Jury Duty

March had started like a lion with more storms than Emalee could remember having in the past several years. Hopefully, tradition would hold up, and the rest of the month would be mild, though you couldn’t prove it by the weather outside. The storm that had accompanied her that morning only added to what had started as a miserable day, and she doubted it was going to end any time soon.

The sound of her heeled boots clicked on the tiled hallway as she made her way to the assigned office. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside. The room was windowless and cool, with gray walls and metal chairs, and it reminded her of her high school history class. There was a thin, gray carpet on the floor, and more than two dozen folding chairs were arranged in rows in front of a desk behind a half-wall with a small sliding glass window. With a sense of dread, she considered the day ahead of her and how she had gotten to this stage of her life.

A few months ago, she was working as a homicide detective alongside her now-lover and former partner, Victor Armstrong. Today, she faced the prospect of serving on a boring jury, no doubt deliberating over speeding tickets or jaywalking. It all promised a long, dreadful day of listening to lawyers argue about who would be best for the jury.

Glancing around at the many bodies sitting in the metal chairs, she drew a deep breath and walked up to the desk, where a young woman with red hair sat behind the glass barrier.

“I’m reporting for a jury summons,” she told the woman.

“Fill this out and bring it up with your ID and the summons notice,” the woman responded, handing her a thin clipboard with a stack of papers.

Emalee thanked the woman and walked to the front row, where she sat down beside a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length, blondish-gray hair, two-inch red nails, and more than a dozen gold-and-diamond rings. She had her ears pierced with three holes, each one filled with a diamond earring, and around her neck were several gold necklaces. She was a large-busted woman and smelled of expensive cologne, and for a moment, all Emalee could think of was an aristocrat.

Looking over the papers, she quickly began filling them out, writing her full name, address, date of birth, occupation, and a summary of her past. She answered the questions about whether she’d ever been arrested, had speeding tickets, or was current on her taxes, then took the papers back to the woman.

She watched as the redhead took a 2-by-3-inch sticky label from a stack, wrote a number on it, and then reviewed the paperwork. Emalee watched the amused expression and knew what was coming. It was the same everywhere she went since the day she was born.

“I’m sorry, honey,” the woman told her with a look that assured her she assumed she was a typical dumb blonde. “We need your name on this line. Not your gender.”

Emalee removed her driver’s license and passport from her purse, then handed them to the woman, who looked at them. She gazed up at Emalee with wide eyes and a look of shock on her face.

“My name is pronounced Fem-A-lee, but I go by Emalee,” she commented.

“Yes,” the woman said, handing her ID back along with the label. “Just have a seat. A bailiff will escort you into the jury room in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Emalee answered, then unpeeled the label and attached it to her sweater before sitting back down next to the highly bejeweled woman.

“It’s not as difficult or as dreadful as people think,” the woman told her. “This is the third time I’ve been called to jury duty.”

“Were you selected the other two times?” Emalee asked her.

“Yes, both times, but they weren’t anything elaborate,” she answered. “One was a child custody case, and the other was a pedestrian who was hit by a car. Both lasted for two days before the sentencing, but we got paid, and the court provided us lunch.”

“I’ve never been summoned before, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to it,” Emalee told her honestly. “I have a photo shoot to do in two days, and I need to get things ready.”

“I thought you were a model,” the woman said with a wide smile. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, but I’m not a model,” Emalee said, feeling the heat of her blush tint her cheeks. “I’m actually the photographer.”

“How exciting,” the woman commented, and Emalee wasn’t sure if her smile could get any wider. “Not just gorgeous, but you have a brain as well. How thrilling it must be to take photos. Do you do it for famous people, or just families?”

“I do it for anyone who wants a photo,” Emalee told her, feeling an instant liking for the woman. “I have my own studio. Currently, I’m working with my sister, who owns an advertising firm.”

“That must be fun,” the woman replied. “By the way, my name is Sally Tanner.”

