“Yes,” I said. “I think this case would resolve if we had the video. I requested it through discovery and my client, separately, requested it through Missouri’s Freedom of Information Act, but we haven’t gotten it.”
Cynthia Curtis stepped forward. “That’s because it doesn’t exist, Your Honor. I asked for it as well. The police have no knowledge of it, and it’s not referenced in any police report.”
“But there are cameras recording all the activities in that park,” I said. “To the extent that the arresting police officer lost the video or never got it as part of his investigation, then I would like permission to question that officer about this critical piece of evidence.”
“Your Honor.” Curtis raised her voice. “As you know, a defendant cannot impeach a witness with evidence that doesn’t exist. There is no video.”
Judge Polansky sighed. “Everybody calm down.” He looked at me. I could tell he was thinking, Really? All this about a misdemeanor? Then he sighed and issued his ruling. “The prosecutor is correct. Absent something more than what you’ve told me, I can’t allow you to ask such questions.” He looked at Cynthia Curtis. “She’s an officer of the court”—he looked back at me—“as are you, and she has a duty of candor to this tribunal. If she says that the video doesn’t exist, then we have to accept that and move on.”
CHAPTER FORTY
It took the rest of the morning to select the twelve jurors.
In a murder or a felony assault, jury selection may take a week or more. In a high-profile medical malpractice or civil class action, a company may hire consultants or psychologists to craft the perfect questions to find the jury that is most sympathetic to their case.
Here, jury selection took about an hour and a half. There weren’t any fancy questionnaires or trick questions. The prosecutor and I weren’t getting paid by the hour. We just needed to get it done.
That meant we were focused on trying to get rid of three types of people: racists, vigilantes, and the anxious. The reasons to rid ourselves of racists and vigilantes were self-explanatory and straightforward. Anxious people were a little more complex. Usually their anxiety stems from the financial hardship that serving on a jury would cause by missing work or having to pay for childcare. Anxious people have a tendency to disrupt jury deliberations or, worse, go to the bathroom in the middle of trial and never come back.
Nobody wanted a mistrial.
Judge Polansky warmly thanked the remaining individuals who were finally selected to serve on the jury. Their numbers had dropped from a total pool of twenty to seven, six jurors and one alternate. “We are now going to break for lunch. The trial will begin in one hour. I need you all to be back in the jury deliberation room so that there are no delays. My clerk will have posted signs indicating where you should go.”
The annoyance that Judge Polansky had exhibited all morning with me and Cecil was gone. He had made a shift, playing a new role for the jurors. It was now his job to be a kind and benevolent leader. Judge Polansky looked at the remaining jurors with the pride of a father, then his expression turned serious again.
“In the meantime, you are not to speak to one another about this case, the defendant, the lawyers, or the court. If a family member or friend asks you about this case, you may say that you are now serving on a jury, but you cannot talk about any details. Even saying that you are serving on a criminal jury may elicit a comment or further questions that could result in prejudicing you toward either the prosecution or the defense. It is best to avoid these conversations, as well as any television, newspapers, or Internet.”
Judge Polansky took a deep breath, checked the clock, and added, “Finally, no Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, or any other social media.” A few of the jurors giggled, and Judge Polanksy shot them a look of concern. “Seriously, you’d be amazed at the number of trials that have to be redone because a juror is live-tweeting the proceedings. It’s insane. It’s stupid, but it happens, and I feel like I have to tell you not to do it on the record.”
Judge Polansky stood. “We will now rise as the jurors exit the room, and then this court will stand in recess until one o’clock.”
The prosecutor, Cecil Bates, and I stood. We watched the jury leave the room. Then Cecil turned to me. His anger and bluster were gone. Seeing an actual jury did that to people. The courtroom was theater, and the formalities developed over hundreds of years had the ability to weigh down any person. I’d seen it many times. A juror or defendant would come in with an attitude, or joking about this or that. Then the veneer washed away, and they started to see the genius of the process, however flawed the process might be.
“I’m thinking it’ll be OK now.” Cecil nodded in agreement with his own observation. “Still know the odds, though. Ain’t dumb.”
I put my hand on Cecil’s back. “We’ll do our best.”
“Can you call abouts the video request?” He asked it with the contriteness of a child, and I couldn’t refuse. I’d follow up even though I knew the video was never going to be provided in time. The bureaucrats that ran the city were not in a hurry to help anybody.
“I’ll give it another shot.” Then I opened my wallet and took out a ten-dollar bill. It was against the rules of professional responsibility to give a client money, but I didn’t care. “Take it.”
Cecil hesitated, staring at the money. “I can’t, Mr. Glass.”
“You need to eat something.” I reached out, took Cecil’s hand, and placed the ten-dollar bill into his palm. “It’ll help you feel better to get some lunch.”
Cecil looked down at his hand and nodded. “No booze.” It was a command directed at himself, not a promise to me.
I patted him on the back. “Definitely no booze.”
We walked out of the courtroom together. No further words. Silence. He went left to the stairs, and I went right to a cluster of small conference rooms.
It was going to be a working lunch. I needed to prepare my opening statement as well as keep up with my practice. I had received three texts that morning, all of them from Emma. She had more appointments scheduled with, and phone calls to, potential clients. She’d also scheduled an interview with the young witness who might’ve seen his brother get into a van on the night that his brother disappeared, which I needed to confirm.
Then there was the search for Sammy’s school. I had decided that we’d continue to visit schools for another week, maybe two, and then it was going to be time to make a decision. She couldn’t stay at home forever.
The Judge had called to tell me that there were two school open houses. He also thought I might be interested in attending a fund-raiser for the Children’s Defense League. He’d found the invitation when he was going through his mail.
Judge Danny Bryce was the keynote speaker.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE