by John Grisham
“Yes sir.”
“And you have a copy of the indictment?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you understand the charges?”
“Yes sir.”
As Noose ruffled some papers, Jake wanted to say something like “Come on, Judge, how can he not understand the charges? He’s been locked up for over a month.” He could almost feel the stares drilling into the back of his nice gray blazer, and he knew that this day, May 8, was the day when he was unofficially crowned the most despised lawyer in town.
His Honor asked, “Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty.”
“Okay, you will be remanded to the custody of the sheriff’s department and await trial for the murder of Stuart Kofer. Anything else, Mr. Brigance?”
Anything else? Hell, we didn’t need this. “No sir.”
“Take him away.”
Josie was trying to control herself. Jake walked back to the defense table and tossed down a useless legal pad. He glanced at Pastor McGarry, then looked directly at the Kofer gang.
* * *
—
TWO WEEKS EARLIER, Lowell Dyer had informed Jake that he and his investigator would like the opportunity to meet with Josie and Kiera and ask questions. It was quite a professional move because Dyer didn’t need Jake’s permission to talk to anyone except the defendant. Jake represented Drew, not his family, and if anyone working for law enforcement or the prosecution wanted to chat with a potential witness they could certainly do so.
Unlike civil litigation, where all witnesses were made known and their testimonies probed long before trial, in criminal matters neither side was required to reveal much of anything. In a simple divorce case, every dollar was accounted for, in theory. But in a capital murder trial, with a human life on the line, the defense was not entitled to know what the accusing witnesses might say or what opinions the experts might put forth.
Jake agreed to arrange a meeting in his office and invited Ozzie and Detective Rady as well. He wanted a crowded room because he wanted both Josie and Kiera to experience the tension of discussing what had happened before an audience.
Noose adjourned for lunch at 11:30. Jake and Portia walked Josie and Kiera across the street, and were followed by Dyer and his investigator. They reconvened in the main conference room where Bev had laid out coffee and brownies. Jake arranged everyone around the table and sat Josie at one end, alone as if on the witness stand.
Lowell Dyer was warm and pleasant and began by thanking her for her time. He had the full report from Detective Rady and knew a lot of her background. She kept her responses brief.
The day before, Jake had spent two hours coaching her and her daughter at the church. He had even written instructions for them to review, gems such as: “Keep your answers brief. Don’t volunteer anything. If you don’t know, don’t guess. Do not hesitate to ask Mr. Dyer to repeat the question. Say as little as possible about the physical abuse (we’ll save it for trial). And, most important: Always remember that he is the enemy and he is trying to put Drew on death row.”
Josie was tough and had been around the block. She got through the questions without emotion and gave only the barest of details about the beatings.
Kiera was next. For the occasion, and at Jake’s request, she wore jeans and a tight blouse. At fourteen, no one would have suspected that she was four months pregnant. Jake had readily agreed to the meeting because he wanted Lowell Dyer to have the opportunity to evaluate the witness before she began showing. On her list of instructions, Portia had typed in bold letters: “Do not mention your pregnancy. Do not mention the rapes. If asked about physical abuse, start crying and don’t answer. Jake will intervene.”
Her voice broke almost immediately and Dyer didn’t push. She was a frightened, fragile child who was now secretly carrying one of her own and seemed thoroughly overwhelmed.
Jake grimaced, shrugged, said to Dyer, “Maybe another time.”
“Sure.”
24
Jake had been careful not to get himself photographed around the courthouse. Evidently, the editor of the Times went to the archives and selected one of a hundred from the trial of Carl Lee Hailey, five years earlier. He plastered it on the front page next to one of Drew in handcuffs getting out of the patrol car the day before. Side by side, cop killer and lawyer. Each as guilty as the other. Jake poured a cup of coffee in his kitchen and read the report by Dumas Lee. An anonymous source said the trial was scheduled for August 6 in Clanton.
The news of the location was interesting. Jake planned to do everything in his power to change venue and have the trial as far away from Clanton as possible.
He turned back to the front page. He remembered the photo and had rather liked it back then. The caption under it read: “Defense Attorney Jake Brigance.” He was all business, with a proper frown that conveyed the seriousness of the moment. Perhaps he appeared a bit thinner but he knew he weighed the same. Five years had passed and the hairline was still receding.
He heard thunder and remembered that rain was in the forecast, another wave of spring storms. He had no appointments for the day, and he had no desire to hang out in the Coffee Shop. So he said screw it and went to his bedroom, undressed, and crawled under the covers where he found the warm body of his wife.
* * *
—
GOOD NEWS CONTINUED to pour in. Judge Noose faxed copies of two letters to Jake, fifteen minutes apart. The first read:
Dear Judge Noose:
As the attorney for the Ford County Board of Supervisors, I have been asked by the Board to respond to your request for attorney’s fees for Jake Brigance in the Stuart Kofer matter. As you well know, Section 99-15-17 of the Mississippi Code clearly states that the maximum to be paid by the county for the representation of indigents charged with capital murder is $1000. There is no language in that statute that gives the Board the discretion to pay more. There should be and we both know that the limit is not sufficient. However, I’ve discussed this matter with the Board, all five members, and it is their position that the maximum compensation will be $1000.