“I’m Emalee Peaker,” she answered, shaking her hand. “So, how does this whole jury duty thing work? I mean, do you tell the lawyers you want to do it or not?”

“Not exactly,” the older woman chuckled. “You go into a courtroom, and the judge asks you a series of questions that you have to answer verbally. Then the lawyers take notes and will ask anything additional they may want to know. Once that’s complete, everyone goes to the cafeteria for a drink, and thirty minutes later, you return to find out if you’ve been selected. If you aren’t, then you simply leave. If you are picked, the judge puts you under oath, informs you about the case, and issues instructions. You are then led to a jury room, where you wait until the trial begins. After that, it’s just a matter of listening to what’s being said, taking notes if you think it’s necessary, and then voting on the verdict. It’s easy.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Emalee replied.

“It’s not,” Sally told her. “So, dear, have you been a photographer your whole life?”

“I have, but I have my degrees in journalism and cinematography as well as law enforcement. I used to work as a crime scene photographer with the NYPD.”

“How thrilling,” Sally said excitedly. “I’ve always been fascinated with crime shows. Did you solve any cases?”

“Yes, actually, my photos were used in over five hundred convictions in our precinct.”

“Do you still work with the police?” the older woman continued questioning.

“Not anymore,” Emalee answered, noticing the faces that had turned to look at her. “I quit after the first of the year so I could dedicate more time to my photography.”

“Is there much money in private photography?” Sally asked.

“Not really, at least there wasn’t until I started working with my sister. Now I’m making more with one photoshoot than I did in six months on the force.”

“It sounds like you’re a very busy young woman,” Sally added as the side door opened, and a black man in a bailiff uniform stepped into the room.

Emalee looked at him, sizing him up to be around forty years old with a bald head and broad shoulders. He was tall, about six feet two inches, and Emalee estimated he weighed around 220 pounds, then realized she was looking at him through the eyes of a police officer.

He stepped up to the redhead and took the clipboard with everyone’s names and assigned numbers, then turned to address the room.

“I’m Officer Jerome Naylor,” the man said in a deep voice. “I’m going to show all of you into a room where you’ll watch a short video on what is expected of you, then you’ll be shown into the courtroom where you’ll meet with Judge Farrin White.”

The bailiff turned as a young man around twenty stood up, wearing baggy pants and a T-shirt with an anime cartoon on the front.

“I have a dentist appointment,” the man said, and everyone looked away as he opened his mouth, revealing teeth that resembled the teeth of a meth addict.

“Yeah, like ten years ago,” another young man commented in a whisper that brought a variety of chuckles to the room.

“How long is this going to take?” the man in the T-shirt continued without pausing to address the comment.

“It will take as long as it takes,” Jerome answered firmly.

“What if I just leave?” the boy asked with a snide look.

“Then you’ll be held in contempt of court,” the dark man answered boldly, then opened the door at the side of the room. “Follow me.”

Everyone stood and walked out of the room, following the man down the hallway, as the boy in the T-shirt started complaining about everything being a government conspiracy, and they didn’t have any right to order them to stay when they didn’t want to.

They walked down a corridor to an open door and stepped inside. It was not much different from the room they had just left, except for a large movie screen on the wall. Emalee sat next to Sally with the loud-mouthed kid behind her. They watched as Jerome stepped back up to the front of the room and began handing out clipboards with papers.

“Read through these instructions carefully, then sign them and hand them in as you are led into the courtroom,” he instructed.

Emalee took the one handed to her and began reading through the papers as the man stepped around the back of the room. The papers provided a basic rundown of everything Sally had already told her and explained what to expect. They were asked whether they had been taken away from an employer, and the papers assured them that they would be paid a flat fee for the day and any follow-up days if they were chosen for the jury.

A few minutes later, the room’s lights dimmed, and the screen displayed the video of a female judge who explained the history of the judicial system and the importance of jury duty, all the while the kid grumbled about it. Fifteen minutes later, the judge stated that they would all be sworn in upon entering the courtroom and explained the penalty for lying under oath. Once that was completed, the video ended, the lights came back on, and Emalee nearly laughed when the kid behind her became completely silent.

