She Wanted It All - Kathryn Casey [153]
The prosecutor didn’t fare as well when it came to her next concept: the proposition that some evidence would come from a coconspirator, a self-avowed murderer. Many in the jury pool found Wetzel’s suggestion that they give such testimony as much credibility as that of a police officer preposterous. DeGuerin agreed, jumping from his chair. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “Judge, how can she ask the jury to overlook where the information comes from? The law doesn’t ask them to do that.”
Tracey Tarlton’s testimony, Wetzel said, could be judged based on whether it was corroborated by other evidence. With that, many jurors agreed, but some staunchly insisted that they could never, under any circumstances, judge someone guilty based on the testimony of an admitted murderer. “That would be like looking at a guy in a dress and asking me to ignore the dress,” said one man, a tall, heavy-set business type in a starched white shirt, khakis, and a tie. “That’s not gonna happen.”
That afternoon it was DeGuerin’s turn. Where Wetzel had come off as strident, he approached the jurors softly, introducing himself and his fellow attorneys. He stood behind Celeste, placing his hands on her shoulders. “This is my client, the most important person in the courtroom,” he said. “As jurors, you’ll be deciding her fate.”
When he introduced his three law students in the courtroom, he said, “They’re here because they want to help.” DeGuerin talked of his teaching at the University of Texas, an institution that permeates Austin. And he talked of David Koresh, saying he was proud of what he’d done in Waco, “trying to bring a peaceful solution. I’m proud of what I do, proud of being a defense attorney.
“Now I’m going to do what one of you suggested earlier,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m going to get on with it.”
To begin, DeGuerin went row by row, allowing those who’d already formed opinions on Celeste’s guilt to disqualify themselves. A dozen jurors said they’d already judged Celeste, even before the first word of testimony.
From there he talked of the law that allowed a defendant to decide whether she would take the stand. Many people, he said, felt they had to hear from the accused. If a defendant didn’t testify, they judged, it was an admission of guilt. Again hands rose from a sampling of jurors who said they could not ignore the failure of a person accused of a crime to take the witness stand. These jurors, too, were disqualified.
DeGuerin then tried to defuse a hot button issue: the Beards’ May-December marriage. “I’m seventeen years older than my wife,” said one juror. “I know she didn’t marry me for my money.”
DeGuerin chuckled. “How many of you do have a problem with it?”
Four women and three men raised their hands. “‘Money hungry gold digger’ comes to mind,” said one of the men.
Hirschhorn noted strikes against more potential jurors.
In the end the jury that would judge Celeste Beard consisted of eight men and four women, with two male alternates. Nine were white, one Asian American, one black, and one Hispanic. One was a software engineer who’d gotten a laugh when he said that if his team waited to release software until it was a hundred percent, “we’d never get anything out.”
Another was a woman in her fifties, whose twenty-year-old daughter had been kidnapped and murdered thirteen years earlier. “I have serious issues with the Austin P.D.,” she’d admitted. “But they wouldn’t impact my decision in this case.”
Also on the final jury was a white-haired, bearded man, the one who’d laughed about being married to a woman seventeen years his junior. Would that influence his decision? No one could truly know, for despite the eight hours they’d spent choosing the jury, despite Hirschhorn’s analysis, no one could predict how any of the fourteen people seated in the jury box would react to the testimony they would hear. Would they believe that the woman seated so demurely before them could orchestrate murder?
As she scanned their faces, Wetzel felt good about