The Halloween Project 2024 - Story 1: Voir Dire

The metal detectors at the courthouse occasionally pinged as a potential juror forgot about their car keys or cell phone. Jon Temple didn’t own a car or even a phone, for that matter. He watched as people carried in all sorts of items to keep them busy throughout what promised to be a boring day: coffee, books, of course, laptops, and the ever-present phones. Temple just enjoyed being alone and off the grid as much as possible. That’s what his life was; off the grid.

The large waiting room held about a hundred people of all ages, all shapes and sizes. Everyone checked in with some perfunctory clerks punching in numbers at the head of the room. “A to L on the right, M through Z on the left,” had been announced like they were in kindergarten. And within a half hour, Temple and 24 others had been ushered into a jury room.

The judge admonished them and set some ground rules. She explained this was a criminal trial; murder and sexual assault. “The trial will be in November and take two or three weeks.” Then she said, “I have a meeting at two o’clock so we’re going to wrap up this initial session today by 1:00.” That was the best news Temple had heard all morning.

And then came the dreaded “voir dire” or “to speak the truth.” Each person gets called in alone. The attorneys from both sides ask you questions and then decide if you’re fit to serve.

And then it was Temple’s turn.

“And why do you think you could be an informed and unbiased juror on this case, Mr. Temple?”

Temple looked down at his hands, turned them over, studied the veins on his strong fingers, flexing them. His summons to jury duty irked him. He was older now but you have to be 75 to refuse serving. He wasn’t quite old enough yet. Those 100 or so people in the “holding cell” had been deathly silent. Quiet enough to make him a little claustrophobic. Twice before, he had delayed the jury summons, first for eight months, then for six. But he had run out of delays.

“Mr. Temple, perhaps you didn’t hear my question. Let me just rephrase. We hope that you could join our jury pool. What would make you a good advocate for fair justice?”

Temple looked up and turned his head slowly across the room. The tall, not quite handsome prosecutor who had posed the questions, the defense attorneys, three in all; the bailiff, court recorder and finally, the judge. She was a woman in her fifties, jet black dyed hair, face angular, business-like, but her voice coached kindness.

“Mr. Temple?” the prosecutor glanced over at the judge with the slightest raised eyebrow. She nodded.

It was a criminal trial. Temple was hoping for civil. Murder in the first degree. Sexual assault as well. The accused had opted for a jury trial. Why the hell would someone do that, Temple thought.

”Mr. Temple?” A slight tone of disrespect crawled over the prosecutor’s words.

”I’m uniquely qualified,” Temple responded.”Uniquely?”, the prosecutor tossed back, “We don’t often hear that.”

”Incredibly uniquely,” Temple said.

”Could you elaborate please?’

Temple gathered himself then spoke very slowly.

”I....killed....people.”

The silence that dropped into the courtroom was as if it had been submerged underwater. Even the slightest tapping of the stenographer’s agile fingers halted. For some in the room breathing stopped. Disinterest and studying desktop papers ended abruptly. The prosecutor took one step back, arched his head and stared straight at Temple.

”You. Killed people? Mr. Temple?”

”Eight. No, nine. It was quite a while ago.”

”And these were...?” The prosecutor questioned.

”Women and...no, no, that’s not quite right. One man...or maybe two.”

”And where did this happen?”

“Nebraska mostly,” Temple replied, “And Iowa. And, uh, South Dakota. You know that area? Northeast Nebraska. You familiar with Dakota county or Dixon county?”

”No, I’m afraid not,” the prosecutor answered.

”No, I would guess not, this being Maine and all. Quite a far distance. But, yeah, that was then and, well, you know how the saying goes.”

”When exactly did this occur?” came the next question.

“Exactly? Hmm, let me think. September 28, 1975, October 3rd, October 24th, November 15, no, maybe 16th. And so on, most of the bodies were never found.”

”1975? 49 years ago?” was asked.

”Yeah,” Temple said matter-of-factory, “I suppose maybe you could look it up. If they keep records that long. Missing persons.”

The prosecutor returned to his chair and slowly sat down. He looked at the judge and then at the three defense lawyers who had not moved throughout Temple’s voir dire.

The judge spoke, “Mr. Temple you are excused from jury duty.”

”You mean I can go?” Temple asked.

”Yes,” then she looked away.

The quick elevator brought Temple to the front door of the courthouse. He stepped out into a sun dappled October day, closing on noon.

As he descended the steps, he spoke aloud to no one but himself, “Maybe I stayed too long in Maine. I suppose I could move back to Nebraska.”

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