Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

Ozzie said they could burn the mattress. They dragged it through the kitchen and across the small wooden deck to a spot in the backyard. They did the same with the headboard, frame, box springs, and pillows. No one would ever again sleep on Stuart’s bed. In a small closet in the hall, they found Josie’s clothes and shoes, and after taking stock of her belongings, Earl said, “Let’s burn ’em too.” In a dresser they found her undergarments, pajamas, socks, and so on, and in the bathroom they found her hair dryer and toiletries. Her purse was on a kitchen counter by the phone, and beside it was a set of car keys. Cecil left the keys and did not look inside the purse, but tossed it onto the mattress with the rest of her things.

Earl poured lighter fluid and lit a match. They watched the fire grow quickly and took a step back. “Get the kids’ stuff too,” he said to Cecil and Barry. “They ain’t comin’ back here.”

They raced upstairs to the boy’s room and grabbed everything that might burn—bed linens, clothing, shoes, books, a cheap CD player, banners on the wall. Barry cleaned out the girl’s room. She had a few more items than her brother, including some stuffed bears and other animals. In her closet he found a box of old dolls and other toys, which he hauled downstairs and outside and happily tossed on the roaring fire. They inched away from it and, mesmerized, watched it grow until it began to die out.

Barry asked his father, “What about her car?”

Earl sneered at the old Mazda parked beside the house and for a moment thought about torching it, too. But Barry said, “I think she owes money on it.”

“Better leave it alone,” Earl said.

They had discussed gathering Stuart’s personal effects, his guns and clothing and such, but Earl decided they could do it later. The house had been in the family for a long time and was secure. He would change the locks tomorrow and drive over to check on it each day. And he would pass along the word, through Ozzie, that there was no reason for that woman or her kids or any of her friends to ever set foot on Kofer property again. Ozzie could deal with her car.

—

DOG HICKMAN RAN the only motorcycle shop in town and sold new and used bikes. Though he was familiar with illegal activities, he had been smart enough to avoid getting caught and had no record, other than an old drunk-driving conviction. The police knew him well, but since he didn’t bother people he was left alone. Dog’s vices were primarily gambling, bootlegging, and dealing in pot.

Mick Swayze had traded several motorcycles with Dog and knew him well. He stopped by the shop after dark on Monday and, after assuring him that he was off-duty, took a beer. Mick got right to the point and promised Dog that Ozzie was not looking for people to accuse. He just wanted to know what happened on Saturday night.

“I’m not worried about Ozzie,” Dog said confidently. They were outside, leaning on his Mustang, smoking cigarettes. “I’ve done nothin’ wrong. I mean I wish I hadn’t drunk so much so maybe I could’ve stopped Stu before he got lit, you know? I should’ve stopped him, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We know that,” Swayze said. “And we know there were five of you at your cabin, passin’ around a jug. Who were the other three?”

“I ain’t snitchin’.”

“How can you snitch, Dog, if there’s no crime?”

“If there’s no crime, what are you doin’ here askin’ questions?”

“Ozzie wants to know, that’s all. Kofer was one of us and Ozzie liked him a lot. We all liked Stuart. Good cop. Great guy. He was also drunk as a skunk, Dog. Point-three-six.”

Dog shook his head in disbelief at this news and spat on the ground. “Well, I’ll tell you the truth. When I woke up yesterday mornin’ my head felt like it was point-five-five. I stayed in bed all day and barely got out this mornin’. Crazy shit, man.”

“What was it?”

“Fresh batch from Gary Garver. Peach flavored.”

“That’s three. Who were the other two?”

“This is confidential, right? You ain’t tellin’ nobody.”

“Got it.”

“Calvin Marr and Wayne Agnor. We started off with a case of beer, just playin’ poker in my cabin, no big plans really. Then Gary showed up with two quarts of his good stuff. We all got hammered. I mean, blacked out. First time in a long time and it was bad enough to make me think about quittin’.”

“What time did Kofer leave?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t awake when he left.”

“Who was awake?”

“Don’t know, Mick. I swear. I think we all passed out and things went black. I don’t remember much. At some point in the night, have no idea when, Stu and Gary left the cabin. When I woke up late Sunday, Calvin and Wayne were still there, in rough shape. We got up, tried to stir around, drank a couple of beers to kill the pain, then the phone rang and my brother told me Stu was dead. Shot in the head by some kid. Hell, he was just there, right there at the card table, shufflin’ cards and sippin’ peach whiskey from a coffee cup.”

“You been hangin’ out with Stu?”

“I don’t know. What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.”

“Not as much as a year ago. He was losin’ control, Mick, you know? We’d play poker once a month, usually at the cabin, and you could always count on Stu to overdo things, drink too much. Who am I, right? But there was talk about Stu. Some of his friends were concerned. Hell, we all drink too much, but sometimes it’s the drunks who see what’s really goin’ on. We figured Ozzie knew about it and turned a blind eye.”

“I don’t think so. Stu showed up for work every day and did his job. He was one of Ozzie’s favorites.”

“Mine too. Everybody liked Stu.”

“Will you talk to Ozzie?”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

“No rush, but he’d just like to have a chat. Maybe after the funeral.”

“Like I got a choice?”

“Not really.”

10

As with most hot courthouse rumors, the source would never be known. Did it spring to life behind a hint of the truth, or was it someone’s idea of a joke down in the Office of Land Records on the first floor? Did a bored lawyer create the fiction with one eye on the clock to see how soon the story would make the rounds and find its way back to him? Since the courthouse, indeed the entire town, was still buzzing with the details of the murder, it was not too far-fetched to believe that someone with a bit of authority, perhaps a deputy or a bailiff, might have said something like “Yep, we’re bringin’ the boy over today.”

At any rate, early Tuesday morning half the county knew for a fact that the kid who killed Stuart Kofer would appear in court for the first time, and for good measure the rumor was soon amended to include the irresistible fact that he would probably be released ! Something to do with his age.

On a routine day, the Civil Docket attracted only a few lawyers who had motions pending, never a crowd of spectators. But on Tuesday, the gallery was half full as dozens gathered in the main courtroom to witness this horrendous miscarriage of justice. The clerks checked and rechecked the docket to see if they had missed something. Judge Noose was not expected until almost ten, when the first motion hearing was supposed to start. When Jake ambled in at nine-thirty he at first thought he had somehow chosen the wrong date. He whispered to a clerk and was told about the rumor.

“That’s odd,” he whispered back as he scanned the hard faces staring at him. “Seems like I’d know it if my client was coming to court.”

“That’s usually the way we do things,” she whispered back.

Harry Rex arrived and began insulting an insurance lawyer. Others milled about with eyes on the crowd and wondering what was the attraction. Bailiffs and deputies huddled to one side, aware of the rumor but unaware of any orders to bring the defendant over from the jail.