The Jury Duty

Growing up, we’re all told to never judge anyone for that is God’s job. We all try to live by that rule but that all changes once the summons for jury duty appears in the mailbox. Typically, when I get a jury duty summons, I call the night before and listen to a recording saying not to bother coming into the courthouse. In fact, the last time I was requested to appear at a courthouse for jury duty was about 20 years ago. I sat in a room filled with other potential jurors quietly waiting for our names to be called. I waited from 9am to 4pm then was told “Thank you but you will not be seeing a judge today. Your jury duty commitment has been fulfilled. See you next year.”  That was 20 years ago. This time my summons for jury duty was much more.

 Jury Selection

 I called the night before and was shocked when the recorded message instructed me to appear at the Oakland courthouse. “Oakland! That ‘s like three cities away! Why couldn’t it be at a local courthouse? How freakin’ inconvenient!” So I made the necessary arrangements for someone to watch my kids after school so I could go expecting I’d be spending a good chunk of the day sitting and waiting to be called. That wasn’t the case.

I showed up to the courthouse at 9am and filed through the security line then was led into a big room that had over 100 people already patiently seated. I turned in my form and took a seat. At least they had free wi-fi so I could spend the hours staring at my phone in between people watching. At 10am a clerk’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Please be patient. Just so you know, everyone will be seated on a jury today. We summoned 250 people and only 218 showed up. We need everybody, so relax. We’re going to have fun today.”

“Really? Fun? Okay, I’ll go with it. How bad could this be?” I thought to myself. At 10:30am names were called to fill panel A. I listened then heard my maiden name called and thought, “Oh what are the odds that someone has my maiden name?” Then I gasped and searched for my jury badge just to check the name. “Oh shit, that is me! How the hell did this come to my current address in my maiden name?” I got up announcing, “Present,” then got in line with over 70 people. I was given a plastic badge with the number 19 clearly marked. We all had numbers now and no longer would be addressed by our names. I liked my number. It was a prime number – a natural number that has no positive divisors other than 1 and itself. Prime numbers are unique just like me. We were herded to the third floor then into one of the four courtrooms. 

The courtroom was a box shaped room with high ceilings. We all sat in the audience area facing the judge’s seat. Dark wood covered the high chair line of the walls except for the wall behind the judge’s desk, which sat atop a platform so that even as the judge sat, no one’s head would be above hers. On the wall behind the judge’s desk was a huge golden seal that read The Great Seal of the State of California. In front of the judge’s desk and on a platform a little lower than the judge’s, sat three staff persons: the court recorder, the courtroom clerk and an administrative assistant. Their work area was a wood desk with a wood partition to hide all the paperwork from the lawyers but I could still see their computer monitors and a few personal framed pictures of family members. Seated in front of the three staff on the floor level were the lawyers. They had long, flat, wood tables with microphones for each attorney. Then the bailiff sat between the defendant and the audience section.

The room was deathly quiet. I studied the walls, the ceiling and the people. The attorneys wore suites. The defendant wore a dingy, gray, button up shirt, dress slacks and black dress shoes. He stared at the desk where he sat not saying a word with his hands neatly folded together on top of the table.

As I sat there, taking everything in I said to myself, “Wow, there are a lot of people here.” Then I paused and said to myself, “Is there anyone else here?” At that moment a tingling sensation ran up both sides of my torso. I was like, “Whoa, that was weird.” Then I asked to myself, “Is there anyone else here?” And again, the same tingling sensation ran up both my sides then stopped. “Ok, so there are two ‘other’ people here.”

Suddenly, a hidden door next to the judge’s desk opened and out came the Judge. Then the bailiff spoke, “All rise.” Everyone stood. “Department 3 of the Superior Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Rhynes presiding.” The Judge sat and spoke into a microphone on her desk, “You may all be seated. Good morning!” There was little response. “Well, my daddy would be fit to be tied if I failed to respond to such a greeting.”

Everyone: “Good morning!”

Judge: “That’s better, “ she said and smiled.

Alameda Superior Court Judge Rhynes was raised in the deep South, y’all! So her speech dripped with southern charm and always came from a genuine southern smile. She was very gracious in her demeanor and thanked everyone for appearing in court. She went on about how she knew how inconvenient jury duty was for everyone and that even judges and lawyers were summoned for jury duty so she understood how burdened we all felt but then added how being American citizens, jury duty was our civic duty etc. etc. She introduced her staff and the attorneys to us then explained in great length what was going to happen next. I’ll spare you the blow by blow. You’re welcome.

