Last week I walked into a courtroom with eleven people who had been complete strangers three weeks earlier and announced that we had decided that a man had committed murder. We announced it to the accused, who stood directly in front of us, to his friends and family to the right of us, and most importantly the judge standing to our right, who sentenced the man to life in prison shortly we walked out of the room.
Three weeks prior, when I first reported for jury duty, I sat in the jury pool for six hours before even being called into a courtroom. I assumed the court would have selected all the jurors they needed before it even came time to interview me individually.
Upon entering the courtroom I learned that, one by one, we would each be taken into the judge’s chambers to answer some questions. The purpose was to see if we were fit to serve in the ensuing trial. The charge was declared: first-degree murder. The phrase carried a certain resonance, and I took it upon myself to avoid making eye contact with the defendant at all costs, for he was seated directly in front of us. At this juncture I literally knew nothing about this man other than the fact that he was on trial for murder in the first degree. At times like that, phrases like “innocent until proven guilty” mean very little to you. As far as I was concerned, I was seated mere feet away from someone who had killed someone else. I elected to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.
Over the next few hours, more people got called into the judge’s chambers and subsequently dismissed, until eventually my number was called. I entered the smaller room to see the judge at his desk, surrounded by the court clerk, the court reporter, both sides of counsel and the defendant. The judge wanted to know things like whether or not I would trust the testimony of a police officer more than the testimony of a civilian, and would I be able to handle looking at gory images. I knew what the magic answers were that would get me booted out the door, but I’m a crappy liar and I got the impression that the judge was an exceptionally good human lie detector. After the brief round of questioning he said, “I find this juror to be indifferent” (gee, thanks), counsel agreed, and I was taken away to the jury room.
Over the course of the trial I learned that the prosecution wanted us to believe that the defendant robbed a convenience store he used to work at and stabbed the cashier to death. It was the defense’s case that the defendant had been nowhere near the store that day, and the police investigation had been poorly conducted. There was, in fact, no forensic evidence linking the defendant to the scene.
The attorneys on both sides were consummate professionals who made strong arguments. As the case went on I subconsciously reversed my initial decision to avoid looking at the defendant. I found myself intently studying any reactions he had to the events of the trial.
The entire jury was a little shell-shocked when it finally came time to deliberate. We had spent the previous three weeks diligently Not Discussing the Case, as per the judge’s orders. Now we had to consider well over 100 pieces of evidence and the testimony of about 30 witnesses and come up with a verdict. While no one really thought the defendant was inculpable, we needed to determine if the prosecution proved its case beyond a reasonable doubt. I was concerned that a mob mentality would set in and there would be a consensus without much consideration behind it. I was thankfully proven wrong as every last juror weighed in with insight, opinion, and intelligence. Three days later we walked back into the courtroom and the foreman reported that we had found the defendant guilty of both armed robbery and first-degree murder on the theories of cruel and atrocious killing and felony murder.
It occurs to me now that I just essentially offered a summary of events without any substantive commentary, so I’ll say this: the murder was appalling and senseless, and I firmly believe we made the right call as a jury. I guess I should take comfort in such an affirmation that the system works, but I can’t shake the feeling that the deck is stacked against people like the ones we learned about during the trial, who live in places like Dorchester and Everett and Roxbury without much in the way of opportunities. Also, the Boston PD is stretched thin. I could see it in the investigators’ faces when they got up on the witness stand. They followed every procedure in the book and came up with nothing. There were DNA samples that went untested because of a lack of resources. There are problems with the system, and the breakdowns are occurring long before a judge and jury become involved.