“I’ll call your number, and you’ll line up in that order,” Jerome said, walking to the door, clipboard in hand, and Emalee looked at the sticker on her chest, seeing the number 42 in bold black letters. Sally was 14, and the loudmouth was 29. She could only assume that meant there were at least 42 jurors in the room, though she hadn’t bothered making much notice of any of them. The most she did was talk with Sally and ignore the kid behind her.

“42,” Jerome said, and Emalee looked up. “You’ll be juror number 1. Number 26, you’re juror 2.” And the numbers kept being called out, with Sally fifth on the list and the kid near the end, making his grumbling start again.

Emalee stood at the head of the line, hoping that was a good sign. Perhaps she would be the first one they excused so that she could get on with the rest of her day.

“Once you’re inside the courtroom, all cell phones and electronics are to be turned off,” Jerome instructed. “Smart watches must have the internet and interface disconnected. Anyone found to have their electronics on will be held in contempt of court.”

Emalee removed her cell phone from her purse and immediately switched it off, as the loudmouth grumbled that it violated his Constitutional rights. Rolling her eyes, she began walking behind the bailiff, wondering if the kid ever made it far enough in school to know what the Constitution was even about.

Jerome led them down the hallway to the stairs and then walked up to the second level. Another long hallway, and they finally reached a set of double doors with a small sign on the side wall labeled “Courtroom 7.”

They filed into the room behind Jerome and sat down in the padded chairs in the order he pointed them out, with Emalee in the first seat on the far right. She placed her purse on her lap and watched as the others took their seats, filling six full rows, then looked around the room.

It was a basic courtroom, decorated in maple paneling and featuring matching wooden furniture. The judge’s bench was at the front of the room, the witness stand beside it, and a small desk at the side where the stenographer would sit. On the left side of the room was the juror’s box, and in front of it were two long wooden desks for the defendant and the prosecutor. There were two doors beside the judge’s bench, one leading to the jury room and one for the bailiff to escort the criminals through.

This section of the courthouse was the older wing, and although the furniture was well-maintained, it was dated. She had been in several courtrooms during her law enforcement years when the prosecutor or district attorney called her to testify as an expert in a case. She had seen the newer wing as well as this one, though she didn’t really care for either. The rooms were always the same. Cold, impersonal, and uncomfortable.

“Judge White will be joining us shortly, as well as the two attorneys in the case,” Jerome began. “You will be asked a series of questions in order, and then you’ll be led to the cafeteria, where you’ll receive vouchers for something to eat while the court discusses its selection. Once they’ve made their decision, you’ll return here. If you’re chosen, you’re to remain seated. If you’re dismissed, you’ll be given a parking voucher and the paperwork to present to your employer. Within the next four to six weeks, you’ll receive a check for today’s participation, and you will not be eligible for jury duty again for six years.”

“Thank God,” the grumbling boy said, causing Jerome to clear his throat.

“Stand and raise your right hand,” he continued, and they all stood up. “Will you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I will,” they all answered, with the young man saying, “Yeah, whatever.”

“I asked you a question,” Jerome said boldly, stepping up to the boy and standing over him by at least a good foot. “Answer it properly, or I can promise you’ll see the other side of the juror’s box.”

“Chill out, man,” the boy said. “I swear I’ll tell the truth.”

Growling under his breath, Jerome stood and walked back to the front of the room, ordering everyone to have a seat.

A few silent minutes later, the door at the back of the room opened, and the two attorneys entered. Emalee recognized the district attorney, Marion Lewis, and knew that today’s case was more than merely traffic violations. The woman was very dignified and professional, though Emalee had met her several times outside the usual settings and found her quite pleasant.

