This was why Leigh was leaning toward striking Bladel from the jury. The defense wanted people who questioned the system. The prosecution wanted people who thought that the law was always fair, that cops never lied and that justice was blind.
Given the last four years, it was becoming harder and harder to find anyone who thought the system worked the same for everybody, but the military could be a reliably conservative group to pull from. Dante had already blown through seven of his nine preemptory challenges, which could be used to strike any juror for any reason except on the basis of race. Thanks to Judge Turner’s leniency, Leigh had four challenges remaining, plus another when it came to selecting the two alternates.
She checked her grid of seated jurors. Six women. Three men. Retired teacher. Librarian. Accountant. Bartender. Mailman. Two stay-at-home moms. Hospital orderly. She felt good about the line-up, but then the line-up didn’t matter because none of this would make it to trial. The rollercoaster was on its downward spiral where Walter had talked to the police and both Leigh and Andrew would be waiting for their separate arraignments before Monday morning rolled around.
Andrew had a fail-safe tape of Leigh murdering his father.
Leigh had it by her client’s own admission that Andrew was sitting on a large stash of child porn featuring her then-fourteen-year-old sister.
“Judge,” Dante said. “The prosecution accepts this juror and asks that he be seated.”
Turner’s head jerked up. He paged through his paperwork as he gave off a howl of a yawn under his mask. “Ms. Collier, you may cross.”
Dante slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh, because he assumed Leigh would use one of her challenges to strike the man.
Leigh stood up. “Mr. Bladel, thank you for being here today. I’m Leigh Collier. I represent the defendant.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“I should thank you for your service, too. Twenty years. That’s admirable.”
“Thank you.” He nodded again.
Leigh took in his body language. Legs wide. Arms at his side. Posture straight. He seemed open rather than closed off. The previous occupant of the chair had looked like Quasimodo in comparison.
She said, “You used to be a limo driver. What was that like?”
“Well,” he began. “It was very interesting. I hadn’t realized how many international travelers we get into the city. Did you know that Atlanta has the busiest passenger airport in the world?”
“No, I didn’t,” Leigh answered, though she did. The point of her questions wasn’t so much about getting details as it was to figure out what kind of person Hank Bladel was. Could he be impartial? Could he listen to the facts? Could he understand the evidence? Could he persuade others? Could he parse out the true meaning of reasonable doubt?
She said, “You mentioned in your questionnaire that you were stationed overseas for eight years. Do you speak any foreign languages?”
“I never had the ear for it, but I’ll tell you, most of my airport rides have a better grasp of the English language than my grandchildren.” He chuckled with the judge, sharing an old man’s bafflement with the younger generation. “Now, some of them like to talk, but others, you figure out you just need to be quiet, let them make their calls, keep under the speed limit, and get them there on time.”
Leigh nodded as she catalogued his answer. Open to new experiences, willing to listen. He’d make an excellent foreman. She just didn’t know for which side. “You told my colleague that you volunteer with the Boys and Girls Club. What’s that like?”
“I’ll be honest. It’s become one of the most rewarding parts of my life.”
Leigh nodded as he talked about the importance of helping young men and women get on the right track. She liked that he had a firm sense of right and wrong, but she still didn’t know whether that would work in Andrew’s favor.
She asked, “Are you a member of any other organizations?”
Bladel smiled with pride. “I am a brother with the Yaarab Shriners, which belongs to the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine for North America.”
Leigh turned so that she could see Dante’s face. He looked like someone had just shot his dog. Shriners were a more liberal offshoot of Freemasons. They staged clown parades, wore funny hats, and raised millions of dollars for children’s hospitals to supplement America’s deplorably imbalanced healthcare system. Leigh had never seated a Shriner on a jury who didn’t go out of his way to understand the real-life implications of beyond a reasonable doubt.