Chapter 1

"A San Antonio jury continues to deliberate in an attempt to reach a verdict in the trial of accused rapist Miles Underwood. A third note was passed to Superior Court Judge Roy Farmer yesterday afternoon indicating they were deadlocked on all charges. In a last ditch effort to avoid a costly mistrial, Judge Farmer instructed the seven women and five men on the panel to return to their deliberations and try to reach a consensus.

"Underwood, a twenty-year veteran of the U.S. Army, is charged in the rape and manslaughter of teenager Virginia Rodriguez of New Braunfels. Underwood has maintained his innocence throughout the trial, claiming his only contact with the girl was to give her first aid when she collapsed at the home of mutual friends.

"In other news, the Texas Department of Transportation announced plans to expand Loop 1604 around San Antonio to a four lane controlled access highway on the south side of the city beginning next October. The winning bid on the highway expansion will be announced..."

KSAA Channel Nine
San Antonio Texas
"Evening News at Six"
February 4

The crack of wood slapping hard wood pierced the low buzz in the courtroom, silencing conversations in mid-word and turning all heads toward the bench. His honor, Judge Roy Farmer, was fuming. He knew he was going to do something this morning he wouldn't like, and he wasn't at all accustomed to being forced into anything that displeased him. A second rap on the sounding block was unnecessary. Order had been reestablished with the first.

"We're back on the record in the matter of the State of Texas versus Underwood," Judge Farmer announced. It was so quiet in the packed courtroom he could hear the whine of the floor fan in the rear of the room. The sound irritated him. He wanted to order it disconnected, but choked off the demand before he spoke. After all, it had been placed there at his request; it was there solely for his benefit. He turned to look at the jury box.

"Madam foreperson!" His voice boomed in the silence. Three jurors, already thoroughly intimidated by the judge's manner, squirmed uncomfortably in their chairs. The lean, acidic ex-school teacher who'd been elected foreperson stood to face the judge. Her chin rose to acknowledge his summons.

"Yes," Judge Farmer continued, his tone more accusation than statement. "I have this note from you." He held up the unfolded sheet of paper between thumb and forefinger before dropping it disdainfully to the desktop again. "You say that you are 'hopelessly deadlocked' and that it appears you cannot reach a verdict in this case."

"Yes, your Honor. That is correct." The elderly woman held firm against the judge's scowl. "We've voted a number of times on each count in the indictment and we are unable to agree on any of them."

Judge Farmer held his breath for a minute, controlling and concealing his anger as best he could. His jaw muscles clinched as he searched for the words he wanted. "Is there any way," he asked formally, "that this jury can reach a finding with additional deliberation ... any possibility at all?"

"No, your Honor. There is not," she said emphatically. "We find ourselves stalemated on all charges." She shot a glance in Miles' direction. Though brief, it was unmistakably disapproving.

"A number of the jury are completely intransigent in their position, Your Honor," she continued. "I see absolutely no prospect of a unanimous decision." She edged imperceptibly away from the short, burly man to her left, making it clear where some of the obstinacy could be found.

The middle-aged Hispanic peered up at the prim spinster's face. His eyes narrowed, momentarily increasing the wrinkles in his weathered face. For a moment, he seemed about to join the discussion, but then settled back into his seat. His hands relaxed in his lap. The curl at the corner of his lips showed amusement ... or perhaps something less charitable. It disappeared too quickly to be sure.

"Thank you, Madam Foreperson, you may sit down." Judge Farmer glowered impartially at the two who clearly represented the 'intransigent' viewpoints on the jury. Lifting his gaze, his eyes flicked across each juror a final time before swiveling his chair back face the attorneys and spectators.

"I am ... extremely disappointed that twelve reasonable citizens, after six weeks of testimony and reflection on the facts, cannot arrive at a fair verdict. It is..."

He forced himself to stop, biting the inside of his lower lip to keep from making an observation that might be cause for reversal in a new trial. He would have to preside over that one too and if this case ever did get settled, he sure as hell didn't want it sent back down to him after a successful appeal. He sighed inaudibly.

"Be that as it may," he said slowly, resigning himself to the inevitable, "I have no alternative other than to declare a mistrial in these proceedings." He spoke to the jury for the record, but he would not look at them. "The court thanks you for your service and you are dismissed."

Judge Farmer fixed his attention on the attorneys for the prosecution and defense. The three representing the State of Texas sat to his left front, a few feet from the jurors slowly filing out of the jury box. The attorneys were busy gathering legal pads and stray legal papers, stuffing them into cavernous briefcases.

The defendant and his counsel were to his right front; the accused was visibly uncomfortable in his off-the-rack suit. The judge snorted softly. You'd think the man would try to make as good an impression as he could. On the other hand, why waste an expensive suit you were likely to be wearing to prison. He took up the gavel again and tapped it on the sounding block twice to bring attention back to the bench.

