Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

In private there were problems, but as brothers in uniform his colleagues tried to keep them from Ozzie. Tatum and Swayze and most of the deputies knew something of Stuart’s dark side, but it was easier to ignore it and hope for the best, hope no one got hurt.

Ozzie glanced in the mirror again and looked at Drew in the shadows. Head down, eyes closed, not a sound. And although Ozzie was stunned and angry, it was difficult to picture the kid as a murderer. Slight, shorter than his sister, pale, timid, obviously overwhelmed, the kid could pass for a shy twelve-year-old.

They roared into the dark streets of Clanton and soon slid to a stop in front of the jail, two blocks off the square. Outside the main door to the jail a deputy was standing with a man holding a camera.

“Dammit,” Ozzie said. “That’s Dumas Lee, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so,” Tatum said. “I guess word’s out. They all have police scanners these days.”

“Y’all stay in the car.” Ozzie got out, slammed his door, and walked straight for the reporter, already shaking his head. “You ain’t gettin’ nothin’, Dumas,” he said roughly. “There’s a minor involved and you ain’t gettin’ his name or his picture. Get outta here.”

Dumas Lee was one of two beat reporters for The Ford County Times, and he knew Ozzie well. “Can you confirm an officer has been killed?”

“I ain’t confirmin’ nothin’. You got ten seconds to get outta here before I slap cuffs on you and haul your ass inside. Beat it!”

The reporter slinked away and soon disappeared into the darkness. Ozzie watched him, then he and Tatum unloaded the kids and hustled them inside.

“You want to process them?” asked the jailer.

“No, we’ll do it later. Let’s just get ’em in the juvenile cell.”

With Tatum bringing up the rear, Drew and Kiera were led through a wall of bars and down a narrow hallway to a thick metal door with a narrow window. The jailer opened it and they stepped into the empty room. There were two sets of bunk beds and a dirty commode in one corner.

Ozzie said, “Take off the handcuffs.” Tatum snapped them off and Drew immediately rubbed his wrists. “You’re gonna stay here for a few hours,” Ozzie said.

“I want to see my mother,” Drew said, more forcefully than Ozzie expected.

“Son, you’re in no position to want anything right now. You’re under arrest for the murder of a law enforcement official.”

“He killed my mother.”

“Your mother is not dead, thankfully. I’m about to drive to the hospital and check on her. When I come back I’ll tell you what I know. That’s the best I can do.”

Kiera asked, “Why am I in jail? I didn’t do anything.”

“I know. You’re in jail for your own safety, and you won’t be here long. If we released you in a few hours, where would you go?”

Kiera looked at Drew and it was obvious they had no idea.

Ozzie asked, “Do y’all have any kinfolks around here? Aunts, uncles, grandparents? Anybody?”

Both hesitated then slowly shook their heads, no.

“Okay. It’s Kiera, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“If you had to call someone right now to come get you, who would you call?”

She looked at her feet and shook her head. “Our preacher, Brother Charles.”

“Charles who?”

“Charles McGarry, out in Pine Grove.”

Ozzie thought he knew all the preachers but perhaps he had missed one. In all fairness, there were three hundred churches in the county. Most were small congregations scattered throughout the countryside and notorious for fighting and splitting and running off their preachers. It was impossible for anyone to keep score. He looked at Tatum and said, “Don’t know him.”

“I do. Good guy.”

“Give him a call, wake him up, ask him to get down here.” He looked at the kids and said, “We’ll leave you here where you’re safe. They’ll bring in some snacks and drinks. Make yourself at home. I’m goin’ to the hospital.” He took a breath and looked at them with as little sympathy as possible. His overwhelming concern was a dead deputy and he was looking at the killer. Still, they were so lost and pathetic it was difficult to want revenge.

Kiera lifted her wet eyes and asked, “Sir, is he really dead?”

“He is indeed.”

“I’m sorry, but he beat our mother a lot, and he came after us too.”

Ozzie held up both hands and said, “Let’s not go any further. We’ll get a lawyer in here to talk to you kids and you can tell him anything you want. For now, just keep it quiet.”

“Yes sir.”

Ozzie and Tatum left the cell and slammed the door behind them. At the front, the jailer hung up his phone and said, “Sheriff, that was Earl Kofer, said he just heard that his son Stuart had been killed. Really upset. I said I didn’t know but you need to call him.”

Ozzie cursed under his breath and mumbled, “Just fixin’ to do that. But I need to get to the hospital. You can handle it, can’t you?”

“No,” Tatum said.

“Sure you can. Give him a few facts and tell him I’ll call later.”

“Thanks for nothin’.”

“You got it.” Ozzie hustled out the front door and drove away.

—

IT WAS ALMOST 5:00 a.m. when Ozzie wheeled into the hospital’s empty lot. He parked near the ER, hurried inside, and almost bumped into Dumas Lee, who was one step ahead of him.

“No comment, Dumas, and you’re pissin’ me off.”

“That’s my job, Sheriff. Just searching for the truth.”

“I don’t know the truth.”

“Is the woman dead?”

“I’m not a doctor. Now leave me alone.”

Ozzie punched the elevator button and left the reporter in the lobby. On the third floor, two deputies were waiting, and they escorted their boss to a desk where a young doctor saw them coming and was waiting. Ozzie made introductions and everybody nodded without shaking hands. “What can you tell us?” he asked.

Without looking at a chart, the doctor said, “She’s unconscious but stable. Her left jaw is shattered and will need surgery soon to reset it, but it’s not that urgent. Looks like she just took a shot to the jaw and/or chin and got knocked out.”

“Any other injuries?”

“Not really, maybe some bruises on her wrists and neck, nothing that requires care.”

Ozzie took a deep breath and thanked God for only one murder at a time. “So she’ll pull through?”

“Her vitals are strong. Right now there’s no reason to expect anything but a recovery.”

“So when might she wake up?”

“Hard to predict, but I’d guess within forty-eight hours.”

“Okay. Look, I’m sure you’ll keep good records and all, but just remember that everything you do with this patient will probably be picked over in a courtroom one day. Keep that in mind. Be sure to take plenty of X-rays and color photos.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll leave an officer here to monitor things.”

Ozzie marched away and returned to the elevator and left the hospital. As he drove back to the jail, he grabbed his radio and called Tatum. The conversation with Earl Kofer had been about as awful as one could expect.

“You’d better call him, Ozzie. He said he’s goin’ over there to see for himself.”

“Okay.” Ozzie ended the call as he stopped in front of the jail. He held his phone and stared at it and, as always at these terrible moments, remembered the other late night and early morning calls to families; terrible calls that would dramatically change and even ruin the lives of many; calls he hated to make but his job required it. A young father found with his face blown off and a suicide note nearby; two drunk teenagers hurled from a speeding car; a demented grandfather finally found in a ditch. It was by far the worst part of his life.