The Runaway Jury by John Grisham Page A

heavily but was desperate to quit. His written answers were thoroughly indecipherable and utterly useless. The body linguists on both sides reported that Mr. LaMonette hated all lawyers and all things related to them. He’d nearly been killed years earlier by a drunk driver. His lawsuit netted him nothing.
    Under the rules of jury selection, each side was granted a number of peremptory challenges, or strikes as they were called, which could be used to ax potential jurors for no reason whatsoever. Because of the importance of this case, Judge Harkin had granted each side ten strikes, up from the customary four. Both wanted to cut LaMonette, but both needed to save their strikes for more objectionable faces.
    The plaintiff was required to go first, and after a brief delay, Kotlack said, “The plaintiff will strike number two.”
    “That’s peremptory challenge number one for the plaintiff,” Harkin said, making a note. A small victory for the defense. Based on a last-second decision, Durr Cable had been prepared to strike him as well.
    The plaintiff used a strike on number three, the wife of a corporate executive, and also on number four. The strategic strikes continued, and practicallydecimated row one. Only two jurors survived. The carnage lessened with row two, with five of the twelve surviving various challenges, two by the court itself. Seven jurors had been chosen when the selection moved to row three. Eight spots down sat the great unknown, Nicholas Easter, juror number thirty-two, who’d so far paid good attention and seemed to be somewhat palatable, though he gave both sides the jitters.
    Wendall Rohr, now speaking for the plaintiff because Kotlack was deep in a hushed conference with an expert about two of the faces on row four, used a peremptory strike on number twenty-five. It was the plaintiff’s ninth strike. The last one was reserved for a much-feared and notorious Republican on the fourth row, if they got that far. The defense struck number twenty-six, burning its eighth peremptory. Jurors number twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and twenty-nine were accepted. Juror number thirty was challenged by the defense for cause, a plea for the court to excuse the juror for mutual reasons without requiring either side to exhaust a strike. Durr Cable asked the court to go off the record because he had something he wished to discuss in private. Rohr was a bit perplexed, but did not object. The court reporter stopped recording. Cable handed a thin brief to Rohr and the same to His Honor. He lowered his voice, and said, “Your Honor, we have learned, through certain sources, that juror number thirty, Bonnie Tyus, is addicted to the prescription drug Ativan. She has never been treated, never been arrested, never admitted her problem. She certainly didn’t disclose it on the questionnaires or during our little Q and A. She manages to live quietly, keep a job and a husband, though he’s her third.”
    “How’d you learn this?” Harkin asked.
    “Through our rather extensive investigation of all potential jurors. I assure you, Your Honor, that there has been no unauthorized contact with Mrs. Tyus.”
    Fitch had found it. Her second husband had been located in Nashville, where he washed tractor-trailer rigs at an all-night truck stop. For one hundred dollars cash, he’d happily told all he could remember about his ex.
    “What about it, Mr. Rohr?” asked His Honor.
    Without a second’s hesitation, Rohr said, lying, “We have the same information, Your Honor.” He cast a pleasant glance at Jonathan Kotlack, who in turn glared at another lawyer who’d been in charge of the group which included Bonnie Tyus. They’d spent over a million bucks so far on jury selection, and they’d missed this crucial fact!
    “Fine. Juror number thirty is excused for cause. Back on the record. Juror number thirty-one?”
    “Could we have a few minutes, Your Honor?” Rohr asked.
    “Yes. But be brief.”
    After thirty names, ten had been