Eyes of a Child (41 page)

Which was one reason drawing Jared Lerner was such good fortune. Within moments, Lerner had asked Alice whether she believed that a defendant was innocent until proven guilty; whether she knew that guilt must be established beyond a reasonable doubt; and whether she understood that the prosecution bears the burden of proof. All of which principles Lerner was drilling into the potential jurors before the trial even started.

To each question, Alice Mahan had answered yes.

Lerner leaned forward from the bench, beard pointing toward Alice, bald head glistening under the fluorescent lights. ‘Some people,' Lerner said, ‘feel that if a defendant doesn't testify, he or she may have something to hide. What do you think about that?'

It was perfect for the defense, an open-ended question that gave Alice permission to state her true beliefs. Glancing at Caroline, Paget silently thanked her for Jared Lerner.

‘How did you do
that?
' he had murmured earlier that morning, as they were sent to Lerner's courtroom: with ten other judges available, the odds against Lerner seemed too high for coincidence.

Caroline smiled. ‘I didn't do anything, really.'

‘Define “really.”'

She shrugged. ‘I saw him the other night, at a reunion for ex-public defenders. When he asked me what I was doing for fun, I told him a little about our case – which he'd read about, of course – and said the trial would be fascinating.' Another fleeting smile. ‘Judges are human, after all, as you no doubt calculated about
me
prior to the Carelli hearing. So I suppose that Jared Lerner might have
asked
for this assignment.'

Now, as Alice Mahan formed her answer, Paget watched Victor Salinas scowling.

‘If a defendant doesn't testify?' Alice asked in a puzzled tone. ‘I really don't know about that.'

Lerner gave her a pleasant smile. ‘I'm sure you've never had to give it any thought. Why don't you just take a moment and do that now. For example, try to imagine Mr Paget not testifying, and tell me how you feel.'

Alice cocked her head, squinting. ‘I don't think I'd be satisfied, really. I mean, a man on trial for murder shouldn't want to leave us with any questions.'

It was the very mind-set Caroline and Paget feared. Their focus on the judge was as taut as Salinas's.

Contemplating Alice Mahan, Lerner stroked his beard. ‘Do you think,' he asked slowly, ‘you could judge the case fairly if he decides
not
to testify?'

Alice hesitated and then gave a small nod. ‘I'm not sure,' she said finally. ‘But I'd certainly
try,
Your Honor.'

Tensing, Paget saw Salinas turn to Lerner with a hopeful expression. ‘Strike her,' Caroline said under her breath. ‘Please.'

Lerner gave Alice a nod of approval. ‘I'm sure you'd try, Mrs Mahan. And I appreciate the help you've given me. But in fairness, I think I should excuse you.'

Salinas turned away. ‘Bingo,' Caroline murmured.

‘One of the nasty little racist secrets of picking San Francisco juries,' Johnny Moore had said to Caroline, ‘is for defense lawyers to strike as many Asians as possible. Is there anything about Chris's case that makes you disagree?'

They were meeting in Caroline's office – the detective, Paget, and Caroline herself – to strategize on the selection of the jury. But where Paget and Caroline Masters looked as if they belonged there, Moore – with his white beard and the ruddy face of a reformed drinker, his wool sport coat and corduroy slacks and tennis shirt open at the throat – seemed more like a pro bono client who had been sent to Caroline by Legal Aid.

‘Asians?' Caroline answered. ‘It depends. If we're talking immigrants or the unassimilated, I suppose I agree: they tend to defer to authority and to forget the presumption of innocence. But give me a second- or third-generation Asian, especially a professional with an advanced education, and things start to look quite different. At least there I don't worry so much about class bias.' She leaned back in her chair, hands behind her head, reading glasses halfway down her nose. ‘All right,' she said dryly to both Moore and Paget, ‘who's next? Now that we've covered Asians.'

‘Latins,' Paget said. ‘For two reasons. One living, one dead.'

Caroline nodded. ‘Salinas and Richie. Too much chance of identification.'

‘No argument there,' Moore put in. ‘I wouldn't take a Latin male. Period.'

