A Time to Kill (15 page)

“Where’d you find her?” he asked.

Lucien stared at the courthouse.

“Where’d you find her?”

“I dunno.”

“How old is she?”

Lucien was silent.

“She live here?”

No response.

“How much do you pay her?”

“Why is it any of your business? More than you pay Ethel. She’s a nurse too, you know.”

Sure, Jake thought with a grin. “I’ll bet she does a lot of things.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I take it you’re not thrilled with my chances for an acquittal.”

Lucien reflected a moment. The maid/nurse returned with the whiskey and tea.

“Not really. It will be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Looks like it was premeditated. From what I gather it was well planned. Right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure you’ll plead insanity.”

“I don’t know.”

“You must plead insanity,” Lucien lectured sternly. “There is no other possible defense. You can’t claim it was an accident. You can’t say he shot those two boys, handcuffed and unarmed, with a machine gun in self-defense, can you?”

“No.”

“You won’t create an alibi and tell the jury he was at home with his family?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what other defense do you have? You must say he was crazy!”

“But, Lucien, he was not insane, and there’s no way I can find some bogus psychiatrist to say he was. He planned it meticulously, every detail.”

Lucien smiled and took a drink. “That’s why you’re in trouble, my boy.”

Jake sat his tea on the table and rocked slowly. Lucien savored the moment. “That’s why you’re in trouble,” he repeated.

“What about the jury? You know they’ll be sympathetic.”

“That’s exactly why you must plead insanity. You must give the jury a way out. You must show them a
way to find him not guilty, if they are so inclined. If they’re sympathetic, if they want to acquit, you must provide them with a defense they can use to do it. It makes no difference if they believe the insanity crap. That’s not important in the jury room. What’s important is that the jury have a legal basis for an acquittal, assuming they want to acquit.”

“Will they want to acquit?”

“Some will, but Buckley will make an awfully strong case of premeditated murder. He’s good. He’ll take away their sympathy. Hailey’ll be just another black on trial for killing a white man when Buckley gets through with him.”

Lucien rattled his ice cubes and stared at the brown liquid. “And what about the deputy? Assault with intent to kill a peace officer carries life, no parole. Talk your way out of that one.”

“There was no intent.”

“Great. That’ll be real convincing when the poor guy hobbles to the witness stand and shows the jury his nub.”

“Nub?”

“Yes. Nub. They cut his leg off last night.”

“Looney!”

“Yes, the one Mr. Hailey shot.”

“I thought he was okay.”

“Oh he’s fine. Just minus a leg.”

“How’d you find out?”

“I’ve got sources.”

Jake walked to the edge of the porch and leaned on a column. He felt weak. The confidence was gone, taken away again by Lucien. He was an expert at poking holes in every case Jake tried. It was sport to him, and he was usually right.

“Look, Jake, I don’t mean to sound so hopeless.

The case can be won—it’s a long shot, but it can be won. You can walk him out of there, and you need to believe you can. Just don’t get too cocky. You’ve said enough to the press for a while. Back off, and go to work.”

Lucien walked to the edge of the porch and spat in the shrubs. “Always keep in mind that Mr. Hailey is guilty, guilty as hell. Most criminal defendants are, but especially this one. He took the law into his own hands, and he murdered two people. Planned it all, very carefully. Our legal system does not permit vigilante justice. Now, you can win the case, and if you do, justice will prevail. But if you lose it, justice will also prevail. Kind of a strange case, I guess. I just wish I had it.”

“You serious?”

“Sure I’m serious. It’s a trial lawyer’s dream. Win it and you’re famous. The biggest gun in these parts. It could make you rich.”

“I’ll need your help.”

“You’ve got it. I need something to do.”

________

After dinner, and after Hanna was asleep, Jake told Carla about the calls at the office. They had received a strange call before during one of the other murder trials, but no threats were made, just some groaning and breathing. But these were different. They mentioned Jake’s name and his family, and promised revenge if Carl Lee was acquitted.

“Are you worried?” she asked.

“Not really. It’s probably just some kids, or some of Cobb’s friends. Does it scare you?”

“I would prefer they didn’t call.”

“Everybody’s getting calls. Ozzie’s had hundreds.

Bullard, Childers, everybody. I’m not worried about it.”

“What if it becomes more serious?”

“Carla, I would never endanger my family. It’s not worth it. I’ll withdraw from the case if I think the threats are legitimate. I promise.”

