Breach Of Promise

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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.”

28

“Be seated,” a

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 co

“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 stu

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 ru

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 perso

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.”