Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

“The State is not opposed to an exam but I don’t want that kid out of jail for any reason.”

“Got that. Okay, I’ll sign the order. Do you have other business today?”

Dyer replied, “No sir.”

“You’re excused, Mr. Dyer.”

—

THE CURIOUS CONTINUED to stream into the courtroom. The minutes passed and Judge Noose did not appear. Near the jury box, Walter Sullivan sat with his co-counsel, Sean Gilder, an insurance lawyer from Jackson who was defending the railroad in the Smallwood case. They spoke in low voices about this and that, lawyer talk for the most part, but as the crowd grew Walter began to realize something.

Harry Rex’s instincts were correct. The lawyers for the railroad and its insurance company had finally agreed to approach Jake with the idea of a preliminary chat about a settlement. But they planned to be extremely cautious. On the one hand, the case was dangerous because the damages were high—four dead family members—and Jake would be trying the case on his turf, indeed in the very courtroom where they were now sitting and from which he walked out with Carl Lee Hailey as an innocent man. But on the other hand, the railroad and insurance lawyers were still confident they could win because of liability issues. Taylor Smallwood, the driver, had hit the fourteenth boxcar of a moving freight train without, evidently, touching his brakes. Their expert estimated his speed at seventy miles per hour. Jake’s expert thought it was closer to sixty. The speed limit on that forlorn stretch of road was only fifty-five.

There were other issues to worry about. The railroad crossing had historically been badly maintained, and Jake had the records and photos to prove it. There had been other accidents, and Jake had those reports enlarged and ready to show to his jury. The only known eyewitness was an unstable carpenter who had been following the Smallwood car perhaps a hundred yards behind, and he was adamant in his deposition that the red flashing lights were not working at the time. However, there were rumors, still unsubstantiated, that the gentleman had been drinking in a honky-tonk.

That was the terrifying aspect of going to trial in Ford County. Jake Brigance was an upstanding young lawyer with an impeccable reputation and could be trusted to play by the rules. However, his clique included Harry Rex, also his co-counsel, and the loathsome Lucien Wilbanks, neither of whom spent much time worrying about the ethics of the profession.

Thus, there was the potential for a huge verdict, but the jury could just as easily blame Taylor Smallwood and find in favor of the railroad. With so many unknowns, the insurance company wanted to explore settlement. If Jake wanted millions, then the negotiations wouldn’t last long. If he chose to be more reasonable, they could find common ground and make everyone happy.

Walter tried few cases himself, preferring instead to be the local guy when the big firms from Jackson and Memphis rolled in and needed a presence. He collected modest fees for doing little more than using his connections and helping to weed out potential problems during the selection of the jury.

As the courtroom buzzed with quiet gossip and speculation, Walter realized that Jake was about to become the most unpopular lawyer in town. Those folks packing into the pews were not there to support Drew Gamble and whatever family he might have. No sir. They were there to get a hateful look at the killer and silently rage against the injustice of treating him with sympathy. And if Mr. Brigance somehow worked his magic again and got the kid released, there might be trouble in the streets.

Sullivan leaned toward his co-counsel and said, “Let’s get through the motions and not broach the idea of settlement, not today anyway.”

“And why not?”

“I’ll explain later. There’s plenty of time.”

—

ACROSS THE COURTROOM, Harry Rex chewed on the ragged end of an unlit cigar and pretended to listen to a bad joke from a bailiff while glancing at the crowd. He recognized a girl from high school, couldn’t remember her last name back then but he knew she had married a Kofer. How many of these people were related to the victim? How many would resent Jake Brigance?

As the minutes dragged on and the crowd grew, Harry Rex confirmed his original fear. His buddy Jake was taking a case that would pay peanuts and, in doing so, risking a case that could be a bonanza.

11

Late Tuesday morning, Pastor Charles McGarry, his wife, Meg, and Kiera arrived at the hospital and went to the waiting room on the third floor where they checked in with the crew from his church. They had things well under control and were feeding half the hospital’s staff and some of its patients as well.

Few things excite country folk more than a trip to the hospital, either as visitors or patients, and the members of the tiny church were rallying around the Gamble family with great love and enthusiasm. Or at least around Josie and Kiera. Drew, the accused killer, was locked away and none of their concern, which was fine with them. But the mother and sister had done nothing wrong and were in dire need of sympathy.

Josie’s room was busy with nurses preparing her for the trip. Kiera hugged her and then backed into a corner where Charles waited and watched. Her doctors were convinced that there was a better reconstructive specialist in the larger hospital in Tupelo, where her surgery was scheduled for early Wednesday morning.

She managed to swing her feet off the bed, stand alone, and walk three steps to the gurney where she settled in as nurses restrung tubes and wires. She tried to smile at Kiera, but her face was swollen and covered with gauze.

They followed her down the hall, where she passed the admiring crowd from Good Shepherd, and to the service elevator and down to the basement where an ambulance was waiting. Kiera left with Charles and Meg and hustled to his car. They followed the ambulance away from the hospital, out of town, and into the countryside. Tupelo was an hour away.

—

AS JAKE WAS trying his best to sneak out of the courthouse through a rear door, someone called his name. Oddly enough, it was Ozzie, who knew the secret passages and rooms as well as anyone. “Got a minute?” he said as they stopped beside two ancient vending machines. Ozzie preferred to be noticed around the courthouse, shaking hands, slapping backs, lots of laughs, a big personality, ever the politician shoring up his base. To find him lurking in the shadows could only mean that he didn’t want to be seen chatting with Jake.

“Sure,” Jake said, as if he or anyone else in the county could say no to Ozzie.

He handed Jake a square envelope with the words SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT stamped on the front. “Earl Kofer called this mornin’ and had his nephew bring these by the jail. It’s the keys to Ms. Gamble’s car. We went out and got the car, brought it in, it’s parked behind the jail. Just so you’ll know.”

“I didn’t realize I represented Josie Gamble.”

“You do now, or at least everybody thinks so. Earl was quite clear. She is never to set foot on that property again. They’ve changed the locks and if they see her they’ll probably start shootin’. She and the kids didn’t have much in the way of clothes and such, but it’s all been destroyed. Earl bragged about burnin’ it last night along with the bloody mattress. Said he almost burned the car too but figured she owed money on it.”

“Just tell Earl to keep his matches dry, okay?”

“I’d like to avoid Earl myself for a few days.”

“Was he in court this morning?”

“I think so, yes. He doesn’t like the fact that you’re representin’ the guy who killed his son.”

“I’ve never met Earl Kofer and there’s no reason he should be concerned with my law practice.”