She was not impressed.

________

Lester peeled off nine one-hundred-dollar bills and laid them majestically on Jake’s desk.

“That’s only nine hundred,” Jake said. “Our agreement was a thousand.”

“Gwen needed groceries.”

“You sure Lester didn’t need some whiskey?”

“Come on, Jake, you know I wouldn’t steal from my own brother.”

“Okay, okay. When’s Gwen going to the bank to borrow the rest?”

“I’m goin’ right now to see the banker. Atcavage?”

“Yeah, Stan Atcavage, next door at Security Bank. Good friend of mine. He loaned it before on your trial. You got the deed?”

“In my pocket. How much you reckon he’ll give us?”

“No idea. Why don’t you go find out.”

Lester left, and ten minutes later Atcavage was on the phone.

“Jake, I can’t loan the money to these people. What if he’s convicted—no offense, I know you’re a good lawyer—my divorce, remember—but how’s he gonna pay me sitting on death row?”

“Thanks. Look Stan, if he defaults you own ten acres, right?”

“Right, with a shack on it. Ten acres of trees and
kudzu plus an old house. Just what my new wife wants. Come on, Jake.”

“It’s a nice house, and it’s almost paid for.”

“It’s a shack, a clean shack. But it’s not worth anything, Jake.”

“It’s gotta be worth something.”

“Jake, I don’t want it. The bank does not want it.”

“You loaned it before.”

“And he wasn’t in jail before; his brother was, remember. He was working at the paper mill. Good job, too. Now he’s headed for Parchman.”

“Thanks, Stan, for the vote of confidence.”

“Come on, Jake, I’ve got confidence in your ability, but I can’t loan money on it. If anybody can get him off, you can. And I hope you do. But I can’t make this loan. The auditors would scream.”

Lester tried the Peoples Bank and Ford National, with the same results. They hoped his brother was acquitted, but what if he wasn’t.

Wonderful, thought Jake. Nine hundred dollars for a capital murder case.

11

__________

C
laude had never seen the need for printed menus in his cafe. Years before when he first opened he couldn’t afford menus, and now that he could he didn’t need them because most folks knew what he served. For breakfast he cooked everything but rice and toast, and the prices varied. For Friday lunch he barbecued pork shoulder and spare ribs, and everybody knew it. He had few white customers during the week, but at noon Friday, every Friday, his small cafe was half white. Claude had known for some time that whites enjoyed barbecue as much as blacks; they just didn’t know how to prepare it.

Jake and Atcavage found a small table near the kitchen. Claude himself delivered two plates of ribs and slaw. He leaned toward Jake and said softly, “Good luck to you. Hope you get him off.”

“Thanks, Claude. I hope you’re on the jury.”

Claude laughed and said louder, “Can I volunteer?”

Jake attacked the ribs and chewed on Atcavage for not making the loan. The banker was steadfast, but
did offer to lend five thousand if Jake would cosign. That would be unethical, Jake explained.

On the sidewalk a line formed and faces squinted through the painted letters on the front windows. Claude was everywhere, taking orders, giving orders, cooking, counting money, shouting, swearing, greeting customers, and asking them to leave. On Friday, the customers were allotted twenty minutes after the food was served, then Claude asked and sometimes demanded that they pay and leave so he could sell more barbecue.

“Quit talkin’ and eat!” he would yell.

“I’ve got ten more minutes, Claude.”

“You got seven.”

On Wednesday he fried catfish, and allowed thirty minutes because of the bones. The white folks avoided Claude’s on Wednesday, and he knew why. It was the grease, a secret recipe grease handed down by his grandmother, he said. It was heavy and sticky and wreaked havoc with the lower intestines of white people. It didn’t faze the blacks, who piled in by the carloads every Wednesday.

Two foreigners sat near the cash register and watched Claude fearfully as he directed lunch. Probably reporters, thought Jake. Each time Claude drew nigh and glared, they obediently picked up and gnawed a rib. They had not experienced ribs before, and it was obvious to everyone they were from the North. They had wanted chef salads, but Claude cursed them, and told them to eat barbecue or leave. Then he announced to the crowd these silly fools wanted chef salads.

“Here’s your food. Hurry up and eat it,” he had demanded when he served them.

“No steak knives?” one had asked crisply.

Claude rolled his eyes and staggered away mumbling.