Eventually, we were all sent back to the first floor holding room to fill out a 16-page survey. We could not take the survey home and we were not allowed to make any kind of copy of the survey. It had to be filled out there and only there then turned in before we could leave for the day. The survey was not 16 pages of yes or no answers either. Most of the questions required thoughtfully crafted written statements. I imagine that was purposely done to weed out the people who were illiterate. So I answered the questions as best I could but then I got to a question asking, “How do you feel about the effects of the justice system in the community?” Well, damn, that’s a loaded question. I mean how do you respond to something like that? I had no ‘feelings’ per se regarding the effects on the community. I don’t follow every criminal case in the community. Hell, I try to watch as little news as possible because I don’t enjoy hearing about events that I have no control over. So what I wrote was that I was aware of the effects of the justice system on the community. I also had to respond to whether or not my judgment was manipulated by feeling sorry for someone or a situation. Explain. All I wrote was, “No. I have kids.” Writing that was a big mistake on my part and I knew it when I wrote it but laziness prevailed and I moved on to the next question. When I finally finished, I turned in my survey and was told to return the next day at 9:30am and to go straight to the courtroom. Great.

The next day, I was late. Oh the horror! I pride myself on being on time to everything but that day I miss judged the BART train schedule and showed up 15 minutes late. I scurried through the double doors of the courtroom only to see a filled room with EVERYONE waiting for me. I looked around and spoke out loud, “My apologies to the court for my tardiness.” Then I took a seat deep in the first row. The courtroom clerk looked at me then picked up her phone and whispered into it, “Number 19 is here.” I sat down and waited. The judge was still in chambers. Two more people entered the courtroom and the courtroom clerk made another call. I figured she was calling the Judge. Then sure enough, the secret door next to the Judge’s desk opened and I heard, “All rise…” Court was back in session.

I was the third person – out of 72 – to be called to sit in the jury box seat number 3 (another prime number SCORE!). I sat there taking in my new perspective of the courtroom. I could see more. The court recorder sat closest to the jury box. Someone should really tell her not to wear short dresses and skirts to work. I’d say she was in her late 30s maybe early 40s, painfully plain looking and unmarried, which explained why she showed so much leg. Her stenotype machine sat on one support that she kept between her legs. So basically, she sat everyday wearing short dresses and skirts with her legs open flashing me and the rest of the jurors her cougar crotch. Thanks Babe.

I also had a better look at the defendant. I watched him as he sat in the chair wearing the same clothes from the day before. He was still quiet with his head mostly facing down. I noticed two shadowy figures stood by him. One was next to him and the other was behind him. They were large figures – possibly men. “Creepy,’ I thought. They couldn’t be family. There was no luminous white or yellow hew around the defendant. I tried not to stare. I didn’t want them to know I knew they were there.

When the 12 seats were occupied, the Judge began to tell us about the case.

Judge: “This case is the People verses Mr. DeShawn Reed. Mr. Reed is on trial for two counts of murder. He is presumed innocent in this case. The burden of proof is completely on the People, which is represented by Mr. James, the prosecuting attorney. The defense council is represented by Mr. Strellis.

Each attorney turned and smiled at the prospective jurors and said hello. Mr. James was the deputy district attorney. He was a large man that stood about 6 feet tall and looked to be in his late 30s. He was very professional and organized. Mr. Strellis was the 75-year-old defense attorney who had been practicing law for over 50 years. A few years ago he developed Parkinson’s disease so he had a constant shaking thing happening just like Katharine Hepburn. He also spoke very softly and walked very slowly.  He reminded me of a character Tim Conway used to do on the Carol Burnett Show. Remember the Old Man bit he used to do? He would shuffle about the room taking small steps and long verbal pauses before responding. That was Strellis but with less hair. He should really consider retiring. I bet the farm this was a pro bono case for him.

So, the prosecuting attorney, Mr. James grabbed a wireless microphone and a stack of surveys and stood at a podium. He sifted through the surveys and called out people to clarify their responses. A lot of immigrants would pretend to not understand English even though I would over hear them running their mouths in perfect English during breaks outside the courtroom. 

They didn’t care. So they made a fool of themselves in front of a bunch of strangers who they will probably never see again. It’s a small price to pay to get out of jury duty, I guess. One guy being interviewed said he could not keep an open mind because “if the police arrest you then you probably broke the law.” Each time someone made a statement like that, the Judge reminded us that the defendant in this case was presumed innocent. The burden of proof was on the prosecuting attorney. The defense really doesn’t have to do anything if he chooses not too. We were instructed to ignore the fact that the defendant had been sitting in jail for four years. Yeah, ‘cause innocent people sit in jail for years all the time, right? Ok, I’m starting to get how things are run here.

People are getting excused left and right of me. One woman said a family member was murdered 10 years ago and this trial would be too emotional for her because the killer was never caught. Another guy was taken into the judge’s chambers because he did not wish to disclose his wife’s age in public. I never saw him again. Some people refused to speak and were quickly dismissed or asked to remain in the courtroom after court dismissal. It went on and on. I sat there thinking, “C’mon! Aren’t you gonna ask me anything? Don’t you know I’m too smart to be here?” Finally, the microphone was passed to me.

Prosecutor: “Number 19.  How are you today?

Me: “I’m great! Thanks.”

