The Runaway Jury by John Grisham Page B

selected; nine had been struck by the plaintiff, eight by the defense, and three had been excused by the court. It was unlikely the selection would reach the fourth row, so Rohr, with one strike remaining, looked at jurors thirty-one through thirty-six, and whispered to his huddled group, “Which one stinks the most?” The fingers pointed unanimously to number thirty-four, a large, mean white woman who had scared them from day one. Wilda Haney was her name, and for a month now they had all vowed to avoid Wide Wilda. They studied their master sheet a few minuteslonger, and agreed to take numbers thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, and thirty-five, not all of whom were terribly attractive, but far more so than Wide Wilda.
    In a denser huddle just a few feet away, Cable and his troops agreed to strike thirty-one, take thirty-two, challenge thirty-three because thirty-three was Mr. Herman Grimes, the blind man, then take thirty-four, Wilda Haney, and strike, if necessary, number thirty-five.
    NICHOLAS EASTER thus became the eleventh juror selected to hear
Wood v
.
Pynex
. When the courtroom was opened at three and the panel was seated, Judge Harkin began calling out the names of the chosen twelve. They walked through the gate in the railing and took their assigned seats in the jury box. Nicholas had chair number two on the front row. At twenty-seven, he was the second youngest juror. There were nine whites, three blacks, seven women, five men, one blind. Three alternates were seated in padded folding chairs wedged tightly together in one corner of the jury box. At four-thirty, the fifteen stood and repeated their oaths as jurors. They then listened for half an hour as Judge Harkin issued a series of stern warnings to them, and to the lawyers and parties involved. Contact with the jurors of any type or manner would result in stiff sanctions, monetary penalties, maybe a mistrial, perhaps disbarment and death.
    He forbade the jurors from discussing the case with anyone, even their spouses and mates, and with a cheery smile bid them farewell, a pleasant night, see you at nine sharp tomorrow morning.
    The lawyers watched and wished they could leavetoo. But there was work to do. When the courtroom was cleared of everyone but lawyers and clerks, His Honor said, “Gentlemen, you filed these motions. Now we must argue them.”

Five
    P artially out of a mixture of eagerness and boredom, and partially on a hunch that someone would be waiting, Nicholas Easter slipped through the unlocked rear door of the courthouse at eight-thirty, up the seldom-used back stairs, and into the narrow hallway behind the courtroom. Most of the county offices opened at eight, so there was movement and noise to be heard on the first floor. But little on the second. He peeked into the courtroom, and found it empty of people. The briefcases had arrived and been parked haphazardly on the tables. The lawyers were probably in the back, near the coffee machine, telling jokes and preparing for battle.
    He knew the turf well. Three weeks earlier, the day after he’d received his precious summons for jury duty, he had come poking around the courtroom. Finding it unused and vacant for the moment, he had explored the alleys and spaces around it; the Judge’s cramped chambers; the coffee roomwhere the lawyers gossiped while sitting on ancient tables strewn with old magazines and current newspapers; the makeshift witness rooms with folding chairs and no windows; the holding room where the handcuffed and dangerous waited for their punishment; and, of course, the jury room.
    This morning, his hunch was correct. Her name was Lou Dell, a squatty woman of sixty in polyester pants and old sneakers and gray bangs in her eyes. She was sitting in the hallway by the door to the jury room, reading a battered romance and waiting for someone to enter her domain. She jumped to her feet, whipped out a sheet of paper from under her, and said, “Good morning. Can I help you?” Her