"Mr. Brady, do you know at this time if the people will be retrying this case?" There was little chance of this going away, but he had to ask.

"Yes, your Honor. The State believes Mr. Underwood is guilty of particularly heinous crimes and we will seek an early date for a new trial. We're confident we will be able to convict Mr. Underwood given the chance to present all the facts to an impartial jury." The District Attorney's words held a delicate maliciousness that could easily be denied later. He glanced at the defendant and his lawyer across the aisle to include them in the conspiracy.

Judge Farmer's lips tightened to a thin line. In remarkably few words, the District Attorney--the lead prosecutor--had managed to imply there had been serious error on the part of the judge in one or more of his rulings during the trial as well as a lack of integrity among the citizens selected to try the case.

"Spare me the speeches, Mr. Brady ... and mind your manners, Counselor," cautioned the judge forcefully. He wasn't going to take any crap from the prosecutor in his own courtroom. He glared at the offending district attorney. Brady busied himself with a quick review of some papers, unrepentant in the face of the rebuke.

"Counsel for both sides will check with my clerk to find a date agreeable to both sides. If you can't find one, gentlemen," the judge growled finally, "I'll do it for you."

All the lawyers nodded. It was plain they'd better find a suitable time and date without his intervention.

"Are there any other matters we need to address?" he asked.

"Yes, your Honor, there are. May we approach?" P. Jonah Trenton, Attorney at Law, and Miles Underwood's representative before the court, bounced up from his seat to make his request before the judge could end the proceedings. Assuming Judge Farmer's permission, he strolled to the bench with notepad in hand.

Miles stood and massaged the knotted muscles along his lower spine with both hands. He watched the men and women of the jury exiting the room. Few met his questioning eyes as they filed out. He shook his head in confusion. Turning away to avoid their disdain, he found himself face to face with Chief Bailiff Morales. The man's eyes, nearly hidden in folds of sweating flab, gleamed with sudden inspiration.

Morales had decided weeks earlier he didn't like Underwood. His girlfriend thought the man was handsome, dignified, and ... interesting, she said. The bailiff intended to see the defendant, interesting or not, didn't get away with anything. He'd just decided to interpret the instant dislike in Underwood's expression as an affront to his authority.

"Turn 'round," Morales said viciously, "and put yer hands behind ya."

"What? Why? What did I do wrong?" Though he protested, Miles could see the handcuffs in Morales's hands. The blood drained from his face. He swung his body around slowly, mechanically. He bumped the table in front of him, his bulk knocking it an inch or two deeper into the well. Eyes blurring, his universe shrank until it included only himself and the bailiff.

He'd mortgaged his home for bail money when it was granted, but somehow the mistrial changed that? He was going to jail anyway? He felt the chill in the steel restraints as they ratcheted closed about his wrists. Muscles in his chest and shoulders tensed involuntarily.

Helpless and off balance, Miles stumbled when Morales pushed him down into his seat at the defense table. Miles' mind whirled. His body sagged; his neck bent forward until his chin was firmly tucked into his chest.

The sudden blow to his shoulder startled him badly. He recoiled, twisting away from the unexpected contact. His head jerked up and around to face the unknown attacker.

Completing his discussion of several housekeeping matters with the judge, Jonah Trenton had returned to the defense table to find his client apparently dozing in his chair. Mildly miffed, he reached down to shake him awake. He wasn't prepared for the violence of Underwood's reaction and backpedaled two quick steps, holding the yellow legal pad up as a shield between himself and his client.

Miles collapsed back onto the chair and focused on the lawyer's face. Not sure he could speak, Miles scooted to the edge of his seat and swiveled his hips around to show Trenton the cuffs on his wrists. Humiliation and despair dampened the corner of his eyes.

Annoyed, the defense counsel darted an angry glance at the bailiff and started to demand the reason for the cuffs. As the intent formed, Jonah changed his mind and pivoted to face the judge who was still involved in a last off-the-record conversation with the prosecutor.

"Your Honor," he called, reproof clear in his voice, "we assume bail is continued for the defendant pending the outcome of the new trial?" A new idea came to him. "Better still, your Honor," he remarked, "Mr. Underwood has demonstrated throughout this trial he is eager to face his accusers. He should be released on his own recognizance." The judge raised his chin to stare down a slightly crooked nose at the attorney and then shook his head.

"No, Mr. Trenton, I think not. Bail is continued for the defendant in the amount of three hundred thousand dollars." Judge Farmer stood. Looking around one last time, he gaveled the session to a close. The black robes of his office swirled about him as he spun to his right and walked quickly through the door to his chambers. The court clerk belatedly tried to call the courtroom to its feet, but the door had closed behind the judge before many could stand.

Miles turned his back on Bailiff Morales and pushed his wrists away from his body in unspoken demand. After a long moment, Morales pulled out his keys and shuffled forward to unlock the restraints. Deliberately fumbling the first attempt, he drew out the process as long as possible.