I know Jake well and am happy to discuss this with him.
Sincerely,
TODD TANNEHILL
Attorney at Law
The second letter was from Sean Gilder, attorney for the railroad, and it read:
Dear Judge Noose:
It is with a heavy heart that I write to inform you that one of our experts, Dr. Crowe Ledford, died suddenly last week just moments after completing the Key West Marathon. The cause is suspected to be cardiac arrest. Dr. Ledford was a professor at Emory University and an esteemed expert in the field of highway and railroad safety. His testimony was to be the cornerstone of our defense.
Though no trial date has been set, we will obviously need additional time to find and hire an expert to replace Dr. Ledford.
Our apologies to the court. I will contact Mr. Brigance and tell him this awful news.
Sincerely,
SEAN GILDER
Jake tossed the letter onto his desk and looked at Portia. “A dead expert will buy them another six months.”
She said, “Boss, we need to talk.”
Jake glanced at his door and said, “It’s closed. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve been working here for almost two years.”
“And you’re ready to become a partner?”
“No, not yet, but I plan to take over after law school.”
“You can have it.”
“Anyway, I’m worried about this place. I’ve looked at the phone records for the first three months of this year and compared them to the last six weeks. Boss, the phone isn’t ringing.”
“I know that, Portia.”
“And worse, the foot traffic has really slowed. On average we open o
ne new file each day, five a week, twenty a month, and we keep about fifty active. In the past six weeks we’ve opened seven new files, most for small stuff like shoplifters and no-fault divorces.”
“That’s my practice.”
“Seriously, Jake, I’m worried.”
“Thank you, Portia, but I don’t want you worrying. That’s my job. You learn quick in this business that it’s feast or famine.”
“When’s the feast?”
“We’ll get a thousand bucks for Gamble.”
“Seriously Jake.”
“I appreciate your concern, but let me handle it. You have your sights set on law school in August and that’s enough to keep you busy.”
She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I think the town has turned against you, Jake.”
He paused long enough to acknowledge it, then said, “It’s temporary. I’ll survive Gamble, then I’ll settle Smallwood. A year will pass and everybody will be clamoring for my services. I promise you, Portia, when you finish law school I’ll still be here, suing people.”
“Thanks.”
“Please, go worry about something else.”
* * *
—
WITH HER MOTHER working sporadic hours at both the feed mill and a chicken-processing plant, Kiera got bored in the afternoons and hung around the parsonage tending to Justin, the McGarrys’ four-year-old. Meg, now eight months pregnant, was taking classes at a junior college and appreciated the babysitting. Often, when she was home, they went for long walks down a gravel road behind the church, with Justin ahead of them on his little bike. They liked to stop at a bridge over Carter’s Creek and watch him play in the shallow water.
Kiera adored Meg and talked to her about things her mother wouldn’t understand. The abortion had been off-limits for some time, but Meg and Charles were watching the calendar and knew the timing was becoming crucial. Kiera was mid-term and a decision had to be made.
Sitting on the edge of the bridge with their feet hanging down, Meg said, “Does Josie still want you to get an abortion?”
“She says she does, but we can’t pay for one.”
“What do you want, Kiera?”
“I don’t want to have a baby, that’s for certain. But I really don’t want to go through an abortion. Mom says it’s not a big deal. Can I tell you a secret?”
“You can tell me anything.”
“I know. Mom says she got an abortion one time, after Drew and I were born, says there’s nothing to it.”
Meg tried to hide her shock that a mother would tell her fourteen-year-old daughter such a secret. “That’s not true, Kiera, not at all. Having an abortion is a horrible thing to do and the damage lasts for many years. As Christians, we believe that life begins at conception. The two children you and I are carrying right now are living beings, little gifts from God. Having an abortion terminates a life.”
“So you think it’s murder?”
“I do. I know it is.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“Is she pressuring you?”
“All the time. She’s afraid she’ll get stuck raising another kid. Can she make me get an abortion?”
“No. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure, that’s what we’re doing, right?”
“It is. I talked to Jake, off the record, and asked him what would happen if Josie took you to a clinic in Memphis and you objected. He said that no clinic, no doctor, will perform an abortion if the mother doesn’t want it. Don’t let her make you do it, Kiera.”
Kiera took her hand and squeezed it. Justin yelled and pointed to a frog at the edge of the water. Meg said, “You’re too young to worry about raising a child, Kiera, that’s why adoption is the best route. There are plenty of young couples out there who desperately want a child. Charles knows other ministers and he’ll have no problem finding the perfect home for your baby.”
“How about a home for us? I’m tired of living in a church.”
“We’ll find something. And speaking of church, there is another issue we need to chat about, with your mom too. You’re starting to show and we’re trying to keep this a secret, right?”