Caroline shrugged. ‘There are no absolutes,' she said, ‘in jury selection. But let's move on. The prosecution case is a law enforcement package: Salinas is going to give them the M.E.'s take on Richie's body, then Monk's investigation, and ask the jury to trust that it was murder. Part of
my
story is going to be that the D.A. played dirty and that this is a prosecution and police vendetta. So we have to be wary of blue collar folks who dislike the rich and identify with cops.'

Moore glanced sideways at Paget. ‘Or,' he said slowly, ‘people who are uncomfortable with incomplete stories.'

Caroline smiled with one side of her mouth. ‘Yes,' she said with irony. ‘Chris and I have discussed that.'

There was an awkward quiet. Caroline did not look at Paget; her gaze settled somewhere above his head, as if fixed on a thought. ‘I'd add lawyer-haters,' Paget said to fill the silence.

‘Of course.' Caroline folded her arms. ‘So who
do
we want?'

Paget thought for a moment. ‘As a gross generalization, the old civil rights coalition – Jews and blacks. Jews because of a humanist bent that goes with a certain sympathy for the accused, blacks because the black community knows that cops are not always free from bias.'

Caroline looked dubious. ‘Monk complicates that, don't you think? They'll listen to him and respect him. What I need, frankly, is
anyone
who doesn't trust authority.'

Moore frowned. ‘That's why education is so important here, as long as it's combined with imagination. Chris's case depends on finding a jury that is capable of abstract thinking – imagining alternative scenarios you may never be able to prove. If we were lucky, we'd get a jury of white Yale-educated poets who vote the liberal line and come from East Coast cities.'

Caroline shook her head. ‘Even if we could find them, Salinas would mow them down.' The smile she gave Moore was somewhat grim. ‘Maybe you can find us an artichoke or two.'

Moore looked puzzled. An artichoke, Paget knew, was defense lawyer's argot for any juror who looked weird enough to hang a jury for no discernible reason, and picking one was the greatest art of all: Paget had once hung a jury in a case he should have lost by sneaking in a juror who – once the case was over – asked him with a bug-eyed stare if the world would survive the twentieth century. ‘An artichoke,' he explained to Moore, ‘is a juror who knows I'm innocent because his dead mom tells him so.'

Moore smiled at this but said nothing.

‘Artichokes come in all forms,' Caroline put in helpfully. ‘You might want to comb the jury pool for women with an obsessive attraction to blond, silent males.'

The comment, delivered in a tone of mock innocence, carried a pointed barb: it reminded Paget uncomfortably that his lawyer was headed for a trial earlier than she wanted, for reasons Paget refused to explain, and in which he would say nothing. ‘Some of our premises may be debatable,' Paget said evenly. ‘But a few aren't. We can't have people poisoned by pretrial publicity. And, whoever else is on the jury, we can't risk anyone with an emotional connection to suicide or custody fights.' He paused, adding softly, ‘Or, for that matter, child molestation.'

Caroline's face changed; she gave him a brief look of sympathy, and then her voice turned crisp. ‘This is all very well,' she said at last. ‘But everything we've said, Salinas knows too. He'll bump our theoretical dream jurors as fast as they pop up. And in the end, we'll wind up in a lottery, compromising and picking jurors on feel.' She paused for emphasis. ‘At some point – perhaps more than once – Victor and I will
both
gamble on the same juror. And one of us will be wrong.'

Paget felt unsettled. ‘What's your point, Caroline?'

She looked at him directly. ‘That when it comes right down to it, I'd trust my instincts over Victor Salinas's. Or even yours.' She paused, then finished quietly: ‘If we're down to the last juror, Chris, and there's any question about what to do,
I
want to make the call. Because
I'm
the only one of us who'll be telling that juror that
you
are not a murderer.'

Victor Salinas, Paget had begun to perceive with apprehension, could project a certain charm.

