Chapter 38 Jury Selection Begins

Chapter 38 Jury Selection Begins
Detective Lily Mateo POV

The Athens courthouse is all marble and history—built in 1895, it's seen every kind of justice and injustice humanity can manufacture. I've stood in this building dozens of times, watching killers go free on technicalities, watching innocent people convicted on prejudice, watching the machinery of law grind forward regardless of truth.

Today feels different. Today matters.

I sit in the gallery's second row, notepad open, observing jury selection like the chess match it is. Amelia sits three rows behind me with Kate and Emily. I can feel her nervous energy from here—practically vibrating with anxiety. Can't blame her. The next twelve people selected will decide if eight families get justice or if David Thornton walks free to kill again.

The courtroom is packed. Media in the back rows—cameras forbidden, so they sketch furiously. Victims' families clustered on the left. David's supporters—fewer than expected, but present—on the right. Armed guards at every exit. This trial has international attention, and the Greek authorities are taking no chances.

Charles Pemberton QC enters first, and I understand immediately why David's family paid him seven figures. He's silver-haired perfection—tailored suit that probably costs six thousand euros, Oxford accent that could charm snakes, the kind of sophisticated menace that makes people think: surely this man's client is innocent if someone this respectable represents him.

He's a predator defending a predator. They speak the same language.

Andreas follows—less expensive suit, more tired eyes, but carrying the weight of eight murdered women. He nods at me briefly. We've worked together for eighteen months building this case. He knows I want Pemberton destroyed as much as he does.

Then David enters.

The courtroom goes quiet. People crane to see the Mediterranean Strangler in person. And what do they see? Not a monster. They see a distinguished British man in his late thirties, perfectly groomed, calm expression, walking with his attorneys like he's attending a business meeting instead of a murder trial.

That's the problem with sophisticated predators. They look human. Charming. Normal.

I watch Amelia's reaction from the corner of my eye. She's frozen, staring at him. Kate grips her hand. Emily leans close, whispering something. But Amelia doesn't look away.

David finds his seat between his legal team. Scans the gallery. His eyes land on Amelia.

He smiles.

Not obviously. Just the slightest upturn of lips. A private acknowledgment. I see you. I remember you. We're not done.

Amelia's face goes white. But she doesn't look away. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of her fear.

Good. She's stronger than he expects.

Judge Katerina Vasiliou enters—mid-fifties, no-nonsense, reputation for running tight courtrooms. She's presided over organized crime cases, corruption trials, high-profile murders. She's seen it all. Won't tolerate games.

"We begin jury selection," she announces in Greek, then English for the international defendant. "Counsel, approach."

Andreas and Pemberton stand at the bench for sidebar. I can't hear their exchange, but body language tells the story: Andreas arguing for thorough vetting, Pemberton arguing for expedited process. Judge Vasiliou makes her ruling—they'll question potential jurors thoroughly. No rushing justice.

The first panel of thirty potential jurors enters. Mix of ages, genders, professions. They've all been pre-screened—no obvious conflicts of interest, no close connections to victims or defendant. But pre-screening only goes so far. The real biases come out during questioning.

Judge Vasiliou explains the process: both sides can dismiss potential jurors "for cause" (demonstrable bias) or use limited "peremptory challenges" (no reason required). They need twelve jurors plus four alternates.

First potential juror called: Sophia Papadopoulos, age 52, schoolteacher.

Andreas begins: "Ms. Papadopoulos, have you formed any opinions about this case based on media coverage?"

"I've read about it. Everyone has." Her Greek is Athens-accented, working-class. "But I can be fair. I can listen to evidence."

"Do you believe women sometimes lie about assault or violence?"

She pauses. Careful question—wrong answer either direction reveals bias. "I believe most women tell the truth. But people can lie. Anyone can lie."

"Fair enough. Thank you."

Pemberton stands. His Greek is flawless, probably tutored extensively. "Ms. Papadopoulos, you say most women tell the truth. Does that mean you'd be predisposed to believe a female witness over contradicting evidence?"

