A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

“And a lot of people have been talking about this case at this bar you go to?”

“You bet,” Greenwood replied.

“So, tell me,” John Henry zeroed in, “after all the talk at this local bar that you go to pretty much every night, have you formed an opinion about this case?”

The potential juror nodded.  “I guess you could say that.”

“And will you share with us what that opinion would be?”

“If you want my opinion,” Rocker Greenwood declared, “that dead cop was nothin’ but a pig, and the kid, if he really done it, he oughta get a medal for it.”

“I have nothing further,” John Henry said.

. . .

“Have you heard much about this case?” Lily asked Potential Juror Number 64, a forty-five-year-old woman who looked like she was dressed for a luncheon at the country club rather than a grueling question-and-answer session in an eight-five degree courtroom.

“I’ve heard a great deal about it,” Martha Heidt replied.  “I read the newspaper, I listen to the radio, and I watch the television.”

“And have you discussed what you’ve read and heard with others?”

“Indeed I have,” she confirmed.  “Every Wednesday at the club, where we all meet for lunch.  It’s much more interesting than a lot of other stuff we talk about.”

Lily nodded.  “And have you and your luncheon companions, reached any conclusions about the case?”

“Of course, we have,” Martha Heidt declared.  “And pretty much all of us agree that your client over there should hang from the neck until he’s very, very dead.”

. . .

“Are you related to any member of the Port Hancock Police Force?” John Henry asked Prospective Juror Number 82, a young woman with flaming red hair.

“No, I’m not,” Evelyn Wolcott said.  “I don’t even know any member of the police force yet.”  The twenty-four-year-old had moved to Jackson County for a job in a beauty salon five months earlier.

“Have you heard much about the case we’re dealing with here?” the prosecutor inquired.

“I’ve heard some,” Evelyn replied.  “The customers talk about it.”

“And has what you’ve heard led you to form an opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant?”

“Well, I haven’t been in Port Hancock for very long, you understand,” she said, “but the general opinion around town certainly seems to be that he’s guilty.”

“Despite what you may have heard at your beauty salon, or what the general opinion around town may be,” Lily inquired, when it was her turn, “if you were chosen for this jury, do you believe you could set all that aside, listen to all the evidence as it’s presented, and then render an impartial verdict in this case?”

“Well, I think I could,” Evelyn Wolcott replied.  “After all, I don’t see as anyone really knows all the facts yet.”

. . .

“What do I know about the case?” Prospective Juror Number 31, a forty-eight year old insurance salesman, rephrased John Henry’s question.  “I know a Port Hancock police detective was shot and killed, and that the man sitting over there has been accused of the crime.”

“And have you formed any opinion as to his guilt or innocence?”

John Boyle shrugged.  “If I say yes -- do I get to go home?” he asked.

              A number of prospective jurors in the gallery suddenly leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the prosecutor’s response.

              “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” John Henry said with a smile, and the gallery let out a collective sigh.

“Then I guess I’d have to say I haven’t really been following the case closely enough to have an opinion yet,” Prospective Juror Number 31 said.

. . .

“I’ve been on the other side of the country for the past six months,” Prospective Juror Number 16 said, when asked about her familiarity with the case.  “Before I left, I’d heard about the murder, but I’m afraid I wasn’t paying very close attention.”

“Where were you for those six months?” Lily inquired.

“I was in Connecticut, seeing to my daughter and her family,” fifty-six-year-old Anne Hagen replied.  “She was having a very difficult time with her third pregnancy, and the doctors told her she had to stay in bed until she gave birth.  But she has a husband and two other children, and someone had to look after them.”

“Obviously, you had more important things on your mind than what was going on around here,” Lily said.  “Is your daughter all right?”

“Thank God, yes,” the prospective juror said, beaming.  “And I have a beautiful new grandson, too.”

“Congratulations!”

“So, if you’re looking for someone who knows what this case is all about,” Anne Hagen added, “I’m afraid I’m not your person.”

. . .

And on and on it went like that for the rest of the day and the day after that and the day after that, until a week had passed, and finally seven women, five men, and two female alternates were found to be satisfactory to both the prosecution and the defense, and were sworn in as the jury that would decide the fate of Jason Lightfoot.

. . .

Jason had been in the courtroom for the whole jury selection process, wearing a pair of pants, a shirt, and a sport coat his uncle had gotten for him at the local thrift store.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn a real suit.  But it looked like he would be wearing one from now on.  The lady lawyer had picked it out for him, and it really wasn’t his style.  Still, she said she wanted him to look good in court, so he kept his mouth shut and put it on, along with the white shirt and the striped tie and the shoes and the socks that went with it.  By the time the barber came in, he was resigned to the idea that her intent wasn’t as much to make him look good, as it was to make him over in the image of a white man.  And he probably wouldn’t have minded even that so much, had the benefits of being white