Missing Witness (48 page)

MacPherson lashed out at Will, suggesting somewhat obscurely, that Will was in contempt of court for continuing to argue a point that the court had already ruled on—namely, refusing to strike his, MacPherson's, opening
statement, which had addressed the fact that Chambers and his client had a whole lot to gain by trying to persuade them to vote in their favor.

Will rose, but the judge waved him back into his seat and indicated he had decided what he would tell the jury. “I think this is an easy matter,” he said. “I'm simply going to reinstruct the jury in the section of the instructions that indicate that their sole and solitary finding of fact concerns Isaac Joppa's innocence or lack of innocence regarding the piracy charges…and absolutely nothing else. That's their only function here. When they've decided that issue, they're done with their work.”

The judge instructed the bailiff to bring the jury in, and the six members entered. Both Will and MacPherson studied their faces, hoping to gather some glimpse, some window into their deliberations or their current leanings but they were unable to do so. All were stone-faced and sober, except for the elderly widow, who again was smiling, apparently unaware of the tension in the courtroom about the case.

Judge Gadwell instructed them just as he had indicated and sent them back into the jury room.

MacPherson and Ludlow hung around the back, talking with Blackjack Morgan and laughing heartily. Then, they left the courtroom.

Will and Jonathan decided to have dinner at a café across from the courthouse.

As they walked across the street, Jonathan asked Will to size up what had happened with the jury deliberations.

“The question,” Will surmised, “shows they were a little bit confused about the judge's instructions on the questions they were to decide. I don't think it's a good sign or a bad one. But it does show that this is a jury that is spending a lot of time trying to sort through what their job is. And that's interesting. It looks like they're going to continue working through dinner. My guess is that they're going to try to arrive at a verdict tonight, before it gets too late.”

Will opened the door for his client and followed him into the café, thinking about the decision for the jury. He did feel it was interesting that they seemed to be taking this case every bit as seriously as the Old Bailey jury might have in 1719.

Of course, Will was well aware there was one monumental difference. If the jury in the courthouse, now deliberating together, found that Isaac had been guilty of piracy, no one was going to be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. The outcome of this case was, fortunately, not going to involve any matters of life and death. Will felt confident of that.

68

W
ILL HAD INFORMED THE BAILIFF
that he and Jonathan Joppa would be having dinner across the street from the courthouse. If the jury arrived at a verdict, he knew he would be contacted immediately.

Over dinner, the two men talked about a variety of things—but none of them having to do with the lawsuit. Jonathan asked about Will's law practice, and his marriage. He wondered how Will and Fiona had met. He seemed enthralled by the story of the lawsuit in which Will had represented Fiona's father, the lawsuit that had brought Will and Fiona together.

In turn, Will inquired about Jonathan. About his work as pastor of Safe Harbor Community Church. Jonathan addressed his relationship with the church very generally, but a few of his comments made Will think that things were not going smoothly.

Jonathan also mentioned a change in his approach to several things…not the least of which was the series of sermons he was now giving on the book of Jonah.

“What kind of a change are you talking about?” Will asked.

“Oh, a little bit more emphasis on the biblical text, and a little less…cultural entertainment, I guess.”

“What kind of reaction are you getting from your congregation?”

Jonathan stopped eating, then looked at Will with an expression that was revealing much. But he was choosing to say little.

“I think that still remains to be seen.”

“And how is your son doing…he's in rehab, right?”

“Yes, he is. I appreciate your asking. Maybe I'm just being overoptimistic, but this time I sense a difference. He's really putting an effort in. He and I are starting to connect. Maybe this time he'll really be able to turn things around.”

“That's great. That's really terrific.”

There was something on Jonathan's mind—Will could see it. Finally, he opened up.

“If you don't mind me asking,” he said cautiously. “I remember your Aunt Georgia saying that your first wife died.”

Will nodded.

Jonathan paused and then continued.

“My wife, Carol, died from a congenital heart condition. Bobby was two then. I did the best I could to raise him myself. But I think I was carrying a lot of baggage as a result of what happened. For a long time I've been trying to carry this by myself. Doing the best I can with Bobby. Plugging away at the church. But not exactly living an abundant life. More like mere survival. But lately…well…I've tried to get back to a kind of starting point with God…”

Will was silent, listening intently. Jonathan kept talking.

“And then, as far as myself…for the future…well, let's just put it this way—spiritually speaking, because I know that life really can swallow up death, I've decided I need to go back to living that kind of life.”

Something caught Will's eye, and he turned and noticed the bailiff, who strode over to their table.

“Gentlemen,” he said with an air of formality, “the jury has reached a verdict. You need to come back to the courtroom.”

He disappeared. Will and Jonathan paid their tab and hurried across the street to the courthouse.

“What do you think, Counselor?” Jonathan asked expectantly. Will glanced at his watch.

“Well, as far as jury deliberations, that wasn't short…but it wasn't long either. What I'm concerned about is who the jury foreman is.”

“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked as they approached the front doors.

“First thing the jury does in that room is elect a foreman. Usually it's whoever wants to volunteer first. I had some feelings about juror number one—the head of the construction company. If he's the foreman, I'm not sure that bodes well for us.”

Before Will and Jonathan entered the courtroom, Will checked the batteries in his cell phone to make sure Fiona could reach him. As he and Jonathan breezed in, they were surprised by a large figure standing in the audience section.

