In The Plan - 25. Chapter 25

25

The following morning began with Stu Lee's closing argument. Then Ben Carleson made his. Both of them said little that was different from what they'd established in their openings and what they'd worked to support during the trial. Both seemed confident, and both were careful not to grandstand or gloat.

Lee concluded, "Think logically. Douglas Hodges gave his word to his closest friends that he wouldn't let an admittedly drunk Brad Coghlan drive. Would the good Mr. Hodges go back on his word? Simply - 'No.' So Doug Hodges had to be driving Brad Coghlan's car."

"Yes, 'Do think logically,'" Carleson virtually repeated when he reached the same point in his closing. "Would a man as sensible as you've seen Doug Hodges to be - and as he's always been described by anyone who's known or knows him - ever drive in the thoughtless and dangerous way it's been reported by any number of witnesses? Especially when Brad Coghlan had a reputation for drinking, acting rowdy, and taking chances? Officer Coghlan clearly had to be driving his own Mercedes."

Even the judge knew it was too late to object to "Officer," and there would be nothing gained by reprimanding Carleson. She simply went on to give the jury its usual closing instructions - clarifying procedures and technicalities she's promised to explain at the beginning of the trial. After she seemed comfortable that all the jurors understood, she dismissed the alternates - the two youngest women. That left the jury evenly balanced between women and men, with their ages distributed from their twenties to sixties and with a good ethnic mix. As a final step, the judge gave Carleson the choice of a 4-2 or 5-1 decision.

"5-1," Carleson said firmly.

"What's that mean?" Doug Hodges soon asked. "Doesn't that mean that even more people have to vote in my favor? Why take that risk?"

"Because you're looking at it the wrong way round," Carleson gently assured him. "If I thought for one second that any jury could find - and believe - that you were driving, I'd want five of those six people to have to say it aloud."

Doug considered that for a moment then seemed convinced.

Carleson almost thought it would be a quick decision - that the jury would go out, take an immediate vote, and come right back in. He wasn't being overly sure of his skills. Doug Hodges' case just seemed that strong.

Stu Lee was actually a little less confident than he appeared, aware of the damage Carleson had done to Dr. Lowe's theory. But that was only a small piece of Lowe's testimony. The larger part was the science connecting Coghlan's and Hodges' injuries to the places they'd occurred in the car and detailing what had caused them. Based on that, Hodges had to be the one behind the wheel.

As it happened, as soon as they were out of the courtroom, the head juror did ask if the others wanted to take a quick vote - "To get a sense of the meeting," she said. "It's a Quaker idea."

"Are you a Quaker?" another woman asked. That had nothing to do with the trial, and she quickly smiled and followed, "Or can't I even ask that?"

No one knew, but the head juror easily replied, "No, I'm not. It's something I learned from a Comparative Religions course. But it's sometimes polite."

Everyone laughed at that, even if they didn't completely understand what she was talking about. It also seemed that, no, they didn't want to take a quick vote.

"There's so much to talk about," one of the men began. "I mean, do you believe that Hells Angel guy?"

Cowboy was immediately back on center stage, which he probably would have been pleased to know. But he didn't stay there long. Where in the first trial what he said had been unexpected, so his behavior had seemed contentious, this time the judge and lawyers were prepared. Also, Cowboy refused to let himself be rattled. In fact, to the jury, it was Lee who seemed insecure.

"He seemed to be getting all the wrong answers to his questions," the oldest woman said. "Then he didn't know what to do."

That was quickly seconded by the youngest man.

So Cowboy went away, which was a great relief to the head juror. She wasn't afraid of any Hells Angel because half the men in her family had grown up riding huge, custom choppers. And, truthfully, she didn't care if Doug Hodges needed the testimony of Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Muammar Gaddafi, and Bashar al-Assad to assure her vote. She was positive he hadn't been driving.

After Cowboy, the focus shifted to listing the evidence of who was driving. "The actual evidence, not opinion," the head juror reminded everyone. "What do we have?"

