Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

He walked down the street, ducked into the Coffee Shop, and found Dell at the counter drying glasses. He gave her a quick hug and they huddled in a booth in the rear.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“No. Just coffee.”

She went to the counter, returned with a pot, filled two cups, sat down and asked, “How you doing?”

“I’m good. It’s a win but it’s only temporary.”

“I hear they’ll do it again.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot this week.”

She laughed and said, “Yes, I have. Prather and Looney were in this morning and there was plenty of talk.”

“Let me guess. Brigance pulled another slick one and got the boy off.”

“Several versions of that, yes. The guys were pretty ticked off because you kept them in court all week over there under subpoena, then didn’t call them to the stand.”

Jake shrugged it off. “That’s part of their job. They’ll get over it.”

“Sure they will. Prather said you ambushed them with the pregnant girl, said you kept her in hiding.”

“It was a fair fight, Dell. Lowell Dyer got out-lawyered and the facts fell our way. And the boy’s still in jail.”

“Can he get out?”

“I doubt it. He should get out, you know? He’s still innocent until proven guilty. Was that ever mentioned?”

“No, of course not. They said the testimony was pretty ugly, said you made Kofer look like a monster.”

“I didn’t change a single fact, Dell. And yes, Stuart Kofer got what he deserved.”

“Old man Hitchcock stood up for you. Said that if he ever got in trouble you’d be the first lawyer he called.”

“That’s just what I need—another client who can’t pay a dime.”

“It’s not all bad, Jake. You still have some friends here, and on some level there’s a certain amount of admiration for your skills in the courtroom.”

“That’s nice to hear, Dell, but I really don’t care anymore. I’ve starved for twelve years because I’ve worried about the gossip. Those days are over. I’m tired of starving.”

She squeezed his hand and said, “I’m proud of you, Jake.”

The bell on the door rattled and a couple walked in. Dell smiled at him and left to see what they wanted. Jake stepped to the counter and picked up a copy of the Tupelo paper. He returned to the booth and sat with his back to the door. There was a photo of Drew on the front page, under the headline: “Judge Declares Mistrial After Jury Splits.” He had read the story hours earlier and didn’t need to read it again. So he flipped to the sports page and read a preview of the SEC football season.

—

PORTIA WAS AT her desk clipping newspaper articles. Jake walked in and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Got bored just sitting around the house. Plus, Momma’s in a mood this morning. I really can’t wait to get out and go to law school.”

Jake laughed and sat across from her. “What are you doing?”

“Putting together your scrapbook. You gonna talk to any of these reporters? All the articles say: ‘Mr. Brigance had no comment.’ ”

“Mr. Brigance has nothing to say, and the case is not over.”

“Well, you sure had plenty to say back in the Hailey trial. I’ve read your file full of clippings for that one, and Mr. Brigance thoroughly enjoyed talking to reporters back then.”

“I’ve learned. Lawyers should stick with ‘No comment,’ but they find it impossible. Never stand between a hotshot lawyer and a television camera. It’s dangerous.”

She shoved the clippings away and said, “Look, I know I’ve said this before, but I want to say it again before I leave. What you and Judge Atlee did with the Hubbard money was just wonderful. Because of the education fund, me and my cousins get to go to college. My law school is paid for, Jake, and I’ll always be thankful.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not my money, I just get to control the checkbook.”

“Well, you’re a great trustee, and we appreciate it.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to dole out the money for worthy students.”

“I’m gonna do well in law school, Jake, I promise. And when I finish I’m coming back here to work.”

“Looks like you’re already hired. You’ve had this office for two years and most of the time you act like you own the place.”

“I’ve even learned to like Lucien, which, as we know, is not that easy.”

“He likes you, Portia, and he wants you here. But you’ll get offers from big firms. Things are changing and they’re looking for diversity. You perform too well in law school and they’ll throw money at you.”

“I have no interest in that. I want to be in the courtroom, Jake, like you, helping people, my people. You gave me the chance to sit through that trial, just like I was a real lawyer. You’ve inspired me.”

“Thanks, but let’s not get too carried away. I may have won the case, but I’m broker now than before I met Drew Gamble. And he’s not going away.”

“Yeah, but you’ll survive, Jake. Won’t you?”

“I will, somehow.”

“Well, you gotta hang on until I finish law school.”

“I’ll be here. And I’ll need you over the next three years. There’s always plenty of research to do.” Jake glanced at his watch and smiled. “Hey, it’s Friday, white folks’ day at Claude’s. Let’s do a firm lunch.”

“Can the firm afford one?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “But Claude will extend credit.”

“Let’s go.”

They walked around the square to the restaurant and arrived just before the noon crowd. Claude hugged them both and pointed to a table near the window. He had never seen the need to invest in printed menus, and his customers were offered whatever he happened to be cooking, usually ribs, catfish, barbecue chicken, baked beans with plenty of vegetables.

Jake spoke to an elderly couple he had known since high school. No one seemed even remotely interested in the Gamble trial. Portia ordered ribs and Jake was in the mood for catfish. They sipped sweet tea and watched the place fill up.

“A question,” she said. “Something has been bothering me.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’ve read all of the reports from the Hailey trial, five years ago. You did an interview with a Mr. McKittrick from The New York Times, and you gave a fairly spirited defense of the death penalty. You said, among other things, that the problem with the gas chamber was that it wasn’t used often enough. I know you don’t feel that way now. What happened?”

Jake smiled and watched the foot traffic on the sidewalk. “Carl Lee happened. Once I got to know him, and his family, it hit me pretty hard that he could well be convicted and sent to Parchman for ten or fifteen years while I fought his appeals, and that one day the State would strap him down and turn on the gas. I couldn’t live with that. As his lawyer, I would spend his last moments with him in the holding room, next door to the gas chamber, probably with a minister or a chaplain, and then they would take him away. I would walk around a corner to a witness room and sit with Gwen, his wife, and Lester, his brother, and probably other family members, and we would watch him die. I lost sleep with those nightmares. I studied the history of the death penalty, really for the first time in my life, and saw the obvious problems. The unfairness, the inequalities, the waste of time, money, and lives. I’m also struck by the moral quandary. We treasure life and can all agree that it is wrong to kill, so why do we allow ourselves, through the state, to legally kill people? So, I changed my mind. I guess it’s part of growing up, of living, of maturing. It’s only natural to question our beliefs.”

Claude practically tossed the two baskets on the table and said, “You got thirty minutes.”