Fences

CHAPTER I

Alex Freeman stood silently behind the defense table as the jury walked back into the courtroom, led by the bailiff.  Alex stood nearly 6 feet one, a muscular two hundred twenty-five pounds, dark hair and hazel eyes. It was easy for anyone to see that he was of Italian decent.

The press once described Alex, because of his muscular frame and rugged good looks, as looking more like a defensive back than a defense attorney.  Everyone that knew Alex agreed that he was a very handsome man, but there was a quality about him that magnified his good looks.  Something more than physical appearance, something electric or magnetic in his personality that made him nearly impossible to resist, men either loved or hated him immediately.  However even the ones who hated him had to admit that in a crisis, they would follow him without hesitation. 

Twelve jurors walked in looking solemn and a couple of years older than they had the day before when they had begun their deliberations.  Judge Whiterock, a senior Judge appointed specially to handle this high profile case, told the courtroom to be seated and then in one smooth experienced maneuver leaned over the bench, looked down at the jury and asked them if they had selected a foreperson. 

A tall gray-hared man, his appearance more reminiscent of corporate America than a courtroom, stood up and acknowledged that he had been given the dubious honor.  No one on the jury looked happy.  It had been a long two days of deliberations for the jury members, and they had argued with each other over almost every aspect of the week long case that they had been chosen to sit on.  On two different occasions they had almost declared themselves deadlocked.  But each time they got close to quitting, someone would bring up the words that the Defense attorney had spoken at the end of his closing argument;

“remember ladies and gentleman, you were picked to make a life or death decision regarding my client, you were picked because I believe that you are capable of making that decision conscientiously.  The twelve of you have to find a way to agree about what should happen in this case, because if you cannot agree, then this case will have to be tried again, and next time it may be in front of a jury that may not care as much about justice or doing the right thing as each of you do.  I have watched each of you during the trial, and I know that each of you has heard every word that has been said here this week, and I’m here to tell you, that’s a very rare thing.  One way or another, each of you must work through your differences and find a way to agree, after all would any of you want to leave a decision this important to someone else?  Before you answer that question ladies and gentleman what if the defendant in this case was one of your loved ones, then would you want to take the risk that some unconcerned or inept juror would get to make such an important decision?  Let them make a decision that would hold in the balance the very essence of our humanity.  A decision regarding life and death itself?  I have faith that you will each do the right thing here, and as a group you and no one else in this room have authority over life and death itself.  Sometimes, ladies and gentleman it’s more comfortable to sit on the fence and not make a decision, but no one promised you that this would be comfortable.  We gave you the authority, please use it.”