A Time for Mercy

by John Grisham

  “That’s been the plan all along, right?”

  “Sort of. One problem, however, is money for an expert. I talked to that guy in New Orleans this morning and really like him. He’s testified a lot and knows his stuff. His fee is fifteen thousand dollars and I said no way. This is an indigent case and the county will not pay that much for a defense expert. So it comes out of my pocket up front and I doubt if I’ll get reimbursed for all of it. He said he would do it for ten. Still too much. I thanked him and said we’ll think about it.”

  “What about Libby Provine? I thought KAF was trying to find some money.”

  “She is and she knows a lot of doctors. I’m leaning on her. Noose asked about a continuance, said we could have more time if needed, said Dyer would not object. I said no thanks.”

  “Because of Kiera?”

  “Because of Kiera. She’ll be seven-and-a-half months along by August the sixth and I want her pregnant when she takes the stand.”

  Portia tossed a legal pad on the table and shook her head. “I gotta tell you, Jake, I don’t like this. It doesn’t seem fair to hide the fact that she’s pregnant. Don’t you think Judge Noose will throw a fit when he, along with everybody else, realizes that she’s pregnant and Kofer is the daddy?”

  “She’s not my client. Drew is. If the State calls her, then she’s their witness.”

  “You keep saying that, but Dyer will howl and the entire courtroom might blow up. Think about the Kofers and their reaction to the fact that their son left behind a child they knew nothing about.”

  “Oddly enough, I don’t care about the Kofers right now, and I don’t care if Noose has a fit and Dyer has a stroke. Think about the jurors, Portia. Nothing matters but the jurors. How many of them will be shocked and angry when the truth comes out?”

  “All twelve.”

  “Maybe. I doubt we’ll get all twelve, but three or four will be enough. A hung jury will be a victory.”

  “Is it about winning, Jake, or is it about truth and justice?”

  “What is justice in this case, Portia? You’re about to go off to law school where you’ll spend the next three years being told that trials should be about truth and justice. And they should be. But you’re also old enough to serve on a jury. What would you do with this kid?”

  She considered this for a moment and said, “I don’t know. I think about it all the time and I swear I don’t have the answer. That boy did what he thought was right. He thought his mother was dead and—”

  “And he thought they were still in danger. He thought Kofer might get up and continue with his rampage. Hell, he’d beaten them and threatened to kill them before. Drew figured he was drunk but he didn’t know Kofer was so saturated with booze that he was in a coma. At that moment, Drew believed he was protecting his sister and himself.”

  “So it was justified?”

  Jake tried to smile. He pointed at her and said, “Exactly. Forget insanity. It was justifiable homicide.”

  “Then why go through the motions of a M’Naghten hearing?”

  “We won’t. I’ll ask for one and make Dyer do some work. They’ll send Drew to Whitfield to be examined by their doctors and they’ll find one who’ll testify that the kid knew exactly what he was doing. Then, before the hearing I’ll withdraw the motion. Just mess with them a little.”

  “This is a game?”

  “No, it’s a chess match, but one where the rules are not always binding.”

  “I think I like it. I’m not sure a jury will buy into the idea that a sixteen-year-old kid was insane. I know that insanity is not a medical diagnosis and all that, and I know that kids can have all sorts of mental problems, but it just doesn’t sound right to claim that a teenaged boy was insane.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I might change my mind tomorrow. I’m on pain pills and not always thinking that clearly. Let’s finish up these files and get you out of here before my nurse gets back. I’m not supposed to be working and if she catches us she’ll cut off my ice cream. How much money is in the bank?”

  “Not much. A little less than two thousand bucks.”

  Jake shifted and grimaced and fought a wave of pain in his ribs and groin.

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Great. When I talked to Noose yesterday he said he’d assign me some new court appointments in all five counties. Not much in the way of fees, but at least they’ll bring in a few bucks.”