"No. I'd listen to everything."

"But you believe most women tell the truth. Doesn't that create inherent bias toward prosecution's narrative?"

"I believe most people tell the truth. Men and women."

"Yet you specifically said 'most women' when Mr. Papadopoulos asked. Why the gendered response?"

She bristles. "Because he asked about women specifically—"

"Motion to dismiss for cause," Pemberton says smoothly. "Juror has demonstrated gender-based bias in favor of female witnesses."

"Denied," Judge Vasiliou rules. "Juror is acceptable to both sides or may be dismissed via peremptory challenge."

Pemberton uses a peremptory challenge. Sophia Papadopoulos is dismissed. She leaves looking confused—she tried to be fair, but her slight lean toward believing women made her unacceptable to defense.

This is going to be a war.

Next juror: Dimitris Antonopoulos, age 47, accountant.

Andreas questions him about domestic violence. "Have you or anyone close to you been affected by intimate partner violence?"

"No. Never. I don't understand that dynamic—why women stay in abusive relationships. If someone hits you, you leave. It's simple."

Andreas's face is carefully neutral. "Sometimes victims face financial dependence, children, threats, psychological manipulation—"

"Still. You leave. You go to police. You don't wait around to be killed." Dimitris looks genuinely puzzled. "I don't understand women who stay. That's their choice."

"Thank you. Motion to dismiss for cause—juror has demonstrated inability to understand coercive control dynamics."

"Agreed," Judge Vasiliou rules. Dimitris is dismissed.

Pemberton doesn't even fight it. He doesn't want that juror either—too obvious, would alienate other jurors during deliberation. Pemberton's smarter than that. He wants subtle bias, not blatant misogyny.

The process continues. Hours of questioning. Each potential juror revealing worldviews through careful answers:

"I believe in innocent until proven guilty"—defense-friendly

"I've served on juries before and take it seriously"—prosecution-friendly

"I don't trust police investigations"—dismissed by prosecution

"I think true crime podcasts are exploitative"—dismissed by defense (suggests sympathy for victims)

I watch Pemberton's strategy emerge: he's selecting jurors who romanticize British culture, who distrust "emotional" testimony, who look at David and see sophistication instead of predation. He wants jurors who think: surely a man like that couldn't be a monster.

Andreas counters by seeking empathetic jurors—social workers, teachers, medical professionals who understand trauma responses. People who won't blame victims for not leaving immediately.

Mid-afternoon, potential juror named Maria Constantinou is called. Age 41, social worker. She looks tired, like she's seen too much human suffering.

Andreas asks: "Ms. Constantinou, you work with domestic violence survivors. Can you be impartial in a case involving allegations of coercive control?"

"I can be fair. I understand manipulation tactics. I also understand false accusations happen. I'd listen to all evidence."

"Have you personally been affected by violence?"

She hesitates. "My sister. Ten years ago. Her ex-boyfriend... he murdered her. Made it look like suicide initially. Took police six months to investigate properly."

The courtroom goes still.

"I'm very sorry," Andreas says gently. "Given your experience, can you be impartial?"

"Yes. Because I know how investigations work. I know what real evidence looks like versus speculation. I can separate my grief from this case."

She's perfect for prosecution. Understands victim psychology, trusts proper investigation, has personal stake in justice.

Pemberton stands. "Motion to dismiss for cause. Juror's sister was murdered—clear bias."

"Her sister's case is unrelated to this one," Andreas argues. "She's demonstrated she can be impartial—"

"She has demonstrated she has deep emotional connection to murder victims. That's bias." Pemberton's voice is sympathetic, reasonable. "We all understand her loss. But she cannot be impartial in a trial about murdered women. It's asking too much."

Judge Vasiliou considers. "Agreed. Dismissed for cause. Ms. Constantinou, thank you for your time and honesty."

