The Holdout

door open, covered each person after. Eight women, four men, problem. To close the door and lock the fence. With a long paper, shared a water cooler, hot on the wall, 9.30. Where the windows closed, the air was warm, moist.

Well, I guess you'd better get started, folks. And we began the process of deciding whether men was guilty or not guilty to a charge of murder. There were two hours of open discussion before Mr. Munson, the jury foreman, decided to take the first ballot.

The secret ballot. He collected the folded pieces of paper and sat down. Um, Miss Keller, would you seek the count as I read the ballots, please? All right. A person is guilty. Guilty? Guilty? Guilty?

Guilty? Guilty? Guilty? Guilty? Not guilty. All right. Guilty. Guilty. And guilty. He's 11 to 1.

One holdup. Now what are we supposed to do? Now? Start over, I guess. Well, now what's time we got? All day. And if we don't reach the verdict? I guess they'll lock us up in the hotel overnight.

Well, they're not barking me up. I gotta get home tonight. All right then, let's go over again folks. Some morning after change their mind before we can get out of here. Mr. Donovan? Yes, Mr. Carmont.

You've been off the quad, anything you'd like to say? Well, I was trying to think the way the one holdout might be thinking. Is there something you failed to consider? Uh, possibly the matter of intent to commit murder was definitely premeditated.

Oh, every new his wife was with that shy Randall fella, We got a gun and went up and killed him. I don't care how you spread it. That's murder now now There's more to it than that for instance. There is the plea of the very insanity Little that said we should consider temporary insanity. Oh to tell you the truth, Mrs. Medina my woman's intuition