weight, and build as Derek Bradley but could go no further toward a positive identification since the man she’d observed had been wearing a wool hat and tinted glasses and his parka collar had been pulled to his ears. She admitted to having shrugged off the incident as a domestic feud…until she’d seen photographs of the missing woman in the newspaper several days later.
Abby listened intently to the testimony. One question at a time was asked of the witness, and only the simplest answer was allowed. It was a slow and painstaking process, but the state’s attorney was determined to do it right.
Under cross-examination by defense counsel, the witness was treated less kindly. Was she sure there had been an argument? How could she tell, if her car was several lengths away and her windows rolled up against the February chill? Did she actually hear anything?Did the alleged victim struggle as she was being led to the driver’s side of the car? What did this struggle entail? It had been dusk; could she be sure that she’d identified the victim correctly? And the defendant—how could she discern his build through his parka? What color had his parka been? Could she be sure that it was Derek Bradley she’d seen? Could she be absolutely sure?
The tone of the session had risen in pitch with the defense’s cross-examination. If David Weitz was generally soft-spoken, William Montgomery was his fiery counterpart. By the time the witness had been dismissed and the court recessed for lunch, Abby had had a taste of the challenge she and her fellow jurors faced.
As she’d only suspected earlier, facts that seemed crystal clear one minute were easily clouded the next with the introduction of a second side, a second point of view. Despite oaths to tell “the whole truth and nothing but,” there were any number of different perceptions and interpretations of the truth. This was what the jurors would have to wade through before their own ordeal was over.
If Abby had hoped to gain courage from Ben during the ninety-minute lunch break, she was to be disappointed. For he was somehow separated from her during the walkdownstairs, and she found herself eating lunch with Patsy and Louise.
All three were subdued, as indeed were the others. With the morning’s testimony fresh in their minds, there was much to consider, little to discuss. The meal was brought in to the jury room and was a soup-and-sandwich-to-go affair that would set precedent for the days ahead. The room itself—the same one in which Abby had sat yesterday, the same one to which the jury had been brought first thing this morning, the same one in which their break had been held earlier—was T-shaped, with straight wooden chairs, side to side, lining every wall, and a large central table on which the food was set.
“Thank heavens the chairs upstairs are more comfortable,” Patsy murmured as she tried to balance her lunch on her lap while squirming to get comfortable.
Abby grimaced. “I’ll second that. But it looks like we’ll be spending plenty of time down here too.”
“Do they always take so many breaks?”
Louise leaned forward, her voice a whisper. “They wouldn’t want us to go hungry, would they? After all, the show’s being put on for our benefit.”
Relieved that there seemed no bitterness in Louise’s quip, Abby smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before, but you’ve got apoint. When it comes right down to it, each lawyer will try to do his best to sway us to his way of thinking.”
“And the facts?” Louise interjected more grimly. “Shouldn’t they be able to speak for themselves?”
“I’m sure they do sometimes,” Abby reasoned aloud. “Still…when the facts are hazy…” Her voice trailed off as she verged on the forbidden. The others understood.
“Hmmmph,” Patsy grunted, but good-naturedly this time, “I’d cast my vote for whoever can do something about these chairs.”
Abby smiled. “It’s because
Abby listened intently to the testimony. One question at a time was asked of the witness, and only the simplest answer was allowed. It was a slow and painstaking process, but the state’s attorney was determined to do it right.
Under cross-examination by defense counsel, the witness was treated less kindly. Was she sure there had been an argument? How could she tell, if her car was several lengths away and her windows rolled up against the February chill? Did she actually hear anything?Did the alleged victim struggle as she was being led to the driver’s side of the car? What did this struggle entail? It had been dusk; could she be sure that she’d identified the victim correctly? And the defendant—how could she discern his build through his parka? What color had his parka been? Could she be sure that it was Derek Bradley she’d seen? Could she be absolutely sure?
The tone of the session had risen in pitch with the defense’s cross-examination. If David Weitz was generally soft-spoken, William Montgomery was his fiery counterpart. By the time the witness had been dismissed and the court recessed for lunch, Abby had had a taste of the challenge she and her fellow jurors faced.
As she’d only suspected earlier, facts that seemed crystal clear one minute were easily clouded the next with the introduction of a second side, a second point of view. Despite oaths to tell “the whole truth and nothing but,” there were any number of different perceptions and interpretations of the truth. This was what the jurors would have to wade through before their own ordeal was over.
If Abby had hoped to gain courage from Ben during the ninety-minute lunch break, she was to be disappointed. For he was somehow separated from her during the walkdownstairs, and she found herself eating lunch with Patsy and Louise.
All three were subdued, as indeed were the others. With the morning’s testimony fresh in their minds, there was much to consider, little to discuss. The meal was brought in to the jury room and was a soup-and-sandwich-to-go affair that would set precedent for the days ahead. The room itself—the same one in which Abby had sat yesterday, the same one to which the jury had been brought first thing this morning, the same one in which their break had been held earlier—was T-shaped, with straight wooden chairs, side to side, lining every wall, and a large central table on which the food was set.
“Thank heavens the chairs upstairs are more comfortable,” Patsy murmured as she tried to balance her lunch on her lap while squirming to get comfortable.
Abby grimaced. “I’ll second that. But it looks like we’ll be spending plenty of time down here too.”
“Do they always take so many breaks?”
Louise leaned forward, her voice a whisper. “They wouldn’t want us to go hungry, would they? After all, the show’s being put on for our benefit.”
Relieved that there seemed no bitterness in Louise’s quip, Abby smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way before, but you’ve got apoint. When it comes right down to it, each lawyer will try to do his best to sway us to his way of thinking.”
“And the facts?” Louise interjected more grimly. “Shouldn’t they be able to speak for themselves?”
“I’m sure they do sometimes,” Abby reasoned aloud. “Still…when the facts are hazy…” Her voice trailed off as she verged on the forbidden. The others understood.
“Hmmmph,” Patsy grunted, but good-naturedly this time, “I’d cast my vote for whoever can do something about these chairs.”
Abby smiled. “It’s because
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