He stopped there and we both looked at him, wondering if we were supposed to leave now and go back to the courtroom, or if we could ask questions. But Stanton continued after a moment.
“My office received a letter Thursday addressed personally to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to open it until after court on Friday – kind of an end-of-the-week catch-up session after everybody was sent home. The letter said – well, here is the letter. I’ve already handled it but don’t either of you touch it.”
He unfolded the piece of paper he’d weighted with his hands and allowed us to read it. I stood up so I could lean over the desk. Golantz was tall enough – even sitting down – that he didn’t have to.
Judge Stanton, you should know that juror number seven is not who you think he is and not who he says he is. Check Lockheed and check his prints. He’s got an arrest record.
The letter looked like it had come out of a laser printer. There were no other markings on the page other than the two creases from where it had been folded.
I sat back down.
“Did you keep the envelope it came in?” I asked.
“Yes,” Stanton said. “No return address and the postmark is Hollywood. I’m going to have the sheriff’s lab take a look at the note and the envelope.”
“Judge, I hope you haven’t spoken to this juror,” Golantz said. “We should be present and part of any questioning. This could just be a ploy by someone to get that juror off the panel.”
I expected Golantz to rush to the juror’s defense. As far as he was concerned, number seven was a blue juror.
I rushed to my own defense.
“He’s talking about this being a ploy by the defense and I object to the accusation.”
The judge quickly held his hands up in a calming gesture.
“Just hold your horses, both of you. I didn’t talk to number seven yet. I spent the weekend thinking about how to proceed with it when I came to court today. I conferred with a few other judges on the matter and I was fully prepared to bring it up with counsel present this morning. The only problem is, juror number seven didn’t show up today. He’s not here.”
That brought a pause to both Golantz and me.
“He’s not here?” Golantz said. “Did you send deputies to -?”
“Yes, I sent court deputies to his home, and his wife told them that he was at work but she didn’t know anything about court or a trial or anything like that. They went over to Lockheed and found the man and brought him here a few minutes ago. It wasn’t him. He was not juror number seven.”
“Judge, you’re losing me,” I said. “I thought you said they found him at work.”
The judge nodded.
“I know. I did. This is beginning to sound like Laurel and Hardy and that ‘Who’s on first?’ thing.”
“Abbott and Costello,” I said.
“What?”
“Abbott and Costello. They did the ‘Who’s on first?’ thing.”
“Whichever. The point is, juror number seven was not juror number seven.”
“I’m still not following you, Judge,” I said.
“We had number seven down in the computer as Rodney L. Banglund, engineer from Lockheed, resident of Palos Verdes. But the man who has been sitting for two weeks in seat number seven is not Rodney Banglund. We don’t know who he was and now he’s missing.”
“He took Banglund’s place but Banglund didn’t know about it,” Golantz said.
“Apparently,” the judge said. “Banglund – the real one – is being interviewed about it now, but when he was in here he didn’t seem to know anything about this. He said he never got a jury summons in the first place.”
“So his summons was sort of hijacked and used by this unknown person?” I said.
The judge nodded.
“So it appears. The question is why, and the sheriff’s department will hopefully get that answered.”
“What does this do to the trial?” I asked. “Do we have a mistrial?”
“I don’t think so. I think we bring the jury out, we explain that number seven’s been excused for reasons they don’t need to know about, we drop in the first alternate and go from there. Meantime, the sheriff’s department quietly makes damn sure everybody else in that box is exactly who they are supposed to be. Mr. Golantz?”
Golantz nodded thoughtfully before speaking.
“This is all rather shocking,” he said. “But I think the state would be prepared to continue – as long as we find out that this whole thing stops at juror number seven.”
“Mr. Haller?”
I nodded my approval. The session had gone as I had hoped.
“I’ve got witnesses from as far as Paris in town and ready to go. I don’t want a mistrial. My client doesn’t want a mistrial.”
The judge sealed the deal with a nod.
“Okay, go on back out there and we’ll get this thing going in ten minutes.”
On the way down the hall to the courtroom Golantz whispered a threat to me.
“He’s not the only one who’s going to investigate this, Haller.”
“Yeah, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means when we find this bastard we’re also going to find out what he was doing on the jury. And if there is any tie to the defense, then I’m go-”
I pushed by him toward the door to the courtroom. I didn’t need to listen to the rest.
“Good for you, Jeff,” I said as I entered the courtroom.
