One Juror’s Observations

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“Take a seat,” she said.

I stood at the wooden railing not understanding what she meant. I guessed and picked up my purse to leave.

“In the jury box,” the District Attorney clarified as I turned to sit back down with the others in the jury pool. I stopped in my tracks and looked up at the judge and three attorneys. The bailiff held open the swinging gate to the jury box.

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Thus began five of the most interesting days of my life. I was the first alternate juror on the only murder case tried in the county that year. On trial was a daughter accused of strangling her mother then hiding the body in the trunk of a car. Three days after the co-workers reported the victim missing, the police were able to get a warrant and search the house and garage. When they suspected the body was in the trunk, the police had to wait on a second warrant to search the car. The trial was very interesting; however, the players in the courtroom were even more fascinating.

The blond District Attorney (DA) prepared her case very well. She knew her facts inside and out. She effectively presented her case through storytelling and visual props.

The two public defenders (PA), who the jury dubbed Bevis and Butthead, did not know the names or ages of their client. In opening statements one attorney actually referred us to our notes from the DA’s opening statement. (Oh yes he did!)


The public defenders’ theory of the case was that the mother (victim) died as a result of her chronic illnesses and not by her daughter strangling her. The defense attorney cross examined the medical examiner (ME) in an attempt to raise reasonable doubt about the cause of death. Their key point revolved around “petechiae” which is the pin-point blood spots in the face and eyes which can come from coughing, vomiting, sneezing or ...strangulation. The defense attorney could not pronounce petechiae.

The ME corrected him. The judge corrected him. The DA corrected him. After the twentieth time, the foreign born and heavily accented ME finally suggested, “Just say P.” The attorney stopped short and asked, “Can I say that in the courtroom?” The ME replied, “I’ll know what you are talking about.” What she didn’t say, and everyone else thought, “It’s better than hearing you mangle the word.” The defense attorney won points when he did get the ME to admit that petechiae can caused by many other things. He immediately lost points when he asked the follow up question, “Why didn’t you find for these other causes of death?” The ME said, in my non medical terms, when she observed a crushed windpipe and broken neck that take 40 pounds of pressure to get to that state.

The pièce de résistance? The defense attorneys did not present a case. Not a single witness. Their theory was the state did not prove its case; therefore, the judge reminded the jury the defendant is considered “innocent until proven guilty.”

The bailiff had to be an old schoolmarm in her previous life. She watched the courtroom like a hawk. She barred the door as the jurors came in and out confiscating water bottles, pens, pencils, PDAs, notebooks, knitting, books and any other forms of declared contraband. Throughout the trial she’d grab a tissue out of a box walk over to anyone in the courtroom and hold it under their mouth to spit out gum or food. When the distraught daughter-in-law cried over the autopsy pictures, the bailiff told her to leave the courtroom until she could compose herself. She scolded the errant juror who handed a note to the guard instead of passing the note down to her.

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The four guards sat in every corner of the courtroom sectioned off for the attorneys, defendant, judge and jury. They all appeared to be retired cops who looked like they were physically in the room but mentally on tropical beaches. I’m sure looks are deceptive. Probably any sign of danger and the guards would snap to attention.

The lead detective, who took the witness stand, looked like stereotypical police detective. He had a small town southern boy persona about him. I didn’t care for him one bit. It might have to do with the fact that during the taped interrogation of the witness he kept referring to her as “honey,” “doll,” and “sweetheart.” The DA addressed his use of these endearments. He said he uses them to build rapport with a witness.

It was the jurors themselves which provided the most entertainment during the five day trial. Forbidden to talk about the trial, I learned I need to have my septic tank cleaned every two years and my air conditioning ducts every five. If I want to substitute teach in any of the public school systems within fifty miles, I now know pay scales, benefits and requirements. We all agreed when we could talk about the case, we’d make sure none of our family contracts these two attorney’s for our defense.

One juror spent time in jail on a felony charge, which he thought should’ve barred him from jury duty. I did think it rather curious that no one, not the judge, defense attorneys or DA thought anything about putting him in the jury box. I kept my purse in sight at all times and made sure I didn’t walk out alone. There were about three older African-American gentlemen who sat along the perimeter of the jury room all five days and never said a word. They didn’t even sit by each other or talk to one another. But they observed everyone and listened to everything. I’m sure these are the kind of jurors attorneys love and hate, because you don’t know what’s going on in their mind.

So, as I’m writing this, I’ve come up with an idea. This could be the next spin off of Law & Order. What do you think? Law & Order: The Jury. The judge, bailiff and attorneys can be the regular actors, but the jury changes each week as well as the dynamics of the jurors and gallery.

Oh? You want to know the verdict in this case? Guilty of first degree murder. Sentencing trial is scheduled.

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Wasn't that just brilliant? Thanks so much Corrie for this guest post and first hand account of your jury experience.  You've got such a skill for writing and recalling stories.  Readers, you can find Corrie at her blog: Just Because My Pickle Talks. 

Happy escapes!

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