John Grisham - A time to kill

"Sure. There will never be another case like this one. Win it, and I'm the greatest lawyer in these parts. We would never have to worry about money again."

"And if you lost it?"

"It would still be a drawing card. But I can't lose what I don't have."

"Embarrassed?"

"A little. It's hard to accept. Every lawyer in the county is laughing about it, except maybe Harry Rex. But I'll get over it."

"What should I do with the scrapbook?"

"Save it. You might fill it up yet."

unc, nine reel long and tour feet wide, made to fit inconspicuously in the long bed of a pickup. Much larger crosses were used for the rituals, but the small ones worked better in the nocturnal raids into residential areas. They were not used often, or often enough according to their builders. In fact, it had been many years since one had been used in Ford County. The last one was planted in the yard of a nigger accused of raping a white woman.

Several hours before dawn on Monday morning, the cross was lifted quietly and quickly from the pickup and thrust into a ten-inch, freshly dug slot in the front yard of the quaint Victorian house on Adams Street. A small torch was thrown at the foot of the cross, and in seconds it was in flames. The pickup disappeared into the night and stopped at a pay phone at the edge of town, where a call was placed to the dispatcher.

Moments later, Deputy Marshall Prather turned down Adams and instantly saw the blazing cross in Jake's front yard. He turned into the driveway and parked behind the Saab. He punched the doorbell and stood on the porch watching the flames. It was almost three-thirty. He punched it again. Adams was dark and silent except for the glow of the cross and the snapping and crackling of the wood burning fifty feet away. Finally, Jake stumbled through the front door and froze, wild-eyed and stunned, next to the deputy. The two stood side by side on the porch, mesmerized not only by the burning cross, but by its purpose.

"Mornin", Jake," Prather finally said without looking from the fire.

"Who did it?" Jake asked with a scratchy, dry throat.

"Don't know. They didn't leave a name. Just called and told us about it."

"When did they call?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

Jake ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to keep it from blowing wild in the soft breeze. "How long will it burn?" he asked, knowing Prather knew as little or even less than he about burning crosses.

"No tellin'. Probably soaked in kerosene. Smells like it anyway. Might burn for a couple of hours. You want me to call a fire truck?"

Jake looked up and down the street. Every house was silent and dark.

"Naw. No need to wake everybody. Let it burn. It won't hurt anything, will it?"

"It's your yard."

Prather never moved; just stood there, hands in his pockets, his belly hanging over his belt. "Ain't had one of these in a long time around here. Last one I remember was in Karaway, nineteen-sixry-"

"Nineteen sixty-seven."

"You remember?"

"Yeah. I was in high school. We drove out and watched it burn."

"What was that nigger's name?"

"Robinson, something Robinson. Said he raped Velma Thayer."

"Did he?" asked Prather.

"The jury thought so. He's in Parchman chopping cotton for the rest of his life."

Prather seemed satisfied.

"Let me get Carla," Jake mumbled as he disappeared. He returned with his wife behind him.

"My God, Jake! Who did it?"

"Who knows."

"Is it the KKK?" she asked.

"Must be," answered the deputy. "I don't know anybody else who burns crosses, do you, Jake?"

Jake shook his head.

"I thought they left Ford County years ago," said Prather.

"Looks like they're back," said Jake.

Carla stood frozen, her hand over her mouth, terrified. The glow of the fire reddened her face. "Do something, Jake. Put it out."

Jake watched the fire and again glanced up and down the street. The snapping and popping grew louder and the orange flames reached higher into the night. For a moment he hoped it would die quickly without being seen by anyone other than the three of them, and that it would simply go away and be forgotten and no one in Clanton would ever know. Then he smiled at his foolishness.

iiamci giumcu, anu it was oovious he was tired of standing on the porch. "Say, Jake, uh, I don't mean to bring this up, but accordin' to the papers they got the wrong lawyer. That true?"

"I guess they can't read," Jake muttered.

"Probably not."

"Tell me, Prather, do you know of any active Klan members in this county?"

"Not a one. Got some in the southern part of the state, but none around here. Not that I know of. FBI told us the Klan was a thing of the past."

"That's not very comforting."

"Why not?"

"Because these guys, if they're Klan members, are not from around here. Visitors from parts unknown. It means they're serious, don't you think, Prather?"

"I don't know. I'd worry more if it was local people workin' with the Klan. Could mean the Klan's comin' back."

"What does it mean, the cross?" Carla asked the deputy.

"It's a warnin'. Means stop what you're doin', or the next time we'll do more than burn a little wood. They used these things for years to intimidate whites who were sympathetic to niggers and all that civil rights crap. If the whites didn't stop their nigger lovin', then violence followed. Bombs, dynamite, beatings, even murder. But that was a • long time ago, I thought. In your case, it's their way of tellin' Jake to stay away from Hailey. But since he ain't Hailey's lawyer no more, I don't know what it means."

"Go check on Hanna," Jake said to Carla, who went inside.

"If you got a water hose, I'll be glad to put it out," offered Prather.

"That's a good idea," Jake said. "I'd hate for the neighbors to see it."

Jake and Carla stood on the porch in their bathrobes and watched the deputy spray the burning cross. The wood fizzed and smoked as the water covered the cross and snuffed out the flames. Prather soaked it for fifteen minutes, then neatly rolled the hose and placed it behind the shrubs in the flower bed next to the front steps.

"Thanks, Marshall. Let's keep this quiet, okay?"

Prather wiped his hands on his pants and straightened his hat. "Sure. Y'all lock up good. If you hear anything, call the dispatcher. We'll keep a close watch on it for the next few days."

He backed from the driveway and drove slowly down Adams Street toward the square. They sat in the swing and watched the smoking cross.

"I feel like I'm looking at an old issue of Life magazine," Jake said.

"Or a chapter from a Mississippi history textbook. Maybe we should tell them you got fired."

"Thanks."

"Thanks?".

"For being so blunt."

"I'm sorry. Should I say discharged, or terminated, or-"

"Just say he found another lawyer. You're really scared aren't you?"

"You know I'm scared. I'm terrified. If they can burn a cross in our front yard, what's to stop them from burning the house? It's not worth it, Jake. I want you to be happy and successful and all that wonderful stuff, but not at the expense of our safety. No case is worth this."

"You're glad I got fired?"

"I'm glad he found another lawyer. Maybe they'll leave us alone now."

Jake put his arm around her, and pulled her into his lap. The swing rocked gently. She was beautiful, at three-thirty in the morning in her bathrobe.

"They won't be back, will they?" she asked.

"Naw. They're through with us. They'll find out I'm off the case, then they'll call and apologize."

"It's not funny, Jake."

"I know."

"Do you think people will know?"

"Not for another hour. When the Coffee Shop opens at five, Dell Perkins will know every detail before she pours the first cup of coffee."