Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

“I have one of those friendly, drive-by appraisals at three hundred thousand. And a mortgage to match it dollar-for-dollar.”

“We’re not using your house, Jake. What if I set the bond at fifty thousand dollars?”

“No sir. That means we, or I, will have to scrounge up five thousand cash for the bondsman. It’s a racket and we all know it. Right now I don’t have five thousand bucks to spare. Take the deed, Judge. The kid’ll be in court when he’s called.”

Noose tossed his copy of the deed on the table. “Lowell?”

“The State will oppose any bail for this defendant. It is capital murder.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Jake said.

Noose slapped a hand to his chin and begin scratching. “All right. The deed will suffice.”

Jake reached for more papers and handed them over. “I’ve already prepared an order for you to sign. I’ll talk to the clerk in just a moment. Then I’ll talk to Ozzie, if he’ll take my call, and arrange the transfer. I’ll pick up the kid first thing in the morning and take him to Oxford. Look, we were friends when this started and we’ll be friends when it’s over. I need your help in keeping this as quiet as possible. Josie owes money and has already been served with lawsuits. Kiera is having a child out of wedlock but no one in Oxford knows anything about it. I’d like her to start school as just another fourteen-year-old girl, not a young mother. And there might be some people who would like nothing more than to find Drew walking down the street. Secrecy is important here.”

“Understood,” Dyer said.

Noose waved him off as if he didn’t need the warnings.

—

LUCIEN WANTED A Friday afternoon drink on his porch and was pushy about the invitation. Jake didn’t want to hang around his office, and after he finally got Ozzie on the phone and worked out the details of the release, he drove over and parked behind the old Porsche. Lucien, of course, was sitting in his rocker, drink in hand, and Jake wondered how many he’d already knocked back.

Jake took a seat in another rocker and they chatted about the heat and humidity. Normally, Sallie would eventually materialize and ask about a beverage, then bring one as if she was doing him a favor.

Lucien said, “I invited you for a drink. The bar hasn’t moved and there’s beer in the fridge.”

Jake left and returned with a bottle of beer. They drank for a while and listened to the crickets. Finally, Jake said, “You wanted to talk about something.”

“Yes. Reuben stopped by yesterday.”

“Judge Atlee?”

“How many Reubens do you know around here?”

“Why are you always the smart-ass?”

“Practice.”

“I actually know another Reuben. Winslow. He goes to our church so you wouldn’t know him.”

“Now who’s the smart-ass?”

“It’s a defensive measure.”

“Reuben and I go way back. We’ve had our differences, but we still talk.”

It would be impossible to find any lawyer, judge, or elected official in Clanton who had not had their differences with Lucien Wilbanks.

“And what’s on his mind?”

“He’s worried about you. You know Reuben. He fancies himself as the shepherd of all legal matters in town and quietly keeps up with things. Little happens in the courthouse that he doesn’t know about. He knew almost as much about the Gamble trial as I did and I was in the courtroom.”

“Sounds like Reuben.”

“He was not surprised at the hung jury, nor was I. They can try that boy ten times and won’t get a conviction, or an acquittal. Your defense was masterful, Jake. I watched you with great pride.”

“Thank you.” Jake was touched because compliments from Lucien were rare. Criticism was the norm.

“A strange case indeed. Impossible to convict, impossible to acquit. I’m sure they’ll try again.”

“December tenth, either in Smithfield or Temple.”

Lucien absorbed this and took a drink. “Meanwhile, he sits in jail, an innocent boy.”

“No. He gets out in the morning.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I didn’t. Portia did. She prepared a habeas corpus petition, wrote a compelling brief, and I showed it to Noose this morning. I threatened him with it, said I would file it here then take it federal.”

Lucien laughed for a long time, rattling his ice. When the humor passed, he said, “Anyway, back to Reuben. He’s bothered by some things. Smallwood . He doesn’t like the railroad and thinks it has operated dangerously around here for decades. He told me that thirty years ago a friend of his came within an inch of hitting a train at that same crossing. Guy got lucky and avoided an accident. Reuben has had Central in court a few times over the years, condemnation suits and such. He finds its people arrogant and stupid and just doesn’t care for the company.”

“I have the documents,” Jake said casually, though he had perked up considerably.

“And he’s bothered by the mystery witness, what’s his name?”

“Neal Nickel.”

“Reuben being Reuben, he’s read the court file from front to back, and he’s bothered by the fact that this guy was at the scene for three hours, cops everywhere, and he said nothing. Then he went home and hoped it would go away. Then he showed up the Friday before the trial wanting to testify. That strikes Reuben as being unfair.”

“Well, it was definitely a shock. But why is Reuben reading the court file? Surely he has enough work on his desk.”

“Says he reads files for pleasure. And he’s bothered by the child, the family’s only survivor, and is worried about her future. You set up the guardianship in Reuben’s court and he approved it, so he has a right to be concerned. He wants the child taken care of.”

“The child is being raised by Sarah Smallwood’s sister. It’s a decent home. Not great, but okay.”

Lucien drained his glass and stood slowly. Jake watched him walk away as if cold sober, and knew that the story was far from over. If it was headed in the right direction, Jake’s entire future might improve dramatically. Suddenly anxious, he gulped his beer and thought about fetching another.

Lucien returned with a fresh whiskey and began rocking again. “Anyway, Reuben doesn’t like the way the case is going.”

“Nor do I. I’m in debt because of it.”

“A good strategy might be to non-suit the case in circuit court, then refile in chancery.”

“The old non-suit trick,” Jake said. “We studied it in law school.”

A non-suit allowed a plaintiff to file a lawsuit, then dismiss it for any reason under the sun before a verdict, then refile it when convenient. Sue, and if discovery goes badly, non-suit and walk away. Sue, get to trial, get a rough-looking jury, then non-suit and fight another day. There was a famous case from the Gulf Coast in which a plaintiff’s lawyer panicked when jury deliberations dragged on and he thought he was about to lose. He announced a non-suit and everybody went home. The next day it was revealed that the jury had just decided to give his client a generous verdict. He refiled, tried the case a year later, and lost. His client sued him for malpractice, and won. Defense lawyers hated the rule. Plaintiffs’ lawyers knew it was unfair but fought to keep it. Most states had moved on to more modern procedures.

“What an archaic rule,” Jake said.

“True, but it’s still on the books. Use it to your advantage.”

Jake finished his beer. It was obvious that Lucien was in no hurry and was enjoying the moment. Jake asked, “And what might happen in chancery?”

“Good things. Reuben assumes jurisdiction of the case because of the guardianship and his responsibility to protect the child. He sets a trial date and off you go.”