Maria leaves, eyes wet. She wanted to serve. Wanted to give her sister's death meaning by providing justice for other victims. But the system doesn't work that way.

I make a note: Defense dismissing anyone with personal violence experience. Wants jury unfamiliar with predatory behavior.

The day ends with eight jurors seated. Tomorrow, they'll select the remaining four plus alternates.

I watch David throughout. He sits perfectly still, occasionally whispering to Pemberton, taking notes on legal pad. Playing the role of engaged defendant, not dangerous predator. His body language is open, non-threatening. When female jurors are questioned, he maintains respectful distance—not leering, not intense, just... present. Harmless.

It's a performance. And it's working.

Several potential female jurors glance at him with sympathy. He's handsome, well-dressed, British-accented. He looks like someone who'd be wrongly accused by a vindictive woman, not someone who'd strangle eight people.

As court adjourns, I catch Amelia in the hallway. She's pale, shaking slightly.

"You okay?"

"He smiled at me. When he first came in. Like we were friends. Like he didn't try to kill me."

"That's what he does. Performs normalcy. Don't let it get to you."

"How many jurors do we have who'll actually believe me?"

"Eight so far. We need four more." I squeeze her shoulder. "Andreas is good. We'll get a fair jury. Trust the process."

"The process dismissed a woman whose sister was murdered. The process is broken."

She's not wrong. But I don't say that. "The process is all we have. And it's worked before. It'll work now."

Emily joins us, notepad full of observations. "That defense attorney is terrifying. He sounds so reasonable while saying horrific things."

"That's his job. He's expensive and good at it." I check my watch. "Go back to hotel. Rest. Tomorrow's more of this. Then Monday, opening statements. Save your energy."

They leave. I stay, reviewing notes. Eight jurors selected. Seven women, one man so far. Mixed ages. Andreas has done well—mostly educated, empathetic types. But we need four more.

And Pemberton's using his peremptory challenges strategically. He's dismissed every juror who seemed too sympathetic to victims, too aware of manipulation tactics, too likely to believe Amelia.

He only needs one compromised juror to create reasonable doubt. One person who won't convict, forcing a mistrial or acquittal.

I'm about to leave when I see him: Juror Number Five, Nikos Stavros, age 44, engineer. He was selected today—seemed neutral, answered questions appropriately, both sides accepted him.

But now, as the courtroom empties, I watch him pause near the defense table. David's still there with Pemberton, gathering files. Nikos makes eye contact with David.

And David nods. Imperceptibly. Almost invisible. But I'm a detective—I see invisible things.

Nikos nods back. Then leaves quickly.

My stomach drops. I immediately text Andreas: Need to talk. Now. Potential juror issue.

He responds: My office. 10 minutes.

I show him what I saw. Andreas's face goes grim.

"Are you certain?"

"Ninety percent. They acknowledged each other. Could be coincidence—Stavros might have seen David's photo in news, recognized him, nodded without thinking. Or—"

"Or David's family got to him. Bribe, threat, appeal to reasonable doubt. We don't know." Andreas pulls up Stavros's jury questionnaire. "Nothing in his background suggests connection to defendant. But absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence."

"Can we dismiss him?"

"Not without cause. And 'detective saw them nod at each other' isn't legal cause." Andreas rubs his temples. "I'll watch him closely during trial. If he shows bias during testimony, I can request dismissal then. But right now, our hands are tied."

"So we might have a compromised juror."

"We might. Or we might have a juror who recognized defendant from media and nodded reflexively." Andreas meets my eyes. "Either way, we proceed. Build a case so strong that even one biased juror can't create reasonable doubt. That's all we can do."

I leave his office furious. Eighteen months of investigation. Eight murdered women. Airtight evidence. And it might come down to one compromised juror's nod.

This is why I hate trial work. Give me investigations—facts, evidence, surveillance. Courts are theater. Performance. The truth doesn't always win.

But it has to win this time.

Because if David walks free, more women will die.

And I'll have failed them all.