Capitol Offense by William Bernhardt Page A

steadily, but Ben had a hard time determining what was going on behind his eyes.
    “Did it ever occur to you, Ms. McCall,” Dennis began, “that it might be easier for me to focus on the details of trial preparation than to think about what happened? Than to think about my wife, trapped in that car, bleeding to death, crying out for me, for some rescue or comfort, but no one coming, not me, not anyone else, for seven days? Did it ever occur to you that I might need a distraction from her voice, the one I hear screaming for me all night long, every moment?”
    Christina fell silent. Ben supposed that meant he had made his point. At least for now.
    “This does raise something we have to discuss, though, Dennis.” Ben laid his pad down on the table. “Listen to me and listen carefully. It doesn’t matter what Christina and I think. Or the media. But if that jury thinks for one moment that you’re trying to pull a fast one over them, you’re blowfish. History. And nothing I can do will salvage you. That’s all she wrote.”
    “At the end of the day,” Christina said, “the most important thing is not that the jury believes you. The most important thing is that they like you. If they like you, they can forgive a lot. If they don’t like you, they won’t forgive anything.”
    Dennis nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate the heads-up. So we have to make sure they don’t get the idea that I’m shamming.”
    Ben leaned forward. “They have to think—no, they have to
know
that you’re sincere. Understand me?”
    Dennis beamed. “Great. I can do sincere.”
    Christina threw down her pencil and left the room.
     
     
     

10
     
     
    This was the most difficult jury selection Ben had tackled in his entire career.
    Of course every potential venireperson empaneled had heard of the case—how could they not? And of course most said that although they might have formed some opinions about the case they still felt they could weigh the evidence presented in a fair and impartial manner. A few had already made up their minds—guilty as charged—and they were removed. But that still left a big pool that somehow had to be whittled down to eighteen people who might lend a sympathetic ear to Dennis’s story. Ben had no idea how to do that. All the traditional questions were useless.
    He did learn that none of them had seen him on
Nancy Grace
. But 60 percent of them had read about it the next day in the
Tulsa World
.
    Dennis was right again.
    “Let’s have a show of hands. How many of you have had some kind of encounter with the police at one time or another?”
    Most of them had. A few of them were related to police officers, and one woman was a former police officer herself. They would probably have to be removed by a peremptory challenge. But where to go after that? Upon closer questioning, Ben learned that most of the encounters were simple traffic infractions and no one was particularly angered or frustrated by the police. Yes, the cops were self-righteous jerks, but that was to be expected, they seemed to be saying. No one carried any serious grudges, much less murderous intent.
    “How many of you are married?”
    Most were.
    “How would you feel if your spouse or significant other were in danger—or in pain—and there was someone who could help, but they refused to do so?”
    He had hoped this question might stir up some strong feelings, but he was disappointed. Of course they cared about their partners, but it all seemed very abstract. No one would admit they might be moved to extreme action. They’d go through proper channels, they said. Friends and family first. Then police. Perhaps the media. But nothing else. Certainly no recourse to violence.
    “I know that for many of you, your faith, or religion, is very important. Do any of you believe that your faith might make it impossible for you to view the case fairly?”
    Predictably, the initial response was, No way, dude. All but two of them said that faith was