I could see the back of him. His neck was fiery red. “So, ladies and gentlemen, there’s only one decision that you can legally and rightfully reach in this case. I ask that you return a verdict of guilty against Bria Gaines.”
He stood up straight before he added, “And I want you to send a message to the community with your verdict. A message to the whole country, watching this case here in Union Springs, Alabama. Return a verdict swiftly. And recommend the maximum sentence of imprisonment.”
He didn’t expand on just what that would be. He didn’t have to, everyone knew.
It was imprisonment for ninety-nine years or life.
CHAPTER
78
The jury was deliberating. They’d been at it for two whole days.
Just before sending them into the jury room to deliberate, I excused the two alternates, so we had a jury of twelve to decide the case. The twelve jurors—seven women, five men; eight white and four Black—had been shut up in the jury room for so long that a languor lay over the courtroom. The DA and his co-counsel retreated to the prosecutor’s office. Bria Gaines and Benjamin Meyers remained close to the counsel table, but he’d removed his jacket, loosened his tie. She had a book with her; I couldn’t tell what it was. But whenever I was in the courtroom, I noticed she didn’t turn many pages. No surprise there. A defendant waiting for the jury verdict wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the text.
I spent the majority of the long wait in my chambers. And because the jury’s extended deliberation afforded me the luxury, I was sitting on an ice pack, as the doctor advised.
Luna tapped on the door and stuck her head through. “The jury has a message, Judge.”
“A message?” I repeated.
I pulled my robe on, zipped it up. I’d been waiting for someone to announce:We’ve got a verdict, Judge.
Hearing that the jury had a message was a distinctly different matter.
I stepped carefully up to my seat at the bench while Meyers pulled on his jacket. Reeves and Lindquist came running through the doorway, hurried down the aisle.
I nodded at Ross. He walked up to the bench and handed me a folded sheet of white paper.
I opened it, read the words. Looked up and said to the parties, “They say they’re deadlocked.”
Bria Gaines’s eyes shut; she covered her face with one hand.
The DA said, “The State requests to see the message, Your Honor.”
“Certainly. I’ll read it aloud first. ‘We can’t agree on a verdict.’ It’s signed by the foreperson.”
I handed the note to Reeves. Meyers joined him at the bench.
“The language is clear,” I said. “There’s no indication of which way they’re split, or how many votes are on either side.”
Reeves was back at the counsel table, consulting with Lindquist.
Meyers had an arm around Dr. Gaines, was whispering urgently in her ear. I sent him a silent message, telling him to urge her to stay strong. The battle wasn’t lost, not yet.
Reeves faced me and said, “Your Honor, the State requests the dynamite charge.”
He wanted me to bring the jury into court and read an instruction to them that would encourage them to continue deliberations. Advise them of the importance of reaching a verdict.
We called it the dynamite charge in Bullock County. Some places, they call it theAllencharge. Named for the old caseAllen v.United States,where the Supreme Court approved the use of such instructions when juries hang up.
I looked over at the defense table. “Mr. Meyers, what is your position?”
He stood and said, “The defense doesn’t oppose reading theAlleninstruction.”
He must have thought he had one or more jurors on their side.
That was my answer, then. I told Ross to bring the jury into the courtroom. It was the work of a moment; they were shut in a jury room that adjoined the circuit court.