Boy that microphone worked well. I could have easily burst into song – 1970s Bill Murray SNL lounge act style: “This is the Juror #19 Show and I do the entertaining so let’s start out with something really hot today, folks! This was a big hit out of 1977……ahhhh Star Warssssss. Nothing but Star Warsssss.” Ok ok, so I didn’t fall into that bit. The prosecutor asked me to explain my response to a question on the survey.

Prosecutor: “Your reply was that you have kids. Could you explain that?”

Oh shit. There it is right back in my face. I am an idiot and I do belong here. I explained that my kids use whining, complaining and guilt to try and manipulate me but I never fall for it. He was satisfied with that answer. The defense attorney had no questions for me at all. I remained in seat #3. The next thing I knew, there were 12 jurors and 4 alternates.

The Judge began to give more instruction to the jury.

Judge: “Your job in this trial is to judge and you can only base your judgment on the evidence that is presented to you. You are not to research anything about the defendant or anyone associated with this case. You are not to visit the crime scene. You are not to discuss this case with anyone during this trial. And I mean no one: not your spouse, attorney, health professional or spiritual advisor. You are not to discuss this case with your fellow jurors until you are in deliberation and I have given you specific instruction. You are not to speak to the defendant or the attorneys or any family members of the victims or defendant. You can take notes during trial but you must leave them here at the end of the day. At the end of the trial, your notes will be destroyed. You cannot go home and make notes of any kind regarding this case. You are not to read any articles or watch any news report regarding this case. You are not to make any judgments regarding this case. If someone approaches you and asks you about this case, you are to end the conversation immediately and report what happened to the bailiff, then he will tell me. Does everyone understand?”

Jury: “Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Does anyone have any questions?”

Jury: “No, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Very good then. Madam Clerk, please swear in the jury.”

Courtroom Clerk: “Yes, Ma’am. Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand? Do each of you swear that you will fairly try the case before this court, and that you will return a true verdict according to the evidence and the instructions of the court? Please say, “I do”.

Jury: “I do.”

Courtroom Clerk: “You may be seated.”

Juror in seat #1 was the quiet type. She was an Asian woman in her late 20s, married and had children of her own.

Juror in seat #2 was an attractive Black man in his early 30s, married with children and a career. He was very friendly and laughed at all my jokes.

Juror in seat #3 was yours truly.

Juror in seat #4 was a Caucasian woman in her 50s. She was the quiet type also married and had a career. She spent all her breaks reading a thick novel. When she did speak out it was usually over someone else - truly annoying.

Juror in seat #5 was an Indian (red dot not feather) woman in her late 50s also married and worked as a supervising nurse. She was very friendly.

Juror in seat #6 was a Caucasian woman in her late 20s and single. She was quiet most of the time but did let slip that she held a PhD in physics.

Juror in seat #7 was a Caucasian woman in her mid 20s and engaged to be married.

Juror in seat #8 was a mixed race Black and Caucasian, pregnant woman (3^rd trimester pregnancy) who was in her mid 20s and worked as a nurse for cancer patients. She was also married and very friendly. During the breaks she would talk about how she was from the east coast and missed her family. I asked her where on the east coast is she from and she boldly stated, “Ohio.” I informed her that Ohio was in the Midwest. She said that she couldn’t accept that because Midwest for her was Nebraska so she considered Ohio on the east coast even though the state sits to the west of West Virginia.

Juror in seat #9 was a Caucasian man in his 50s also married and had a career in software and hardware development. He was very friendly and outspoken. He was on a jury last year but felt slighted because he was an alternate juror and when the jury was in deliberations and took lunch breaks, they were taken to nice restaurants while the alternates were sent to McDonald’s.

Juror in seat #10 was a Caucasian man in his late 50s and very quiet. His clothes were a little tattered and as he sat in seat 10 in front to the side of me, I noticed little drops of moisture that would appear on his seat. His hair was never wet and his clothes seemed dry. This perplexed me as to the origin of those droplets. He had a leak from somewhere and I was unwilling to pursue the investigation.

Juror in seat #11 was a Caucasian man in his late 50s and single. He worked as an instructor, teaching fiber optics.

Juror in seat #12 was an Asian American man in his early 30s, single and worked in an attorney’s office. .

The trial would begin the next day. DON’T BE LATE.

The next day, I was late. AGAIN. What’s wrong with me?! Was this some sort of subconscious protest? I had to get my shit together which meant no more stopping at Starbucks for a vanilla latte. Ugh! The sacrifices keep adding up! No worries. I started making my lattes at home and getting the kids off to school earlier. Problem solved.

After getting some instruction from the Judge, we were shown to the jury room, which was through another hidden door next to where the defendant was seated. We followed a narrow stairway up to the 4^th floor, walked past what looked like a cargo elevator and into a small room with windows made of smoked glass and wire. There was a long conference table, a bunch of chairs, a little frig, microwave, a coffee maker and bunch of old magazines. There were two restrooms: one for women and the other for men. There were instructions written on large poster paper in marker. “When the deputy closes the door, do not open it. It is for your safety.”  The passageway we used was the same one used to move the defendants in and out of the courtrooms. What I thought was a cargo elevator was the elevator used for the defendants. I got a look inside once when it was left open by one of the deputies. The elevator was divided in two spaces. One side was basically a cage – you know, used for the presumed innocent.