Melvin Hooper gave them both a broad smile and a firm handshake.

“Melvin,” Jonathan said with pleasure, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, the bailiff is a buddy of mine. I asked him to do me a favor and give me a call when the jury reached a verdict so I could get over here to the courthouse. You know, give you some moral support in return for your helping me out that day…I guess I just wasn't thinking straight…”

Jonathan talked with Melvin, as Will made his way to the counsel table.

Five minutes later, Virgil MacPherson entered the courtroom, followed closely by Terrence Ludlow, hands thrust in jeans, wearing a bored sneer. As usual, Blackjack Morgan slipped in and positioned himself at the back.

Will waved Jonathan up to the table as Boggs Beckford made his way forward awkwardly. With the aid of Jonathan, he seated himself.

The court personnel appeared and, less than a minute later, the door to the judge's chambers opened, and Judge Gadwell strode in, clad in his black judicial robe.

“All rise!” The clerk called out, and the courtroom rose to its feet.

Judge Gadwell seated himself.

“Be seated.”

The clerk called out the name of the case and the case number.

“The court has been informed,” Judge Gadwell began, “that the jury has reached a verdict. Bailiff, please call in the jury.”

The bailiff nodded, opened the door, and motioned the jury to enter.

Juror number one, the owner of the construction company, entered first with a stern look on his face. He did not look at Jonathan Joppa or Will Chambers. Instead, his gaze went to Virgil MacPherson and his client.

Each of the jurors, in turn, entered and took their seats in the jury box. Juror number three, the unemployed janitor, seemed to have a quizzical look on his face. The elderly widow, who followed him into the courtroom, was smiling as always. She gave a quick glance to Joppa and Chambers, and then turned to look at the judge.

The checkout girl, juror number five, was still chewing gum. The last juror, the plumber's assistant, looked only slightly less bored than he had at the beginning of the trial.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Judge Gadwell said, “I've been informed that you have reached a verdict. I would ask that your foreperson please stand and give the verdict form to the bailiff for delivery to the court.”

For one long, silent instant, no one stood up from the jury.

Then the elderly widow, still smiling, rose to her feet. She unfolded a single piece of paper, handed it to the bailiff, and resumed her seat.

The bailiff worked some of the creases out and handed it to the judge.

Judge Gadwell studied it. Then, for some reason, he squinted, holding it closer to his face.

After another long pause, the judge placed the paper in front of him and turned to the jury.

“Mrs. Foreperson, is this the verdict of the jury?”

The widow stood, nodded, and answered simply, “Yes, Your Honor, it is.” Then she sat down.

“The court has received the verdict of the jury. I will now read it. The sole and single question put to the jury was whether Isaac Joppa, on or about December of 1717, was innocent regarding acts of piracy committed against the sloop
Marguerite
. That was the
only
question that was put to the jury for their deliberation and verdict.”

The judge picked the piece of paper up and held it in front of him.

“As to that question—whether Isaac Joppa was innocent of piracy charges—the jury has answered that question.”

In the momentary pause before Judge Gadwell announced the verdict, only one sound could be heard in the hushed courtroom. It was a tapping from the back of the courtroom, where Blackjack Morgan was knocking his cane nervously against the bench in front of him.

Judge Gadwell threw a quick glance toward him, and the tapping stopped.

“The jury answered this question—whether Isaac Joppa was innocent of piracy charges—by inserting the word
yes.”

In the back of the courtroom, Morgan slammed his cane down onto the floor with a bang.

Jonathan Joppa's face lit up, and he shook Will's hand vigorously.

“But there is something else…something further written on this verdict form,” the judge continued.

Suddenly, Will, who was accepting the congratulations of his client, was concerned.

“There is something here that does bother the court…”

Will heard a noise in the back. He turned and saw a news reporter sitting down a few rows behind them.

“I'm going to read the other comment that was added to this verdict.”

The judge held the piece of paper closer and began reading.

“We, the members of the jury, would like to ask the court if it is possible to publicize this verdict regarding the innocence of Isaac Joppa to our public library and all public buildings where notices are posted. And perhaps the court could order that a copy of this verdict be sent to the public
schools in this district—for inclusion in the curriculum dealing with local North Carolina history of the eighteenth century.”

The high school teacher, who had sat expressionless during the entire trial, began smiling when Judge Gadwell read the last comment.

“And underneath that final message,” he continued, “are the signatures of each of the six jurors.”

The judge considered something, his forehead wrinkling and then spoke again.

“So it is clear to this court that the verdict here was unanimous.”

Virgil MacPherson jumped to his feet.

“Your Honor, I want the jury to be polled immediately! I want each of the jurors to be asked individually whether or not this really was their verdict.”

Judge Gadwell gave an exasperated look to MacPherson and said, “You really want to do that, Virgil? Didn't you hear me? I just said that every one of the jurors had personally signed the bottom of this verdict form.”

MacPherson gave a halfhearted smile and then withdrew his request.

The judge thanked the jury for their service and then dismissed them. When the last juror was gone, MacPherson jumped to his feet again.

“Your Honor, I move for a mistrial—that last comment added on the verdict shows in itself that this was a perverse jury result. They were obviously swayed by prejudice, bias, ill-will, malice, or undue sympathy—”