by John Grisham
Portia, taking notes, thought to herself: I can’t wait to become a lawyer.
Everyone took a deep breath. Ozzie flashed his best politician’s smile and said, “Okay, let’s get on with it.”
Rady opened his notebook and gave Josie a smile so drippy Jake wanted to slap him. He said, “First of all, Ms. Gamble, I’d like to ask if you are able to talk, and if so, for how long? I understand the surgery was only a few days ago.”
Josie nodded nervously and said, “Thank you. I’m okay. The stitches and wires came out this morning and I can talk a little.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Not too bad.”
“Are you taking medication for pain?”
“Just some ibuprofen.”
“Okay. Can we start with you and your background, that sort of thing?”
Jake immediately interrupted with “Let’s try this. We’re working on what we hope to be a complete biographical sketch of the Gamble family. Birthdates, birthplaces, homes, addresses, marriages, employers, relatives, criminal records, the good, the bad, the ugly. Some of it they remember, some is not so clear. We need it for our side. Portia is in charge of it and it has priority. When it is complete we’ll give you a copy. Full disclosure. You can read it and if you then want to interrogate these witnesses again, we’ll talk about it. This will save us at least an hour today and there won’t be any gaps. Fair enough?”
Rady and Ozzie exchanged looks, skeptical ones. Ozzie said, “We’ll try it.”
Rady flipped a page and said, “Okay, let’s go back to Saturday night, March 24, just over a week ago. Can you tell us what happened? Tell us your story about that night.”
Josie took a sip of water through a straw and glanced nervously at Jake, who had given her strict instructions about what to cover and what to leave alone. She began with “Well, it was late, and Stu wasn’t home.” As instructed, she spoke slowly, and seemed to struggle with each word. The swelling didn’t help. She described what it was like to wait and wait while expecting the worst. She was downstairs. The kids were upstairs in their bedrooms, awake, waiting, afraid. Stu finally came home around two, very drunk, belligerent as usual, and they had a fight. She got hit and woke up in the hospital.
“You said ‘drunk as usual.’ Did Stu often come home drunk?”
“Yes, he was out of control. We had lived there about a year, and his drinkin’ was a real problem.”
“Do you know where he had been that night?”
“No, he would never tell me that.”
“But you knew he hung out in bars and such, right?”
“Oh, yes. I went with him a few times, in the earlier days, but I stopped because he would get in fights.”
Rady was careful here because the sheriff’s department was still looking for paperwork. On two occasions, Josie had called the dispatcher and said she was being beaten by Stuart Kofer. But when the deputies showed up, she refused to press charges. The reports were filed and then they disappeared. Jake would probably learn about this down the road, and Ozzie did not look forward to those questions. Missing paperwork, a cover-up, a sheriff’s department looking the other way while one of its own spiraled out of control. Jake would make them bleed in the courtroom.
“Didn’t you meet in a bar?”
“We did.”
“Around here?”
“No, it was a club up around Holly Springs.”
Rady paused and struggled with his notes. The wrong question could provoke the wrath of Jake. “So, you don’t remember the shooting?”
“No.” She shook her head and stared at the table.
“Didn’t hear a thing?”
“No.”
“Have you talked to your son since the shooting?”
She took a deep breath and fought to keep her composure. “We spoke by phone last night, the first time. He’s down in Whitfield, but you probably know that. Said the sheriff here drove him down on Friday.”
“How’s he doing, if I may ask?”
She shrugged and looked away. Jake helped out with “Just so you’ll know. I’ve talked to the counselors down there. Josie and Kiera will go to Whitfield tomorrow, the preacher is taking them, and they’ll see Drew and meet with the people who are treating him. It seems to be very important that they, the doctors, talk to the family and get the background.”
Ozzie and Rady nodded their approval. Rady flipped a page and read some of his notes. “Did Stu ever take Drew hunting?”
Josie shook her head. “He took him fishin’ once, but it didn’t go well.”
A long pause. No details were coming. “What happened?” Rady asked.
“Drew was usin’ one of Stu’s rods and he hooked a big fish that bit hard and ran and yanked the rod out of Drew’s hands. It was gone. Stu had been drinkin’ beers and he flew hot, hit Drew, made him cry. That was their only fishin’ trip.”
“Did he take him hunting?”
“No. You gotta understand that Stu didn’t want my kids to begin with, and the longer they stayed the more he resented them. The whole situation was slowly blowin’ up. His drinkin’, my kids, fights over money. The kids were beggin’ me to leave but we had no place to go.”
“To your knowledge, had Drew ever fired a gun before?”
She paused and caught her breath. “Yeah, one time Stu took him out behind the barn and they shot at targets. I don’t know which gun they used. Stu had a bunch of them, you know? It didn’t work out too well because Drew was afraid of guns and couldn’t hit anything and Stu laughed at him.”
“You said he hit Drew. Did that happen more than once?”
Josie glared at Rady and said, “Sir, it happened all the time. He hit all of us.”
