Chapter Three
The second row wasn’t safe, but it was better than the first.
Reggie walked to the end of the row and remained standing until the rest of the jury panel had filed into the room, mentally counting the consequences of being juror number fifteen. The defense and the prosecution each had six strikes they could use for pretty much no reason, which meant she had to be in the twenties to feel truly safe from being selected, but she was still confident she’d be cut loose soon.
She spotted Brooke in the number two spot. Brooke clearly didn’t want to be here either, but seated where she was, she was likely going to wind up in the box. Too bad for her since sitting in this room for days would only ramp up her already present anxiety. Reggie’s detective brain kicked in. Brooke’s anxiousness felt like more than a case of “I don’t want to be stuck on a jury.” While she was curious about the source, more than that, she was drawn to this woman. It had been forever since she’d had a date. Maybe if they both got cut by lunchtime…
She shoved the thought aside. If she got cut—make that when she got cut, she needed to get the hell out of here and get back to studying. Lunch with a pretty woman, no matter how intriguing, would only be a distraction.
To keep her mind off Brooke, she scanned the front of the room. The prosecutor was Johnny Rigley, but she didn’t recognize his number two. The defense attorney was the infamous Gloria Leland whose clients were usually big local names, but the woman sitting next to her only looked vaguely familiar—middle-aged, white woman with overly styled hair wearing a suit that probably cost more than Reggie had made in a month when she worked at the courthouse.
“All rise,” Leroy, the bailiff, called out. Everyone in the room scrambled to their feet as Judge Foster Hunt emerged from a door behind the bench and took his seat.
“Please be seated,” he said. “Thanks for being here today.” He smiled. “I realize you didn’t have a choice, but we appreciate your service nevertheless.”
He launched into the usual introductory remarks, pointing out the prosecutor and the defendant and his attorneys who all stood up again. “This case involves an accusation of fraud. Mr. Rigley, representing the state of Texas, is tasked with proving that Ms. Mitchell, represented by Ms. Leland, committed fraud against the citizens of Dallas County by making false statements in order to secure tax breaks and government funding for a development project. Does anyone know Shirley Mitchell?”
Ah, now Reggie knew where she’d seen the defendant’s name. Mitchell had been arrested last year for some kind of investment scam. She didn’t remember much about the case—so many developers and public officials seemed mired in bribery accusations, she’d lost track of which scheme Shirley’s arrest had been part of. Several jurors had hands in the air and the judge called on them one by one.
“Mr. Rodriguez. How do you know Ms. Mitchell?”
“My sister lives in one of her complexes.” He hunched his shoulders. “She seems to like it okay.”
His tepid review elicited a laugh from the rest of the jurors on the panel and a big fat, fake smile from Shirley Mitchell. Score one for the defense.
Gloria Leland rose from her chair. “Your Honor, if I may.”
“Briefly.” Judge Hunt didn’t even glance at Rigley before he spoke. Reggie hadn’t been on a jury before, but she’d witnessed plenty of voir dires, and without exception they started with the judge making a few remarks and then handing the proceeding over to the prosecution and then the defense. Gloria Leland was known for her snake oil salesman brand of charm, but she wouldn’t have expected Judge Hunt to fall for her act. Rigley shot daggers at Gloria, but her attention was fully focused on Mr. Rodriguez. “I’m gratified to hear that your sister has access to excellent housing options. Can you tell me what she likes most about where she lives?”
Rodriguez straightened in his chair and beamed at the attention. “I’m not too proud to say that she was happy to find an affordable place to live. Rents are sky-high in the city and landlords are pushing people out every day so they can charge more money. People like my sister can’t afford to live near where they work and it’s a damn shame.”
He shot a look at the judge like he expected to be admonished, but Hunt hadn’t flinched at the choice of words. Reggie had seen the judge cuss up a storm when he was pissed off about something going wrong in his courtroom so the simple “damn” probably hadn’t fazed him. What had her curious was the speech Rodriguez had delivered. It almost felt like he was a plant designed to get the jury focused on a particular angle Leland was going to push during trial.