She was a tall, slender black woman in her early forties with short straight black hair and dark eyes. With her was her new paralegal, Emalee, whom she had met at last year’s Christmas party, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the young man’s name. He was rather timid and quiet, of average height, and slightly heavier in stature than most of the people she’d interacted with over the years at the district attorney’s office, and much younger. He had short brown hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses. In his hand, like Marion’s, was a briefcase, and they sat at the desk on the right of the room.

The defense wasn’t familiar to Emalee, though she hadn’t had many dealings with public defenders or private attorneys. The most she’d ever seen of them was when they would cross-examine her testimony, and most of them started with the same impression as everyone else she’d ever met. “A beautiful blonde with big boobs and no brain, what could she possibly know?” Fortunately for Emalee, she had a high IQ and was an expert at martial arts. That usually made people think twice before confronting her.

“All rise for Judge White,” Jerome said, and everyone stood up as the door opened and a very distinguished-looking man in his mid to late sixties entered the room wearing a long black robe.

He stepped up to the bench as a young black woman entered the room and sat down at the stenographer’s desk. Once the man was seated, he banged his gavel once and ordered everyone to take their seats.

“You are all here to be selected as a jury of twelve, with two being considered alternates in the event someone on the jury cannot carry out their duty, though you won’t know which ones they are,” the judge said, his tone thick and deep with a hint of a British accent. “I am going to ask you a series of questions, and I must remind you that answering falsely will result in a contempt of court charge against you. Once chosen for the jury, you will be issued further instructions. We’ll start with juror number one. Please stand and tell the court your name and occupation as well as all jobs you’ve held in the past five years.”

“My name is Fem-A-lee Peaker,” Emalee said, standing and drawing a deep breath. “I’m a former police photographer with the New York Police Department,” she said boldly, causing the man to look up from the paper he’d been taking notes on. “I am now a freelance photographer, currently under contract with Wardley Advertising.”

“Miss Peaker, as a former police photographer, I’m sure you were involved in cases of murder,” the judge commented. “Have you ever had any personal contact with the families or relatives of murder victims outside of your job?”

“I have,” she commented, remembering that Victor’s sister had been murdered by a pizza delivery driver years ago.

“Have you ever known anyone involved in a shooting, other than with your employment?” he asked again.

“Not that I can recall, Your Honor,” she answered.

“Does the defense have any questions for the juror?” the judge asked, looking at the man who stared at Emalee with wide eyes.

“Um,” the man began hesitantly, then cleared his throat, blinking several times. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

“Prosecution, any questions?” Judge White asked with a half-grin that told Emalee he hadn’t missed the fact that her beauty and intelligence had surprised the last attorney.

“The district attorney’s office is aware of Miss Peaker’s professional record, Your Honor,” Marion commented. “I have no questions for her at this time.”

“Miss Peaker, if you’re chosen for the jury, will you have any personal or professional obligations that could prevent you from fulfilling the duties?” Judge White asked her.

She thought for a moment about grumbling and complaining about everything she had waiting for her, then drew a deep breath.

“No, sir, there isn’t anything that I cannot rearrange.”

“Very well, please have a seat,” the judge told her, then asked the same questions to the man next to her.

The questioning continued for another hour and ten minutes before they finally made it down to the boy in the anime T-shirt, who was currently number thirty-nine.

“Please state your name and occupation,” Judge White instructed.

“My name is Sabastian Housekeeper, though my friends call me ‘Silent Rush’. I’m an S-tier ‘Twilight Bounty’ gamer,” he answered. “I’m top of the US PVP rankings.”

“And your occupation?” the judge asked, obviously unimpressed with the kid’s bragging.

“I work part-time with my old man at his printing shop,” he answered.

Continuing with the same questions they had asked the other jurors, they finally got down to the main question.

“Do you have any personal or professional obligations that could prevent you from fulfilling the duties of a juror if selected?” Judge White asked.

“Yeah, I do,” the kid said boldly. “I think this whole thing is a crock of shit, and it’s just another way for the elitists to control the population.”

