The jury likes to pass notes. But the last one was different from those that came before.
It asked the judge two questions: “Define the starting of the fire.” And: “Is pouring of gasoline considered starting?”
Knowing the answers to these questions could cost a man his life, the jurors in the Steven J. Hayes trial were carefully reviewing each element of the charges against him and diligently weighing the evidence to ensure their judgment was rendered beyond a reasonable doubt. And in all but one count, it was.
The jury, sitting in Superior Court on Church Street, returned a guilty verdict against Hayes Tuesday in 16 of 17 counts in connection Hayes, one of two defendants in the grisly murders of three members of the Petit family in a 2007 Cheshire home invasion.
In some ways it seemed like an open-and-shut case: Hayes admitted his part in the torture and murders.
But he doesn’t want to die; the next phase of this case involves whether he’ll get the death penalty.
And as the jury’s note-writing demonstrated throughout the trial, even straightforward-seeming criminal cases require hard work and much attention to detail from jurors who take the consequences of their deliberations seriously.
“The timepiece is in your hands,” assured Judge Jon C. Blue on Tuesday morning before sending the jury off again to deliberate Hayes’ fate. Jurors wasted no time and, after a total of four and a half hours, a knock on the door announced that they had reached a verdict. They found Hayes guilty of all but one of the charges against him, including six counts of capital felony murder. Having convicted Hayes of the murders of Jennifer, Hayley, and Michaela Petit, the jury beginning on Oct. 18 will now determine his penalty. The state will seek execution.
Tuesday’s outcome was foreshadowed by the two questions contained in the note the jury sent out the previous day. Apparently, the state failed to convince the jury that Hayes started the fire that destroyed the Petit’s home and ultimately killed Hayley and Michaela. This does not bode well for the lawyers of Joshua Komisarjevsky, the other defendant in the case, whose trial hasn’t begun. But that is for a different jury to decide.
The evolution of the Hayes jury has been somewhat peculiar. Originally, Judge Blue impaneled 19 jurors, hoping that seven alternates would be a safe cushion against attrition and potentially a mistrial. This was a prescient move, as three jurors were excused the very first day of trial, with one in particular declaring “I don’t think I want to go through all that.” On the second day, a juror sent a note to the judge regarding concerns he had about the state’s presentation of evidence. He was excused. Finally, an alternate was dismissed last week for a medical crisis.
The 12 remaining jurors, as well as the two alternates, are still hanging in there. They were randomly selected in January from the eligible population in New Haven County. The Komisarjevsky jury will be chosen the same way, unless the daily barrage of graphic news coverage of the Hayes trial prompts his lawyer, Jeremiah Donovan (who momentarily became the news of the day himself), to request a change of venue to prevent a contaminated pool.
Since the first day of trial, observers have tried to conjure narratives for each of the enigmatic jurors by absorbing small details – the penchant for leopard print clothing of one juror, the decorative back support pillow of another, the steady smile of the future foreman of the jury, and the visible fear of another each time she had to flip open a folder with a devastating image inside. Jurors sniffed gas fumes from cans, wept over gruesome crime scene photos, grimaced at graphic testimony, snuck peeks at Dr. Petit, and smiled at Judge Blue’s humor. Over the weeks, the jurors were routinely spotted in Brueggers Bagels or Judie’s Bakery at lunchtime, pairing up and chatting as they moved down the sidewalk, keeping a respectful distance from Petit family members and reporters.
The collective personality of this jury, known coincidentally as a “petit” jury (pronounced “petty” and meaning small – as compared to a grand jury), has taken shape most noticeably around their daily notes to the judge.
From the start, the jurors were an inquisitive bunch, asking whether they are allowed to bring books (yes, but no reading in the courtroom) and water (of course); whether they can gossip amongst themselves about the lawyers (no, but how tempting); and if the lawyers could sort themselves out again for some who were confused. (They stood and repeated their names.)
Could they drink alcohol at lunch? (No, but who couldn’t sympathize.)
They asked evidentiary questions like what color was a certain sweatshirt, how did Dr. Petit untie ropes around his waist and chest, and why a vial sat on the bottom of an evidence canister (each of which Judge Blue declined to answer.)
The missives sent out by the jury, some appropriately probative and some not, nonetheless told us that this panel of jurors are engaged and thoughtful. They are ordinary people who undertook the monumentally difficult task to go “through all that” and have executed it professionally and earnestly. They have the challenge of continuing to do so throughout the sentencing phase of the trial, where future notes may keep us guessing about the path they are following.
Previous installments of the Petit Trial Court Diary:
• Day One: Deceptive Calm
• Day Two: It Was All About “The Girls”
• Day Three: Defense Strategy Emerges: Spread The Blame
• Day Four: Pieces Fall Into Place
• Day Five: Numbers Tell A Story
• Day Six: Suffering Takes Center Stage
• Day Seven: A Gagged Order
• Day Eight: A Quilt & A Puppet Theater Bring Home The Horror
• Day Nine: It’s About Specific Intent