  “Look, Jake, I want you to forget about paying me for now. I’m living at home and I can afford a little furlough.”

  He grimaced again, shifted his weight. “Thank you, Portia, but I’ll make sure you get paid. You need all the money you can earn for law school.”

  “We can afford law school, Jake, thanks to you and old man Hubbard. My mom is set and she’s forever grateful to you for that.”

  “Nonsense, Portia. You’re doing great work and you’ll get paid.”

  “Lucien said to forget the rent for a few months.”

  Jake tried to smile and tried to laugh. He looked at the ceiling and tried to shake his head. “After the Hailey trial, for which I was paid the fat fee of nine hundred dollars, I was as broke as I am now, and Lucien told me to forget about the rent for a few months.”

  “He’s worried about you, Jake. He told me that in his prime he was the most hated lawyer in Mississippi, got death threats, had few friends, judges despised him, lawyers avoided him, and he loved it, relished being the radical lawyer, but he never got beat up.”

  “My first and last, I hope. I’ve talked to Lucien and I know he’s concerned. We’re gonna survive, Portia. You bust your butt till the trial is over, then you’re off to law school.”

  * * *

  —

  JAKE WAS WADDLING around the patio late Friday afternoon, in an old T-shirt and a pair of baggy gym shorts, barefoot, trying his best to stay mobile and active and stretch his legs, as per the physical therapist, when he heard a car door slam in the front drive. His first impulse was to hustle back inside so no one would see him. He was almost to the door when a familiar voice said, “Hey, Jake.”

  Carl Lee Hailey appeared from around the hedge and said, “Hey, Jake. It’s me, Carl Lee.”

  Jake tried to smile and said, “What’re you doing here?”

  They shook hands and Carl Lee said, “Just checkin’ on you.”

  Jake waved at the wicker table and said, “Have a seat.” They settled into chairs and Carl Lee said, “You look awful.”

  “Yes, I do, but at least I look worse than I feel. An old-fashioned ass-kicking.”

  “That’s what I hear. You gonna be okay?”

  “Sure, Carl Lee, already on the mend. What brings you into town?”

  “I heard the news and I’m worried about you.”

  Jake was touched and wasn’t sure what to say. So many friends had called and sent flowers and cakes and wanted to stop by, but he had not expected to hear from Carl Lee.

  “I’ll be fine, Carl Lee. Thanks for being concerned.”

  “Is Carla here?”

  “She’s inside, with Hanna. Why?”

  “Say, look, Jake, I’ll get right to it. When I heard about this I got really upset, still am, ain’t slept much this week.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Rumor is you know who did it but you ain’t gonna press charges. That right?”

  “Come on, Carl Lee. We’re not going there.”

  “Here’s the deal, Jake. I owe you my life and I’ve never been able to do much in the way of sayin’ thanks. But this really pisses me off. I got some friends, and we can even things out.”

  Jake was shaking his head. He remembered the many hours he’d spent with Carl Lee in jail as his trial approached, and the awe and intimidation he’d felt at being in the presence of a man capable of such raw violence. Carl
Lee had shot and killed the two rednecks who’d raped his daughter, then walked through their blood and drove home to wait for Ozzie to come get him. Fifteen years earlier he’d been decorated in Vietnam.

  “It’s not going to happen, Carl Lee. The last thing we need is more violence.”

  “Jake, I won’t get caught and I swear I won’t kill anybody. We’ll just give the dude a little of his own medicine, make sure it don’t happen again.”

  “It’s not going to happen again, Carl Lee, and you’re not getting involved. Believe me, it would only complicate matters.”

  “Give me his name and he’ll never know what hit him.”

  “No, Carl Lee. The answer is no.”

  Carl Lee clenched his jaws, nodded his disapproval, and was about to press on when Carla opened the door and said hello.