“That’s what Jake said.”
“It may be time to stop attending services.”
“But I enjoy the services. Everyone is so nice.”
“They are, and they like to talk, same as any small church. If they realize you’re pregnant, word will spread like crazy.”
“What am I supposed to do for the next four months? Hide in the church kitchen?”
“Let’s discuss it with your mother.”
“She’ll just say get an abortion.”
“That’s not happening, Kiera. You’re gonna have a healthy baby and make some young couple very happy.”
* * *
—
AFTER HANNA WAS asleep, Jake went to his car, grabbed a bottle of red wine, uncorked it at the kitchen counter, found two seldom-used wineglasses, stepped into the den, and said to his wife, “Meet me on the patio.”
Outside, she saw the bottle on the table and asked, “What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing good.” He poured two glasses, gave one to her, they clinked and sat down. “Here’s to our pending bankruptcy.”
“Cheers, I guess.”
Jake took a big gulp, Carla a much more reasonable sip.
He said, “Smallwood just got delayed by months. The county refuses to pay me more than a thousand dollars for a capital murder defense. The phone has stopped ringing at the office. Josie needs three hundred dollars a month to rent a place. And the backbreaker is that Stan Atcavage called today and his boss wants a payment on our litigation loan.”
“How much of a payment?”
“Something like half would make them happy. Half of seventy thousand dollars. It is, of course, unsecured and the bank didn’t want to make the loan in the first place. Stan says they’ve never been in the litigation business and are afraid of it. Can’t blame ’em for that.”
“I thought they agreed to wait until the case settled.”
“Stan did, verbally, but his boss is leaning on him. Remember, they sold out three years ago to a bigger bank in Jackson. Stan gets frustrated with some of the decisions down there.”
Carla took another sip and breathed deeply. “Okay. I thought Judge Noose had a plan to make sure you got paid.”
“He does but it’s a lousy plan. I’m supposed to wait until the trial is over and then sue the county for my time and expenses. He promises to rule in my favor and force the county to pay.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything. It means I get nothing for months, nothing to pay the overhead while the practice dries up and the town boycotts me. When I’m forced to sue the county, that’ll make the newspaper, so more bad press. And there is really no way Noose can force the county to pay more than a thousand bucks. If the supervisors dig in, and they will, we’re screwed.”
She nodded as if she understood, took another sip, and eventually said, “Lovely.”
“Yes. Noose thinks it’s really clever, but then he’s desperate for a lawyer to represent the kid.”
“Dare I ask how much cash we have right now?”
“Not much. Five thousand in the office account. Eight thousand in our money market. Ten-plus in savings.” He slurped some more wine. “Pretty pathetic, if you think about it. Twelve years as a lawyer and only eighteen thousand dollars socked away.”
“We have a good life, Jake. We both work. We live better than most. There is equity in the house, right?”
“A little. We’ll have to squeeze out every penny of it to pay Stan.”
“A second mortgage?”
“There’s no way around it.”
“What did Harry Rex say?”
�
��Well, when he stopped cussing me we called Stan and they got into it. Harry Rex maintains it’s a line of credit with no due date so the bank will just have to wait. Stan cussed right back and said he would call the entire loan. When I hung up they were still cussing.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
A moment passed as they listened to the crickets. The street was quiet except for the buzz of insects and the distant barking of a dog. Carla asked, “Did Josie ask for money?”
“No, but she needs to get away from the church. They’re tired of living there and you can’t blame them. Kiera is mid-term and starting to show. She won’t be able to hide it much longer. You can imagine how much fun the busybodies will have when they realize she’s pregnant.”
“And Josie’s found a place?”
“She says she’s looking, but she’s also working part-time jobs now. She can squeeze together a hundred bucks a month for rent. Plus, they don’t have a stick of furniture.”
“So we’re paying rent, too?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll have to help. And, she has a pile of medical bills that she’ll have to bankrupt.”
“What about medical care for Kiera?”
“Oh, that too.”
After another long pause, Carla said, “I have a question.”
“Okay.”
“Did you buy more than one bottle of wine?”
25
Three days after classes ended, and Hanna and Carla were set free for the summer, the Brigances loaded themselves and the dog into the car and headed for the beach, their annual vacation. Carla’s parents had semiretired to the Wilmington area and owned a spacious condo on the water in Wrightsville Beach. Hanna and Carla loved the sand and the sun. Jake appreciated the rent-free accommodations.
Her father, still “Mr. McCullough” to Jake, liked to refer to himself as an “investor” and could bore anyone with the latest earnings reports. He also wrote a column for a minor financial magazine that Jake had once, long ago, subscribed to in a vain effort to understand what the guy was up to. His real motive for the subscription had been to figure out if his father-in-law had serious money. So far, Mr. McCullough’s net worth was a mystery, but it was obvious he and his wife were quite comfortable. Mrs. McCullough was a pleasant lady in her mid-sixties who was active in all manner of garden clubs, turtle savers, and hospital volunteers.
