between calm and dread. I gave her my best it will be fine expression.
Wishing desperately for that expression to be true, I strode toward the jury box, exuding what I hoped was a composed, authoritative air, even though my skin felt tingly, as if my nerves were scratching against it.
We wanted to present Valerie Solara, Maggie had said, as a mom, a Chicagoan and a friend. Valerie had lost her husband some years back and in order to be able to afford her daughter’s private school, they’d moved from their upscale Gold Coast neighborhood to the west side of the city, into a cheaper apartment. We wanted jurors who were devoted parents, or jurors who lived either north or west as Valerie had, or even widowers. Basically, we wanted people who seemed as much like our client as possible.
I looked at one potential juror and smiled. “Ms. Marshall. You mentioned on earlier questioning that your husband is a police officer, is that right?”
She nodded. She was a heavy woman with faded blond hair and splotched skin. She looked annoyed about having to be here, but her previous answers had shown she had some interest in being on the jury. She was also obviously in support of anything law enforcement; one of those people who believed the police could do no wrong.
I want her out, Maggie had said fiercely. In Illinois, an attorney can ask that a potential juror be dismissed for “cause”—meaning a situation where it was evident that a potential juror could not be impartial—as many times as they wanted. But what if it wasn’t evident that person was unfair? What if the lawyer just had a feeling? Then you had to use a “challenge.” But each side only got a certain number of challenges. My role was to try and get the juror to say something that would rise to the level of “cause.”
“Given your husband’s job,” I said, “do you believe you would be able to stay fair and impartial throughout the trial?”
“Of course,” she said, clearly annoyed. Exactly what I wanted.
“It could be days, even weeks, until Valerie Solara will be able to present her own evidence. Will you be able to wait until you hear all the evidence before you decide whether the state has proven their case beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms and glared. She struck me as someone who wanted to be on the jury for the sake of being able to say so to her friends.
“Do you have children, Ms. Marshall?”
She shook her head.
“You’ll have to answer out loud for the court reporter, ma’am.”
“No,” she said loudly.
“Have you ever seen your husband testify in any cases?”
Now her face lightened. “Yes.”
“And have you ever encountered a situation where your husband testified in a case where the defendant was not guilty of the crime of which they were accused?”
“Oh, no,” she said immediately. “He wouldn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he’s a policeman.”
“And police officers know who is guilty.”
“Right.”
“Is there a situation you could imagine where a police officer might testify and that person might end up being innocent?”
“No.”
I had her. I didn’t want to look triumphant in front of the whole jury, so I asked a few more questions, all benign, before I turned to Judge Bates. “Your Honor, I’d request that Ms. Marshall be excused from the jury for cause.”
He nodded. “So granted.”
Judge Bates looked at the jury. “Ms. Marshall, we thank you for being here today. You may leave.” He nodded at the sheriff to show her the way out. “Continue, Ms. McNeil.”
I picked out a thirtyish guy with hair flattened to his head in a way that was technically stylish but not on him, and who had been staring at my legs since I’d been in front of him. “Mr. Heaton.”
He raised his eyebrows in a suggestive kind of way.
I asked a couple of questions, enough to see that this guy would say yes to whatever I wanted. I thanked him and wrote W on the questionnaire, my shorthand for I-want-this-one-on-my-jury.
I turned to the woman next to him and questioned her, then another.
During the process of voie dire, you needed to not only pick out the jurors you wanted dismissed, but also win over the jurors you wanted to keep. You had to chat and crack a couple of jokes and respond to the judge and read one juror’s face while you read another’s body language out of the corner of your eye and keep your ears open for a C’mere a sec from your cocounsel—and you had to do this all at the same time and make it look smooth. I loved voie dire.
By the time I was done with the panel of jurors, I felt great. I walked toward the table and saw Maggie give me a pleased nod.
I glanced at Ellie Whelan, who regarded me for a second before she returned her gaze to the questionnaires in front of her. If I was correct, her eyes had held grudging respect.
I sat next to Maggie. “I want to do it again.”
7
M aggie let me handle two more panels of jurors before she took over, but the judge kept the jury questioning surprisingly quick compared to civil court. Once the jury was sworn in, the judge gave them directions about reporting for duty the next day. Then they were dismissed.
Maggie, Valerie and I went into the order room where Martin Bristol had been that morning. We sat at the same table. Valerie looked more shaken than earlier. “It’s really happening,” she said.
Maggie nodded but didn’t appear worried. I was sure she’d heard such sentiments from other clients before.
Just then, Maggie’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it from her pocket and looked at it. “It’s my mom. She never calls when I’m on trial. It must be about my grandfather.”
Valerie’s eyes closed at the mention of Martin Bristol.
Maggie left the room and shot me a look over her shoulder. Take charge.
I turned to Valerie and put on my best lawyer face. “So Valerie, let’s talk a little bit and let me explain why I’m here.”
She nodded fast and looked into my eyes, clearly wanting to be reassured.
“As you apparently saw this morning, Marty is feeling ill. He’s never really shown his age, but he is in his seventies.”
Valerie gave a short shake of her head. “But he doesn’t seem old.”
“You’re right.”
“He came to me so certain we would win. He believed me, and I found myself trusting him, which is unlike me.” Her small, dark-skinned hands flew to her face again, and she looked
