given a special entrance through the back, so as to avoid it. Before long we are seated at the defense table, as Hatchet goes through the formalities involved in opening the proceedings.
At the defense table with me are Kevin and Laurie. Across the aisle Dylan sits with two other prosecutors. He is dressed in his Sunday best; I'm surprised he doesn't have a flower in his lapel. He has an air of confidence about him, confidence that I wish were misplaced.
The gallery is packed, as expected, and according to the bailiff, the public won their coveted seats through a lottery drawing that will be held each day. The group today, while they might consider themselves lucky winners, is about to be bored out of their minds by the tedium of jury selection.
I've consulted two jury consultants on tactics but ultimately decided to go it on my own. One of the few things we have going for us is the incongruity between Laurie's appearance and demeanor on the one hand and the brutality of the crime on the other. The consultants felt that female jurors would have the most trouble believing Laurie could do such a thing, but I don't agree. I'm going to listen to my gut instincts, although it would be nice if my gut would stop churning and allow me to hear them.
It is conventional wisdom to say that jury selection is perhaps the most important phase of a trial, a process during which cases can be won or lost before a single witness is called. In theory this is true, but in practice it is rarely that decisive.
Competent lawyers have become sophisticated enough at jury selection that it is very unusual for one side to gain a decisive advantage. It's like in a football game. The mechanics of the game, the x's and o's, are vital to a team's success, but modern coaching staffs have become so knowledgeable that it is usually in other areas that a team develops a winning edge.
Every chance Dylan gets, he publicly describes Laurie as a tough-as-nails former cop, while my goal is to have everyone view her as a delicate flower. In the real world she's both, so it makes our little game more challenging.
Laurie hates when I refer to a trial as a game, but that's how I see it, that's how I have to see it to perform at my best. And it is a game in the sense that it has strategy and luck, peaks and valleys, ebbs and flows, and winners and losers. The stakes are not what make a game a game; you play to win and then you cash in your chips, whatever they are worth.
For me to be effective, I must depersonalize the case, view it only from the perspective of proper strategy and tactics. That is my greatest danger here, other than the fact that the prosecution has a seemingly airtight case. It is a constant struggle for me to step back and look at the game, without looking at the people and the incredibly high stakes.
I am scared that I will not do well enough to win, but I will not do well enough to win if I am scared.
Hatchet is in good form. I've always suspected that he carries a "glower meter" with him. The more significant the occasion, the more momentous the moment, the more he glowers and threatens. Today the meter is hitting approximately a seven, which is to say he would certainly chew a lawyer up, but might not spit him out. It's a sign that he considers this an important trial. He's right about that.
After about an hour Hatchet turns to me. "Is the defense ready?"
"Yes," I lie, and we're under way in the case of the State of New Jersey v. Laurie Collins.
One hundred prospective jurors are brought into the room, and Hatchet gives them his standard lecture on the importance of jury service to society. He thanks them for being good citizens, but he knows as well as I do that they are here because, unlike the majority of their fellow good citizens, they couldn't figure out how to get an excuse from serving.
The jurors are given questionnaires to fill out, answering many of the questions that the lawyers would ask. This is designed to reduce the repetition and time necessary to get through this process, as the written responses often disqualify people without us having to take the time to question them.
It takes two