As if he had the same thought, Johnny Rigley stood and addressed the judge. “I’m glad we all got to hear what Mr. Rodriguez had to say, but if you’re finished with your portion of voir dire, may I have an opportunity to talk to the panel at this time?”
Hunt looked surprised at the question and waved a hand. “Sure, ask away. Each side has one hour.”
Rigley cleared his throat and focused on Rodriguez. “Thank you for your candor. I think everyone here would agree with you that affordable housing is important. Right?” He waited a beat while most of the people on the panel raised their hands in assent. “But you’d also agree that affordable housing should come from sound business practices rather than cheating the taxpayers, right?”
Rodriguez shot an apologetic look at Leland. “Well, sure. I mean no one likes to get cheated.”
“I agree with you, a hundred percent,” Rigley said. “And we’re here today to make sure anyone who cheats the citizens of Dallas County is held accountable. Raise your hands if you agree.”
Reggie felt silly, but she raised her hand with the others to keep from drawing attention to herself. She’d seen this game enough to know how it was played. Each side doing their best to indoctrinate the panel while ferreting out those who would lead them in a direction other than the one they wanted to go. Normally, silence increased the chances of being selected, but in her case she was betting on silence to keep her from getting selected to serve. Her best chance was to lie low and rely on her former employment here at the courthouse to be the reason her name wasn’t called when it came time to seat the jury in the box.
Rigley picked up a piece of paper from counsel table and gazed at the front row of jurors before focusing on Brooke. “Ms. Dawson, what do you do for a living?”
Reggie watched closely, already sensing Brooke’s anxiety at being the center of attention. Brooke squirmed in her seat and didn’t make eye contact with Rigley. “I’m a student and I have a full-time job.”
“It’s sometimes hard to make ends meet?”
“Sometimes.”
“Affordable housing is probably something important to you.”
“I would imagine it’s important to anyone who isn’t a millionaire.”
Reggie smiled at the slight edge in Brooke’s tone and the twitter of laughter from the rest of the jurors. Brooke wasn’t simply a bundle of nerves—she had spunk.
“True, true,” Rigley said. “I imagine you work hard for what you earn.”
“I do.”
“And you do good, honest work.”
“I do my best.”
“Thank you.” He moved on to the rest of the jurors in the first row, asking questions about their work, following the same general line of implying that they earned their livings doing honest work, and implying Shirley Mitchell did anything but. His method was tried and true, but a little boring and by the time it was Gloria Leland’s turn to ask questions, more than a few people on the panel were yawning.
“Well, that was quite the display,” Gloria said in a loud voice as she rose again to address them. “Let’s summarize. You all think it’s a bad idea to earn a living cheating others. Raise your hand if you agree.”
Hands shot up across the room and Gloria smiled. “Thank you for that quick and clear answer. Now we move on to the stuff that matters, but before I do, let me assure you that my client, Ms. Mitchell, agrees with you. The question we’re here to answer is whether she cheated to get the city contract. Did she bribe a city official? Did she lie in her bid to get the work? The answer to both those questions is no and after the state has presented their case, I have no doubt you will agree that’s the case. In fact, I doubt I’ll have to do much at all to convince you otherwise once the state is done. How many of you think I or Ms. Mitchell have to prove anything at all?”
A couple of hands shot up and Reggie was certain the response was more about trying to get off the jury than failure to pay attention during high school civics. She let her mind wander while Gloria grilled jurors about whether they were really willing to ignore both the judge’s instructions and the constitution. Meanwhile, Brooke sat perfectly still, facing the front of the room, her eyes trained on the wall. If she worked a couple of jobs to make ends meet, she probably wanted to get out of here as much as anyone else in the room, yet she hadn’t volunteered an answer to any question that wasn’t directed her way. Didn’t she know that sitting quietly was a sure-fire way to ensure she wound up on the jury?
“And what about you, Ms. Knoll?”
Crap. She had no idea what Leland had asked, and she hated having to ask since it made her look like she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been paying attention, just not to her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”
“You don’t think Ms. Mitchell has to prove she’s innocent, do you?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Care to expand on that?”
