Free The Last Juror by John Grisham

the insurance company won?” I said, anxious to get to the end.
    “Helluva trial. Went on for three days. Wilbanks can usually cut a deal with one or two people on the jury. Been doin’ it for years and never gets caught. Plus he knows ever’body in the county. The insurance boys were up from Jackson, and they didn’t have a clue. The jury stayed out for two hours, came back with a verdict for the claim, a hundred grand, and for good measure, tacked on a million in punitive damages.”
    “One point one million!” I said.
    “You got it. The first million-dollar verdict in Ford County. Lasted about a year until the Supreme Court took an ax to it and cut out the punitive.”
    The notion of Lucien Wilbanks having such sway over jurors was not comforting. Baggy neglected his bourbon for a moment and gazed at something below. “This is a bad sign, son,” he finally said. “Really bad.”
    I was his boss and didn’t like to be referred to as “son,” but I let it slide. I had more pressing matters at hand. “The intimidation?” I said.
    “Yep. The Padgitts rarely leave the island. The fact that they’ve brought their little show on the road means they’re ready for war. If they can intimidate the newspaper, then they’ll try it with the jury. They already own the Sheriff.”
    “But Wilbanks said he wants a change of venue.”
    He snorted and rediscovered his drink. “Don’t bet on it, son.”
    “Please call me Willie.” Odd how I was now clinging to that name.
    “Don’t bet on it, Willie. The boy’s guilty; his only chance is to have a jury that can be bought or scared. Ten to one odds the trial takes place right here, in this building.”
    ______
    A fter two hours of waiting in vain for the ground to shake, the town was ready for lunch. The crowd broke up and drifted away. The expert from the state crime lab finally arrived and went to work in the printing room. I wasn’t allowed in the building, which was fine with me.
    Margaret, Wiley, and I had a sandwich in the gazebo on the courthouse lawn. We ate quietly, chatted briefly, the three of us keeping an eye on our office across the street. Occasionally someone would see us and stop for an awkward word or two. What do you say to bombing victims when the bomb doesn’t go off? Fortunately, the townsfolk had had little practice in that area. We collected some sympathy and a few offers of help.
    Sheriff Coley ambled over and gave a preliminary report on our bomb. The clock was of the wind-up alarm variety, available in stores everywhere. At first glance the expert thought there was a problem with the wiring. Very amateurish, he said.
    “How will you investigate this?” I asked with an edge.
    “We’ll check for prints, see if we can find any witnesses. The usual.”
    “Will you talk to the Padgitts?” I asked, even edgier. I was, after all, in the presence of my employees. And though I was scared to death, I wanted to impress them with how utterly fearless I was.
    “You know somethin’ I don’t?” he shot back.
    “They’re suspects, aren’t they?”
    “Are you the Sheriff now?”
    “They’re the most experienced arsonists in the county, been burning buildings for years with impunity. Their lawyer threatened me in court last week. We’ve had Danny Padgitt on the front page twice. If they’re not suspects, then who is?”
    “Just go ahead and write the story, son. Call ’em by name. You seem determined to get sued anyway.”
    “I’ll take care of the paper,” I said. “You catch the criminals.”
    He tipped his hat to Margaret and walked away.
    “Next year’s reelection year,” Wiley said as we watched Coley stop and chat with two ladies near a drinking fountain. “I hope he has an opponent.”
    ______
    T he intimidation continued, at Wiley’s expense. He lived a mile from town on a five-acre hobby farm, where his wife raised ducks and watermelons. That night as he parked in his drive and was getting out of hiscar, two goons jumped