A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,167

the question is not whether you’ve met Mr. Dyer, but do you know him personally, in some way?”

Mrs. Gayle Oswalt, number forty-six, stood and said proudly, “My daughter and his wife were sorority sisters at Mississippi State. We’ve known Lowell for many years.”

“Okay. Would the fact that you know him well influence your ability to remain fair and impartial?”

“I don’t know, Judge. I’m not sure.”

“Do you think you’d tend to believe him over Mr. Brigance?”

“Well, don’t know about that, but I’d believe anything Lowell said.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Oswalt.”

Over her name Jake scratched, “PC.” Peremptory challenge.

Dyer’s assistant, D. R. Musgrove, was a career prosecutor from Polk County and proved to be unknown that far from home.

“Mr. Dyer, you may examine the pool,” Noose announced and tried to relax in his chair. Lowell stood, stepped to the bar, and smiled at the crowd. He said, “Well, first of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for voting for me.” More laughs, another break in the tension. With all eyes on the prosecutor, Jake was able to study the faces and body language of those on the front four rows.

With the ice broken somewhat, Dyer began with questions about prior jury service and a few hands went up. He asked the volunteers about their experiences. Criminal case, or civil? If criminal, was there a conviction? How did you vote? All had found the defendants guilty. Do you trust the jury system? Do you understand its importance? Law school textbook stuff. Nothing creative but then jury selection rarely yielded much in the way of drama.

Ever been the victim of a crime? A few hands—house burglaries, a stolen car, not much crime in Van Buren County. Anyone in your family ever been the victim of a violent crime? Number sixty-two, Lance Bolivar, slowly got to his feet and said, “Yes sir. My nephew was murdered eight years ago over in the Delta.” Well, well, a bit of drama after all.

Dyer zeroed in and, feigning too much sympathy, followed up nicely. He stayed away from the details of the crime and asked about its investigation and aftermath. The killer was found guilty and was serving a life sentence. The experience was terrible, devastating, and the family would be forever scarred. No, Mr. Bolivar did not believe he could be an impartial juror.

Jake wasn’t worried about him because he was too deep in the pool.

Dyer moved on to questions about “peace officers,” as he called them, and wanted to know if anyone had ever worn a uniform or was related to a cop. One lady had a brother who was a state trooper. She was number fifty-one and Jake made another “PC” by her name, though he doubted he would have to use it. Number three, Don Coben, reluctantly admitted that his son was a policeman in Tupelo. His reluctance was a clear sign, at least to Jake, that he wanted to serve on the jury. He had already reached a verdict.

Dyer did not ask if anyone had a criminal record. It was a potentially embarrassing question and not worth the risk. Most convicted felons could not vote, and of those whose records had been expunged, few bothered with registering. However, number forty-four, Joey Kepner, had been convicted of a drug offense twenty years earlier. He served two years in prison before getting clean and having his record erased. Portia had found the old indictment and had a file on him. The question was: Did Dyer know about it? Probably not, because of the expungement. Jake desperately wanted him on the jury. He had served hard time for possessing a small quantity of marijuana and probably had a dim view of law enforcement.

Stuart Kofer’s bad habits would not be discussed during jury selection. Jake doubted Dyer would go there because he did not want to weaken his case so early. Nor would Jake drag out the dirt. It would come soon enough, and he did not want to be seen as an overzealous defense lawyer too eager to blame the victim.

Dyer was methodical but good on his feet. He smiled a lot as he warmed to the task and seemed to connect with the jurors. He stuck to his script, stayed on point, and did not belabor the obvious. When he finished he thanked them again and sat down.

Jake took his spot at the bar and fought to settle his nerves. He introduced himself and said that he had been practicing