A Jury Scorned

By Robert P. Ingalls

Robert P. Ingalls has penned a gorgeous courtroom drama novel with a cast of strong lead female characters and unique lawyers, inviting readers into the scene to solve an emotional and challenging murder mystery.

An explosive novel driven b

• Language: English
• Publisher: BakeMyBook Inc.
• Release date: Oct 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088072523

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Amy

Guilty or Not Guilty

T

here’s something idiosyncratic about this deliberation room.

Even on this hot summer day with the air conditioning broken, a chill of biliousness had set in overnight. Perhaps the idea of someone’s faint breathing inside the four walls influenced the room’s energy. Or maybe it was the persona taken on by the collective jurors as they faced their civic duty with mixed and often challenging emotions. Some embraced the responsibility, some shriveled under it, and some abused it. But for almost all, it’s as though they put on a new jacket or layer of skin that labeled them with authority; an authority that they don’t have in any other ingredient of their lives.

She was different though, Amy Johnson. Besides being a middle-aged mother with business savvy and the wife of a husband that she will, most certainly, grow old with, her superior values were recognized by the group in the most genuine of ways. As the chosen head juror, Forewoman as the Judge assigned her; she took her role seriously, and could honestly leave her ego at the door, wanting only the utmost respect given to the determination of their assigned case.

Public corporation accountant Elizabeth Barclay, with a voice that equaled the distinction, had however, different intentions as she walked into the cramped room, Let’s fry this guy and get out of here.

Okay, Amy had ignored Elizabeth’s statement and addressed the group, let’s get started. Hi there, again. Amy’s voice sounded from near the door as she walked into the room and approached her seat at the head of the table. It was a long, majestic mahogany table. The wood placed the manner of authority in both the table and the chairs. Some of the other women had claimed their surrounding seats by leaving a sweater or their purse on the table or chair. Amy put her things down, both on the table and under it, but had left her seat open. I’m Amy Johnson, as I’m sure – well, I hope, you remember, she let out a slight giggle. Um, well, as forewoman, it’s my duty to act as a sort of an administrator over the deliberations, as you already know. So, well, let’s all sit down so we can begin.

Once her belongings were in place, Amy took her seat, silently praying everyone would follow suit. Then again, who wanted to spend a minute longer than needed in this room? She looked over at Elizabeth, the one she had heard talking the most when she entered. The first to speak, and also the first to sit, it was obvious to Amy that Elizabeth commanded attention without raising a finger. Nor did it appear that Elizabeth wore warm-and-fuzzy well.

The other jurors stopped what they were doing, their conversations, their pacing, their admiration of the artwork hanging about the room, and began to take their saved seats.

The sooner we’re done, Elizabeth’s voice was the definition of low, firm and professional, the better for us all, right? She was clearly determined, as if at a meeting that had to be completed on time if she was going to make her next corporate time slot. The women all looked at Amy, who knew they were wondering how she would rein Elizabeth in, and keep her from dominating the deliberation.

Amy’s moment of wonder broke when Shara Stewart, the twelfth juror to enter, opened the door. All eyes released their hold on Amy and gathered to Shara. Her graceful entrance and flowing movement toward her chair, the remaining empty one, completely shifted the essence of the room. Without returning glances or stares to any of the ladies gazing at her, Shara placed her purse inside her briefcase, which she had already laid on the table, removed the white silk corsage from her lapel and carefully placed it in her briefcase alongside the purse. In one swift movement, she slipped the briefcase under the table and took her seat. She eventually looked up, but only at Amy.

Throughout the trial, Amy had noticed Shara. Shara was not one to engage in conversations with the others, and she had kept to herself during breaks and lunches. Amy admired Shara’s elegance. She held herself well and wore perfectly tailored clothing, never a pattern. With her striking looks, long legs, and tailored attire, she looked as if she had just walked off the cover of a Ralph Lauren catalog. Amy wondered if she rode horses. She also noticed the large diamond ring and matching wedding band, not surprised that some man had snagged her up. But Amy wondered how he had managed to break down the wall. Shara was not arrogant, but her air of grace put her above most people, making it difficult to converse and relate to her.

Standing across the room was Susan Montgomery, who was investigating the artwork on the wall. Amy looked at her, Susan? It’s Susan, right? Are you ready to join us? Amy could tell that for some reason, Susan was careful to remain the last one standing. Eventually, this young and almost intimidatingly sensual woman made her way over. She took her seat near the other end of the table.

A briefcase that was quite a bit more worn than Shara’s, Amy moved her own next to her leg, and opened it just far enough to expose the Almond-Joy candy bar and love note her husband, Greg, had left. A candy bar that was rich in almonds, milk chocolate and coconut. She was always amazed by how much love her husband showed her. It has been a little more than ten years of marriage and they are as jubilant now as when they first met in high school. They love their daughter to an amazing degree, and Amy is surprised by how much Greg participates in her upbringing. He really didn’t have a taste for board games and wouldn’t touch a puzzle before they were married. But, as soon as there was a daughter in the formula, he was careful to shop with Amy to ensure that the games they play have an educational value. He even spent time learning games from co-workers with children to make sure that whatever they brought home for their daughter was good enough for her. Although, at first, it was a total acting job to do a family puzzle with exultation; he has now grown to really enjoy the crazy things. And, he even glues and frames the SFFP, also known as the season’s favorite family puzzle, and hangs it on the wall. It is amazing, she thinks, how her husband shows love to her and to the cozy family of three. And of course, her husband knows to the absolute, that Amy hates coconut.