As they began to sort, the oldest man started columns on the white board mounted on the wall. He headed them: "For Coghlan" and "For Hodges."

The "For Hodges" column quickly filled and included everyone on the road and almost everyone in the bar.

"That looks like a long list," the youngest woman pointed out. "But there's really only three people, definite - the ones who saw the car moving."

"And Hodges," the middle-aged man said. "He was in the car, so that makes four."

"But that's his own opinion," the old man objected. "He could be lying."

"On the stand?" the oldest woman asked. "In a courtroom? After swearing in, and knowing the kind of man he is?"

"Or seems to be," the old guy said.

"And how come the cop never testified at his own trial?" the youngest man asked. "In his own defense? Didn't he have anything to say? He just sat there looking depressed."

That almost made people laugh, but it was cut off by the youngest woman. "Well, wouldn't you be depressed? If you'd just wrecked your shiny Mercedes?"

"If he did," the oldest man reminded them.

"And that was three years ago," the middle-aged guy counted. "He should be over it."

"Two years or three years?" someone questioned, and for a minute, they all counted. That was good because it gave the head juror a chance to catch up. The opinions were coming so quickly that she often didn't know who was talking - especially since two of the men sounded almost alike.

"The last trial was a year ago," the oldest woman pointed out. "The accident was a year before that."

"Wasn't there a year after the accident when the guys were recuperating?" the youngest man asked. "Then the first trial. Then a year?"

"We're saying the same thing," the oldest woman replied. "That's three years ago, with two full years in between."

"I thought there was another year in there, too," the youngest woman said. "While they were getting organized."

That stopped everything - because no one was sure.

"In any case, it doesn't matter," the head juror quickly decided. "The car's wrecked and everything's over but this trial."

"So let's get it finished and move on," the oldest woman said. "I'm not getting any younger myself."

That made everyone laugh, and they did move on. The "For Hodges" list was full, and the "For Coghlan" one had: His business partner. The bar owner (the partner's father or father-in-law)." And the bartender. And everyone admitted that none of these people had seen the accident.

"But they're all primary witnesses," the old guy said. "Because they knew the officer best. And those experts' opinions carry a lot of weight, too"

"What did the first one say again?" the youngest woman asked. "The first one for the police officer?"

"We never got to see him," the youngest guy said.

"No - we never got to see the other one," the middle-aged man corrected. "The one for Hodges."

"We saw the first one for the officer," the head juror explained.

"And then the TV guy," the old man said.

"That's right," the youngest guy admitted. "It was the second one for Hodges we never saw. So what did the first one say?"

Everyone had to think. "It was mostly about injuries," the oldest woman remembered. "And rehab. And nursing."

"The first one for Coghlan said the same thing," added the youngest woman

"That's what's confusing," the youngest man pointed out. "Each side had a medical witness, talking about injuries. Then the TV guy proved why the cop never could've been driving."

"He tried to prove..." the old guy said.

"The liquor store guy debunked that."

"No - not really. It never seemed sure. Heck, it was getting late, and there was a crowd. And all that excitement. So who knows what he really saw?"

"They never said it was dark," the youngest woman insisted.

"It was after seven," the middle-aged man remembered. "In what? Early summer?"

"Late spring... early June."

"Mid-May. May 19th," the head juror remembered. "A friend of mine's birthday."

"That's right - mid-May."

"So it was getting dark..."

"That's funny. I was about to say, 'So it was still light.'"

And everyone laughed. From the head juror's view, they didn't seem to be moving forward, but she was glad they all seemed to be comfortable working together.

And that was how they spent the afternoon: Going through their lists. Recalling every detail. Deciding if it was important. During time-outs, everyone also admitted they were glad the vote didn't have to be unanimous. "It only has to be close," they kept reminding themselves.

"But it can't be a simple majority, 4-2," the oldest woman said. "That would make it a hung jury."

"Yeah, yeah - we understand," replied the old man. "We're not gonna be a hung jury."

"Speak for yourself," the young guy cracked. Which met with silence. Then everybody laughed.

