Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

“You got that right.”

“So at least be honest and tell them that Noose appointed me, and that I didn’t ask for the case.”

“I’ll do that.”

—

THE JAILER OPENED the door and switched on a dim light. Jake followed him inside as his eyes tried to refocus in the semidarkness. He had been in the juvie cell before, many times.

The normal procedure would have been to handcuff the inmate and walk him down the hall to an interrogation room where he would meet face-to-face with his lawyer while a jailer stood guard just outside the door. No one could remember a lawyer being attacked in the jail by his client, but they were cautious nonetheless. There was a first time for everything and the clientele was not the most predictable.

However, it was obvious to Ozzie and the jailer that this inmate posed no threat. Drew had completely withdrawn and refused all food. He had said nothing since his sister left twelve hours earlier.

The jailer whispered, “Shall I leave the door open, just in case?”

Jake shook his head no and the jailer left, closing the door behind him. Drew was still on the bottom bunk, using as little space as possible. Under a thin blanket, he was curled with his knees to his chest and his back to the door, wrapped tight and warm in his own little dark cocoon. Jake pulled over a plastic stool and sat down, making as much noise as possible. The kid did not flinch, did nothing to acknowledge the presence of his visitor.

Jake adjusted to the utter stillness, then coughed and said, “Say, Drew, my name is Jake. Are you there? Anybody home?”

Nothing.

“I’m a lawyer and the judge has assigned me to your case. I’ll bet you’ve met a lawyer before, right, Drew?”

Nothing.

“Okay. Well, you and I need to be friends because you’re about to spend a lot of time with me, and with the judge, and with the court system. You ever been to court before, Drew?”

Nothing.

“Something tells me that you’ve been to court.”

Nothing.

“I’m a good guy, Drew. I’m on your side.”

Nothing. A minute passed, then two. The blanket rose and fell slightly as Drew breathed. Jake could not see if his eyes were open.

Another minute. Jake said, “Okay, can we talk about your mother, Drew? Josie Gamble. You know she’s okay, right?”

Nothing. Then a slight movement under the blanket as he slowly uncurled his legs and stretched them.

“And your sister, Kiera. Let’s talk about Josie and Kiera. They’re both safe right now, Drew. I want you to know this.”

Nothing.

“Drew, we’re not getting anywhere here. I want you to turn around and look at me. It’s the least you can do. Roll over and say hello and let’s have a chat.”

The boy grunted the word “No.”

“Great, now we’re getting somewhere. You can talk after all. Ask me a question about your mother, okay? Anything.”

Softly, he asked, “Where is she?”

“Turn around and sit up and look at me when you talk.”

He rolled over and sat up, careful not to hit his head on the frame of the top bunk. He pulled the blanket tight around his neck as if it protected him and leaned forward with his feet hanging free. Dirty socks, shoes over by the commode. He stared at the floor and huddled under the blanket.

Jake studied his face and was certain there had to be a mistake. Drew’s eyes were red and puffy from a day spent under the covers and probably no small amount of crying. His blond hair was wild and in need of a trim. And he was tiny.

When Jake was sixteen years old he was the starting quarterback for Karaway High School, ten miles from Clanton. He also played basketball and baseball and was shaving, driving, and dating every cute girl who would say yes. This kid belonged on a bike with training wheels.

Chatter was important and Jake said, “Paperwork says you’re sixteen years old, right?”

No response.

“When’s your birthday?”

He stared at the floor, motionless.

“Come on, Drew, surely you know your own birthday.”

“Where’s my mother?”

“She’s at the hospital and she’ll be there for a few days. She has a broken jaw and I think the doctors want to operate. I’m going by there tomorrow to say hello and I’d like to tell her that you’re okay. Under the circumstances.”

“She’s not dead?”

“No, Drew, your mother is not dead. What do you want me to say to her?”

“I thought she was dead. So did Kiera. We both thought Stu had finally killed her. That’s why I shot him. What’s your name?”

“Jake. I’m your lawyer.”

“The last lawyer lied to me.”

“Sorry about that, but I’m not lying. I swear I don’t lie. Ask me something now, anything, and I promise I’ll give you a straight answer without lying. Try me.”

“How long will I be here in jail?”

Jake hesitated and said, “I don’t know and that’s not a lie. It’s the truth, because right now nobody knows how long you’ll stay in jail. A safe answer would be ‘a long time.’ They’re going to charge you with killing Stuart Kofer, and murder is the most serious crime of all.”

He looked at Jake and with red moist eyes said, “But I thought he killed my mother.”

“I get that, but the truth is, Drew, that he didn’t.”

“I’m still glad I shot him.”

“I wish you had not.”

“I don’t care if they keep me in prison forever because he can never hurt my mother again. And he can’t hurt Kiera and he can’t hurt me. He got what he deserved, Mr. Jake.”

“It’s just ‘Jake,’ okay? Drew and Jake. Lawyer and client.”

Drew wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes tightly and began shaking, shivering as if the chills were sweeping through him. Jake pulled down another thin blanket from the top bunk and draped it over his shoulders. He was sobbing now, shaking and sobbing with tears dripping off his cheeks. He cried for a long time, a small, pitiful, terrified little boy so utterly alone in the world. More of a little boy than a teenager, Jake thought more than once.

When the shaking stopped, Drew went back into his own world and refused to speak, refused to acknowledge Jake’s presence. He wrapped himself in the blankets, lay down, and stared blankly at the mattress frame above him.

Jake brought up his mother again, but it didn’t work. He mentioned food and soft drinks but there was no response. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. When it became apparent that Drew was not going to respond, Jake said, “Okay, I’m outta here, Drew. I’ll see your mother in the morning and tell her you’re doing just great. While I’m away, you are not to speak to anyone else. No jailer, no policeman, no investigator, nobody, you hear? Which, for you, should not be a problem. Just say nothing until I get back.”

Jake left him much as he’d found him, lying still, trance-like, staring wide-eyed but seeing nothing.

He closed the door behind him. At the desk he signed out, avoided some familiar faces, and left the jail on foot for the long walk home.

—

OUT OF CURIOSITY, he took a detour near the square and saw an office light on, as he’d expected. Harry Rex often locked himself away late at night, especially on Sunday, to catch up with the madness that was his practice. During most days his dingy waiting room was filled with warring spouses and other unhappy clients, and he spent more time refereeing than settling disputes. In addition to that stress, his fourth marriage was not going well and he preferred the late-night tranquility of his office over the tension around the house.

Jake tapped on a window and entered through a rear door. Harry Rex met him in the kitchen and removed two cans of beer from the fridge. They settled into a cluttered workroom beside his office. “Why are you out so late?” he asked.