“Y’all, we’ll commence striking the jury. Each of you will have seven peremptory strikes. The district attorney goes first.”
Reeves was ready. “We’ll strike number 3. Zuri Wheeler.”
Not a surprise. Zuri was young, about Bria Gaines’s age. College educated. Stated during questioning that she leaned pro-choice, but she would keep an open mind and base her decision on the evidence.
She was an obviousnot guiltyvote for Bria. I knew it, Reeves knew it. He used a peremptory strike to get rid of her. He had the right to remove seven jurors from the strike list without giving a reason. The defense could remove seven people, too.
“Mr. Meyers, the defense shall strike the next name from the list.”
Benjamin Meyers held an open file. I glimpsed the strike list inside, emblazoned with scribbles of black ink.
“Garner Lee Bowman.”
A good choice, I thought. Bowman had given the defense table the stink eye for the past three days. But he’d never made a statement that could subject him to be removed for cause. So Meyers used a peremptory strike to throw him out.
So it went, back and forth, until only fourteen names remained on the list. We had it then: our jury of twelve, plus two alternates.
Jury selectionis a misnomer, an inaccurate term. It’s actually a game of Last One Standing.
We announced the list. Let the rest of the panel go. I gathered the jurors into the box and instructed them to raise their right hands.
“You do solemnly swear, or affirm, that you will well and truly try all issues joined between the defendant and the State of Alabama and render a true verdict thereon according to the law and evidence, so help you God.”
The response was uneven, but they all answered in the affirmative. “I do.”
Next step would be to launch into a series of formal jury instructions. Tell them about their duties, the proper conduct of a jury. What the order of proceedings would be in the trial of the case.
I gave them a close look. They were strung out from sitting in the courthouse for three long days. Anything I said would be promptly forgotten.
A check of the old wall clock showed that it was nearly four o’clock. I turned to the bailiff.
“Ross, it’s time to get the reinforcements from the sheriff’s office.”
“Yes, Judge.”
Sheriff Owens was giving us two deputies. One was female—an essential trait. Seven of our fourteen jurors were female. They’d be escorted everywhere—including the restroom—until the trial was complete.
I flashed a smile at the jury box. “Ross is going to show y’all to the jury room—conveniently accessed by a door right inside the courtroom. You’re done for today.”
They were picking up their purses, their jackets, eager to move on. I held up a hand to halt the activity.
“I need to give an instruction to you before we recess for the day. You’ll hear me say this over and over during the trial.”
I waited until I had their attention, all fourteen of them. This was important, they were a sequestered jury and needed to remember it.
“Until you have been discharged, it is absolutely necessary that all of you stay together. You must not separate, not even for a moment, unless allowed by me or the bailiff.”
Some of them looked shell-shocked by the instruction, as the significance of sequestration registered with them.
I tried to lighten the moment. “When they wrote that jury instruction, I wished they’d have mentioned that you’ll have a modicum of privacy. It’s not as bad as the military. There are no group showers.”
The joke fell flat. Ross escorted the jurors out of the box and to the back of the courtroom, where they disappeared into the jury room.
I turned my focus to the counsel tables. “We’ll convene at nine o’clock tomorrow.”
They started packing away their files, gathering up the snowstorm of scribbled pages accumulated during jury selection.
While Benjamin Meyers packed his files, Bria Gaines looked up at the bench. As our eyes met, I felt a surge of sympathy for her. I swiveled my chair to the side, hopped up, and hurried away to my office. I would have to combat that natural response, to conceal my sympathies from view. Couldn’t let the prosecution or defense or jury think that I was showing preference for one side over the other.