One noticed Jake, and, after staring for a few minutes, finally walked over and knelt by the table. “Aren’t you Jake Brigance, Mr. Hailey’s attorney?”

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“I’m Roger McKittrick, with
The New York Times.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jake said with a smile and a new attitude.

“I’m covering the Hailey case, and I’d like to talk with you sometime. As soon as possible, really.”

“Sure. I’m not too busy this afternoon. It’s Friday.”

“I could do it late.”

“How about four?”

“Fine,” said McKittrick, who noticed Claude approaching from the kitchen. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, buddy,” Claude yelled at McKittrick. “Time’s up. Get your check and leave.”

Jake and Atcavage finished in fifteen minutes, and waited for the verbal assault from Claude. They licked their fingers and mopped their faces and commented on the tenderness of the ribs.

“This case’ll make you famous, won’t it?” asked Atcavage.

“I hope. Evidently it won’t make any money.”

“Seriously, Jake, won’t it help your practice?”

“If I win, I’ll have more clients than I can handle. Sure it’ll help. I can pick and choose my cases, pick and choose my clients.”

“Financially, what’ll it mean?”

“I have no idea. There’s no way to predict who or what it might attract. I’ll have more cases to choose from, so that means more money. I could quit worrying about the overhead.”

“Surely you don’t worry about the overhead.”

“Look, Stan, we’re not all filthy rich. A law degree is not worth what it once was—too many of us. Fourteen in this little town. Competition is tough, even in Clanton—not enough good cases and too many lawyers. It’s worse in the big towns, and the law schools graduate more and more, many of whom can’t find jobs. I get ten kids a year knocking on my door looking for work. A big firm in Memphis laid off some lawyers a few months ago. Can you imagine? Just like a factory, they laid them off. I suppose they went down to the unemployment office and stood in line with the ’dozer operators. Lawyers now, not secretaries or truck drivers, but lawyers.”

“Sorry I asked.”

“Sure I worry about the overhead. It runs me four thousand a month, and I practice alone. That’s fifty thousand a year before I clear a dime. Some months are good, others slow. They’re all unpredictable. I wouldn’t dare estimate what I’ll gross next month. That’s why this case is so important. There will never be another one like it. It’s the biggest. I’ll practice the rest of my life and never have another reporter from
The New York Times
stop me in a cafe and ask for an interview. If I win, I’ll be the top dog in this part of the state. I can forget about the overhead.”

“And if you lose?”

Jake paused and glanced around for Claude. “The publicity will be abundant regardless of the outcome. Win or lose, the case will help my practice. But a loss will really hurt. Every lawyer in the county is secretly hoping I blow it. They want him convicted. They’re jealous, afraid I might get too big and take away their clients. Lawyers are extremely jealous.”

“You too?”

“Sure. Take the Sullivan firm. I despise every
lawyer in that firm, but I’m jealous to an extent. I wish I had some of their clients, some of their retainers, some of their security. They know that every month they’ll get a nice check, it’s guaranteed almost, and every Christmas they’ll get a big bonus. They represent old money, steady money. That would be enjoyable for a change. Me, I represent drunks, thugs, wife beaters, husband beaters, injured people, most of whom have little or no money. And I never know from one month to the next how many of these people will show up at my office.”

“Look, Jake,” Atcavage interrupted. “I would really like to finish this discussion, but Claude just looked at his watch and then looked at us. I think our twenty minutes are up.”

Jake’s check was seventy-one cents more than Atcavage’s, and since both orders were identical, Claude was interrogated. No problem, he explained, Jake got an extra rib.

________

McKittrick was personable and precise, thorough and pushy. He had arrived in Clanton on Wednesday to investigate and write about what was billed as the most famous murder in the country, at the moment. He talked to Ozzie and Moss Junior, and they suggested he talk to Jake. He talked to Bullard, through the door, and the judge suggested he talk to Jake. He interviewed Gwen and Lester, but was not permitted to meet the girl. He visited with the regulars at the Coffee Shop and the Tea Shoppe, and he visited with the regulars at Huey’s and Ann’s Lounge. He talked to Willard’s ex-wife and mother, but Mrs. Cobb was through with reporters. One of Cobb’s brothers offered
to talk for a fee. McKittrick declined. He drove to the paper mill and talked to the co-workers, and he drove to Smithfield to interview the D.A. He would be in town for a few more days, then return for the trial.