When breaks and lunches were over, we had to ring a buzzer once. Then the deputy downstairs would buzz our room once as a reply. When the Judge was ready for the jurors to return to the courtroom, the deputy would buzz our room twice. Then another deputy would appear and unlock the door leading back to the courtroom. In numerical order, we would line up and walk back down the stairs to our assigned jury seats.

The Trial

 The trial started and we saw nine witnesses. There was no drama or suspense. Strellis provided the comic relief by accidentally rubbing his blazer against the microphone each time he got up to question a witness then again when he would sit back down. There were giggles throughout the courtroom each time he did that. It did eventually get old.

In the audience section, family members were there everyday and sat on the side that was behind the prosecuting attorney’s table. No one came in for the defendant. His side remained empty unless a reporter wandered in to watch for a few minutes.

One thing missing from the entire trial was the presence of gavel play. The Judge never used a gavel at all. I guess there was never enough commotion to require the use of a gavel or maybe I’m just old fashioned. Anyway, the trial progressed smoothly and the witness testimony provided a clear picture of what happened March 5^th 2010.

The incident occurred on the corner of Linden and 30^th streets in Oakland at a house on the corner. Three men were on the front lawn at 2:30pm in the afternoon drinking beers and socializing. The first witness was retrieving items from the back of his car on the opposite corner at Linden and 30^th streets when he heard Mr. Reed approach the men and say, “What are you guys doing?” One of the victims responded in a loud, angry tone, “Nothin’!” The loud response got the witness’ attention so he turned around and watched the defendant, Mr. Reed, lift his sweatshirt, pull out a black and silver pistol from his pants waistline and start shooting.

He watched in horror as the men scattered.  One man ran to the right of the house then along the side to the back. He was not shot. The second man began to run along the left side of the house to get to the back. Mr. Reed followed the man who ran to the left and kept shooting at him. He hit the man in the wrist, twice in the butt, once in the lower back and once in the leg. Then the shooter turned and as the third man was running to the sidewalk to get away, he shot him in the leg. The man fell to the ground landing on his side on the sidewalk. The shooter walked over to him, stood over him and fired three more shots – all three missed the victim.  A few feet away a black 2 door Saturn was sitting perpendicular in the middle of the street with the engine running. Mr. Reed got into the passenger side of the car then the car turned left down 30^th street then made a left onto Chestnut.

Now a second witness saw a little of what happened before the shooting. She was walking her dogs on Chestnut when she noticed the black 2 door Saturn moving super slow toward her on Chestnut. The witness came to the corner of 30^th and Chestnut and crossed the 30^th Street intersection but remained on Chestnut. She saw the black 2 door Saturn slowly move toward the curb very close to the corner of 30^th and Chestnut. The car did not stop and as it continued to roll, the passenger door opened and Mr. Reed got out. Mr. Reed ran down 30^th street starting from the sidewalk on the right then crept down the middle of the street stopping in front of the house on the corner where the incident took place. The witness watched the black Saturn slowly follow Mr. Reed then stop perpendicular in the middle of the street as if he was going to make a U-turn or 3-point turn. The witness heard shots and hid behind a parked car but she could still see in a diagonal direction down 30^th street. She saw the third man fall to the sidewalk. She heard more shots then looked again and saw Mr. Reed run to the waiting black Saturn and get into the passenger side of the car. The car finished the U-turn heading back toward the witness on Chestnut. At the intersection of 30^th and Chestnut, the black Saturn turned left onto Chestnut and as it passed the witness, she made eye contact with Mr. Reed.

More evidence found included gun shot residue on Mr. Reed’s right hand. (And yes, he is right handed.) It took about 45 seconds for the police – who where in the area, to arrest Mr. Reed and the driver of the black Saturn but within those 45 seconds, Mr. Reed managed to ditch the gun and his hooded sweatshirt. Those items were not needed though because two witnesses identified Mr. Reed 15 minutes after his arrest. They both recognized his face and one did mention that Mr. Reed had changed his top.

So even though there wasn’t a lot of evidence, which did include two additional eyewitnesses, what the prosecutor had was enough to make a solid case against Mr. Reed. The defense spent the entire time trying to confuse the witnesses and the jurors. “It wasn’t my client,” said Mr. Strellis. “My client was arrested wearing a different top and there was no weapon found.” He also added that another person  - a third person – was responsible for the shooting.

