Page 162 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Jury-rigged

“The eighth juror, Grant Bloch, is a postal worker—what is this
you wrote in the margin, Duncan: ‘letter-carrier’?—good; thirty-seven
years old, height and weight unknown. Lives with his mother in her
house. She is on the ground floor, can’t get upstairs anymore. He has
his parents’ old bedroom and bathroom up there. There is access to
the second story from the back yard, ‘something like a fire escape.’
What does that mean, Duncan?”
“It’s an old building, not up to code. They bolted a steel ladder to
the exterior wall, under the bedroom window.”
That satisfied her, for the moment. I could tell she was filing that
little oddity away in her mind for later investigation.
“Now, on the night of the murder, Bloch was not upstairs: his
mother had severe indigestion, and he had to keep her company
because she could not sleep. So he would not have been a good
target on that occasion. Juror number nine is Jerry Ko. Age twenty-
six, height five-five, weight one thirty. Occupation: auto mechanic at
a large dealership. His employer did not want to pay his salary
beyond two weeks of jury duty, but the judge would not excuse him.
This could incline a man to rush to judgment, Duncan: his attitude
might have been evident in court. I’m sorry I was not there. Mr. Ko
is single, renting a large apartment with three other men in the same
line of work. Each has a bedroom and a bathroom. The unit is on
street level, with a kitchen door opening on a hallway to the secured
parking garage. His roommates come and go on weekends, and he
was alone in his room on the night in question. Doesn’t sound like
someone high on the list of easy hits, does he?”
“No. On the other hand, those guys tend to have loud music or
TV on in their rooms, masking any unusual sounds coming from
elsewhere in the building.”
“Interesting.” She had her head down, tapping her own notes into
her computer, so I couldn’t read what expression of interest really
graced that white stone face.
“The next juror, number ten, was not in town when Wanda Lustig
died. He is Curtis E. Carr, who lives in the back of his photo-
processing and instant-printing shop. Some background in the
newspaper business, gave it up to run his own shop. Age thirty-six,
height six feet, weight one eighty. He also claimed economic hardship
during jury selection—to no avail, as he does have a couple of part-

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