Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

Earl Kofer was hysterical and wanted to know who killed his “boy.” Ozzie was patient and said he couldn’t talk about the details at the moment but was willing to meet with the family, another dreadful prospect that was unavoidable. No, Earl should not go to Stuart’s house because he would not be allowed in. The deputies there were waiting for investigators from the state crime lab, and their work would take hours. Ozzie suggested that the family meet at Earl’s house and he, Ozzie, would stop by later in the morning. The father was wailing into the phone when Ozzie finally managed to hang up.

Inside the jail, he asked Tatum if Deputy Marshall Prather had been notified. Tatum said yes, he was on his way. Prather was a veteran who had been a close friend of Stuart Kofer’s since they were kids at Clanton Elementary School. He arrived in jeans and a sweatshirt and a state of disbelief. He followed Ozzie to his office where they fell into chairs as Tatum closed the door. Ozzie recited the facts as they knew them, and Prather couldn’t hide his emotions. He gritted his teeth like a tough guy and covered his eyes, but he was obviously suffering.

After a long, painful pause, Prather managed to say, “We started school together in the third grade.” His voice faded and he lowered his chin. Ozzie looked at Tatum, who looked away.

After another long pause, Ozzie pressed on. “What do you know about this woman, Josie Gamble?”

Prather swallowed hard and shook his head as if he could shake off the emotion. “I met her once or twice but didn’t really know her. Stu took up with her I’d guess about a year ago. She and her kids moved in. She seemed nice enough, but she’d been around the block a few times. Pretty rough background.”

“What do you mean?”

“She served some time. Drugs, I think. Has a colorful past. Stu met her in a bar, no surprise, and they hit it off. He didn’t like the idea of her two kids hangin’ around, but she talked him into it. Lookin’ back, she needed a place to stay and he had extra bedrooms.”

“What was the attraction?”

“Come on, Ozzie. Not a bad-lookin’ woman, pretty damned cute really, looks good in tight jeans. You know Stu, always on the prowl but completely unable to get along with a woman.”

“And the drinkin’?”

Prather removed an old cap and scratched his hair.

Ozzie leaned forward with a scowl and said, “I’m askin’ questions, Marshall, and I want answers. This is no time for a cop cover-up where you look the other way and play dumb. I want answers.”

“I don’t know much, Ozzie, I swear. I stopped drinkin’ three years ago so I don’t hang out in the bars anymore. Yes, Stu was drinkin’ too much and I think it was gettin’ worse. I talked to him about it, twice. He said everything was fine, same as all drunks. I gotta cousin who still hits the joints and he told me that Stu was gettin’ quite the reputation as a brawler, which was not what I wanted to hear. Said he was gamblin’ a lot over at Huey’s, down by the lake.”

“And you didn’t think I should know this?”

“Come on, Ozzie, I was concerned. That’s why I had a chat with Stu. I was gonna talk to him again, I swear.”

“Don’t swear to me. So we had a deputy drinkin’, fightin’, and gamblin’ with the riffraff, and oh by the way beatin’ his girlfriend at home, and you thought I shouldn’t know about it, right?”

“I thought you knew.”

“We did,” Tatum interrupted.

“Say what?” Ozzie snapped. “I never heard a word about domestic abuse.”

“There was a report filed a month ago. She called 911 late one night and said Stu was on a rampage. We sent a car out with Pirtle and McCarver and they settled things down. The woman had obviously been slapped around but she refused to press charges.”

Ozzie was livid. “I never heard about this and never saw the paperwork. What happened to it?”

Tatum shot a look at Prather, but it was not returned. Tatum shrugged as if he knew nothing and said, “There was no arrest, just an incident report. Must’ve been misplaced, I guess. I don’t know, Ozzie, I wasn’t involved.”

“I’m sure no one was involved. If I looked high and low and grilled every man in my department I’m sure I wouldn’t find anyone who was involved.”

Prather glared at him and asked, “So you’re blamin’ Stu for gettin’ himself shot, is that right, Ozzie? Blame the victim?”

Ozzie sank in his chair and closed his eyes.

—

ON THE BOTTOM bunk, Drew had curled up with his knees to his chest and was resting under a thin blanket with his head on an old pillow. He stared blankly at the dark wall. It had been hours since he said anything. Kiera sat at the foot of the bed, one hand touching his feet under the blanket and the other hand twirling her long hair as they waited for whatever might happen next. From time to time there were voices in the hallway but they faded, then disappeared for good.

For the first hour she and Drew had talked about the obvious—their mother’s condition, and the stunning news that she was not dead, and then the shooting of Stu. The fact that he was dead was a relief to both of them and they felt fear but no remorse. Stu had used their mother as a punching bag, but had slapped them around too, and threatened them repeatedly. That nightmare was over. They would never again hear the sickening sounds of their mother getting smacked around by a drunken thug.

The jail cell itself was insignificant. Such crude and unsanitary conditions might bother a new offender, but they had seen worse. Drew had once spent four months in a juvenile facility in another state. Just last year they had locked Kiera up for two days in what was supposed to be protective custody. Jail was survivable.

For a little family that was always on the move, one question before them was where to go next. Once they were with their mother they could plan their next move. They had met some of Stu’s relatives and had always felt unwelcome. Stu liked to boast that he owned the house “free and clear” of debt because his grandfather had left it to him in a will. The house really wasn’t that nice. It was dirty and needed repairs, and Josie’s efforts to clean up were always met with disapproval. They had decided that they would not miss Stu’s house.

During the second hour, they had speculated about how much trouble Drew might be facing. For them, it was a simple matter of self-defense, of survival, and of retribution. Slowly, Drew began to relive the shooting, step by step, or as much as he could remember. It had happened so fast and was a blur. Stu lying there, red-faced with his mouth open, snoring away as if he’d earned a good night’s sleep. Stu reeking of alcohol. Violent Stu who could awaken at any moment and slap the kids around for the fun of it.

The pungent smell of spent gunpowder. The flash of blood and matter hitting the pillows and the wall. The shock of seeing Stu’s eyes roll open after he was shot.

As the hours passed, though, Drew had grown quieter. He pulled the blanket to his chin and said he was tired of talking. She watched him slowly curl into himself and stare blankly at the wall.

3

The jail was filled with off-duty deputies and Clanton policemen and other miscellaneous personnel, some with affiliations to the department, others without. They smoked cigarettes, drank coffee, ate stale pastries, and spoke in subdued conversations about their fallen comrade and the dangers of the work. Ozzie was busy in his office, on the phone, making calls to the state police and the crime lab, ducking calls from reporters and friends and strangers.

When Reverend Charles McGarry arrived he was escorted to the big office where he shook hands with Ozzie and took a seat. Ozzie gave the details and explained that Kiera had asked to see their preacher. She said there was no family in the area and they had nowhere else to go. She was in the cell with her brother but Ozzie did not anticipate charges against her. There were two other juvenile cells but they were occupied, and she really didn’t need to stay in jail anyway.