“Mr. Housekeeper, I will offer you one chance to rephrase your answer before I hold you in contempt of court,” the judge said firmly, his tone thick with authority, making the boy seem to shrink.

“Well, yeah, I do have issues,” he said after a moment to think. “It will interfere with my live streaming, and I have a championship on Friday that I cannot miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Housekeeper, you may be seated,” the judge told him, then moved on to the remaining three jurors.

Once the questions had been asked and the attorneys had asked any additional questions, the judge instructed that the courtroom be cleared. Jerome led the group down the hallway to the cafeteria and handed each of them a voucher upon entering. Emalee walked to the counter, took a coffee cup, filled it, then turned and chose a bowl of fruit with whipped cream. Taking both with her, she walked to a table away from Sabastian, aka “Silent Rush,” and sat down, ignoring his grumbling about this whole day being a waste of his time.

“Mind if I join you?” Sally asked, and Emalee looked up, smiling at the woman with the salad and soda on a plastic tray.

“Be my guest,” she told her, then watched as she lowered her frame into the chair next to her.

“What did you think of the first half of the day?” Sally asked her.

“I have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Emalee answered, taking a drink of her coffee. “I’m not sure if they will select me with my background. With Marion Lewis on the case, it’s a lot more than a misdemeanor charge.”

“Do you know the district attorney?” Salley asked.

“I do,” she answered. “I’ve met her several times, and I’ve served as an expert on several cases for the state.”

“That may be a benefit if the case is anything serious,” the older woman said with a shrug. “I’ve always wanted to be on a heavy crime jury. I’d love to sink my teeth into a case.”

Emalee chuckled as she listened to the young man nearby grumbling on the phone as he talked about wasting his day in all this bureaucratic bullshit.

“It would serve that boy right if he were chosen,” Sally said, lowering her voice. “Maybe it would make him show a little respect to our country and all the freedoms he takes for granted.”

“I doubt anything would help him,” Emalee told her firmly. “I think his head is so far up his ass he can’t breathe.”

The older woman laughed as Emalee smiled. She could only hope that the rest of the day would pass quickly so she could get home. She wanted to tell Victor about her day and prepare for the photo shoot of Michelle’s new spring line. Maybe, if she had the time, she’d plan a romantic supper for her man. If she couldn’t wrap up here quickly enough, perhaps she could plan on something for tomorrow and talk her strong detective into taking her to supper tonight.

Taking her phone from her purse, she turned it on to see three texts from Victor. The first asked how it was going, and the second asked what her plans were for the evening. The third and last one was telling her how boring the office was without her and assuming she would want to relax after her crazy day. He wanted to know if she would like to catch a movie and supper. It was just like him to know what she was planning. Smiling, she sent him a quick text, saying things were slower than she thought they would be and that supper and a movie sounded great. She told him she wouldn’t be able to text back until after the judge released them, then shut off her phone and put it back in her purse.

“What’s the rest of the afternoon going to be like?” she asked the older woman as she began eating her berries.

“We’ll just hear who they want for the jury, then either be released or have the case explained to us,” Sally said with a shrug. “Last time I spent two days listening to a woman complaining that a driver was speeding through the intersection and had hit her in the street, and even after getting a huge settlement from the insurance, she wanted more. She thought it was unfair and claimed that she had permanent nerve damage and couldn’t work anymore.”

“What was the verdict?” Emalee asked with a frown.

“The woman wasn’t in the crosswalk,” Sally shrugged. “It was against the law, and the only verdict we could render was not guilty against the driver. After all, the law is the law.”

“Alright, jurors, the judge is ready for you,” Jerome said, coming back into the cafeteria, and Emalee realized they were the only people in the room.

Taking her purse, Emalee stood and walked with Sally to the door, then waited until everyone was gathered around.

“You’ll sit in the same order as you were shown into the courtroom and make certain your electronics are off,” Jerome continued, looking directly at the young man, who had not only been talking over his earbuds but also had his video chat on.

