Reilly 04 - Breach of Promise (38 page)

Mrs. Lim: I must protest. These are speculations about issues that were never even mentioned in court. Maybe she is a financial wizard! We don’t know.

Sonny: Enough. I want to vote.

Diane: Wait a minute. I have this terrible feeling about you, Sonny.

Sonny: Thanks.

Diane: You’re going to change your vote just to get this over with, aren’t you?

Sonny:
(doesn’t answer)

Diane: Remember in the judge’s instructions? You are not supposed to decide a certain way just because other jurors favor that decision and certainly not because this jerk is trying to pull the wool over your eyes.

Sonny: Nobody is pulling any wool anywhere.

Courtney: You’ve stuck with Lindy all along. You know she deserves some of that money.

Sonny: Let’s vote.

But the bailiff knocks. The lunch is out in the hall. Does anyone want a quick trip outside before they settle down to eat? Kris and Cliff grab their cigarettes and go, followed by a bailiff. Others hit the bathroom.

After they all come back, Cliff gets his special dish, marked vegetarian, and asks for opinions on the food. Suddenly, he makes gagging sounds.

Kevin: Slow down, there, pal. You choking? Anybody know the Heimlich maneuver?

Courtney: I do!

Bob: Sonny, help me get him standing.

Courtney tries.

Courtney: It’s not helping! I don’t think he’s choking on anything.

Kevin: Maybe he’s having a heart attack!

(Cliff’s gasping and knocking things off the table.)

Cliff:
(He’s talking so softly, in the commotion no one seems to hear him.)
My jacket! Get my jacket! Let go of me!

Mrs. Lim: Sonny, try to sit him up. Don’t let him fall on the floor like that.

Courtney: Do you think he wants his jacket? It’s probably in the anteroom.

Bob: That can’t be right, or he’s out of his mind. It must be eighty degrees in here.

Mrs. Lim: Deputy Kimura! Get in here!

Cliff:
(This is unintelligible.)
The epi kit!

Kevin: He’s trying to say something.

Mrs. Lim: What is it, Cliff? What do you want us to do?

Alternate juror Damien Peck must be trying to run for help. He runs into the bailiff.

Deputy Kimura: Stay right here, please. Don’t leave, anyone.

Shouting for an ambulance, he leaves.

Diane: He can’t breathe! Here, you guys. Get him on the table. He needs CPR.

She works on him until Deputy Kimura returns and takes over. There’s very little going on except the sound of the deputy giving CPR. A woman is crying.

Mrs. Lim: Deputy Kimura, they’re here. We should get out of the way.

Frank: Look at him. He’s really swelling up. Looks just like a swarm of bees went after him.

Courtney: We can’t do anything more. Come on, Diane, move over.

Technician: His heart . . . Get these people out of here.

Footsteps as they scurry away.

Sonny:
(leaving)
Fight till the last gasp, dude.

Court personnel are ushering people out of the room so that emergency people can come in.

>Click<

Thursday after lunch, the court called. Nina’s presence was requested at two.

“Do they have a question for the judge? Do they want some of the testimony reread?”

“No. I believe the judge needs to seat an alternate,” said the clerk.

“What happened?”

“Just come on down, Nina. I believe the judge would prefer to explain.”

Ringing Winston and Genevieve in their hotel rooms, where they actually were for once, Nina drove over to the courthouse with minutes to spare. She linked up with her team outside, and as a group they pushed past the curious reporters stationed outside the doors.

“What’s going on?” Winston demanded, but Nina just shrugged. He looked like hell, just like the rest of them. Jeff Riesner caught up with them in the hall. His sallow face and the bags under his eyes showed he wasn’t sleeping either.

“A verdict?”

“We’ll know in a minute.”

“Be seated,” announced the clerk.

They sat while the jury filed in. Nina searched their faces. But . . . where was Clifford Wright? There were only thirteen. Judging from their troubled expressions, something major had happened.

Looking grave, Milne took the bench. “Sorry to call you all out in such haste. There has been an unfortunate event in connection with the deliberations. Apparently Mr. Wright, one of our jurors, has had an allergic reaction to something he ate. He has had to be admitted to Boulder Hospital.