In the black Saturn was found a black and purple Colorado Rockies cap with DNA on it that came from a man named Al Collins. Lil’ Al as he was called was allegedly around when the incident went down. The defense called one witness, Ret. Officer Dodds, who testified to seeing Mr. Collins on Chestnut near 24^th Street. Mr. Reed and the driver of the black Saturn were detained on 26^th and Linden Street. Mr. Dodds even wrote a report stating that he saw someone while en route to backup the arresting officer but left off the report Al Collins’ name. It wasn’t until 5 months later; Mr. Dodds approached the homicide detective leading the investigation of Mr. Reed that he said that he heard on the street that Al Collins was involved. So, when the baseball cap came back from the lab with Mr. Collins’ DNA, the homicide investigator called Mr. Collins into his office and asked him some questions regarding the March 5^th incident.  Mr. Collins denied having any part of the crime. Nothing further was investigated with regards to Mr. Collins because results came back from the lab of the gun shot residue on Mr. Reed’s hands. Furthermore, no other witnesses saw Al Collins in the area on March 5^th. A few weeks later Mr. Collins was murdered.

Closing Arguments

 The prosecutor recapped all the evidence against Mr. Reed. There were no surprises until the defense attorney, Mr. Strellis, delivered his closing arguments. Mr. Strellis insisted that Mr. Reed was misidentified as the shooter then eluded that Mr. Collins should have been the main suspect. But then he ended his argument with the most interesting Freudian slip I had heard all year long: “It’s in the evidence. Mr. Collins didn’t do it!” I couldn’t believe he didn’t catch himself. I expected a quick, “Strike that! I mean, my client didn’t do it.” Too bad jurors cannot consider anything and everything the attorneys say as evidence.

 Deliberation

 Finally. The day we have all been waiting for had arrived. We could now talk about the case and compare notes.  I had imagined that once the Judge had excused us to deliberate there would be a mad rush to get up stairs. There would be pushing and shoving to get in that room. There wasn’t. We marched as usually up the stairs and we each found a seat around the conference table.

The first order of business was to select a foreperson. Juror #7 enthusiastically volunteered and Juror #2 nominated her then another juror second the nomination.

Me: “All those in favor of Juror #7 being the foreperson say aye.”

Everyone: “Aye.”

Me: “All those who oppose say nay”

Silence.

Me: “Alright. Let’s get started.”

Juror #7’s first idea was to have someone draw a map of the streets involved. I wondered why do that when exhibit #7 was a blown up map of the area but I said nothing. I decided I would observe. The quiet people were beginning to talk and I wanted to get a sense of how this deliberation thing was going to pan out. Sure enough, instead of jumping right to the main points of the trial, people had gotten lost drawing a map and arguing over how long the streets were and whose house sat where etc.  So then I suggested, “Hey, how about we discuss the main points of each witness and compare our notes?” Oh, great idea. Let’s do that. Not. We began to discuss the witnesses but people again got caught up talking about how long people worked in their careers and other irrelevant stuff. So I just let it play out till 4:30pm. Two hours was not enough time to wrangle the group into focusing on the hard facts.  We would continue the deliberation the next day.

All night long, I thought about the case and how to get the jurors to focus on the main points and not the changing of clothes or that a witness was only 5 feet in height. I kept thinking about Occam’s Razor: the result requiring the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct. How am I going to implement this without sounding condescending? I thought about that the whole train ride to Oakland the next day.

I arrived at court early. I thought, “This is the day. We will reach a verdict. This is not complicated. It doesn’t have to be. As we entered the jury room, there were two boxes of pastries on the table complements of Judge Rhynes with a lovely hand written note that read:

Jury Members,

Thank you for your service on this jury and to our community.

Enjoy the pastries!

Judge Gloria F. Rhynes

What a sweetheart, right? How thoughtful of her to think of us. I immediately began writing a thank you note to her. Meanwhile, Juror #7 wanted to pick up where we left off but before someone could get up to recount how many bullet casing where found or where they were found, I had to say something.

Me: “How about we just make a list of the major points. I have 4 eyewitnesses and GSR (gun powder residue).”

Juror #7 began a new poster page and started writing what I had said. The room got quiet so I said, “Ok, where is the doubt?”

Juror #11: “I have a problem with the GSR.”

Juror #7: “Ok, let’s explore that.”

Juror #11: “What if it’s transfer?”

Juror #10: “Or what if it came from something else?”

Juror #9: “The expert witness said that those three particles are only found from firing guns and the only other place those compounds are found is in a brake pad manufacturing plant in Europe.”

Me: “Good point #10. Did anyone check Mr. Reed’s passport?”

Laughs are heard around the rooms.

Juror #10: “Well what if it is transfer from the backseat of the police car? I mean, how did only 2 of the 3 particles get on his left hand?”

At that point, I stood up and turned around placing my hands behind my back to show how the tops of my hands touched at the thumbs and forefinger. “That’s how,” I said.

Juror #11: He could of gotten transfer by picking up a gun.”

Juror #9: Then the residue would have been on the palm of his hand. The person who administered the GSR test showed us where she collects the residue from. It was from the top of his hand by the thumb and forefinger.”

Juror #10: “What if he wore gloves?”

Juror #12: “Then there wouldn’t be any GSR on his hands at all.”

Juror #10: “Oh, right. He should have worn gloves.”

Me: “You can tell him that for next time.”