So…, Just before pulling the briefcase up to the table to get a better look at what’s inside, Amy changed her mind and lowered it to the floor again. She had planned on getting slips of paper for everyone to write down their vote, but thought twice about it. Instead, she spoke to the other eleven ladies around the table, Rather than doing a secret ballot kind of a thing, I thought we might as well just go around the table and see what everybody thinks, if that’s okay. Maybe we should just see if we might be able to---

Good idea, Elizabeth interrupted. She was sitting squarely in her chair, gripping her cup of coffee as though it might slide down the table in an instant. The steam had long since vanished, and its cream formed tight little curdles on top as the java cooled. It had become more of a prop of power than something Elizabeth was actually drinking, Let’s get on with this, if we can.

Her deliberate tone was repellent to Amy. Elizabeth sat a few seats away; midway down the table, on Amy’s left, between vocal Florence and Emily. Amy wondered how Emily would handle having Elizabeth on one side of her and Susan on the other; her young, curiously shy nature between the two most outspoken women in the group would be a challenge. Amy made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

The note in her bag, and perhaps the long hours of the trial that kept her away from her family way more than usual, Amy thought back to the summer before she was married. Her soon-to-be-husband Greg had played a lot of football when he was younger. He had the body of an athlete who knows his way around the weight room, and with vastly capable athletics. He was one of the top three athletes in his school. At the request of his father, who had suffered a football injury, Greg switched to soccer when he was in high school. His soccer buddies didn’t do much weight lifting, but Greg had introduced them to light-weight lifting to help them have a little more upper-body weight on the soccer field. This dipping July day, she and some friends sat on the small bleachers next to the soccer field to watch them play a match. It was so provocatively hot; none of the men wore shirts. The physical characteristics on the field that day were compelling. Usually soccer guys had nice legs, but were a little light on top. These guys had the whole package, and were in great shape. At one point, she was so dizzy from the heat; all the men seemed to move in slow motion. She remembered that she had to cancel that night’s date! And, for the first time in her life, she genuinely needed a cold shower.

A few of the other ladies spoke in unison; nothing clear was determined as far as Amy could tell, though. Amy raised her hand to command attention from the group once again; her voice was calm, comparable to a mother who ruled over both the child and husband; who is an effective communicator in her supervisor position at work, it is a voice that turns one’s head when needed, and takes control without being obtrusive. May we come to an agreement quickly about voting? What do you all think?

The jurors looked around the table, back and forth at each other. This time everyone nodded their heads in agreement, almost by default, in Amy’s direction.

That’s a really great idea, Amy, Susan’s street-hardened voice wrought the air like a mallet as she tied her hair up in a knot on top of her head; a style that was all the rage for the mid-twenty-year-old girls.

From her seat between Shara and Lorraine, Elaine echoed, That would be fine, in a much higher pitched voice than Susan’s sultry one.

Amy judiciously looked around to see if anyone else was about to speak. She was ready to start, and when all eyes rested on her, she continued, Okay. Well, I guess I’ll begin and we’ll just go around the room to the left here – around in a circle. Just indicate your decision as ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’. I’ll start and then Kiki, Florence, Elizabeth, Emily, Susan, Eva, Patricia---

Oh, beaming with professionalism, Pat’s realtor’s voice was vibrant, you may call me Pat, Amy. Pat is fine.

Elizabeth acquiesced, I’m good with Liz.

Okay, thanks Pat and Liz. Then we’ll hear from Shara, Elaine, Lorraine and last but not least, Olive. Sound good? She finished what was essentially a roll-call, capped off with an affirmation of respect for the elderly Lorraine and Olive.

Amy scanned from side to side before speaking. No one had any questions or comments, so she began again; but had to proceed cautiously, careful of her own thought process. Okay… I… I think. A serious look overtook Amy’s face, Guilty. She turned toward Kiki.

The mother of two teenagers, Kiki nodded pensively and thought about her husband, Guilty.

Guilty, Florence’s voice was firm but low. The athletic woman turned toward Liz.

With her boardroom voice, Guilty, was easily heard from Liz. She reached down and buttoned the top of her blouse that had come undone beneath the ultra-thin, and almost translucent scarf that wrapped around her neck.

A circumspect Emily Williams managed her copycat words, gu---guilty.

Susan’s turn was next, and she suspiciously didn’t hesitate, Guilty.

The church woman in the cluster, Eva, had to artificially lower her voice. Despite the effort, her pitch was still high, and the tone indecisive, Guilty.

Pat slightly moved her head affirmatively and turned toward Shara, Guilty.

Shara rubbed her chin for a brief moment in deep thought, Not guilty.

All heads turned, and at least one gasp escaped someone’s mouth. Shara sat, as confident in her voiced opinion as though she had actually voted ‘guilty’ along with the rest. Amy raised her