A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,164

about the connection. Several times during the morning, Jake had made clear eye contact with Cote, who appeared intrigued but noncommittal. And what exactly was he supposed to do? Wink at Jake? Give him a thumbs-up?

Finley, who’d been two years ahead of Jake in law school at Ole Miss, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and said, proudly, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a ringer.”

“I love it,” Harry Rex said.

“Let’s hear it,” Jake said.

“As you requested, Jake, I sent the jury list to about ten lawyer friends in nearby counties, just part of the fishing process, never works but what the hell, we all do it. Might get lucky with a name or two. Well, folks, we’re lucky. Juror number fifteen is Della Fancher, white, age forty, lives on a farm near the Polk County line, with husband either number two or three. They have two kids and appear to be stable, though virtually unknown. A buddy of mine—Jake, do you know Skip Salter over in Fulton?”

“No.”

“Anyway, Skip scanned the list and for some reason stopped at the name of Della Fancher. Della is not a common first name, not around here anyway, so he got curious, checked an old file, and made a few calls. When he met her about fifteen years ago she was Della McBride, married to David McBride, a man she desperately wanted to get away from. Skip filed the divorce on behalf of Della and when the deputy served papers on Mr. McBride, he beat the hell out of her, and not for the first time. Put her in the hospital. It turned into a really ugly divorce, not much money to fight over but he became violent, abusive, and threatening. There were all kinds of restraining orders and such. He stalked her and harassed her at work. Skip finally got the divorce and she fled the area. Found her way here and started a new life.”

“I’m surprised she registered to vote,” Jake said.

“This could be huge,” Harry Rex said. “A bona fide victim of domestic abuse sitting on the jury.”

“Maybe,” Jake said, obviously stunned by the story. “But she’s not there yet. Let’s think about this. The panel is about to be examined extensively—by me, Dyer, probably even by Noose. It’ll go on and on and take up the afternoon. At some point the questions will get around to domestic violence. I certainly plan to go there if the others don’t. If Della raises her hand and tells her story, then she’ll be challenged for cause and sent home. I’ll object and all that, but she’ll be off the jury, no question about it. However, what if she doesn’t speak up? Just sits there and thinks that no one in this county knows her past?”

Morris said, “It means she has an ax to grind, a score to settle, pick your cliché.”

Libby said, “Excuse me, but when will the pool learn more about the case?”

“Now, just after lunch, when we reconvene,” Jake said.

“So, Della will know before the questions start that there are allegations of domestic violence.”

“Yes.”

The four lawyers pondered the scenarios, each choosing to think for a moment and not speak. Then Portia said, “Excuse me, I’m just a lowly law clerk, soon to be first-year law student, but doesn’t she have the duty to speak up?”

The four nodded in unison. “Yes,” Jake said, “she certainly has the duty, but it’s no crime to stay quiet. Happens all the time. You can’t make people come forward and tell their secrets and reveal their biases during jury selection.”

“But that seems wrong.”

“It is, but it’s rare for a juror to be exposed after the trial. Keep in mind, Portia, she may have other motives. She may be hiding from her past and doesn’t want folks around here to know about it. It takes courage to admit being a victim of abuse. Guts. But if she doesn’t speak up, then maybe she wants to serve, and that’s where it gets interesting. Could it be a bad thing for us?”

“No way,” Libby said. “If she wants on that jury it’s because she’ll have no sympathy for Stuart Kofer.”

Another long pause as they considered what might happen. Finally, Jake said, “Well, we won’t know until we get there. She might jump out of her seat and flee the courtroom if given half a chance.”

“I doubt it,” Libby said. “We looked at each other a couple of times. I’ll bet she’s with us.”

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By 1:30 the jurors