Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

“The State tries to suggest, tries to imply, that perhaps the three Gambles are prone to embellish, to exaggerate. Seriously?” Suddenly, he raised his voice and was angry. He pointed at Kiera on the front row behind the defense table. “You see that little girl right there? Kiera Gamble, age fourteen and over seven months pregnant by Stuart Kofer? And do you think she’s exaggerating?”

He took a deep breath and let the anger pass. “When you deliberate, look at the photo of Josie Gamble in the hospital, with her jaw shattered, her face bruised, her eyes swollen, and ask yourselves if she’s embellishing. They’re not lying to you. Quite the contrary, they could tell many more stories about the horror of living with Stuart Kofer.

“What happened to Stuart Kofer? What happened to the local boy who joined the army and wanted to make it a career before being asked to leave? What happened to the fine young deputy known for his bravery and his involvement with the community? Where did the dark side come from? Perhaps something happened in the army. Perhaps the pressure of his work got to him? We’ll never know, I guess, but we can all agree that his loss is a tragedy.

“His dark side. We can’t understand what makes a man, a big strong tough cop and ex-soldier, kick, hit, and slap around a woman who weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, breaking her bones, her teeth, busting her lips, knocking her unconscious, then threatening to kill her if she tells anyone. We can’t understand why Kofer physically abused and threatened a skinny little kid like Drew. We can’t understand how a man becomes a sexual predator and goes after a fourteen-year-old girl just because she’s available, because she lives in his house. Nor can we understand how a man chooses to drink himself, time and time again, into a state of raging violence and unconsciousness. We can’t understand how an officer of the law, one known to be tough on drunk drivers, could spend the whole day drinking and saturate himself with alcohol to the point of passing out, then waking up and deciding it’s okay to get behind the wheel of a car. Point-three-six.”

Jake paused and shook his head as if disgusted by the ugliness of his own words. All twelve were staring at him, all uncomfortable at the ugliness.

“His house. A house that became a living hell for Josie and her kids. A house they wanted so badly to leave but had nowhere to go. A house that grew more terrifying each weekend. A house that was like a powder keg, where the stress and pressure mounted day by day until it became inevitable that someone was going to get hurt. A house that was so awful that Josie’s kids were begging her to leave.

“Now, the prosecution wants you to ignore all this, and concentrate instead on the last ten seconds of Stuart’s life. Mr. Dyer suggests that Drew should have waited. And waited. But waited for what? There was no one to help them. They had waited before for the police to come. They came all right, but they didn’t help. They had waited for weeks and months, desperately hoping that Kofer would find help and get a handle on his drinking and his temper. They had waited for hours during those long, terrifying nights, waiting for the headlights of Stuart’s car in the driveway, waiting to see if he could actually walk himself into his house, waiting for the inevitable fight. They had waited all right, and the waiting only brought them closer to disaster.

“Okay, I’ll take the bait. Let’s talk about the last ten seconds. As his mother lay unconscious and apparently dead, and with his sister tending to her and pleading with her to wake up, and with Kofer making noises in the bedroom, my client felt a fear and a danger that was unbearable. He feared great bodily harm, even death, not only for himself but for his sister, and he had to do something. It is wrong to take those last ten seconds and dissect them here in this courtroom, some five months after the crime, and far, far removed from the horror of the scene, and say, well he should have done this or he should have done that. Not a single one of us can know or predict what we would do in a situation like that. It’s impossible.

“However, what we do know is that we will take extraordinary measures to protect ourselves and those we love. And that’s exactly what my client did.”

He paused and took in the stillness of the courtroom and the rapt attention from everyone watching and listening. He lowered his voice and took a step closer to the jurors. “Josie and her kids have had a chaotic life. She was very honest about her mistakes and she would do anything to go back and do it all over. They haven’t had much luck, if any. And look at them now. Drew is on trial for his life. Kiera is pregnant after being raped repeatedly. What kind of future do they have? I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to show a little mercy, a little compassion. When you and I leave here we’ll go home and get on with our lives, and with time this trial will become a fading memory. They’re not so lucky. I plead with you for compassion, for understanding, for mercy to allow this sad little family—Drew, Kiera, Josie—the chance to rebuild their own lives. I plead with you to find Drew Allen Gamble not guilty. Thank you.”

—

WHEN THE JURY was gone, Judge Noose said, “We’ll be in recess until two o’clock, at which time we’ll reconvene and check the status of the deliberations.” He tapped his gavel and disappeared.

Jake walked over and shook hands with Lowell Dyer and D. R. Musgrove and congratulated them on a fine job. Most of the spectators drifted out of the courtroom, but some stayed, as if waiting for a quick verdict. The Kofer gang didn’t budge and whispered among themselves. Drew was led away by three deputies and taken to his holding place, the meeting room of the Van Buren County Board of Supervisors.

Morris Finley’s mother lived on the family farm, deep in the countryside, ten miles from the courthouse. He met the defense team there for a pleasant lunch on a shaded patio with a lovely view of pastures and the pond where he had learned to swim. Mrs. Finley had been recently widowed and lived alone, and she relished the chance to throw a big lunch for Morris and his friends.

Over grilled chicken salads and ice tea, they rehashed the closing arguments and compared notes on the facial reactions and body language of the jurors. Harry Rex ate quickly and left to get to his office in Clanton, but Lucien hung around. He had little else to do and wanted to hear the verdict. “They’re all hung up,” he said, more than once.

Jake couldn’t eat and was exhausted. A trial was nothing but stress, but the worst part was waiting for the jury.

50

The first fight was verbal, though another angry word or two and it could have easily escalated into a punching match. It erupted over lunch when John Carpenter, juror number five, and without a doubt the one most feared by the defense, resumed his aggressive push to be elected foreman. By then the deliberations were hardly an hour old and Carpenter had done most of the talking. The other eleven were already tired of him. The twelve of them sat around a long table, eating quickly, choking down sandwiches, not sure what to do next because the tension was already palpable.

Carpenter said, “Well, does anybody else want to be foreman? I mean, look, if nobody else wants it then I’ll do the job.”

Joey Kepner said, “I don’t think you should be the foreman, because you’re not impartial.”

“The hell I’m not!” he shot across the table.

“You are not impartial.”

“Who the hell are you?” Carpenter said loudly.

“It’s pretty obvious you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I have not.”

“Your mind was made up Monday,” said Lois Satterfield.