Jake leaned forward and said, “We’re not going into the physical abuse today, guys. There was a lot of it, and we’ll detail it in our summary. It might be a factor in a trial, or it might not be. But as for now, we’re skipping it.”
Fine with Ozzie. What was offered as proof at trial was the business of the district attorney, not the sheriff. But what a messy trial it could be.
He said, “Look, since this is the first of these visits, let’s just hit the high points and move on. We’ve established that you, Josie, were unconscious when the shooting occurred. We didn’t know that, now we do, so we’re making progress. We’ll ask Kiera a few questions and that’ll be it, all right?”
“Sounds good,” Jake said.
Rady produced another sappy smile and said to Kiera, “Okay, miss, could you tell us your story? What happened that night?”
Her story was much more involved because she remembered all of it: the dread of another Saturday night, the waiting until late, the sweep of the headlights, the commotion in the kitchen, the yelling, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the horror of hearing his stumbling boots coming up the stairs, his heaving, his slurred words, his goofy calling of her name, their jerry-rigged brace against the door, the rattling of the doorknob, the banging, the yelling, the unrestrained fear as brother and sister clung to each other; then the silence, the sounds of his retreat down the stairs; and, worst of all, nothing from their mother. They knew he had killed her. For an eternity the house was silent, and with each passing minute they knew their mother was dead. Otherwise, she would be trying to protect them.
Kiera managed to narrate the story while wiping away tears and not slowing down. She had tissues in both hands and spoke with emotion but her voice did not crack. Jake still had no plans to be anywhere near the trial of Drew Gamble, but the courtroom lawyer in him could not help but assess her as a witness. He was impressed with her toughness, her maturity, her determination. Though two years younger, she seemed to be years ahead of her brother.
But the part about her dead mother slowed her to the point of needing water. She took a drink from a bottle, wiped her cheeks, gave
Rady a hard look, and continued: They found her on the kitchen floor, nonresponsive, no pulse, and they wept. Drew eventually called the dispatcher. Hours seemed to pass. He closed the bedroom door. She heard a shot.
Rady asked, “So, did you see Stu on the bed before he was shot?”
“No.”
As per Jake, answers in response to a direct question should be kept short.
“Did you see Drew with a gun?”
“No.”
“Did Drew say anything to you after you heard the shot?”
Jake was quick to interrupt. “Don’t answer that. It could be hearsay and inadmissible in court. I’m sure we’ll fight over it later, but not now.”
Ozzie had heard enough, both from the witnesses and from the lawyer. He abruptly stood and said, “That’s all we need. Thank you for your time, ladies. Jake, we’ll be in touch. Or not. I’m sure you’ll hear from the district attorney in the near future.”
Jake stood as they left the room. He sat down when they were gone, and Portia closed the door.
Josie asked, “How’d we do?”
“You were great.”
16
The long day began at sunrise when Charles McGarry swept his headlights across the rear of his little country church. Lights were on in the kitchen and he knew that Josie and Kiera were wide awake and ready to go. He met them at the door, exchanged hurried greetings because they had hours to talk in the car, and locked the church behind them. Kiera folded her long legs into the rear of the small McGarry family car and Josie got herself situated in the front passenger seat. Charles pointed to the digital clock on the dash and said, “Six forty-six. Remember the time. It’s supposed to take three hours.”
His wife, Meg, had planned to join them, but, truthfully, the car was too small for four people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder for a long ride. And a grandmother who’d promised to babysit had fallen ill.
“Meg sent some sausage biscuits,” he said. “In that bag back there.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” Kiera said.
“She’s not feelin’ well,” Josie said.
“I’m gonna be sick, Mom,” she said again.
“Serious?” he asked.
“Pull over. Quick.” They had gone less than half a mile; the church was almost visible behind them. Charles hit the brakes and stopped on the shoulder. Josie was already opening the door and pulling her daughter out. She vomited in a ditch and retched for a few minutes while Charles watched for headlights and tried not to listen. She cried and apologized to her mother and they discussed something. Both were crying when they got back in the car, and for a long time nothing was said.
Finally, Josie offered a fake laugh and said, “She’s always had a problem with car sickness. Never seen anything like it. Kid can chuck it before I start the engine.”
“You okay back there?” Charles asked over his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, head back, eyes closed, arms across her stomach.
“How about some music?” he asked.
“Sure,” Josie said.
“You like gospel?”
Not really, she thought. “How about it, Kiera, you want to listen to some gospel music?”
“No.”
Charles turned on the radio and tuned in to the country station out of Clanton. They skirted around the edge of town and found the main highway south. At seven the news came on, weather first, then a report that the district attorney, Lowell Dyer, had confirmed that the Ford County grand jury would meet later in the day to work on its docket. And, yes, the murder of Officer Stuart Kofer would be discussed. Charles reached over and turned off the radio.
The car sickness struck again a few miles south of Clanton, this time on a highway busy with early morning traffic. Charles turned the car into someone’s gravel drive and Kiera jumped out, barely averting a mess. Once she was back in the car, Josie said, “It might be the smell of those biscuits. Could we put them in the trunk?”