With a disgusted grunt, he shut the phone off and slipped it into a pocket of his baggy pants, then took the earphones out and put them into another pocket. Once everyone was assembled, the man turned, and they all walked back to the courtroom, and Emalee once again led the way up the aisle.

They found themselves waiting again until the attorneys arrived, then the door opened, and the judge stepped into the room.

“All rise,” Jerome said, and Emalee watched as the stenographer took her position.

“Be seated,” the judge said, rapping his gavel,

Emalee drew a deep breath, fighting the urge to groan. It all seemed so overly dramatic, and she was beginning to think Silent Rush had been right. This whole thing was turning into a huge waste of time. If they would cut out all the pomp and circumstance, they could get on with it, and everyone would be able to go about their own lives.

“Mr. Bennett, has the defense made their selections?” the judge asked the man.

“We have, Your Honor,” he said, handing a piece of paper to Jerome, who collected it and then walked to the next table.

“Ms. Lewis, has the prosecution made their selection?” he asked again.

“We have, Your Honor,” she replied, handing the paper to Jerome.

The judge took the papers, reviewed each one, marked off the names on his copy, and then assembled the lists.

“Will the attorneys approach the bench, please?” Judge White asked, and they watched in silence as the two stood in front of the tall bench, speaking softly together.

Emalee watched as they nodded, then shook their heads, nodding again. After ten minutes of speaking in quiet tones, the two returned to their tables as the judge continued writing on the paper in front of him.

“If I call your numbers, you will remain seated,” Judge White continued a few moments later. “If your number is not called, you’re free to leave. The clerk at the desk downstairs will give you a voucher for parking and the information you need to present to your employers or mail in for payment.”

Clearing his throat, he began calling out numbers.

“Numbers 1, 5, 7, 12, 17, 22, 27, 28, 32, 36, 39, and 42 remain seated. The rest of you are dismissed with our thanks.”

“This is bull shit, man,” Sebastian said in a loud voice, only to have the judge slam his gavel on the bench.

“All of you remain seated,” he said sternly. “Mr. Housekeeper, you are found in contempt of court, and I sentence you to a $1,000 fine and ninety days in jail. Bailiff, take him away.”

Emalee felt like laughing as the young man began bellowing that the whole thing was against his Constitutional rights and that he would sue everyone. The room’s occupants watched as Jerome placed the young man in handcuffs and dragged him out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a smirk on his dark face.

“With that disruption out of the way, number 19, please remain seated. Those whose numbers were not called have our thanks and are released to leave the courtroom,” the judge commented.

Emalee nearly moaned when she realized her number had been called. She was stuck. She was now part of a jury she didn’t want to be on. With an inward groan, she thought about how her day had started. Victor’s phone woke them up at 4 AM, and then her water heater went out again while she was in the shower. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she dropped two eggs on the floor while making breakfast. Was there anything else that could ruin this day?

****

The twelve jurors sat comfortably in padded office chairs in a quiet room, surrounding a long, conference-style table. After being chosen for the jury, Jerome escorted them into this room, advised them that the judge would join them shortly, and instructed them to take advantage of the free drinks and snack machines. They were allowed to turn on their phones only long enough to send messages or call their loved ones to let them know they were on the jury and would be released by five o’clock.

Emalee turned her phone on and stepped to the corner of the room near a set of windows, then dialed Victor’s cell number.

“Hey, beautiful, how’s it going?” he asked in a cheerful tone.

“Not very good,” she answered, listening to his deep chuckle.

“You were selected, weren’t you?” he asked with an amusement that seemed to irritate her more than the fact that she was stuck having to serve on a jury she didn’t want to be a part of.

“Oh, shut up, Victor,” she grumbled as he laughed. “They said we would be released by five o’clock, but we haven’t heard anything else. Do you still want to go to supper?”

“Absolutely, but I think the movie may be out,” he told her. “You’re going to need to get up early tomorrow so you can be in court.”

