The Baker Street Jurors Read Online Free PDF Page B

else has access to them, most especially the media. From this point forward, you will be identified only by the number that has been assigned to you. I cannot stop you from using your own names in conversations between each other, and so I won’t try. But if you are selected for this jury, you will be under strict instructions not to reveal that fact to the public, and not to communicate with the media in any way whatsoever. Doing so could, in certain circumstances, cause you to be charged with contempt of court. Am I making myself clear?”
    The jurors, having caught on to the routine, all nodded in the affirmative.
    â€œVery good,” said the judge. “As you can see, we have already selected ten of our twelve primary jurors. Let’s see how quickly we can select the remaining two. Ms. Sreenivasan will now read a random number from the candidate jury pool, and I will ask one or two simple questions. Nothing to worry about, I assure you—just answer honestly.”
    There was as much suspense now as if it were the lottery.
    â€œJury candidate number one-ninety-seven,” announced Ms. Sreenivasan.
    The fortyish man with the calloused hands stood up in the row behind Nigel.
    â€œCandidate one-ninety-seven,” said the judge, “Have you seen coverage of the case of Crown versus McSweeney in the newspapers, or the television, or other media?”
    â€œYes, I have.”
    â€œCan you ignore anything you have already read or heard regarding this case and decide the issues submitted to you according to the evidence presented at trial, and nothing else?”
    â€œI would do my best,” said the man.
    â€œThat’s good enough. Please take a seat in the primary jury section.”
    The man did so, and Ms. Sreenivasan selected another number.
    â€œJury candidate two-oh-eight,” she announced.
    The man with the very expensive shoes stood up from the back row.
    â€œI have applied to be excused,” he said, before the judge could even ask a question.
    â€œWon’t do him any good,” whispered Nigel to the woman with the tattoo. “He’ll be a juror.”
    â€œWhy?” she said. “Because he doesn’t want to be?”
    â€œExactly,” said Nigel.
    The judge shuffled some papers, got some assistance from Ms. Sreenivasan, and found the document he was looking for. He looked at the written request for perhaps two seconds.
    â€œDenied,” said the judge. “You may take a seat in the primary section.”
    â€œBut…”
    The judge looked up, and the man stopped in mid-sentence
    â€œDenied,” said the judge again.
    Ms. Sreenivasan escorted the man with the expensive shoes to the twelfth seat in the primary jury section.
    â€œAt this point,” whispered Nigel, “They’re settling for pretty much anyone with a pulse.”
    â€œNow then,” said the judge. “We have selected our twelve primary jurors. But we need alternates as well. So in a moment we shall call numbers for five possible alternates. But first, in the interests of time, I’m going to ask the remaining candidates for a show of hands. You are all being considered for a trial that is listed on the docket as the Crown versus McSweeney. Have any of you seen anything on the telly or in the newspapers related to accusations against Liam McSweeney?”
    Several hands went clearly up, and several more were tentative.
    â€œDon’t be shy,” said the judge. “It’s not a crime if you have.”
    Now hands went up for every juror except two—the tall man sitting behind Nigel, and a man in the back row, who was still wearing his raincoat in the warm courtroom.
    The judge looked in that direction, and then he looked at his list.
    â€œJury candidate number … one-eighty-nine?” said the judge, looking at the man in the back row. “You have not seen any news coverage regarding the matter at hand?”
    â€œNo, my