Laughs were heard around the room then everyone was quiet.

Me: “How about we take a vote to whether or not Mr. Reed is guilty”

People began to nod in compliance. We each tore a sheet of paper from our note pads and wrote then passed them to the foreperson. She opened each vote and started a pile. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. There were 11 guilty votes and 1 not guilty vote.

Me: “Ok, who voted not guilty? Let’s discuss the doubt.” I knew it was Juror #11 who voted not guilty but he sat there and said nothing.

Juror #7: “Whoever voted not guilty doesn’t have to say anything. Let’s just talk about where there is possible doubt. Anyone wanna play devil’s advocate?”

Juror #9: “Ok, I’ll play. Let’s talk about the GSR again.”

Juror #11: “Yeah, what if it’s transfer? He could have picked up a gun that had been fired.”

Me: “Are you questioning the science?” I said to Juror #11.

Juror #11: “Well, how much GSR found constitutes that it’s GSR?

Juror #2: “The expert said that even if one particle was found constituted the presence of gun powder residue.”

Juror #6: “That’s why I submitted that question to the expert during trial. I’ve studied physics so I’m like, hey wait a minute: how many particles is needed for a positive result and how can a partial compound be transferred?”

Again, another Juror re-explained how it is not possible to pick up a gun using the back of your hand. The repetition was stressful for me and I could tell other jurors were getting frustrated with Juror #11. When the dialog died down again I suggested we take another vote.

Juror #11: “Well, I don’t think we need to do that unless someone has changed their vote from guilty to not guilty. It was me who voted not guilty even though I do think he is guilty. I just wanted more conversation.”

There was big UGH from the majority of the jurors. I looked at Juror #11 and said, “I knew it was you.”

Juror #7: “Then let’s just vote by hand. Who thinks Mr. Reed is guilty of the crime.” Everyone raised his or her hand. “Ok, so now we need to determine if the first victim was murdered in first degree or second degree.”

We were confident that the first victim killed was a planned target. He was shot at first and received five bullet wounds to his body. The intent was there, the deliberation was there and there was malice aforethought. Done. Juror #7 filled in the form for murder in the first degree for the first victim.

Now we had to talk about the second victim. He was shot once in the leg and the bullet severed an artery that caused him to expire later that day at the hospital. All but three jurors felt Mr. Reed should get murder in the first for the second victim because he followed the victim after the first shot to the leg, stood over him and shot again three more times. The three jurors felt that since Mr. Reed missed the final three shots that maybe he was just trying to scare the victim.

Me: “What if he’s just a lousy shot? Firing a handgun is painful to your hand. By the time he got to the second victim, he had already fired off 9 shots.”

Juror #10: “I don’t know. It just seems like if he wanted to hit him he would have?”

Me: “We don’t know if he knew he hit him or not. He didn’t stick around and study the wounds. Plus look at his aim for the first victim. He shot him in the butt twice, in the wrist and in the leg and his lower back.”

Juror #9: What makes this murder in the first for me is that he followed up with the guy. He could have let him keep running or stopped at the one shot that took him down. He followed him, stood over him and shot 3 more times. That’s intent, deliberation and malice aforethought to me.”

Juror #11: “What difference does it make? He got murder in the first degree for the first guy. It’s not like he’s not going to jail for a long time for that. Just say the second one is murder in the second.”

Juror #10: “I guess I’m just on the fence about this. How do we know he indented to kill the second victim?”

Juror #2: “Because he followed him! He obviously didn’t know that shot to the leg was fatal.”

Juror #5: “I agree. If it was only the one shot and then he run away, I would think the second victim was an after thought.”

Juror #8: “Yeah, he definitely had specific targets in mind. He didn’t go after the other guy that ran behind the house and he didn’t shoot the witness who he made eye contact with after he shot the second victim in the leg.”

Juror #10: “I’m just not seeing the deliberateness. Why did he miss those last three shots?”

Me: “ Because he’s a lousy shot. Is that really so hard to accept?”

Juror #7: “Who all believes the second victim was murder in the second degree?”

Jurors #10, #11 and #1 raise their hands.

Juror #11: “Why can’t the rest of you just concede to murder in he second?”

Me: “We’re the majority. You concede!”

Juror #7: Wait wait, let’s just talk this out.”

Juror #11: “I bet this is a re-trial anyway.”

Juror #4: “Yeah, I think it is too. Why else would it take four years to go to trial?”

Me: “Whoa whoa whoa! You two don’t know if this is a re-trial. The delay could be from something else and we don’t know. We’re not supposed to know. We make our decision by the evidence in the box.”

Juror #10: “Well, I’m still on the fence about this. I just don’t think he intended to kill that guy.”

This went on and on. Then there was talk of what happened if we couldn’t agree. Would the charge be defaulted to murder in the second? Jurors #7 re-read the instructions again. She still wasn’t clear what would happen if we couldn’t agree so she decided to write the judge a formal note asking the question. There was a form for that too. After it was filled out and sealed in an envelope, the bailiff was called by pressing the buzzer twice. While Juror #7 carefully filled out the form, Juror #9 spoke. He was fed up, as was I.