He was questioning the twenty-third of the first twenty-four initial panelists, a process that had yielded three jurors: a white male public school teacher; a black bank officer; and a middle-aged Filipina stenographer. These were compromises. None fit the jury profile for Christopher Paget or, with the possible exception of the Filipina, whom Caroline thought persuadable, for the prosecution; it was Caroline's assessment that they were the best the defense could do and that Salinas was likely to keep them as well. As for the remaining twenty, Jared Lerner had struck three who looked bad for the defense, Victor Salinas had used seven of his peremptories in a pattern that would have seemed random had his targets not all been well educated, and Caroline had already expended ten – five Latin males, punctuated by two Asian immigrants, a Japanese doctor who had lost a bitter custody fight, the nephew of a New York cop, and a retired black army sergeant, who, in Caroline's murmured aside, seemed more military than militant.

The problem was the jury pool. Except for the Filipina stenographer, Caroline had stuck to the script. But she was using up peremptories too quickly, both she and Paget agreed, and she was unhappy for yet another reason. ‘We're striking too many minorities,' she whispered to Paget. ‘The jury panel may begin to think
we're
prejudiced.'

Paget had nodded. But the ten panelists Caroline had stricken had seemed ripe for Victor Salinas. Now, helpless, they watched Salinas question the juror Paget most wanted: an attractive sixty-year-old Jewish woman named Marian Celler, whose husband was a cardiologist; whose daughters were a professor of Romance languages and a graduate student in anthropology; and who had helped administer several significant charities. When Johnny Moore leaned forward to say that they take her, both Caroline and Paget had agreed.

Standing near the jury box, Salinas smiled at Celler. ‘Your family has distinguished itself,' he said pleasantly, ‘by not having sent a single member to law school. Is this an accident, or is it another reflection of good parenting?'

The prospective jurors laughed at the mild joke, seemingly a throwaway. But Paget knew the joke had been planned for days. Salinas intended to disassociate himself from his own profession: he was not one of
those
lawyers, his manner suggested, but someone who protected his fellow citizens from the worst of lawyers' tricks.

Celler gave Salinas a perfunctory smile. ‘It's an accident,' she said. ‘Neither of our daughters wanted to be a doctor, either. And
I
married one.'

Salinas jammed his hands in his pockets. ‘Have you had any experience with members of the legal profession?'

‘Yes, Mr Salinas. My husband and I have had the same lawyer for twenty-five years.'

‘And have you been satisfied?'

Celler gave a vigorous nod. ‘Oh, very. Harold helped my husband set up his professional corporation, and he has our estate in good order. He's not only our adviser but our friend.'

‘She's dead,' Paget whispered to Caroline.

As if to confirm this, Salinas said, ‘That's all
I
have, Mrs Celler,' and sat down.

Caroline rose. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Celler.'

Celler smiled. ‘Good afternoon.'

Caroline walked toward the jury box. ‘I'm sure you're aware, as Mr Salinas's questions suggested, that Mr Paget is himself a lawyer.'

‘Oh, yes.'

Caroline glanced briefly at Salinas, then back at Celler. ‘Based on your experience, Mrs Celler, what is your opinion of the integrity of the legal profession?'

Celler leaned forward. ‘Oh, it's quite high. Our lawyer, for one, is a man of great integrity. And I'm aware from my charitable work of how much lawyers give back to the community, both in money and in services.'

This time, facing Salinas with raised eyebrows, Caroline gave him a one-sided smile that lingered until the jury panel saw it. Only then did she turn back to Celler. ‘It's been nice to know you,' Caroline said dryly. ‘However briefly.'

There was coughing from the press contingent, the sound of suppressed laughter. As Caroline sat down, Salinas gave her a look of anger: with one subversive comment, Caroline had made it clear to the panelists that Salinas was trying to cash in on antilawyer bias. Now he had the choice of confirming it or letting on a juror that he plainly did not want.

A certain amusement flickered in Judge Lerner's eyes. ‘Mr Salinas?' he asked.

Victor could wait, Paget knew, deciding later whether to strike Marian Celler. But it was his practice to decide right away, relying on his initial instincts. He composed himself, standing straighter for the jury, pride and indecision crossing his face. A little too loudly, he said, ‘The people pass Mrs Celler.'

‘Oh, Victor,' Caroline murmured under her breath, ‘that really wasn't very smart.'

Just after five-thirty, they adjourned.