John Grisham - The Appeal

Sackett was moved from the state prison back to the Lauderdale County jail, where he escaped one week later. He had not been heard from since. He was out there, "a free man," no doubt continuing his violence against innocent children.

The last paragraph ended with the usual rant against liberal judges. The fine print gave the standard approval by Ron Fisk.

Certain relevant facts were conveniently omitted. First, the court voted 8 to 1 to reverse the Sackett conviction and send it back for a new trial. The actions of the police were so egregious that four other justices wrote concurring opinions that were even more scathing in their condemnation of the forced confession and warrantless, unconstitutional search. The lone dissenter, Justice Romano, was a misguided soul who had never voted to reverse a criminal conviction, and privately vowed that he would never do so.

Second, Sackett was dead. Four years earlier he'd been killed in a bar fight in Alaska.

The news of his passing barely made it to Mississippi, and when his file was retired in Lauderdale County, not a single reporter noticed. Barry Rinehart's exhaustive research discovered the truth, for what little it mattered.

The Fisk campaign was far beyond the truth now. The candidate was too busy to sweat the details, and he had placed his complete trust in Tony Zachary. The race had become a crusade, a calling of the highest order, and if facts were slightly bent or even ignored, then it was justified because of the importance of his candidacy. Besides, it was politics, a dirty game, and you could rest assured the other side wasn't playing fair, either.

Barry Rinehart had never been shackled by the truth. His only concern was not getting caught in his lies. If a madman like Darrel Sackett was out there, on the loose, very much alive and doing his filthy deeds, then his story was more shocking. A dead Sackett was a pleasant thought, but Rinehart preferred the power of fear. And he knew that McCarthy couldn't respond. She had reversed his conviction, plain and simple.

Any effort to explain why would be futile in the world of thirty-second ads and snappy sound bites.

After the shock of the ad, she would try to erase Sackett from her mind.

After the shock, though, she had to at least revisit the case. She saw the ad online, at the Victims Rising Web site, after receiving a frantic call from Nat Lester. Paul, her clerk, found the reported case, and they read it in silence. She vaguely remembered it. In the eight years since, she had read a thousand briefs and written hundreds of opinions.

"You got it right," Paul said when he finished.

"Yes, but why does it look so wrong now?" she said. She'd been hard at work, her desk covered with memos from half a dozen cases. She was stunned, bewildered.

He didn't answer.

"I wonder what's next," she said, closing her eyes.

"Probably a death penalty case. And they'll cherry-pick the facts again."

"Thanks. Anything else?"

"Sure. There's lots of material in these books. You're a judge. Every time you make a decision someone loses. These guys don't care about the truth, so they can make anything sound bad."

"Please shut up."

Her first ads began, and they lightened the mood somewhat. Nat chose to begin with a straightforward piece with Sheila in a black robe sitting at the bench, smiling earnestly at the camera. She talked about her experience-eight years as a trial judge in Harrison County, nine years on the supreme court. She hated to pat her own back, but twice in the past five years she had received the highest rating in the state bar's annual review of all appellate judges. She was not a liberal judge, nor a conservative one. She refused to be labeled.

Her commitment was simply to follow the laws of Mississippi, not to make new ones. The best judges are those without agendas, without preconceived notions of how they might rule. The best judges are those with experience. Neither of her opponents had ever presided over a trial, or issued a ruling, or studied complicated briefs, or listened to oral arguments, or written a final opinion. Until now, neither of her opponents had shown the slightest interest in sitting as a judge. Yet they are asking the voters to jump-start their judicial careers at the very top. She finished by saying, without the smile, "I was appointed to this position by the governor nine years ago, then I was reelected by you, the people. I am a judge, not a politician, and I don't have the money that some are spending to purchase this seat. I ask you, the voters, to help send the message that a seat on the Mississippi Supreme Court cannot be bought by big business. Thank you."

Nat spent little money at the Jackson stations and much more on the Coast. McCarthy would never be able to saturate like Fisk. Nat speculated that Fisk and all those wealthy folks behind him were burning $200,000 a week on the anti-gay-marriage ads alone.

Sheila's first round was about half of that, and the response was lukewarm. The ad was called "uncreative" by her coordinator in Jackson County. A noisy trial lawyer, no doubt an expert in all things political, sent an angry e-mail in which he blasted Nat for such a soft approach. You gotta fight fire with fire and answer the attack ads with more of the same. He reminded Nat that his firm had contributed $30,000 and might forgo any more if McCarthy didn't take off the gloves.

Women seemed to like the ad. Men were more critical. After reading a few dozen e-mails, Nat realized he was wasting his time.

Barry Rinehart had been waiting impatiently for some television from the McCarthy strategists. When he finally saw her first ad, he laughed out loud. What an old-fashioned, out-of-date, pathetically lame effort-judge in black robe, at a bench, thick law books as props, even a gavel for good measure. She looked sincere, but she was a judge, not a television presence. Her eyes moved as she read from the teleprompter.

Her head was as rigid as a deer in headlights.

A weak response indeed, but it had to be answered. It had to be buried. Rinehart reached into his video library, his arsenal, and selected his next grenade.

Ten hours after McCarthy began running her ad, she was blown off the television by an attack ad that stunned even the most jaded political junkies. It began with the sharp crack of a rifle shot, then a black-and-white photo of Justice McCarthy, one from the court's official Web site. A powerful, barbed voice announced, "Justice Sheila McCarthy does not like hunters. Seven years ago she wrote, “The hunters of this state have a poor record on safety' This quote was splashed across her face.

The photo changed to one from a newspaper story with Sheila shaking hands at a rally.

The voice continued, "And Justice Sheila McCarthy does not like gun owners. Five years ago she wrote, “The ever vigilant gun lobby can always be expected to attack any statute that might in any way restrict the use of handguns in vulnerable areas.

Regardless of how sensible a proposed statute might be, the gun lobby will descend upon it with a vengeance.”This, too, was printed rapidly, word for word, across the screen. Then there was another blast, this one from a shotgun firing at a blue sky.

Ron Fisk appeared, decked out like the real hunter he was. He lowered his shotgun and chatted with the voters for a few seconds. Memories of his grandfather, hunting in these woods as a child, love of nature, a vow to protect the sacred rights of hunters and gun owners. It ended with Ron walking along the edge of the woods, a pack of frisky dogs behind him.

Some small, quick print at the end of the ad gave credit to an organization called Gunowners United Now (GUN). The truth:

The first case mentioned in the ad involved the accidental shooting death of a deer hunter. His widow sued the man who shot him, a nasty trial ensued, and the jury in Calhoun County awarded her $600,000, the highest ever in that courtroom. The trial was as sordid as a divorce, with allegations of drinking and pot smoking and bad behavior. The two men were members of a hunting club and had been at deer camp for a week. During the trial, a contentious issue was safety, and several experts testified about gun laws and hunter education.