Cut Off at the Impasse

At this point, the judge asked for advice as to what her response should be. Speaking for the defence, Kipnis’s lawyer, Ron Safer, suggested that the note indicated the jury had “been at this state for some time,” and that further deliberation could result in “futility.” He advised that she invite the jury to offer their verdicts, thank them for their service and send them home. Sussman, after somewhat petulantly disagreeing with Safer over the number of days the jury had actually been deliberating (what a contrary fellow), suggested the judge let them offer their verdicts to date and then send them back to work on the others. The judge did neither. Instead, she simply called the jury in, repeated her instructions, and sent them out for further deliberations. (When a judge repeats her charge, it is known among courtroom cognescenti as the “dynamite instruction,” i.e., it helps break whatever logjams are keeping the jury from unanimity.)

The courtroom remained full to the brim in anticipation of what was anybody’s guess. Black took a cell phone call and in his mid-Atlantic drawl announced loudly, “Heighlow,” before dropping into his usual low rumble. Ninety minutes later, another note. St. Eve returned to read it out. It was hopelessly quotidian, announcing the jury’s intention to sit tomorrow from 9 to 4:45. In a matter of minutes, the courtroom cleared, and Black marched (with several Brits noting his sockless, beloafered feet) into a nearby conference room to mull matters with Genson. The media made their usual trek down the hall to watch the jury exit; not much there, really, just 12 tired-looking people with at least one more day of deliberations before them. The afternoon ended with a gaggle of Brits (including the newly returned Tom Bower) auditioning their leads for one another before heading en masse to watch Black’s imperious walk—flash bulbs exploding around him—to his awaiting chariot.