Charles really wanted one for breakfast, but he decided not to take chances. He unbuckled, grabbed the bag off the backseat, opened the trunk, and put away their breakfast. Meg had been up at five to fry the sausage and thaw the frozen biscuits.
On the road again, Charles glanced in his mirror every minute or so. Kiera was pale and her forehead was wet. Her eyes were closed and she was trying to nap.
Josie felt the uneasiness and knew that Charles was worrying about her daughter. To change the subject she said, “We talked to Drew last night. Thanks for allowin’ us to use the church phone.”
“No problem. How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. He’s in a better place, a small room with a cellmate, a kid who’s seventeen but a good boy, so far. And Drew says the people, the doctors, are nice and seem really concerned about him. They’ve put him on a drug, an antidepressant, and he says he’s feelin’ better. He met with two different doctors yesterday and they just asked him a bunch of questions, in general.”
“Any idea how long they’ll keep him?”
“No. That has not been discussed so far. But he’d rather stay where he is than go back to the jail in Clanton. Jake says there’s no way to get him out. Says no judge in the state would set a bond in a case like this.”
“I’m sure Jake knows what he’s talking about.”
“We like Jake a lot. Do you know him well?”
“No. Remember, Josie, I’m new around here, just like you. I grew up over in Lee County.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Gotta tell you, it sure is a comfort havin’ a guy like Jake as our lawyer. Are we supposed to pay him?”
“I don’t think so. Isn’t he appointed by the court?”
She nodded and mumbled something, as if she suddenly remembered another story. Kiera managed to curl herself into a ball in the rear seat and take a nap. After a few miles, Josie turned to look at her and whispered, “Hey, baby, you okay?”
Kiera did not respond.
* * *
—
IT TOOK AN hour to get processed and directed to one building and then another, where they were herded into a waiting room where two guards wore guns on their hips. One of them with a clipboard emerged from the back and approached Charles. She managed a forced smile and asked, “Are you here to see Drew Gamble?”
Charles pointed to Josie and Kiera and said, “They are. They’re his family.”
“Please follow me.”
Every door had a buzzer that clicked, and as they moved deeper into the labyrinth the halls became wider and cleaner. They stopped at a metal door with no window and the guard said, “I’m sorry but it’s family only.”
“Fine with me,” Charles said. He hardly knew Drew and was not eager to spend the next hour with him. Josie and Kiera walked inside and found Drew seated in the small, windowless room. All three grabbed each other with fierce embraces and began crying. Charles watched from the open door and felt enormous pity for them. The guard backed out, closed the door, and said, “A counselor would like to speak to you.”
“Sure.” What else was he supposed to say?
The counselor was standing in the door of a small, cluttered office in yet another wing. She introduced herself as Dr. Sadie Weaver and said she was borrowing the office for the moment. They wedged themselves inside and she closed the door.
“And you’re their minister?” she began, with no thought of preliminary chatter. She gave every impression of being incredibly busy.
“Well, sort of, let’s say yes, okay? They’re not officially members of my church but we’ve sort of adopted them. They have no place else to go. No family in the area.”
“We spent a few hours with Drew yesterday. Sounds like the family has had a rough time of it. He’s never seen his father. I’ve spoken with their lawyer, Mr. Brigance, and with Dr. Christina Rooker in Tup
elo. She saw Drew last Thursday and asked the court to commit him for evaluation. So I know some of the background. Where are they living?”
“In our church. They’re safe and well-fed.”
“Bless you. Sounds like the mother and sister are being cared for. I, of course, am more concerned with Drew. We’ll spend this afternoon and tomorrow with him and his mother and sister. I assume you’re their driver.”
“I am.”
“How long can you leave them here?”
“I’m flexible. I have no plans.”
“Good. Leave them here for twenty-four hours, pick them up tomorrow.”
“Okay. How long will you keep Drew?”
“It’s hard to say. Weeks, not months. As a general rule, they’re better off here than in a county jail.”
“Right. Keep him as long as you can. Things are pretty tense in Ford County.”
“I understand.”
Charles made his way out of the building and eventually found his car. He cleared the checkpoints and by noon was back on the road, headed north. At a convenience store he bought a soft drink, retrieved his biscuits from the trunk, and enjoyed the solitude with his brunch and gospel music.
* * *
—
THE FORD COUNTY grand jury met twice a month. Its docket was typically mundane—petty drug busts, car thefts, a knifing or two at the clubs and tonks. The last killing had been a Wild West–style shootout after a black funeral where two warring families squared off and began firing. One man was killed, but it was impossible to determine who shot who. The grand jury indicted the most likely suspect for manslaughter and his case was still pending, with no one really pushing it. He was free on bond.
There were eighteen members of the grand jury, all registered voters from the county, and they had been empaneled by Judge Noose two months earlier. They met in the small courtroom down the hall from the main one and their meetings were private. No spectators, no press, none of the usual bored courthouse gang looking for a little drama.