  * * *

  —

  ON SUNDAY, THE old Mazda with a rebuilt transmission parked in the lot beside the jail and Josie got out. As bad as Kiera wanted to see her brother, she knew she could not go inside. She rolled down the windows and stuck her nose in a paperback Mrs. Golden had given her two days earlier.

  Josie checked in at the desk where Mr. Zack welcomed her back. She followed him down the hall and he unlocked the door to Drew’s cell. She stepped inside and he locked the door behind her. The defendant was sitting at his small table, his textbooks stacked neatly in the center of it. He jumped to his feet and hugged his mother. They sat down, and Josie opened a paper bag and pulled out a bag of cookies and a soft drink.

  “Where’s Kiera?” he asked.

  “Outside, in the car. She can’t come in anymore.”

  “Because she’s pregnant?”

  “That’s right. Jake doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  He popped the top and chewed on a cookie. “I can’t believe she’s gonna have a baby, Mom. She’s only fourteen.”

  “I know. I had you when I was sixteen and that was way too young, believe me.”

  “What’ll happen to the baby?”

  “We’re putting him up for adoption. Some nice couple will get a beautiful little baby boy and he’ll be raised in a fine home.”

  “Lucky him.”

  “Yes, lucky him. It’s about time somebody in this family caught a lucky break.”

  “He’s not really part of the family, is he, Mom?”

  “I guess not. It’s best if we just forget about him. Kiera will heal up nicely, be as good as new, and start school over in Oxford. No one there will ever know she had a baby.”

  “Will I ever get to see him?”

  “I don’t think so. Jake knows a lot about adoptions and he thinks it’s best if we never see the baby, says it only complicates things.”

  He took a sip and thought about this. “You want a cookie?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You know, Mom, I’m not sure I want to see that kid. What if he looks like Stuart?”

  “He won’t. He’ll be as beautiful as Kiera.”

  Another sip, another long pause. “You know, Mom, I’m still not sorry I shot him.”

  “Well, I’m certainly sorry you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in here.”

  “And otherwise we might all be dead.”

  “I want to ask you a question, Drew, one that’s been on my mind for a long time. Jake wants to know the answer too but he hasn’t asked you, not yet anyway. Kiera says you did not know that Stuart was raping her. Is that true?”

  He shook his head and said, “I didn’t know. She didn’t tell anybody. Lookin’ back, I think Stuart waited until there was nobody else around the house. If I had known I’d’ve shot him sooner.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, Mom. Somebody had to protect us. Stuart was gonna kill all of us. Hell, I thought you were dead that night, and I guess I just went crazy. I didn’t have a choice, Mom.” His lip quivered and his eyes watered.

  Josie began wiping her eyes as she looked at her pitiful little son. What a tragedy, what a mess, what a screwed-up life she had led her children into. She carried the burdens of a hundred bad decisions and ached with the guilt of being such a rotten mother.

  He finally said, “Don’t cry, Mom. I’ll get out of here one day and we’ll be together again, just the three of us.”

  “I hope so, Drew. I pray every day for a miracle.”

  36

  Eight days after the beating, Jake spent a long afternoon held captive in the chair of an oral surgeon who hammered and drilled and poured what felt like concrete to fix his teeth. He was groggy and in pain, with temporary caps, and would return in three weeks for the permanent crowns. The following day, Dr. Pendergrast removed the stitches and admired his handiwork. The scars would be tiny and would add “character” to Jake’s face. His nose had shrunk to near normal size, but the puffiness around his eyes had turned a hideous shade of dark yellow. Because his nurse had tortured him with constant cold packs on everything swollen, most of his body parts had returned to normal size. The urologist, prodding gently, was impressed with the shrinkage.

  He planned the return to his office so that he could park in a back alley and enter through a rear door. The last thing he wanted was to be spotted shuffling along a sidewalk and hiding under a cap and behind oversized sunglasses. He made it safely inside, gave Portia a quick hug, said hello to Bev, the chain-smoker, in her little nicotine den behind the kitchen, and walked gingerly up the stairs to his office. By the time he sat down he was winded. Portia brought him a cup of fresh coffee, gave him a long list of lawyers, judges, and clients he needed to call, and left him alone.