“It appears unlikely that he will be released in time to resume his work on the jury. Therefore, I must seat alternate juror number thirteen. At this time, we ask if there is any objection to the seating of the alternate. Order! Order! You people in the back, be quiet or you’ll be outside.”

“Just a moment, Your Honor,” Nina said. She tore open her juror file and Winston looked over her shoulder. Genevieve was looking at her own notes.

“Patti Zobel,” Genevieve whispered. “Divorced, in her forties, works for a resort time-share company. Her husband was having an affair. Fantastic. Don’t look happy. The jury won’t like it.”

“We’re sorry to hear this, Your Honor,” Nina said. “We have no objection to the substitution.”

Riesner looked stunned. He conferred with Rebecca in urgent whispers. Finally he said, “We would request a recess of a day to monitor Mr. Wright’s progress, Your Honor. Perhaps it’s just an upset stomach, and he can resume tomorrow. Let’s not be too hasty here.”

The phone rang at Deputy Kimura’s desk. Still standing and watching the crowd sternly, he picked up the receiver and listened. In a moment he made a sign to the clerk and began writing down something. The clerk made a sign to Milne, who said, “We will take a five minute recess. The jury will remain seated.” He left the bench in a flurry of robes. The deputy and his clerk followed him.

The legal affairs reporter from the
San Francisco Chronicle,
who had arrived late in the trial, came up to Nina right away and asked, “Who’s the alternate?” Nina gave him the name but little else. Patti Zobel, a plain woman in a running suit with frizzy hair, sitting in her spot with the other jurors, was trying to look calm but was obviously very excited. She had spent weeks as an understudy and had just been given a leading role.

Five minutes passed. Nina glanced at Patti Zobel. Patti Zobel looked back at her. Did she have a hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth? Could she be trying to say, I’m on your side? Nina looked away, afraid one of the other jurors would notice, intoxicated with hope.

Milne came back, his face long, and a hush fell over the courtroom.

“I regret to advise you that juror number six, Mr. Clifford Wright, passed away a few minutes ago at Boulder Hospital,” he said.

Gasps and stifled cries came from the jurors. Kris Schmidt buried her face in her hands. Nina and Winston looked at each other in astonishment. Genevieve scribbled a note.
Hot dog!
it said.

Milne seemed genuinely sad. “I have never had a juror die during a trial, and I have been a judge for seventeen years,” he went on. “I and the other court personnel would like to express our deep sympathy to Mr. Wright’s family and friends, and to express our appreciation for the work he has done in this case.”

He turned to the jury. “While I appreciate the sadness that you must feel, having worked very closely with Mr. Wright over the past weeks, I must ask you to return to your task. I believe Mr. Wright would have wanted you to do that.”

Riesner asked to approach the bench, and Nina went up there with him. Out of the hearing of the jury, Riesner said, “I move for a mistrial. This jury can’t carry on. It’s one thing to replace a sick juror, but this is too traumatic. They can’t be asked to calmly consider the evidence—”

Milne was nodding. “I agree to some extent,” he said. “This can’t be easy for the rest of them.”

“It’s not easy,” Nina said, “but look at the time and resources that have gone into this trial. The jury should be allowed to reach a verdict. The whole reason for the alternate juror system is to handle just this kind of situation, to save the work that’s been done. Please, Your Honor. Consider the judicial resources already expended. The parties, the attorneys—having to go through all this again is too—too awful to contemplate.”

Milne waved away Riesner’s next attempt to talk, and the lawyers stood there and waited while he thought. At last he said, “I would like to poll the jurors individually in my chambers to see if they feel able to continue. How does that sound?”

Nina nodded, but Riesner said, “No. It doesn’t matter what they say. I request a mistrial.”

“I’ll take that request under submission and meanwhile talk to the jury members,” Milne said. “All right, let’s do it.”

Another recess. The jurors returned to the jury room, waiting for their turn to be called in to see the judge. The lawyers fortified themselves with more caffeine downstairs. The reporters talked excitedly among themselves. Lindy went outside for a quick walk.

An hour passed, the most agonizing hour yet. While they drank coffee, Milne’s clerk, Edith, came down and Genevieve tried to get some more information. When she came back to the table, she said, “Wow. Trouble here in River City. Edith says the doc at the hospital is pretty sure Cliff was allergic to something he ate off the lunch tray provided by the court. They ate Chinese. The rest of the jury must be shook all to pieces.”

