At the arraignment months before, pleas of not guilty had been entered. Now the words reechoed through the courtroom.
Then, as Grace had warned, the judge took several minutes to address the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began gravely,“you’ve been asked to make a sacrifice that many of your fellow citizens have never and will never be asked to make. For the sake of justice, you have agreed to surrender your freedom for the duration of this trial. The court recognizes the extent of this sacrifice and hereby thanks you on behalf of the state of Vermont.”
Abby hung on his every word, as did each of her fellow jurors. Not one moved. Not one acknowledged the fact that the eyes of the courtroom were upon them.
“As this trial progresses, you will be presented with arguments and evidence by representatives of two opposing sides. We ask that you listen carefully to each and every point, since it will be your job to make a final decision as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant.”
He paused to frown at the papers on his desk before continuing. “As you know, the purpose of sequestration is to prevent your being influenced, one way or the other, by outside forces. The only sources of input you’re to have regarding this case are myself and my side judges, the prosecution team and its witnesses, and the defense team and its witnesses. You are neither to hear anything about this case from nor discuss anything about this case with any other person.
“Unfortunately, that includes each other.Difficult as it may be, I ask that you don’t discuss this case among yourselves. When the time comes for deliberations, you will be able to do so—but only after each side has rested its case.
“If you have questions or problems of any sort, the court officers are at your service. Wherever possible they’ll try to minimize the inconvenience that this experience must be for you. Feel free to ask their help.” Looking first to one side then the other, the judge silently asked his partners on the bench if they had anything to add. When two head-shakes had been received, he nodded and turned to the prosecution table. “Mr. Weitz?”
The opening argument of the state’s attorney lasted for nearly an hour. It was offered in the low-key style that would come to be associated with David Weitz, but was as emotion-packed in content as its presentation was straight.
The prosecutor began with the premise that Derek Bradley, in a cool and premeditated act, had kidnapped his former lover, Greta Robinson, with the intent of punishing her for spurning him and forcing a return of her affections. He went on to paint the defendant as a self-centered man, a man of inherited wealth, who had come to believe that his power was boundless, that his will was the law. He cited witnesses who would testifynot only to the facts of the case but to Derek Bradley’s arrogance, his selfishness, his tyrannical personality. And he suggested that, after days of emotional torture in an isolated cabin, Greta Robinson was scarred for life.
When he’d concluded his opening presentation, the judge called a fifteen-minute recess and disappeared with his colleagues into their chambers. The jury was led down to the first-floor jury room, where coffee and doughnuts were served.
Abby took a chair by herself, deep in thought, neither terribly thirsty nor particularly hungry. She was amazed at how simple he’d made Bradley’s action sound, how clear-cut, how wrong. Had a vote been held at that very minute she would surely have found Derek Bradley guilty. But there was still another side to hear, she told herself, and this was just the opening argument.
“I can’t get you any coffee?” Ben asked, bending over her chair, his hand on its back.
Startled from her thoughts, she looked up quickly. “Coffee? Uh…no, no, thanks.”
“It’s good coffee.” He tried temptation as he settled down beside her. Leaning forward with his elbows propped on his
Then, as Grace had warned, the judge took several minutes to address the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began gravely,“you’ve been asked to make a sacrifice that many of your fellow citizens have never and will never be asked to make. For the sake of justice, you have agreed to surrender your freedom for the duration of this trial. The court recognizes the extent of this sacrifice and hereby thanks you on behalf of the state of Vermont.”
Abby hung on his every word, as did each of her fellow jurors. Not one moved. Not one acknowledged the fact that the eyes of the courtroom were upon them.
“As this trial progresses, you will be presented with arguments and evidence by representatives of two opposing sides. We ask that you listen carefully to each and every point, since it will be your job to make a final decision as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant.”
He paused to frown at the papers on his desk before continuing. “As you know, the purpose of sequestration is to prevent your being influenced, one way or the other, by outside forces. The only sources of input you’re to have regarding this case are myself and my side judges, the prosecution team and its witnesses, and the defense team and its witnesses. You are neither to hear anything about this case from nor discuss anything about this case with any other person.
“Unfortunately, that includes each other.Difficult as it may be, I ask that you don’t discuss this case among yourselves. When the time comes for deliberations, you will be able to do so—but only after each side has rested its case.
“If you have questions or problems of any sort, the court officers are at your service. Wherever possible they’ll try to minimize the inconvenience that this experience must be for you. Feel free to ask their help.” Looking first to one side then the other, the judge silently asked his partners on the bench if they had anything to add. When two head-shakes had been received, he nodded and turned to the prosecution table. “Mr. Weitz?”
The opening argument of the state’s attorney lasted for nearly an hour. It was offered in the low-key style that would come to be associated with David Weitz, but was as emotion-packed in content as its presentation was straight.
The prosecutor began with the premise that Derek Bradley, in a cool and premeditated act, had kidnapped his former lover, Greta Robinson, with the intent of punishing her for spurning him and forcing a return of her affections. He went on to paint the defendant as a self-centered man, a man of inherited wealth, who had come to believe that his power was boundless, that his will was the law. He cited witnesses who would testifynot only to the facts of the case but to Derek Bradley’s arrogance, his selfishness, his tyrannical personality. And he suggested that, after days of emotional torture in an isolated cabin, Greta Robinson was scarred for life.
When he’d concluded his opening presentation, the judge called a fifteen-minute recess and disappeared with his colleagues into their chambers. The jury was led down to the first-floor jury room, where coffee and doughnuts were served.
Abby took a chair by herself, deep in thought, neither terribly thirsty nor particularly hungry. She was amazed at how simple he’d made Bradley’s action sound, how clear-cut, how wrong. Had a vote been held at that very minute she would surely have found Derek Bradley guilty. But there was still another side to hear, she told herself, and this was just the opening argument.
“I can’t get you any coffee?” Ben asked, bending over her chair, his hand on its back.
Startled from her thoughts, she looked up quickly. “Coffee? Uh…no, no, thanks.”
“It’s good coffee.” He tried temptation as he settled down beside her. Leaning forward with his elbows propped on his
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