Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

The only response was more of the same. She withdrew her hand, glanced at her watch, and relaxed as if they might be a while. A minute passed, then two. After five, she nodded at Jake and he quietly left the room.

—

THE HOSPITAL WAS not far away. Jake found Ms. Gamble in a second-floor semi-private room shared with what appeared to be a corpse but was, as it turned out, a ninety-six-year-old man who had just received a new kidney. At ninety-six?

Kiera had secured a small foldout bed and it was tucked next to her mother’s. They had been there for two nights and would be leaving in the afternoon. Where they were headed was still undecided.

Josie looked awful with a swollen and bruised face, but she was in good spirits and claimed to be free of pain. The surgery had gone well, all the bones were accounted for and rearranged, and she didn’t have to see a doctor for a week.

Jake settled into a chair at the foot of her bed and asked if they wanted to talk. What else did they have to do until discharged? A friendly nurse brought him a cup of hospital coffee and pulled the curtain so the corpse couldn’t hear them. They spoke in low voices and Jake explained where Drew was and what was happening. For a moment Josie was hopeful she might be able to see him since he was just around the corner, but realized neither was in any condition for a visit. The sheriff wouldn’t allow it and Drew was headed back to jail in short order.

Jake said, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be your lawyer. As I explained, the judge gave me a temporary appointment to handle the preliminary matters, and he plans to find someone else later.”

“Why can’t you be our lawyer?” Josie asked. Her words were slow and difficult, but clear enough for a conversation.

“I am, for now. We’ll see what happens later.”

Kiera, who was shy and had trouble keeping eye contact, said, “Mr. Callison from our church said you’re the best lawyer in the county, said we’re lucky to have you.”

Jake had not expected to be backed into a corner by his clients and forced to explain why he didn’t want them. He certainly couldn’t, and wouldn’t, admit that Drew’s case was so toxic he was worried about his own reputation. In all likelihood, he would live in Clanton for the rest of his life and try to make a decent living. The Gambles would probably be gone in a few months. But how could he explain this to two people staying in a hospital with no home, no clothing, no money, and the frightening prospect of their son and brother facing the death penalty? At the moment, he was their only protection. The church folks could provide food and comfort, but that was temporary.

He tried to duck with “Well, Mr. Callison is a very nice man, but there are a lot of good lawyers around here. The judge will probably pick someone with experience in juvenile matters.”

Jake felt guilty at his own bullshit. It wasn’t a juvenile matter and would never become one, and there were only a handful of lawyers in north Mississippi with capital trial experience. And Jake knew damned well that all of them would be hiding from their telephones in the days to come. No one wanted a dead-cop case in a small town. Harry Rex was right. The case had already become a liability and would only get worse.

Armed with a yellow legal pad, Jake managed to steer the conversation away from his representation and into the family’s history. Without asking about Josie’s past, he pried into their other addresses, other homes, other towns. How did they end up in rural Ford County? Where had they lived before, and before that?

At times Kiera remembered details, and at other times she drifted away and seemed to lose interest. One moment she was engaged, the next she was frightened and withdrawn. She was a pretty girl, tall for her age, with deep brown eyes and long dark hair. She looked nothing like her brother, and no one would have guessed that she was two years younger.

The more Jake probed, the more he became convinced that she too had been traumatized. Perhaps not by Stuart Kofer, but by other people who’d had the opportunity over the years. She had lived with relatives, in two foster homes, in an orphanage, in a camper, under an overpass, in a homeless shelter. The deeper he dug, the sadder their story became, and after an hour he’d had enough.

He said goodbye with the promise to check on Drew and to see them again as soon as possible.

13

Thursday lunch meant a quick visit to the school’s cafeteria where parents were invited to grab a tray and for two dollars dine on either grilled chicken tenders or spaghetti and meatballs. It was not one of Jake’s favorite meals of the week, but food was not important since he got to sit with Hanna and a gaggle of her fourth-grade girlfriends. As the weeks passed, and as they grew, he was dismayed to learn that they spent more time talking about boys. He was scheming of ways to put a stop to it but so far had thought of nothing. Carla usually dropped by for a quick chat, but her sixth graders were on a different schedule.

Mandy Baker’s mother, Helen, was an occasional guest and Jake knew the family, though they would never be close. They sat across from each other on the low stools and listened with amusement as the girls all talked at once. After a few moments the girls forgot their parents were there and ramped up the chatter. When they were thoroughly preoccupied, Helen said, “I just can’t believe that about Stuart Kofer, can you?”

“Such a tragedy,” Jake said as he chewed on some chicken. Helen’s husband’s family owned a string of self-service gas stations and were rumored to be doing well. They lived at the country club and Jake avoided most of the people out there. They put on airs and enjoyed looking down and he had no patience with them.

Helen did the lunch once a month, and Jake assumed she had chosen this day to say what she was about to say. So, when she said it, he was prepared. Leaning in a bit lower, she said, “I can’t believe you would represent a killer like that, Jake. I thought you were one of us.”

Or, he thought he was prepared. The “one of us” caught him off guard and instantly brought to mind several stinging and snappy retorts that would only make things worse. He let them pass and said, “Gotta have a lawyer, Helen. You can’t put the boy in the gas chamber if he doesn’t have a lawyer. Surely you understand that.”

“Oh, I guess. But there are so many lawyers around here. Why do you have to get involved?”

“Who would you choose, Helen?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What about some of those ACLU types in Memphis or even down in Jackson. You know, the real bleeding hearts. I can’t imagine doing that for a living, representing killers and child rapists and such.”

“How often do you read the Constitution?” he asked, a bit sharper than he had intended.

“Oh, come on, Jake. Don’t give me all that legal mess.”

“No, Helen, the Constitution, as interpreted by the Supreme Court, says that a person accused of a serious crime must have a lawyer. And that’s the law of the land.”

“I suppose. I just don’t understand why you’re involved.”

Jake bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that neither she nor her husband nor anyone in their families had ever sought his advice or legal services. Why, then, was she now so concerned about his practice?

She was just a gossip who could now boast to her friends that she had bumped into Jake Brigance and dressed him down in public for representing such a despicable killer. She would no doubt expand the story, lunch on it for the next month, and gain the admiration of her friends.

Thankfully, Carla appeared and eased into the child’s chair next to Jake. She greeted Helen warmly and asked how her Aunt Euna was doing since her fall. The murder was instantly forgotten as the conversation moved to the upcoming fourth-grade talent show.