“If he told the court he was severely allergic to something and they let it be served to him anyway, his family’s got a lawsuit I would love to handle,” said Winston.

“That would be a first,” Nina said. “Suing the county for killing a juror. Incredible. Oh, I don’t even care. I’m so scared that Milne’s going to call a mistrial, my hands are shaking the coffee all over my skirt.”

“Me, too. I thought you just put in the next alternate if a juror got sick or died,” Genevieve said. “I can’t believe the judge would find it in his heart to throw away all this work.”

“If we can just keep going,” Winston said, “we got us a hot one in the jury room now. I saw how Patti gave you the high sign with her eyes, Nina.”

“Winston, ever the optimist. This trial is it for me,” Nina said. “I couldn’t afford to do this again. That poor man. I feel rotten about the way I talked about him.”

Deputy Kimura came through the door, pointing upward toward the court. “He’s ready,” he said.

Milne took the bench and the jurors came back in. “I have spoken with each of the jurors,” he said. “All, including juror thirteen, have advised me that they feel able to continue; therefore, I am denying the motion for a mistrial.”

Nina breathed again. She felt sad, relieved, frightened all at once. Under the table, Winston squeezed her hand.

Milne now gave the BAJI instruction to the jury covering the event that had just occurred, modifying it slightly. The jury listened intently, especially Patti Zobel, as if she wanted to demonstrate her willingness to follow the law and do a good job.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said. “A juror has been, ah, incapacitated and replaced with an alternate juror.

“The law grants each party in this case a right to a verdict reached only after full participation of all jurors who ultimately return the verdict.

“This right may be assured in this case only if the jury begins its deliberations again from the beginning.”

Oh, brother, Bob Binkley’s disgusted head shake said.

“You are therefore instructed to disregard and put out of your mind all past deliberations and begin deliberating anew. This means that each remaining juror must set aside and disregard the earlier deliberations as if they had not taken place.

“You shall now retire for your deliberations in accordance with the instructions previously given.”

Milne returned to his normal tone. “It is already four o’clock, and I am sure many of us are feeling upset and would like to go home to our families. Therefore the court will adjourn at this time and resume again at nine a.m. Don’t forget the cautions I have given you.”

“C’mon, Nina, let’s go out,” Genevieve said as they walked out into a cool drizzle. She reached for Winston. In response to her gesture, he put his arm tenderly around her, engulfing her in his overcoat, and Nina thought, watching Genevieve looking up at him, she acts like she owns him now. He’s not going to like that. “I do believe we’re all gonna get paid! Hey, Win, let’s drive up to the North Shore tonight and eat at that restaurant across from the casino at Incline.”

Nina made her excuses, smiling at Genevieve’s boisterous confidence. “Maybe,” she said. “But I’m going to meet Lindy at the office and explain what all this means to her. And remember, it’s not over—”

“Till it’s over,” Winston said. “You go get some sleep if you can.” He gently moved away from Genevieve. “Thanks for the offer, Gen, but I’m going to give those tables a chance to seduce me back, because Providence seems to be smiling on us right now, and I’m going to see if she hasn’t got some extra good cheer to throw my way.”

As she crawled into bed that night, Nina had a strong feeling that this would be the last night of hellish waiting. She pulled the covers up and lay on her back, thinking. If they won—oh, God, if they won—and as usual she woke up every couple of hours to lie there and fret some more, but she did have one funny dream.

She dreamed she was going to be a star, and Sophia Loren was fixing her hair. Sophia had a new pair of sunglasses for her, too.

Right. Her subconscious was apparently doing some premature celebrating with Genevieve.

Late the next morning they got the phone call: they had a verdict. Nina and Sandy drove to court together in Nina’s car. Sandy peppered Nina with questions about pending cases, but Nina was useless. She could not speak. Her mind was utterly blank. She made the familiar motions, turning the wheel of the car, driving the familiar streets, but she saw nothing but disaster ahead, if . . . On the way, a naturalist on the radio ranted about the songbirds and profusion of wildflowers in Tahoe at this time of year, but he might as well have been describing life on Mars. Nina turned him off before they parked.