About That Night

Over the course of the next two minutes, the remaining twenty-one jurors trickled in. Kyle was pleased to see that four of them didn’t seem to recognize him at all, and three other jurors merely looked at him curiously, as if they couldn’t quite place him. The remaining thirteen appeared highly intrigued by his presence.

When all the jurors had returned to their seats, Ryla

“Raise your right hand,” he said to Kyle. “Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you’re about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

Ryla

They had sure come a long way from the cornfields of Champaign-Urbana.

“State your name for the record, please,” she began.

And away we go.

“Kyle Rhodes.”

KYLE HAD TO say, he was impressed.

She was good.

Of course, he’d guessed that Ryla

Not exactly the proudest four months of Kyle’s life, nor a subject on which he enjoyed being an expert, but he understood the role he needed to play that afternoon.

She slowed the pace when they got to the night Kyle overheard Qui

“Can you explain what disciplinary segregation is, for those jurors who may not be familiar with the term?” she suggested.

“It’s a cell block where they separate inmates from the general population. One inmate per cell, and there are none of the regular prison privileges. Meaning no leisure time, and you eat your meals in your cell.”

“Is it quiet?” she asked.

“Very, especially since inmates in segregation aren’t supposed to talk to each other. If a man’s stomach growled, you could hear it three cells over.”

He could tell she liked that answer.

Back and forth they went, grabbing the jurors’ attention and reeling them in. They steadily made their way to the climax of their story—Qui

It was over.

She paused for a moment, letting Qui

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. I have no further questions.” She turned to the jurors behind her. “Does the grand jury have any questions for this witness?” After a moment of silence, she smiled politely at Kyle. “You may step down, Mr. Rhodes. Thank you.”

With a nod, Kyle rose from the swivel chair. Ignoring the curious glances of the jurors, he strode out of the room. When the door shut behind him, he stood alone in the hallway feeling satisfied yet strangely dismissed—like a man who’d barely finished his last pump during a hot one-night stand before being shoved out the door with his shirt and shoes in his hands.

He hadn’t expected her to hang around for hours making post-testimonial chitchat, but, boy, that was…anticlimactic. For one thing, she hadn’t even said when they were going to see each other again. Oh, sure, in a few weeks she’d waltz back into his life with her notepad and briefcase and fiery little subpoena threats, and she’d charm and sass and get whatever she wanted, and then wham-bam-thank-you-sir, she’d be on her merry little skirt-suited way again.

This whole grand jury experience had left him feeling very discombobulated.

Kyle made it all the way down to the lobby before he realized he could turn on his cell phone again. He did so, and moments later a text message popped up.

From Ryla

YOU DID GREAT. I’LL CALL WHEN I KNOW ABOUT THE INDICTMENT.

Kyle stuck his phone back into his suit coat, only later realizing that was the first time in six months he’d left the courthouse with a smile on his face.

LATER THAT EVENING, Ryla

Unlike trial juries, which could take days or even longer in deliberation, a grand jury typically voted quickly. Today, thankfully, had been no exception. Ten minutes after Manuel Gutierrez left the witness stand, the jury foreperson had brought to the chief judge’s chambers a true bill in the case that henceforth would officially be known as United States v. Adam Qui