Juror #9: “Even though I do believe the second victim was murder in the first, I can change my vote to murder in the second.”

Yep, the three confused jurors were not budging. You know the old saying, “You can’t argue with stupid” was true and they were possibly stalling just to drag out the deliberations for the company. I know lonely Juror #11 was capable of doing that.

Me: “For the sake of moving forward, I will change my vote as well.”

Juror #10: “But I’m really close but still on the fence. I just need a little more time…”

Other jurors saw the light and began to verbally state they would agree to murder in the second degree.

Me: Then let’s take a vote.”

We all voted and unanimously agreed to murder in the second. Then Juror #7 just sat there doing nothing.

Juror #9: “Aren’t you going to fill out the paperwork?”

Juror #7: “Oh, you don’t want to wait to hear back from the Judge?”

Several jurors shouted NO – just do it already.

The Verdict

One of the jurors pushed the buzzer three times to signal the bailiff that we had reached a decision. We waited for about 45 minutes. When we got back in the courtroom, there were four extra bailiffs – most of them around the defendant, Mr. Reed. Others included journalist and the families of the slain victims. No one showed up for Mr. Reed.

The verdict was read then as we were dismissed to return upstairs to the jury room, the Judge left through the door to her chambers then re-entered the courtroom through the main entrance. She stood next to a bailiff and told us she needed our badges back. So one by one she thanked us, shook our hands and wished us well. When she got to me, she said, “Oh my you are a tall one.” I gave her my badge and the thank you note I had written.

The Big Reveal

When we got back upstairs, everyone began getting their stuff together but we waited around because the attorneys were coming up to see us for the question and answer phase. There was a knock on the door and in came the prosecuting attorney, Mr. James, defense attorney, Mr. Strellis, the homicide investigator and a bailiff.

So the reason the trial took 4 years was because Mr. Strellis was trying everything and anything to get Mr. Reed ruled mentally incompetent. He said Mr. Reed’s IQ was close to 70.  Okay, so Mr. Reed is not a criminal mastermind like Lex Luthor. He’s more like Luthor’s sidekick, Otis. Well, most human IQs are around 100 so close to 70 isn’t the end of the world. It’s not like Mr. Reed could never get a job doing manual labor or hosting his own show on Fox News. Besides, I watched him during the trial. There was no waving to people with a big ol’ smile; he didn’t try to hug the bailiff or call out for his Mama; he didn’t drool or clap wildly out of context. He’s just slow.

I asked what happened to the driver of the black Saturn, Jason Watts. His trial was in 2012. He was sentenced to two counts of murder in the first degree. I bet Watts will be pissed to learn that his shooter got murder in the second for one of the victims.

A juror asked if they ever figured out a motive for the killings. Mr. James stated that the driver of the black Saturn, Jason Watts, had a brother who was shot the day before the incident. Reed’s double murder was retaliation but they never got any proof of that so the story never made it into evidence. Sentencing for Mr. Reed will be July 11, 2014.

UPDATE

Deshawn Reed was sentenced to life without parole. Mr. Strelis claims he will file an appeal.

Meru and Deva

     One beautiful spring day, on a quiet neighborhood street, lived the Hope family. Ben was the head of the household at age 55. He was about 6 feet in height and slightly overweight but was proud that he still had all his hair on his head. His wife was Meru. Meru was a housewife and enjoyed running the house and looking after the couples 4 boys, whose ages ranged from 8 to 16. All four boys looked like their mother, Meru, who was about 5 feet 4 inches tall and fit. She always wore her brown slightly wavy hair shoulder length with bangs cut just above her big, brown eyes.

One day while the boys were out playing in the neighborhood, Meru found Ben in the family room playing pool on the computer. Meru loved making lists and planning so she was hardly ever seen without a pen and notepad.

“Babe,” said Meru, “I’m updating our new year’s resolution list with a few things. Do you have a moment?”

Ben broke his focus on the computer and turned in his office chair to face Meru as she sat on the nearby couch. “Sure, what-cha got, Mare?”

“We need to replace the vacuum this year…”

Ben nodded in compliance, “For sure. We’ve had that vacuum for almost 20 years.”

Meru continued, “Logan and Kade need to learn how to swim this summer…”

“Yep, it’s time.” Added Ben. “The boys are 10 and 8. What about painting the house this summer?”

“Oh, yeah! Good one. Let’s paint the outside of the house. Same color okay?”

“The same color will make it easier. I’ll get the boys to help,” said Ben.

“Good. I also want the carpets cleaned before the Fall.” Meru thought for a moment tapping her lips with the pen then asked, “Do you want a new car?”

“No, I like my car,” said Ben

“Do you want anything this year?” Asked Meru.

“I want another baby,” responded Ben trying not to laugh.

