At jury duty
When will you be home
I gritted my teeth and turned off my phone. And waited. For lunch I got a bag of pretzels and a bottle of tea from vending machines, then got back to waiting. The room was stuffy and I felt silly for wearing my nice dress just to sit. Most potential jurors were dressed much more casually, although a few people wore business attire, as if they expected to be dismissed and return to their jobs. I was envious they had somewhere else to be.
Mid-afternoon, the bullhorn woman came out again to read off more names.
"...Isabel Good..."
I actually looked around, thinking maybe there was another Isabel Good in the room, before I gingerly raised my hand, then stood up. She then announced that everyone whose name hadn't been called was dismissed and she thanked them for their service.
I followed her and others into a smaller room where other potential jurors sat. In all I estimated there were about three hundred of us. We were given juror numbers—mine was 247. Judge James Arnold, garbed in a black robe, introduced himself. He was a bulldog of a man with lots of forehead and a deep, gravelly voice.
"The case before the court involves allegations of organized crime, racketeering, and conspiracy to commit murder. The trial is expected to last approximately six months."
Gasps sounded around me. My stomach clenched. The Blackthorne thing? The one from the news?
"If you are selected," the judge continued, "you may be required to serve under conditions of sequestration. Such conditions could include restrictions on internet access, social media, personal electronics, and unsupervised communications."
Around me, I watched roughly half the room go pale. Someone two rows up actually put their head in their hands.
"Return tomorrow morning to courtroom C," the judge said. "The selection process will begin."
I gathered my bag and retraced my steps toward the exit with the murmuring crowd, picking up snippets of remarks.
"Do you think this is the Blackthorne case?"
"It must be the Blackthorne case…"
"…so exciting…"
"…so scary…"
My mind was buzzing, too, with… anticipation?
Which was preposterous. Because I wasn't the kind of person who got picked to do things. This would be over tomorrow.
July 7, Tuesday
ALL THREEhundred of us were seated in a large courtroom on unforgiving pews, waiting for the judge to arrive. More waiting. I was wishing I'd taken the time to pee when the door behind the bench opened and Judge Arnold walked in, black robe flapping. As he settled behind the bench, a door to his left opened. The U.S. Attorney and her team walked in carrying briefcases and sat down behind a counsel table. After a few loaded minutes, a door to the judge's right opened and a stocky man in an orange jumpsuit was led in wearing leg chains.
"That's Robert Blackthorne," a man near me whispered excitedly. The defendant walked slowly and swept an arrogant smile over the jury pool before sitting heavily behind a second counsel table with his own team of attorneys. A murmur traveled over the room. The judge banged his gavel.
"Silence in the courtroom," Judge Arnold said in a tone that suggested it wasn't a request. "And silence all cell phones,now." I followed his directions because… well, I follow directions. Plus I was happy to have a reason to ignore the kids' barrage of texts asking where things were.
But throughout, my gaze kept getting pulled back to Robert Blackthorne. He looked like a violent man. Then I stopped myself—that was the kind of conclusion I shouldn't be jumping to, especially on day one.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," the judge said. "You have been summoned as prospective jurors in the case of The United States of America versus Robert Blackthorne. This is a federal criminal prosecution. The indictment alleges violations of the federal racketeering laws, narcotics trafficking, money laundering, and related offenses." He paused and glanced over the courtroom, as if waiting for a reaction.
He got one.
One woman from the jury pool stood, retching, and hurried down the pew to the exit. A half dozen people followed proclaiming loudly.
"No way."
"Let me outta here."
"I ain't doing this."
