by John Grisham
Jake asked, “Does he have to wear handcuffs? I mean, he’s not going anywhere.”
“We know our job, Jake, same as you,” Ozzie said like a real smart-ass.
“Why can’t he wear street clothes? Look, Ozzie, he’s going for a psychiatric evaluation, and sitting there in an orange jumpsuit will not help matters.”
“Back off, Jake.”
“I’m not backing off. I’ll call Judge Noose.”
“You do that.”
The jailer said, “He doesn’t have any extra clothes. Just one change, and it’s in the laundry.”
Jake looked at the jailer and asked, “You don’t allow the kids to have any clothes?”
Ozzie said, “He’s not a kid, Jake. He was in circuit court last time I checked.”
To benefit nothing, Moss Junior said, “They burned all his clothes. Same for his mother and sister.”
Drew shuddered and took a deep breath.
Jake looked at Drew, then looked at Moss Junior and asked, “Was that really necessary?”
“You’re askin’ ’bout more clothes. Ain’t got ’em.”
Ozzie said, “Let’s go.”
Every office had leaks, and Ozzie had been burned on occasion. The last thing he wanted was a front-page photo of him trying to sneak the accused killer out for a visit to a psychiatrist. His car was waiting behind the jail, with Looney and Swayze standing guard and prepared to shoot any reporter they saw. The getaway went smoothly, and as Jake raced to keep up with them in his Saab, he could barely see the top of Drew’s blond hair in the rear seat.
* * *
—
DR. ROOKER’S OFFICE was one of a dozen in a professional office building not far from downtown Tupelo. As directed, Ozzie turned into a service drive behind the building and was met by two marked patrol cars from the Lee County sheriff’s department. He parked, got out, left Moss Junior in the front seat to guard the defendant, and went inside with the local deputies to check out the premises. Jake remained in his car, not far from Ozzie’s, and waited. What else could he do? Driving over, he had called Portia who had called the hospital for information about Josie Gamble. Portia had learned nothing and was waiting for a return call from a nurse.
Half an hour dragged by. Moss Junior finally got out and lit a cigarette, and Jake walked over for a chat. He glanced into the rear seat and saw Drew lying down with his knees pulled to his chest.
Jake nodded at him and asked, “Did he say much?”
“Not a word, nothin’, course we didn’t pry. That’s a sick puppy, Jake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you heard that hummin’ sound he does? Just sits there with his eyes closed and sorta hums and groans at the same time, like he’s in another world.”
“I’ve heard it.”
Moss blew a cloud of smoke at the sky and shifted weight from his right foot to his left. “Can he get off ’cause he’s crazy, Jake?”
“So that’s what’s going around?”
“Oh yeah. Folks think you’ll get him off like you did Carl Lee, by sayin’ he’s insane.”
“Well, folks have to say something, don’t they, Moss?”
“That they do, yes. But that ain’t right, Jake.” He cleared his throat and spat near the bumper as if disgusted. “Folks are gonna be upset, Jake, and I hate to see you take the blame.”
“I’m just a temp, Moss. Noose has promised to find somebody else if it goes all the way to a trial.”
“Is that where it’s goin’?”
“Don’t know. I’m pinch-hitting till there’s an indictment and something gets put on a calendar, then I’ll bail.”
“That’s good to hear. This might get nasty before it’s over.”
“It’s already nasty.”
Ozzie was back with the other deputies. He spoke to Moss Junior who opened a rear door and asked Drew to step out. They quickly escorted him inside the building and Jake followed along.
In a small conference room, Dr. Rooker was waiting and introduced herself to Jake. They had spoken on the phone several times and the introduction was brief. She was tall and slender, with bright red hair that was probably not natural, and she wore funky reading glasses of many colors that were perched on the tip of her nose. She was about fifty, older than any of the men and thoroughly unintimidated by any of them. This was her office, her show.
Once Ozzie felt the defendant was secure, he excused himself and said he and Moss Junior would be waiting down the hall. It was clear that Dr. Rooker did not like the idea of armed men waiting in her quiet little office suite, but under the circumstances she went along. It was not every day that she talked to a man, or a kid, who was charged with capital murder.
Drew looked even smaller in the oversized jumpsuit. The rubber shower shoes looked ridiculous and were several sizes too large. They barely touched the floor as he sat with his hands folded in his lap, chin down, eyes on the floor, as if too frightened to acknowledge those around him.
Jake said, “Drew, this is Dr. Rooker, and she is here to help you.”