“You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” she asked him.

“I warned you that you’d found a new adventure when you got that summons,” he answered. “With you involved, I’m sure this isn’t going to be a simple shoplifting case.”

“I think you’re probably right,” she commented with a deep sigh. “Marion Lewis is the prosecutor.”

“Really?” Victor asked, his voice taking on a serious tone. “The district attorney wouldn’t be involved unless it was serious.”

“Yeah, I know,” she told him. “I just wish I knew of some way to get out of this, but we’ve already had one guy held in contempt of court.”

“Sounds like you’ve had fun,” he chuckled again.

“I’m hoping this is an open and shut case and we can get out of here,” she told him. “I’m starting to get a headache. What’s been going on there?”

“About the same as usual,” he answered. “Two homicides and a suicide. Nothing we can’t handle. Michaels was assigned to one homicide, and Woods was assigned to the other. I have the new guy, Brooks, on the suicide.”

“And the new captain sits behind the desk, chewing on a cigar stump,” she teased, referring to how their former captain, Sweeny, would always have a cigar stump handy.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he grumbled playfully. “It took six weeks to get that stench out of here, and I’m not eager to have it back.”

“How’s Whitley handling the new equipment?” she asked, sitting on the windowsill.

“He’s doing okay. Definitely not you, but I think we should bet on a few good photos. He’s bouncing between crime scenes right now. It would be nice to have our star photographer here, though.”

“Sorry, not a part of the solution any longer, but I’d be willing to come back if you thought you could get me out of this mess,” she told him hopefully.

“Nope, sorry, sweetheart,” Victor told her. “I doubt even I’d be able to convince them to let you out of your civic duty to the community.”

“Thanks a lot, Captain Armstrong,” she snarled playfully. “Let’s just hope I get back in time to enjoy a couple of hours to relax with the man I love.”

“Perhaps I should pick up a bucket of chicken on the way back to your flat,” he suggested.

Just then, the door opened, and Judge White stepped in wearing his black robe.

“I’ve gotta go. The judge just came in,” she told him quickly. “If you want to pick up dinner, then let me know. I’ll pick up the wine.”

“Okay, have a good afternoon, and I love you,” Victor told her.

“I love you too,” she answered, then disconnected the call and shut off the phone.

“I just wanted to take a couple of minutes to introduce myself and let you know about the case formally,” the man said, taking up a seat at the table while the others gathered around, with one man leaning against a bookcase. “You’ll be led back into the courtroom in a few minutes, and the attorneys will be present along with the defense. This case is going to be a lengthy trial, I’m afraid, and it may come down to you being sequestered. Nothing will happen tonight, so you’ll be free to return home once the lawyers have presented the case to you. If you are sequestered, you’ll be allowed to contact one person to have them pack a bag for you, and the court will arrange for someone to pick them up. Nobody is to know where you’ll be, the room number you’ll be in, or exactly what is going on.”

“Is this a murder case, as you see on television?” Juror 22 asked.

The woman was around thirty years old with mousy, shoulder-length brown hair, green eyes, and tortoiseshell glasses. She was of average height and slightly plump, wearing leopard-print stretch pants, a dark yellow T-shirt, and spiked black heels.

“You’ll find all of that out in a few minutes,” the judge commented. “Each one of you will be given a notepad and a pencil so you can take notes if you find it necessary. This will help in your deliberation of the verdict.”

“May I ask you a question?” an elderly man, around seventy or eighty, asked, prompting the man to nod. “If, for some reason, one of us becomes ill or cannot finish the hearing, how will we know if another juror will take their place? Will we all be present for the entire trial?”

“You will all be present, but by law, we need between six and twelve jurors. In this case, the defense has requested 10 jurors, so 2 of you will serve as alternates. If, for some reason, one of you falls ill or cannot finish the case, then there will be another to fill in, but I strongly suggest not getting sick or injured.”