Reggie shrugged. “Not really.”
Gloria squinted at her like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m surprised. I thought with your background here at the courthouse, you’d have more to add.”
Boom. There it was—her get out of jury duty free card. It was a classic move—out one of the jurors for whatever they were—cop, lawyer, doctor, accountant—use them to make some points in front of the rest of the crowd and then strike them so they couldn’t taint the rest of the jurors who wound up serving. Fine. She could play this game. “It’s pretty simple, actually. The burden of proof is on the prosecution and the defendant has the right to present a defense or say nothing at all—whichever choice he,” she paused and added, “or she makes cannot be considered as evidence to be used against them.”
“Well said.” Leland turned from her to find her next victim, and when she did, Reggie spotted Brooke staring directly at her with an expression somewhere between surprised and impressed. She smiled in Brooke’s direction and Brooke smiled hollowly back. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
* * *
She couldn’t decide if Reggie kept looking at her because she was assigned to make sure she followed the instructions from the phone or if Reggie was interested in her for personal reasons unrelated to jury duty. She wasn’t sure she’d even recognize if a woman was interested in her without a flashing sign and a big brass band. It had been that long. Still, there was some spark between them—that was undeniable. Not that it mattered.
Her instructions had been clear. Answer only direct questions. Do not talk and mingle with the other jurors. More details to follow. She spoke a silent message to whoever might be watching to let them know that Reggie had approached her, not the other way around.
Thankfully, Gloria finished up her questions without including her in the interrogation. The judge called a recess and she filed out of the room with everyone else.
“Are you going to play hooky if you get cut loose or do you have to go in to work? If it’s hooky, what do you think about grabbing lunch?”
Reggie’s question was a loaded one and Brooke treaded carefully. “Hooky sounds great, but work is the smart move. For me anyway.”
“Too bad. I suppose I’ll be left to my own devices.”
Brooke titled her head. “What makes you so sure you won’t be on this jury? Is it because you used to work here?”
“Yep. Defense won’t want me because they think I’ll be too sympathetic to crime victims. Prosecutors would’ve loved to have me on the jury, but…” The words trailed off and she shook her head. “Anyway, I expect to be cut loose when we go back in there. You probably would be too if you’d spoken up a bit more.”
Brooke ignored the dig disguised as advice, and wondered what Reggie had been about to say before she changed the subject. If circumstances were different, she’d ask a few questions, get to know her, maybe even invite her to lunch. But her situation was dire. There would be no free afternoon, even if she didn’t have a job, homework, and a preteen waiting. She’d be on this jury and she wasn’t about to trust anyone else who was. The voice on the phone said she was being watched and she knew it could be anyone in the courtroom, even another juror.
Besides, even without the looming threat, she wasn’t in any position to get to know anyone new. Lunch out wasn’t a luxury she could afford, and no one wanted to try to work dates around her manic life. She didn’t want to have to answer the questions that would inevitably come about how she wound up single and raising a child on her own. Being stuck on this jury would save her from all of that, and maybe that was a good thing.
The bailiff pushed through the courtroom doors and strode into the hallway. “Judge is ready for y’all. You can go in and take a seat wherever you want.”
He disappeared back into the room and everyone in the hallway followed, packing the rear rows first. Brooke walked past them all and headed back up the first row. May as well make it easy to get to the jury box when her name was called. She sat down and glanced to her left to see Reggie settling in next to her. “I figured you’d be in the back row, ready to make a break for it.”
Reggie grinned. “I may know a secret way to exit.”
“You seem to know a lot of things.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Warning bells went off at the flirty tone in Reggie’s voice, and Brooke shifted gears. “Not at all. It was only an observation.” She opened her purse and pretended to look for something inside in a lame maneuver to get Reggie to focus on something besides her. For all she knew, the person who’d called her was watching her right now and might get suspicious that she was being friendly with a stranger. Reggie took the hint and surreptitiously pulled out her phone and started flipping through the contents. She should be relieved not to have to engage any longer, but instead she only felt sad and lonely.
