even on those occasions when he’s otherwise irritating the hell out of you.
Following a few concerned questions about my encounter with a horse trough, we moved on to basic Southern pleasantries about each other’s jobs and families. I only had the former; Curtis had both. In the real South—which is to say, not Atlanta or South Florida—if you ever decide to skip the small talk and go straight to business, well, you’re just an asshole is what you are.
Finally, I got around to why I’d come. “Curtis, I’m trying to dig up information about a woman who was on jury duty here three weeks ago. It would have been the second week in November.”
Curtis squinted his eyes behind smudged, horn-rimmed glasses. “Does she have a complaint about something?”
“Well, she’s probably not real happy about being dead.”
“God, Tom.” Curtis chuckled, then said, “Oh! I bet you’re talking about that woman … What’s her name?”
“Baneberry.”
“Yeah, Kate Baneberry.” He reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The round horn-rims immediately returned to half-mast. He seemed not to notice. “I remember her. I guess you’re working for the family.”
“Why would you remember one sick juror?”
“ ’Cause of the case. Don’t you know what case she was on?”
I shook my head and tried to look ashamed.
Curtis pushed at his glasses again. It was a nervous habit. “That was the Federal Life case. The plaintiffs got fourteen million dollars out of that thing.”
“Okay. Yeah, I remember seeing something about it in the paper. Bad faith.”
Curtis nodded. “Woman got most of her skin burned off in a car fire, and Federal wouldn’t pay.”
“Was she covered?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? The jury thought so. What’s going on here, Tom? Are you getting into plaintiff’s work?”
“No way. I’m just looking into Mrs. Baneberry’s death for a family member. And why I’m here is really kind of a long shot. It’s just that Kate Baneberry’s doctor told me that stress could have played a part in her death. Now that I know what case it was, I can see where she probably was under a lot more stress than she was used to.”
Curtis just nodded.
I studied his face. There was something there. “Curtis, you’ve got hundreds of jurors filing through here every week. Is there any
other
reason you remember Kate Baneberry?”
He folded his hands, formed an arrow with his index fingers and bumped it against his lips. He was thinking. I shut up and let him.
Finally, he said, “You quote me on this and I’ll tell people you’re a lying SOB.”
“Okay.”
“Tom, you know how bailiffs are. It’s a relatively boring job. Herding jurors around and fetching lunch, guarding folks who really don’t need to be guarded. Basically, it’s a lot of standing around waiting. So, they tend to entertain themselves by gossiping like a bunch of old biddies. And, since they’re stationed outside the jury room where they can hear most of what’s going on, they usually have plenty to gossip about.”
I nodded. Every lawyer knows that, if they like you,bailiffs can be an invaluable source of information about which way a jury is leaning.
Curtis went on. “Well, when this Baneberry woman turned up dead, the bailiffs were laughing—well, not laughing, but you know what I mean. They were talking about it because they claimed Baneberry was the sole holdout on the jury.”
Now he had my attention. “You’re telling me that Kate Baneberry was the only juror standing between the plaintiff and fourteen million dollars?”
He laughed. “Worse than that. She was the only thing standing between Russell and Wagler and forty percent of fourteen million dollars.”
“What?”
Curtis got up and walked around me and closed the door. “I’m serious now. You going to keep this to yourself?”
I nodded.
“Well, the bailiffs were saying that, one other time about three months ago, a holdout juror
Following a few concerned questions about my encounter with a horse trough, we moved on to basic Southern pleasantries about each other’s jobs and families. I only had the former; Curtis had both. In the real South—which is to say, not Atlanta or South Florida—if you ever decide to skip the small talk and go straight to business, well, you’re just an asshole is what you are.
Finally, I got around to why I’d come. “Curtis, I’m trying to dig up information about a woman who was on jury duty here three weeks ago. It would have been the second week in November.”
Curtis squinted his eyes behind smudged, horn-rimmed glasses. “Does she have a complaint about something?”
“Well, she’s probably not real happy about being dead.”
“God, Tom.” Curtis chuckled, then said, “Oh! I bet you’re talking about that woman … What’s her name?”
“Baneberry.”
“Yeah, Kate Baneberry.” He reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The round horn-rims immediately returned to half-mast. He seemed not to notice. “I remember her. I guess you’re working for the family.”
“Why would you remember one sick juror?”
“ ’Cause of the case. Don’t you know what case she was on?”
I shook my head and tried to look ashamed.
Curtis pushed at his glasses again. It was a nervous habit. “That was the Federal Life case. The plaintiffs got fourteen million dollars out of that thing.”
“Okay. Yeah, I remember seeing something about it in the paper. Bad faith.”
Curtis nodded. “Woman got most of her skin burned off in a car fire, and Federal wouldn’t pay.”
“Was she covered?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? The jury thought so. What’s going on here, Tom? Are you getting into plaintiff’s work?”
“No way. I’m just looking into Mrs. Baneberry’s death for a family member. And why I’m here is really kind of a long shot. It’s just that Kate Baneberry’s doctor told me that stress could have played a part in her death. Now that I know what case it was, I can see where she probably was under a lot more stress than she was used to.”
Curtis just nodded.
I studied his face. There was something there. “Curtis, you’ve got hundreds of jurors filing through here every week. Is there any
other
reason you remember Kate Baneberry?”
He folded his hands, formed an arrow with his index fingers and bumped it against his lips. He was thinking. I shut up and let him.
Finally, he said, “You quote me on this and I’ll tell people you’re a lying SOB.”
“Okay.”
“Tom, you know how bailiffs are. It’s a relatively boring job. Herding jurors around and fetching lunch, guarding folks who really don’t need to be guarded. Basically, it’s a lot of standing around waiting. So, they tend to entertain themselves by gossiping like a bunch of old biddies. And, since they’re stationed outside the jury room where they can hear most of what’s going on, they usually have plenty to gossip about.”
I nodded. Every lawyer knows that, if they like you,bailiffs can be an invaluable source of information about which way a jury is leaning.
Curtis went on. “Well, when this Baneberry woman turned up dead, the bailiffs were laughing—well, not laughing, but you know what I mean. They were talking about it because they claimed Baneberry was the sole holdout on the jury.”
Now he had my attention. “You’re telling me that Kate Baneberry was the only juror standing between the plaintiff and fourteen million dollars?”
He laughed. “Worse than that. She was the only thing standing between Russell and Wagler and forty percent of fourteen million dollars.”
“What?”
Curtis got up and walked around me and closed the door. “I’m serious now. You going to keep this to yourself?”
I nodded.
“Well, the bailiffs were saying that, one other time about three months ago, a holdout juror
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