The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [116]
“Karen,” Scott said, “forget everything I ever told you about being a lawyer. I was wrong.”
“You’re a great lawyer, Scott, everyone at the firm says so, even since you left.”
“I didn’t leave. I got fired.”
“Well, even after that.”
“No, Karen, I was a corrupt lawyer. I cheated my clients, I cheated the law, and I cheated myself. I did whatever it took to win. I practiced law like it was a football game. It isn’t.”
“Karen wants to help us,” Bobby said.
“Why?”
Karen said, “Because you need help. And I like Bobby.”
Bobby dropped his drumstick.
Boo yelled over, “Sixty-seven thousand, four hundred fifty dollars.”
TWENTY-FOUR
VOIR DIRE” is a legal phrase meaning “to speak the truth.” In the American legal system, “voir dire” refers to the process of picking a jury, perhaps because of all the players in a criminal trial, only the jurors are truly interested in the truth. Everyone else just wants to win.
In federal court, jurors must be citizens; at least eighteen years old; proficient in reading, writing, understanding, and speaking English; not be physically or mentally infirm; not have been convicted of a felony; and not have felony charges currently pending against them. Finding twelve people who meet such qualifications is easy; finding twelve people you would want to sit in judgment of your life is not.
That’s where voir dire comes in. The judge and lawyers question the prospective jurors to uncover biases, prejudices, and predispositions that might prevent them from rendering a fair and impartial verdict. At least that’s the theory. The reality is that every juror comes to court with his or her personal biases, prejudices, and predispositions that will absolutely prevent that person from rendering a fair and impartial verdict—which is precisely the kind of jurors both sides want. The real goal of voir dire is to find twelve jurors who are biased, prejudiced, and predisposed in your favor.
A trial in a court of law is not about truth, justice, and the American way. It’s about winning. Prosecutors want a conviction so that they can build a track record of putting criminals in jail, a prerequisite for election or appointment to higher political office; defense attorneys want an acquittal because acquittals in high-profile criminal cases bring fame and fortune. Thus neither the prosecutor nor the defense attorney is concerned with truth or justice: truth is whatever they can get a jury to believe, and justice is when they win.
As he sat in a federal courtroom in downtown Dallas on a hot day in August, Scott Fenney believed his client had put the barrel of her .22-caliber gun to Clark McCall’s head and pulled the trigger. He also believed she had done so in self-defense. Now he had to question the men and women sitting before him in the hope of finding twelve jurors who might agree with him and, if not acquit his client, at least not send her to death row.
Judge Buford had already questioned the prospective jurors concerning their legal qualifications and dismissed only one, a man who, when asked if he had any pending felony charges, answered, “They haven’t been able to prove anything yet!”
Ray Burns had then questioned the prospective jurors about their willingness to find the defendant guilty knowing she might be sentenced to death. Seven prospective jurors said they were morally opposed to the death penalty and were excused.
Now twenty-nine prospective jurors were staring at Scott Fenney and Robert Herrin, waiting for the defendant’s counsel to question them. In every prior voir dire, sitting next to A. Scott Fenney had been an expensive psychologist trained in the art of jury selection, not a lawyer who practiced street law in a strip center next to a Mexican bar. For fees up to $1,000,000, such jury experts conduct mock trials, focus groups, and pretrial polling to develop a detailed psychological