"Walter Godsey, number eleven," announced Noose, his voice declining steadily in volume. Godsey was a middle-aged sharecropper with no compassion and no potential.
When Noose finished the second row, it contained seven white women, two black men, and Godsey. Jake sensed a disaster. Relief didn't come until the fourth row when Jean hit a hot streak and pulled the names of seven men, four of whom were black.
It took almost an hour to seat the entire panel. Noose recessed for fifteen minutes to allow Jean time to type a numerical list of names. Jake and Ellen used the break to review their notes and place the names with the faces. Harry Rex had sat at the counter behind the red docket books and feverishly taken notes while Noose called the names. He huddled with Jake and agreed things were not going well.
At eleven, Noose reassumed the bench, and the courtroom was silenced. Someone suggested he should use the mike, and he placed it within inches of his nose. He spoke loudly, and his fragile, obnoxious voice rattled violently around the courtroom as he asked a lengthy series of statu-torily required questions. He introduced Carl Lee and asked if any juror was kin to him or knew him. They all knew of him, and Noose assumed that, but only two of the panel admitted knowing him prior to May. Noose introduced the lawyers, then explained briefly the nature of the charges. Not a single juror confessed to being ignorant of the Hailey case.
Noose rambled on and on, and mercifully finished at twelve-thirty. He recessed until two.
Dell delivered hot sandwiches and iced tea to the conference room. Jake hugged and thanked her, and told her to send him the bill. He ignored his food, and laid the notecards on the table in the order the jurors had been seated. Harry Rex attacked a roast beef and cheddar sandwich. "We got a terrible draw," he kept repeating with both cheeks stretched to the limit. "We got a terrible draw."
When the ninety-fourth card was in place, Jake stood back and studied them. Ellen stood beside him and nibbled on a french fry. She studied the cards.
"We got a terrible draw," Harry Rex said, washing it all down with a pint of tea.
"Would you shut up," Jake snapped.
"Of the first fifty, we have eight black men, three black women, and thirty white women. That leaves nine white men, and most are unattractive. Looks like a white female jury," Ellen said.
"White females, white females," Harry Rex said. "The worst possible jurors in the world. White females!"
Ellen stared at him. "I think fat white men are the worst jurors."
"Don't get me wrong, Row Ark, I love white females. I've married four of them, remember. I just hate white female jurors."
"I wouldn't vote to convict him."
"Row Ark, you're an ACLU communist. You wouldn't vote to convict anybody of anything. In your little demented mind you think child p**n ographers and PLO terrorists are really swell people who've been abused by the system and should be given a break."
"And in your rational, civilized, and compassionate mind, what do you think we should do with them?"
"Hang them by their toes, castrate them, and let them bleed to death, without a trial."
"And the way you understand the law, that would be constitutional?"
"Maybe not, but it'd stop a lot of child p**n ography and terrorism. Jake, are you gonna eat this sandwich?"
"No."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Harry Rex unwrapped a ham and cheese. "Stay away from number one, Carlene Malone. She's one of those Malones from Lake Village. White trash and mean as hell."
"I'd like to stay away from this entire panel," Jake said, still staring at the table.
"We got a terrible draw."
"Whatta you think, Row Ark?" Jake asked.
Harry Rex swallowed quickly. "I think we oughtta plead
him guilty and get the hell outta there. Run like a scalded dog."
Ellen stared at the cards. "It could be worse."
Harry Rex forced a loud laugh. "Worse! The only way it could be worse would be if the first thirty were sitting there wearing white robes with pointed hats and little masks."
"Harry Rex, would you shut up," Jake said.
"Just trying to help. Do you want your french fries?"
"No. Why don't you put all of them in your mouth and chew on them for a long time?"
"I think you're wrong about some of these women," Ellen said. "I'm inclined to agree with Lucien. Women, as a very general rule, will have more sympathy. We're the ones who get raped, remember?"
"I have no response to that," Harry Rex said.
"Thanks," replied Jake. "Which one of these girls is your former client who'll supposedly do anything for you if you'll simply wink at her?"
Ellen snickered. "Must be number twenty-nine. She's five feet tall and weighs four hundred pounds."
Harry Rex wiped his mouth with a sheet of paper. "Very funny. Number seventy-four. She's too far back. Forget her."
Noose rapped his gavel at two and the courtroom came to order.
"The State may examine the panel," he said.
The magnificent district attorney rose slowly and walked importantly to the bar, where he stood and gazed pensively at the spectators and jurors. He realized the artists were sketching him, and he seemed to pose for just a moment. He smiled sincerely at the jurors, then introduced himself. He explained that he was the people's lawyer; his client, the State of Mississippi. He had served as their prosecutor for nine years now, and it was an honor for which he would always be grateful to the fine folks of Ford County. He pointed at them and told them that they, the very ones sitting there, were the folks who had elected him to represent them. He thanked them, and hoped he did not let them down.
Yes, he was nervous and frightened. He had prosecuted
thousands of criminals, but he was always scared with each trial. Yes! He was scared, and not ashamed to admit it. Scared because of the awesome responsibility the people had bestowed upon him as the man responsible for sending criminals to jail and protecting the people. Scared because he might fail to adequately represent his client, the people of this great state.
Jake had heard all this crap many times before. He had it memorized. Buckley the good guy, the state's lawyer, united with the people to seek justice, to save society. He was a smooth, gifted orator who one moment could chat softly with a jury, much like a grandfather giving advice to his grandchildren. The next moment he would launch into a tirade and deliver a sermon that any black preacher would envy. A split second later, in a fluid burst of eloquence, he could convince a jury that the stability of our society, yes, even the future of the human race, depended upon a guilty verdict. He was at his best in big trials, and this was his biggest. He spoke without notes, and held the courtroom captivated as he portrayed himself as the underdog, the friend and partner of the jury, who, together with him, would find the truth, and punish this man for his monstrous deed.
After ten minutes, Jake had enough. He stood with a frustrated look. "Your Honor, I object to this. Mr. Buckley is not selecting a jury. I'm not sure what he's doing, but he's not interrogating the panel."
"Sustained!" Noose yelled into the mike. "If you don't have any questions for the panel, Mr. Buckley, then please sit down."
"I apologize, Your Honor," Buckley said awkwardly, pretending to be hurt. Jake had drawn first blood.
Buckley picked up a legal pad and launched into a list of a thousand questions. He asked if anyone on the panel had ever served on a jury before. Several hands went up. Civil or criminal? Did you vote to acquit or convict? How long ago? Was the defendant black or white? Victim, black or white? Had anyone been the victim of a violent crime? Two hands. When? Where? Was the assailant caught? Convicted? Black or white? Jake, Harry Rex, and Ellen took pages of notes. Any member of your family been the victim