I don't know right now, and it's not important. The important thing is for us to stick together. All of us."
"You're right," Henry said.
DURING THE COURSE of the trial, Fitch had developed the habit of keeping himself busy at his desk during the hours before court while staring at the phone. His eyes seldom left it. He knew she would call Friday morning, though he had no idea what scheme or ploy or heart-stopping prank she'd be up to.
At eight sharp, Konrad interrupted on the intercom with the simple words "It's her."
Fitch lunged for the phone. "Hello," he said pleasantly.
"Hey, Fitch. Look, guess who's bothering Nicholas now?"
He stifled a groan and closed his eyes hard. "I don't know," he said.
"I mean, this guy is really giving Nicholas a hard time. We might have to bump him."
"Who?" Fitch pleaded.
"Lonnie Shaver."
"Oh! Damn! No! You can't do that!"
"Gee, Fitch."
"Don't do it, Marlee! Dammit!"
She paused to let him despair for a second. "You must be fond of Lonnie."
"You gotta stop this, Marlee, okay? This is getting us nowhere." Fitch was very aware of how desperate he sounded, but he was no longer in control.
"Nicholas has to have harmony on his jury. That's all. Lonnie has become a thorn."
"Don't do it, please. Let's talk about this."
"We're talking, Fitch, but not for long."
Fitch took a deep breath, then another. "The game is almost over, Marlee. You've had your fun, now what do you want?"
"Got a pen?"
"Sure."
"There's a building on Fulton Street, Number 120. White brick, two stories, an old building chopped into tiny offices. Upstairs, Number 16, belongs to me, for at least another month. It's not pretty, but that's where we'll meet."
"When?"
"In an hour. Just the two of us. I'll watch you come and go, and if I see any of your goons then I'll never speak to you again."
"Sure. Whatever."
"And I'll check you for bugs and mikes."
"There won't be any."
EVERY LAWYER on Cable's defense team held the opinion that Rohr had spent too much time with his scientists; nine full days in all. But with the first seven, the jury had at least been free to go home at night. The mood was vastly different now. The decision was made to pick their two best researchers, get them on the stand, and get them off as quickly as possible.
They had also made the decision to ignore the issue of nicotine addiction, a radical departure from the normal defense in cigarette cases. Cable and his crew had studied each of the sixteen previous trials. They had talked to many of the jurors who had decided those cases, and they were repeatedly told that the weakest part of the defense came when the experts put forth all sorts of fancy theories to prove that nicotine was in fact not addictive. Everyone knew the opposite to be true. It was that simple.
Don't try to convince jurors otherwise.
The decision required Fitch's approval, which he grudgingly gave.
The first witness Friday morning was a shaggy-headed nerd with a thin red beard and heavy bifocals. The beauty show was apparently over. His name was Dr. Gunther, and it was his opinion that cigarette smoking really didn't cause cancer after all. Only ten percent of smokers get cancer, so what about the other ninety percent? Not surprisingly, Gunther had a stack of relevant studies and reports, and couldn't wait to stand before the jury with a tripod and a pointer and explain in breathless detail his latest findings.