But it seemed plain to the head juror that they'd be able to make a decision - because at no point was enough of the jury even close to not believing Doug Hodges. Over and over, she tried to keep count in her head as to how many votes she had toward the necessary five. But she couldn't get that clear.

She knew where two of the others were - the oldest woman and the middle-aged man - and was glad she didn't have to defend her choices. She could remain neutral and let these two - who agreed with her - say what she would have. And they easily pointed out the strengths in Hodges' case and the weaknesses in Coghlan's.

One of the six voters - the old man - was never going to agree with them. That was obvious from the start. He wasn't stupid and didn't have a personal bias for or against cops. As required to serve, he'd never been related to an officer and didn't know any of them personally. And he readily admitted that not all policemen were angels all the time. But he absolutely believed in the law, and believed in people like officers, lawyers, and judges who helped uphold it.

"I just can't see that cop ever doing anything that irresponsible," he repeatedly made clear.

"But you admit he was drunk?" the oldest woman asked.

"Oh, yeah - no question there. Even his lawyer said so."

"And you can't deny he's a certain kind of guy," the middle-aged man pointed out. "And we sometimes do stupid things." Saying that, he grinned, shrugged, and everyone laughed again. He seemed to be in his early 40s and very conservative. But no one could see he had a chestful of adolescent tattoos.

"He's right," the youngest woman added. "I mean, who in this room has never driven after having even one small drink?"

No one could deny that, and the middle-aged man opened his hands as if to say, "See?"

"But I still don't believe the officer was so drunk," the old guy insisted. "Not so drunk he wouldn't listen to all his friends."

As they debated on, the head juror focused on the two people who hadn't made up their minds - the youngest woman and man. Maybe they were trying to be fair, she thought. Or maybe they were listening to all the opinions and evenly weighing them. Probably they'd never been on a jury before, as she had, several times, and didn't realize - especially in this case - that it wasn't a life or death decision.

Either way, they'd been in the jury room since soon after lunch, and it was getting toward the end of the day. Evidently, the judge was getting antsy, too, because she sent in a clerk to ask if they needed more time.

"Do you need another day?" he wanted to know.

The head juror looked around, and everyone nodded, at least agreeing on that. So they all went back to the courtroom, were instructed not to talk with anyone about the case overnight, and were told to report again at nine the following morning.

They promised. They went home, and most of the jurors kept their word. But some talked casually with their families or friends - just as they had during the two weeks of the trial. Though it's not like they were asking opinions, and one clearly said, "No, I don't want to know what you think. You asked me how my day went, and I was just telling you."

Soon after nine, they were in the jury room again, reviewing what they knew. The head juror quickly realized it was 4-1, with all the women on her side. A good night's sleep seemed to have cleared the youngest woman's thoughts.

"Why don't we just do that 'sense of a meeting thing,' to see," she suggested. "Maybe we'll surprise ourselves."

They didn't. It was 4-1-1, with the youngest man abstaining.

"Can I do that?" he asked politely.

"You can for now," the oldest woman allowed. "But soon, you'll have to make up your mind."

"Yeah - we're gonna put the screws to you," the old guy joked.

So they all started asking the young man what he wasn't clear about. And one-by-one, they answered his questions and offered their thoughts - pro and con. When he still couldn't completely agree, they asked, "Well, on balance, how do you feel?"

Or "If you had to make up your mind right now, which way would you go?"

Or "What's the one thing you need to finally tip you?"

The head juror was never really sure what that was. They pulled apart the witnesses. They dissected the experts. They examined the medical evidence and tried to work out the TV guy's theory. Then they took another "sense of he meeting," and suddenly the vote was 5-1. Even the old guy was comfortable with that, "Because I believe in democracy." Then he added, grinning, "I've always been a devil's advocate anyhow. My wife calls it 'being a pain in the you know what.'"

It was just eleven o'clock as the head juror read the verdict, and the one thing she could remember - and that she told her family over and over that evening - was how big the smile on Doug Hodges' face was.