Judge & Jury - James Patterson [6]
Andie turned toward the stolid, gray-haired man seated in the third row of the courtroom. So that’s who that was. A few people murmured. She glanced at Rosella, a little sympathetic now.
These people were in for one scary ride.
Chapter 4
I WAS SITTING in the second row, not far from the judge, during the jury questioning. Security marshals lined the walls, ready to go into action if Cavello so much as scratched his nose. Most of the marshals knew I was the one who had taken Cavello down and that this case was personal for me.
It was driving me crazy waiting to have the opening arguments begin, to have the first witness take the stand.
We got Miriam Seiderman as the judge. I’d had her on trials twice before, and she always seemed to bend for the defendants. But she was thorough, fair, ran a tight court. We could have done a lot worse.
I was thinking this looked like a pretty decent pool of jurors. A couple of them were downright entertaining.
There was a Verizon guy with a New England accent who said he had three town houses in Brooklyn he’d fixed up and that he was bagging the phone company job anyway, so he could care less how long the trial ran.
And a crime novelist who someone in the jury pool recognized. In fact, she was actually reading his book.
Then the woman in the third row. The actress and single mom. She was feisty and cute, with thick brown hair with reddish streaks in it. There was some writing on her T-shirt—DO NOT DISTURB. Kind of funny.
Once or twice, Cavello glanced back at me. But most of the time he just sat there, hands joined, staring straight ahead.
A couple of times, our eyes met. How ya doin’, Nicky, his smile seemed to say, like he didn’t have a worry in the world, a guy about to go away for life.
Every once in a while he huddled with his attorney, Hy Kaskel. The Ferret, he was called. Not just because he made a living representing these bums, but because he was short and barrel-chested, with a hanging nose, a pointy chin, and thick, bushy eyebrows you could brush your shoes with.
Kaskel was a showman, though, among the best there was at his job. The Ferret had gotten two mistrials and an acquittal in his last three mob trials. He and his team just sat there sizing up each juror on a large poster board, taking notes. The Verizon guy. The MBA. The author.
I glanced up at the actress again. I was pretty sure she thought she was out of here. But sometimes that’s what you need on a jury, someone who can cut through the bullshit, break the ice.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Sharon Ann Moran, the judge’s clerk, got everyone’s attention. The defense and the prosecution had finalized their selections.
I was thinking, just give me twelve jurors smart enough to see through the bluster and bullshit, twelve jurors who won’t be intimidated.
One by one, the judge announced the names. Twelve jurors and six alternates. She told them to come up and take a seat in the jury box.
The crime writer was in. Shocked. So was the Verizon guy. And the Hispanic housekeeper, the one who was knitting for her granddaughter.
But the biggest surprise was the actress. She was in, too! I never saw anyone so stunned. I think everyone in the courtroom was holding back a smile.
“Ms. DeGrasse, Juror Number Eleven, you can take a seat in the jury box,” the judge told her, amused herself. “You got the part, dear.”
Chapter 5
THE GLASS ELEVATOR of the Marriott Marquis rose higher and higher above Times Square. Richard Nordeshenko watched the glittery bustle of the street grow distant and small below. Good riddance.
“First time to the Marriott, Mr. Kaminsky?” a chatty, red-capped bellhop asked as the elevator rushed them to the forty-second floor.
“Yes,” Nordeshenko lied.
Truth was, he had made the rounds of all the fancy hotels near Times Square. The area held a particular attraction for him. Not the lights or the nocturnal amusements, in which he took no part. It was the crowds. In the event something went wrong, all he had to do was duck into the throng any time of day or night.
“Kiev,