The judge walked into the room and everyone started to get up until he motioned for them to stay seated. “Thanks for your patience,” he said. “We’re about to wrap up for most of you. The bailiff is going to read the names of those who have been selected to serve and then the rest of you will be free to go.” He handed a piece of paper to the bailiff who walked to the center of the room and waited until all eyes were on him.
“When I read your name, come on up here and take a seat in the box.” He hitched his pants and studied the paper. “Abigail Dearlove.” He waited until she was on her way to the front of the room before reading the next name. “Mark Landon.”
He continued the same pattern—name, pause, name, pause—and with each new name he read that wasn’t hers, Brooke let out a breath, half relieved and half terrified not to hear her own. What would it mean if he didn’t read her name? Was the deal off or would she be held responsible for not fulfilling her end of the bargain? She didn’t want to be chosen, but she had to be chosen. Pain enveloped her and she held out her hand to find tiny, red, half moons forming where she’d dug her nails into her palm.
“Regina Knoll”
She heard the gasp from Reggie and whipped her head around in time to see the look of astonishment on her face before she rose and started her slow march to the jury box. If Reggie had been certain she wouldn’t be on the jury and she’d been picked, what was to guarantee she, who had to serve, would wind up where she needed to be? What number were they on anyway?
“Raul Rodriguez.”
The guy whose sister lived in one of Shirley Mitchell’s complexes. Interesting. Brooke watched as he stood and started walking to the front of the room, and then started counting the number of jurors who’d already been selected. Rodriguez would make twelve. She hadn’t been picked and she started to panic. She needed to get out of here. Get to Ben’s school and make sure he was safe and stayed that way. If the threatening caller reached out again, she’d have to make sure they understood she hadn’t done anything to avoid serving and it wasn’t her fault their grand plan hadn’t worked out.
She looked back at Rodriguez who was only halfway up the aisle. He stopped and grabbed the back of the row in front of him for balance, but his face was ashen, and she could hear the labored breathing from across the room.
“Mr. Rodriguez, are you okay?” the judge asked, his face reflecting genuine concern.
“Sure, Your Honor. Just a little out of breath.” With those words, his knees buckled, and he wilted to the floor. The bailiff rushed up the aisle and held everyone back.
“Give him some space.” He pointed at two big guys in the closest aisle. “You two, help me get him up.”
Brooke watched, stunned like the rest of the panel, while they carried him toward a door in the back of the room. The judge lightly rapped his gavel to get their attention. “While we check on Mr. Rodriguez, please wait here in the courtroom. Counsel, I’d like to see you all in chambers.”
As he and the lawyers walked out of the room, Brooke contemplated her options. Now might be the perfect time to duck out. But what if whoever was keeping an eye on her was here in the courtroom? She glanced around. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to her, but when she looked back toward the front of the courtroom Reggie was staring directly at her with her eyebrows drawn in close. Crap. She never should’ve made eye contact—now she’d missed her chance.
It didn’t matter anyway since Judge Hunt and the attorneys chose that moment to walk back into the room. Both sides looked stressed, which was to be expected, and the judge was somber. He asked for everyone’s attention and waited until the room was still.
“I’m sorry to say that Mr. Rodriguez will not be able to carry out his duties with us today. That said, we will be continuing to trial.” He looked over at the court reporter who sat posed and ready to type. “Taking into account the preemptory strikes already entered by both the prosecution and defense, the next person in line to be selected is Brooke Dawson. Ms. Dawson, please join the rest of the jurors in the box.”
Brooke’s stomach clenched, but she rose and started walking toward the front of the room, acutely conscious everyone’s eyes were on her. She shouldn’t be surprised by this development since she’d come here fully expecting to serve. Yet, she’d let herself hope it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding, never intended for her.
She slid into the only open seat that happened to be right next to Reggie. While she tried to wrap her mind around the fact she was stuck here and part of some crazy plan, completely too out of her control, Reggie leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Guess we get to have that lunch after all.”