John Grisham - A time to kill

The visitor was Dr. W.T. Bass, a retired psychiatrist from Jackson. He had known Lucien for years, and they had collaborated on a couple of insane criminals during their friendship. Both of the criminals were still in Parchman. His retirement had been one year before the disbarment and had been precipitated by the same thing that contributed heavily to the disbarment, to wit, a strong affection for Jack Daniel's. He visited Lucien occasionally in Clanton, and Lucien visited him more frequently in Jackson, and they enjoyed their visits because they enjoyed staying drunk together. They sat on the big porch and waited on Jake.

"Just say he was insane," instructed Lucien.

"Was he?" asked the doctor.

"That's not important."

"What is important?"

"It's important to give the jury an excuse to acquit the man. They won't care if he's crazy or not. But they'll need some reason to acquit him."

"It would be nice to examine him."

"You can. You can talk to him all you want. He's at the jail just waiting on someone to talk to."

"I'll need to meet with him several times."

"I know that."

"What if I don't think he was insane at the time of the shooting?"

"Then you won't get to testify at trial, and you won't get your name and picture in the paper, and you won't be interviewed on TV."

Lucien paused long enough to take a long drink. "Just do as I say. Interview him, take a bunch of notes. Ask stupid questions. You know what to do. Then say he was crazy."

"I'm not so sure about this. It hasn't worked too well in the past."

"Look, you're a doctor, aren't you? Then act proud, vain, arrogant. Act like a doctor's supposed to act. Give your opinion and dare anyone to question it."

"I don't know. It hasn't worked too well in the past."

"Just do as I say."

"I've done that before, and they're both at Parchman."

"They were hopeless. Hailey's different."

"Does he have a chance?"

"Slim."

"I thought you said he was different."

"He's a decent man with a good reason for killing."

"Then why are his chances slim?"

"The law says his reason is not good enough."

"That's par for the law."

"Plus he's black, and this is a white county. I have no confidence in these bigots around here."

"And if he were white?"

"If he were white and he killed two blacks who raped his daughter, the jury would give him the courthouse."

Bass finished one glass and poured another. A fifth and a bucket of ice sat on the wicker table between the two.

"What about his lawyer?" he asked.

"He should be here in a minute."

"He used to work for you?"

"Yeah, but I don't think you met him. He was in the firm about two years before I left. He's young, early thirties. Clean, aggressive, works hard."

"And he used to work for you?"

"That's what I said. He's got trial experience for his age. This is not his first murder case, but, if I'm not mistaken, it's his first insanity case."

"That's nice to hear. I don't want someone asking a lot of questions."

"I like your confidence. Wait till you meet the D.A."

"I just don't feel good about this. We tried it twice, and it didn't work."

Lucien shook his head in bewilderment. "You've got to be the humblest doctor I've known."

"And the poorest."

"You're supposed to be pompous and arrogant. You're the expert. Act like one. Who's gonna question your professional opinion in Clanton, Mississippi?"

"The State will have experts."

"They will have one psychiatrist from Whitfield. He'll examine the defendant for a few hours, and then drive up for trial and testify that the defendant is the sanest man he's

ever met. He's never seen a legally insane defendant. To him no one is insane. Everybody's blessed with perfect mental health. Whitfield is full of sane people, except when it applies for government money, then half the state's crazy. He'd get fired if he started saying defendants are legally insane. So that's who you're up against."

"And the jury will automatically believe me?"

"You act as though you've never been through one of these before."

"Twice, remember. One rapist, one murderer. Neither was insane, in spite of what I said. Both are now locked away where they belong."

Lucien took a long drink and studied the light brown liquid and the floating ice cubes. "You said you would help me. God knows you owe me the favor. How many divorces did I handle for you?"

"Three. And I got cleaned out every time."

"You deserved it every time. It was either give in or go to trial and have your habits discussed in open court."

"I remember."

"How many clients, or patients, have I sent you over the years?"

"Not enough to pay my alimony."

"Remember the malpractice case by the lady whose treatment consisted primarily of weekly sessions on your couch with the foldaway bed? Your malpractice carrier refused to defend, so you called your dear friend Lucien who settled it for peanuts and kept it out of court."

"There were no witnesses."

"Just the lady herself. And the court files showing where your wives had sued for divorce on the grounds of adultery."

"They couldn't prove it."

"They didn't get a chance. We didn't want them to try, remember?"

"All right, enough, enough. I said I would help. What about my credentials?"

"Are you a compulsive worrier?"

"No. I just get nervous when I think of courtrooms."

"Your credentials are fine. You've been qualified before as an expert witness. Don't worry so much."

"What about this?" He waved his drink at Lucien.

"You shouldn't drink so much," he said piously.

The doctor dropped his drink and exploded in laughter. He rofled out of his chair and crawled to the edge of the porch, holding his stomach and shaking in laughter.

"You're drunk," Lucien said as he left for another bottle.

When Jake arrived an hour later, Lucien was rocking slowly in his huge wicker rocker. The doctor was asleep in the swing at the far end of the porch. He was barefoot, and his toes had disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the porch. Jake walked up the steps and startled Lucien.

"Jake, my boy, how are you?" he slurred.

"Fine, Lucien. I see you're doing quite well." He looked at the empty bottle and one not quite empty.

"I wanted you to meet that man," he said, trying to sit up straight.

"Who is he?"

"He's our psychiatrist. Dr. W.T. Bass, from Jackson. Good friend of mine. He'll help us with Hailey."

"Is he good?"

"The best. We've worked together on several insanity cases."

Jake took a few steps in the direction of the swing and stopped. The doctor was lying on his back with his shirt unbuttoned and his mouth wide open. He snored heavily, with an unusual guttural gurgling sound. A horsefly the size of a small sparrow buzzed around his nose and retreated to the top of the swing with each thunderous exhalation. A rancid vapor emanated with the snoring and hung like an invisible fog over the end of the porch.

"He's a doctor?" Jake asked as he sat next to Lucien.

"Psychiatry," Lucien said proudly.

"Did he help you with those?" Jake nodded at the bottles.

"I helped him. He drinks like a fish, but he's always sober at trial."

"That's comforting."

"You'll like him. He's cheap. Owes me a favor. Won't cost a dime."

"I like him already."

Lucien's face was as red as his eyes. "Wanna drink?"

"No. It's three-thirty in the afternoon."

"Really! What day is it?"

"Wednesday, June 12. How long have y'all been drinking?"

" 'Bout thirty years." Lucien laughed and rattled his ice cubes.

"I mean today."

"We drank our breakfast. What difference does it make?"

"Does he work?"

"Naw, he's retired."