“What happens if we are sequenced?” a young woman asked. Juror 17 was a bottle blonde, as Emalee would term her, with a heavily made-up face, a short pink dress, and stilettos. “I mean, will we get paid more, and what about meals?”

“If you get sequestered,” the judge began, correcting her misused term, “then the court will provide your meals, and you will get more money, though that will be outlined in writing at the time of being retained.”

The others looked around the room but remained silent as the judge stood.

“I’ll have bailiff Naylor escort you into the courtroom in a few minutes,” he told them. “Once you’re there, you’ll be sworn in again, and instructions on what you are to do will be issued to you. Does anyone have any further questions?”

Everyone shook their heads, and the man smiled before continuing.

“It is essential that you remain hydrated throughout the hearing, so you’ll be allowed to take in water only, but it has to be in the original clear bottles. If you need more or you need a bathroom break, you’ll notify the bailiff, who will request a recess. Jerome will escort you to a special locker where you can leave your personal belongings while you’re in court. Ensure that all electronics are removed from your person and stored securely. You’ll be given the locker key, but don’t lose it. There are no duplicates available. In the meantime, I’d like to thank all of you for being here and look forward to seeing you in court.”

Judge White left the room, allowing everyone to take a deep breath.

“I guess you got your wish,” Emalee told Sally as the others all started speaking in small groups or with the person next to them.

“I know it’s morbid, but I’m excited,” the older woman commented. “I’ve always wanted to be on a murder trial jury. I watch all the crime shows on TV and think they’re fascinating.”

“Speaking from someone who has investigated more than five hundred cases, I can tell you there’s a lot more involved in getting the facts and evidence together so it can be presented in court.”

“I’ll bet you’ve seen some pretty gruesome things,” a young black man, juror 42, said, causing the others to stop talking while he spoke with Emalee. “Were you a cop for long?”

“Some days it seems like a lifetime,” Emalee chuckled. “But yes, I’ve seen some pretty gruesome things.”

“How can you investigate a murder scene?” asked Juror 19, this one a middle-aged black woman. “I get sick looking at raw hamburger.”

“You learn to develop a hard shell,” she answered. “But it takes time. I’ve never been squeamish, but there were a few cases that left my stomach jumping.”

“Can you tell us anything that may be helpful with this case?” the elderly man asked.

“I’ve never served on a jury before, but if you’re asking me as someone who has been to court, then all I can say is listen to everything closely and don’t be afraid to take notes,” she told them. “It’s all pretty cut and dry. I’ve been called to bear testimony over the years, and the lawyers have their case pretty well in hand. It’s just a matter of pulling everything together to determine if the person is guilty or not.”

The door opened, and the dark man entered, then began handing out notepads and pencils as he spoke.

“I’m going to show you to the lockers, and I suggest you all bring a bottle of water with you,” he told them. “The courtroom’s air conditioner is acting up, so it could be cold one moment and hot the next. We’re hoping to either get it fixed in the next day or two or be assigned another courtroom in the newer section.”

“Any idea how long this is going to take?” the blonde asked, crossing her legs and making the hem of her skirt rise higher on her thighs.

“The judge usually concludes court by five o’clock, so at least that long, but it’s difficult to say,” Jerome answered. “Why? Do you have a hot date that can’t be postponed?”

“I have several, actually,” the woman said with a raised eyebrow, causing two other women to snicker.

“It will probably be best if you consider rearranging them for a while,” Jerome told her sternly. “Until further notice, you’re under the court’s jurisdiction. If the lawyers don’t want to break at five o’clock, or a witness can’t show up before that, then you’ll be stuck waiting along with the rest of us.”

Emalee forced the smile from her face as the woman rolled her eyes, then stood and collected a bottle of water from the machine. It looked like it was going to be an interesting day. So far, they’d lost one prospective juror to contempt of court, and now they’re being warned about the possibility of being sequestered. She just couldn’t imagine anything else happening to make this day any worse.