“You’re funny, Ben. I’ll be 47 this year and I have no desire to revisit breast-feeding or childbirth; besides, you got a vasectomy after Kade was born AND you’re almost 60. You should rethink wanting another baby.”

“You’re right, Mare. I don’t want another baby. I want two.”

Meru burst out laughing, “HAHAHAHA. No.”

“I know you’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“Oh my god, Babe! We’ve discussed this a million times already. Kade was our Hail Mary for a girl.”

“But you have such a close relationship with your mother.”

“So what. That’s probably because I’m adopted,” responded Meru.

“You are not adopted, Meru. You look just like your mother.”

“I know there is a resemblance but there are no pictures of her pregnant with me and no stories about my delivery. I’ve seen all the pictures of her carrying my brothers but none of me. It’s like I just showed up one day. There is just something missing.”

“You’re paranoid, Mare. Do you hear yourself?”

“I know how I sound but it’s the way I feel. I just feel detached from my brothers. I don’t know if it’s the age difference between us that plays in that. I just don’t know.”

“You should have a talk with Deva. Haven’t you brought this up to her?” Said Ben.

“Yeah, sort of, but she just laughs and tells me that she loves me then changes the subject. I’ve spent a lot of time with Mom over the years. She will be 94 years old tomorrow. I should be so lucky to live that long. I’m excited to take her out for dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to the dinner too. So, no baby?”

“No, Ben. No baby.”

“Ookay, you can’t say I didn’t offer.”

“Whatever. I know it’s just the senility talking, “ said Meru refocusing on her list.

“Oh, add lots of hot sex and new cell phones to the list.” Said Ben refocusing back to his game on the computer.

“Cool, new cell phones!” Says Meru as she writes on her notepad.

     On Deva’s birthday, her family took her out for a celebratory dinner at her favorite restaurant. Deva was very happy to see her family all together and made a point to speak to everyone individually telling them how proud she was of them and how she loved them dearly. When the time came to part ways, Deva wanted only Meru to drive her home. After dropping off Ben and the kids, Meru drove Deva in her SUV to her house alone.

Deva began, “I had a very nice time tonight. Thank you so much, Meru.”

Meru replied, “You know I’d do anything for you, Mom. You’ve been very good to me and I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Deva thought for a moment then said, “You’ve very sweet, Dear. I need you to stay with me for a bit. I have something I need to share with you.”

Meru replied a little worried, “Of course, Mom. Is everything okay?”

Deva reassured her, “Everything is as it should be and as it always is.”

Meru did not take to heart what Deva had just said to focus on driving the dark streets to Deva’s house that sat back from the quiet street with large pine trees between the house and the street. Once there, Meru pulled into the driveway then helped Deva from her car and into the house. Deva turned on the living rooms lights then told Meru to sit on the couch and wait. Deva was an antiques collector. She had acquired many artifacts in her lifetime but most of the artifacts were pasted down to her from family. The antiques were displayed in two rooms of her home and divided into little sections each representing a different part of the world at different times.

Meru complied as Deva left through a hallway toward the bedrooms. Deva was still strong for a 94-year-old woman. She was a tiny bit shorter than Meru now with her gray hair swept back into a braided bun. She had the same big brown eyes, which were bright. Meru sat on the couch and began to look at the covers of the magazines that lain atop the old chest Deva used as a coffee table.

The chest was very old and made of dark wood. The outward appearance was plain with a metal latch that fastened the top. On the sides and front of the chest were carvings that were too worn to decipher except for the likeness of a tree being struck by lightening.

Deva returned dressed in her robe holding a large binder thick with papers and a very large scrapbook. She sat on the couch next to Meru and placed the items on the chest.

“Mom,” said Meru stroking the edge of the chest, “this chest is so old. What do you want me to do with it when you go?”

“You are to keep that chest, Meru. I mean it. It’s been in our family for many years.”

“Oh, wow!” Said Meru surprised, “I had no idea. You’ve never really talked about our family history.”

“I know and it was hard for me not to but for the best.” Said Deva.

“Well that’s sad,” replied Meru. “What, are we descendants of murders and thieves?”

“No, we are not,” said Deva then changed the subject. “Tell me something Meru. Have you ever thought about time travel?”

“Not really. I mean, we are traveling through time – forward through time even though we exist only in the present. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Deva added, “If you could start your life over again, would you?”

“I don’t know. Why would I?”

“Exactly, Meru! Why would you unless you had a specific purpose?”

“Yeah, I guess.” There was silence then Meru said, “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Any thing, Dear.” Deva gave her full attention to Meru.

“Why don’t you have any pictures of yourself pregnant with me?” Then Meru added half jokingly, “Am I adopted or something?”

“Not exactly…”

Meru was shocked and exclaimed, “I knew it!”

“Hold on, Meru. Let me explain. I have a lot of information for you and I’m not sure how to start.”

Meru stared at the chest to avoid eye contact with Deva then answered, “Just start from the beginning.”

The rest of the story can be found in Life Happens: The Short Story Collection available on Amazon.com and Kindle.