With effort, he nodded at her, then looked back at the floor.
Jake said, “I’ll be here for just a moment, then I’ll disappear. I’m going to ask you to listen to her carefully and answer her questions. She’s on our side, Drew. Do you understand?”
He nodded and slowly lifted his eyes to the wall above Jake’s head, as if he heard something up there and didn’t like it. A slow, mournful groan came out, but he said nothing. As frightening as it was, Jake wanted the kid to start his incessant humming again. Dr. Rooker needed to hear it and evaluate it, if that was possible.
“How old are you, Drew?” she asked.
“Sixteen.”
“And when is your birthday?”
“February the tenth.”
“So last month. Did you have a party on your birthday?”
“No.”
“Did you have birthday cake?”
“No.”
“Did your friends at school know it was your birthday?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Who is your mother?”
“Josie.”
“And you have a sister, right?”
“Right. Kiera.”
“And there’s nobody else in your family?”
He shook his head.
“No grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?”
He kept shaking his head.
“How about your father?”
His eyes were suddenly wet and he wiped them on an orange sleeve. “Don’t know him.”
“Have you ever known your father?”
He shook his head.
She estimated his height at five feet and his weight at a hundred pounds. There was no visible muscle development. His voice was high, soft, still childlike. There was no facial hair, no acne, nothing to indicate that the middle stages of puberty had arrived.
He closed his eyes again and began rocking, slightly, leaning forward from the waist, then easing back.
She touched his knee and asked, “Drew, are you afraid of something right now?”
He began to hum in that same steady emission that at times sounded more like a soft growl. They listened to him for a moment, exchanged glances, and then she asked, “Drew, why do you make that noise?”
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.
* * *
—
WITH HER JAWS wired together, Josie found it impossible to chew food, so her last lunch at the hospital was another chocolate milkshake through a straw. After which she was required to sit in a wheelchair as they rolled her out of the room and down the hallway. Eventually, she and Kiera and two orderlies exited through the front door and got into the car of Mrs. Carol Huff, who had volunteered to do the driving because she owned a four-door Pontiac. Pastor Charles McGarry and his wife, Meg, were there for the release, and they followed Mrs. Huff in their little import out of Tupelo and back to Ford County.
The Good Shepherd Bible Church had a narrow sanctuary that was pretty and timeless. Years after it was built, one of the many congregations add
ed a two-story wing across the back, a less than handsome annex with classrooms for Sunday school upstairs and a small fellowship hall and kitchen on the first floor, next to the office where Pastor McGarry prepared his sermons and counseled his flock. He had decided that the church would offer the use of a classroom to Josie and Kiera as a short-term apartment, with access to the downstairs toilet and the kitchen. He and the deacons had met three times in extra sessions since Monday to try to find a place for the family, and a classroom in the back of the church was the best they could do. One member owned a rental home that might be available in a month or so, but that member also relied upon the income from it. A farmer had a barn/guesthouse but it needed some work. There was the offer of a camper, but McGarry waved it off. Josie and the kids had recently survived a year in one.
The church had no wealthy people, the type who owned multiple homes. Its members were retirees, small farmers, middle-class working folks who were doing well to scrape by themselves. Other than love and warm food, they had little to offer.
Josie and Kiera had no other place to go and no family to turn to. Leaving the area was out of the question because of Drew and his problems. Josie did not have a bank account and had been surviving on limited cash for several years. Kofer had demanded two hundred dollars a month for rent and food, and she had always been in arrears. The original arrangement had been based on plenty of sex and companionship in exchange for food and shelter, but the intimacy had not lasted long. She had no credit cards and no credit history. Her last paycheck from the car wash was for $51 and a convenience store owed her $40 more. She was not sure how to collect and not even sure if she still had the job there, though she was assuming the worst. At least two of her three part-time jobs were gone, and her doctor said she could not look for work for at least two weeks. There were relatives in south Mississippi and Louisiana but they had stopped taking her calls years earlier.
Charles showed them to their new quarters. The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut wood and new paint. Shelving had been installed above the bunk beds, and a portable television was on a bottom shelf. There was a rug on the floor and a fan in the window. The closet was filled with hand-me-down shirts, pants, jeans, blouses, and two jackets that the church had collected, cleaned, and pressed. There was a small refrigerator, already stocked with cold water and fruit juice. In a cheap chest of drawers there were new undergarments, socks, T-shirts, and pajamas.