  It was June 28, five weeks before the capital murder trial of Drew Allen Gamble. Normally, by now he would have had a discussion with the district attorney about the possibility of a plea bargain, a deal that would negate a trial and all the preparations one would entail. But that conversation was not going to happen. Lowell Dyer could offer nothing but a full guilty plea, and no defense lawyer would allow his client to risk pleading to a death sentence. If Drew did so, his sentencing would be left to the discretion of Judge Omar Noose, who could send him to the gas chamber, or to prison for life without parole, or to a lesser term. Jake had yet to discuss this with Noose and wasn’t sure he would do so. The judge did not want the added pressure of having to hand down the sentence. Leave that for the twelve jurors, good folks who did not worry about getting reelected. Add politics to the mix, and Jake doubted Noose would show much sympathy for a cop killer. Leniency would be out of the question, regardless of the facts.

  And what would Jake suggest? Thirty years? Forty years? No sixteen-year-old kid could think in those terms. Jake doubted Drew and Josie would agree to a guilty plea. How would he advise his client? Roll the dice and take your chances with the jury? It took only one determined holdout to hang it up. Could he find such a person? A hung jury meant another trial, and another. A depressing scenario.

  He frowned at the list and picked up the phone.

  * * *

  —

  AFTER PORTIA LEFT for the day, Lucien entered, without knocking, and fell into a leather chair opposite Jake. Surprisingly, he was drinking only coffee, though it was almost five. Always sarcastic and acerbic, he was in a good mood and almost sympathetic. They had spoken twice on the phone during the convalescence. After some light chatter he said, “Look, Jake, I’ve been here every day for the past week, and it’s obvious the phone is not ringing as it should be. I’m worried about your practice.”

  Jake shrugged and tried to smile. “You’re not the only one. Portia has opened four new files in the month of June. This place is drying up.”

  “I’m afraid the town’s turned against you.”

  “That, and, as you know, it takes a certain amount of hustling to stay in business. I haven’t been doing much of that.”

  “Jake, you’ve never asked m
e for money.”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “Let me tell you a secret. My grandfather founded First National Bank in 1880 and built it into the biggest bank in the county. He liked banking, didn’t care for the law. When my father died in 1965, I inherited most of the stock. I hated the bank and the men who ran it, and so I sold out as soon as I could. Sold it to Commerce over in Tupelo. I’m no businessman but I did a smart thing, one that still surprises me. I didn’t take cash because I didn’t need it. The law office was hitting on all cylinders and I was busy, right here at this desk. Typical bank, Commerce got itself sold and merged and all that, and I hung onto the stock. It’s now called Third Federal and I’m the second largest stockholder. The dividends roll in every quarter and they keep me afloat. I have no debts and don’t spend much. I heard you saying something about refinancing your mortgage to get some cash. That still in the works?”

  “Not really. The banks here said no. I haven’t ventured outside the county.”

  “How much?”

  “I have an appraisal, one of those friendly ones from Bob Skinner, at three hundred thousand.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  “Two twenty.”

  “That’s a lot for Clanton.”

  “It sure is. I paid too much for the house but then we really wanted it. I could put it on the market now but I doubt it would sell. I don’t suppose Carla would be too happy about that.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. Don’t sell, Jake. I’ll call the folks at Third Federal and get it refinanced.”

  “Just like that?”

  “It’s easy. Hell, I’m the second largest stockholder, Jake. They’ll do the favor for me.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Lucien.”

  “Say nothing. But that’s an even bigger loan, Jake. Can you handle it?”

  “Probably not, but I’m out of options.”

  “You’re not going out of business, Jake. You’re the son I never had, and at times I feel as though I live vicariously through you. This office will not close.”