Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [195]
In a closed-door session with the judge, attorneys for both sides met to determine how the case would proceed. The prosecution hated to do so but still argued strenuously for a mistrial knowing that any conviction they achieved with this jury would give the defense grounds for an appeal. The defense saw the situation differently. They seemed confident that this jury would deliver them the not guilty verdict they were looking for and emphatically demanded to proceed with this jury.
After listening to both sides, Judge Shumate differed to the defense’s request. He called in one of the alternates and sat her in the deliberation room. He instructed her and the other jurors to start from the beginning if necessary.
The situation was painfully difficult for me. I did not want to do this whole thing over again, but the idea that we could win a guilty verdict and then have it voided through a subsequent mistrial ruling was disconcerting. It was one thing to have a mistrial before we’d won anything; it would be quite different if we tasted victory only to have it taken away. But in the end the defense had gotten their wish to proceed with this jury, and now all we could do was wait.
Just three hours into deliberations with the alternate juror, word came that a verdict had been reached. I entered the courtroom that day in a cloud of anxiety and feeling sick to my stomach. My eyes met Brock’s, seeking comfort. “It will be okay,” he mouthed silently. As I took my seat behind the prosecuting team, I tried to take heart in the knowledge that we had done the best we could to show the truth. It was out of our hands now.
The prosecution had prepped me a bit on how to judge the jury’s body language for clues about the decision. Sometimes, they explained, if the jury had ruled in favor of the victim, some of them might instinctively make eye contact with him or her. My heart sank into the floor as the jury filed into the courtroom and not one of them glanced in my direction. “Please, God, keep me strong,” I asked. Then I thought of the people assembled in the back rows of the room and those waiting patiently in the still-intact FLDS communities, knowing that they were all praying for the release of Warren Jeffs. As much as I cared for them, on this day, I hoped that their prayers would go unanswered.
“Is there a verdict?” the judge inquired of the jury.
The jury foreman stood and replied, “Yes. We have a verdict.”
The hearts of every person in that room pulsed frantically, each of us filled with hope and worry. Like a child, I squeezed my eyes shut to protect myself from what was to come.
“In the first count of rape as an accomplice, we the jury find the defendant, Warren Steed Jeffs,…guilty.”
Guilty? Had I heard correctly? I looked at Warren’s lawyers for their reaction and was able to confirm that the verdict had in fact been what I’d thought. Tears flowed to my eyes.
“In the second count of rape as an accomplice, we the jury find the defendant, Warren Steed Jeffs,…guilty.”
I was paralyzed. A rush of emotions took hold of me. It wasn’t just happiness, or a feeling of self-righteousness. It was bittersweet. On one hand, I felt grateful that the jury had been able to see past the confusion the defense had tried to create and vindicate the truth. And yet, I also felt a deep, sharp pain for every person who was still a part of the FLDS. I knew that everyone in that back row was so hurt. Mom and the other believers back home would be crushed once they heard the news.
Something changed in me then. While I’d long dreamed of this