by John Grisham
“The usual. Jake, I want to go to Oxford tomorrow, a Saturday day trip, just the two of us. We can picnic with Josie and Kiera, and I want to ask them for the baby.”
It sounded odd, as if asking for a favor, for advice, for a recipe or even something more tangible like a book to borrow. Her eyes were moist and Jake looked at them for a long time. “You’ve made up your mind?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Jake, it’s time to make a decision because I can’t keep on like this. We either say yes or forget about it. I think about it every day, every hour, and I’m convinced it’s the right thing to do. Look down the road, one year, two years, five years, when all this is behind us, when Drew is wherever Drew will be, when the gossip has died down and people have accepted it, when this mess is over, and we’ll have a beautiful little boy that will be ours forever. Somebody gets him, Jake, and I want him to grow up in this house.”
“If we still have the house.”
“Come on. Let’s make the decision tonight.”
The decision had been made and Jake knew it.
* * *
—
6:00 A.M. SHARP, Jake walked into the Coffee Shop for the first time in weeks. Dell greeted him at the front with a sassy “Well, good morning, handsome. What have you been up to?”
Jake gave her a quick hug and nodded to the regulars. He took his old seat where Bill West was reading the Tupelo paper and drinking coffee. Bill said, “Well, well, look what the dogs drug up. Good to see you.”
“Good morning,” Jake said.
“We heard you were dead,” Bill said.
“You can’t believe anything around here. The gossip is terrible.”
Bill gawked at him and said, “Looks like your nose is a bit crooked.”
“You should’ve seen it last week.”
Dell poured him coffee and asked, “The usual?”
“Why would I change after ten years?”
“Just tryin’ to be nice.”
“Give it up. It doesn’t suit you. And tell the chef to hurry up. I’m starving.”
“You want your butt kicked again?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I do not.”
One table over, a farmer named Dunlap asked, “Say, Jake, we heard you got a good look at those boys. Any idea who it was?”
“Professionals, sent in by the CIA to silence me.”
“Seriously, Jake. Tell us who it is and I’ll send Willis here out for a little payback.”
Willis was eighty years old with one lung and one leg. “Damned right,” he said, tapping his cane. “I’ll get those bastards.”
“Watch your language,” Dell yelled from across the café as she refilled coffee.
“Thanks, fellas, but I have no idea,” Jake said.
“That ain’t what I heard,” Dunlap said.
“Well, if you heard it here it can’t be right.”
The day before, Jake had sneaked down to the café late in the day to catch up with Dell. He had talked to her twice on the phone when he was being held hostage at home by his nurse, and so he knew what his breakfast regulars were saying about him. At first they were shocked and angry, and then concerned. There was a general belief that it was related to the Kofer case, and that was confirmed four days after the attack when the rumor surfaced that it was one of Earl’s boys. The following day, the gossip was that Jake was refusing to press charges. Roughly half the crowd admired him for this while the others wanted justice.
His grits and wheat toast arrived and the talk moved to football. The pre-season magazines were out and Ole Miss was ranked higher than expected. This pleased some and upset others, and Jake was relieved that things were returning to normal. The grits slid down with ease, but the toast needed chewing. He did so slowly, careful not to indicate that his jaw still ached and he was avoiding the temporary crowns. A week earlier he’d been dining on fruit shakes through a straw.
Late in the afternoon, Harry Rex called to check on him. He asked, “You see the legals in the Times?”
Every lawyer in town checked the weekly legal notices to see who had been arrested, who had filed for divorce or bankruptcy, which dead person’s estate had been opened for probate, and whose land was being foreclosed. The notices were in the back with the classifieds, all in fine print.
Jake was behind with his reading and said, “No. What’s up?”
“Take a look. They’re probating Kofer’s estate. He died with no will and they need to transfer his land to his heirs.”
“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
Harry Rex studied the legals with a magnifying glass to keep abreast of the news and gossip. Jake usually just scanned them, but he had not ignored Stuart Kofer’s property. The county assessed the house and ten acres at $115,000, and there were no mortgages or liens. The title was free and clear, and all potential creditors had ninety days from July 2 to file claims against the estate. Kofer had been dead for over three months and Jake wondered what took so long, though such a delay was not unusual. State law provided no deadline to open probate.
He thought of at least two possible lawsuits. One filed on behalf of Josie for her medical bills, now in excess of $20,000—but the debt collectors couldn’t find her. The second could be filed on behalf of Kiera for child support. And he could not forget his own lawsuit against Cecil Kofer for the beating and the bills it created, only half of which were covered by Jake’s no-frills health insurance policy.
But suing the Kofers at this point could be counterproductive. His sympathy for the family had dissipated in the Kroger parking lot, but they had suffered enough. For now. He would wait until after Drew’s trial and reassess the situation. The last thing he needed was more bad press. Lucien be damned.
38
Beginning in early July, as soon as Jake was physically able, Judge Noose began appointing him to indigent criminal cases throughout the Twenty-second district. It was not unusual for a lawyer from one county to handle cases next door, and Jake had done so throughout his career. The local lawyers did not complain because most of them did not want the work to begin with. The pay was not great—$50 an hour—but at least it was guaranteed. And, it was common practice throughout the state to pad the indigent files with a few extra hours to cover time spent driving from one courthouse to another. Noose even bunched Jake’s cases together so that the ninety-minute trip to the town of Temple in Milburn County would be somewhat profitable when four new defendants were hauled into court for their initial appearances. Jake was soon running down to Smithfield in Polk County, and to the crumbling Van Buren County courthouse outside the town of Chester, Noose’s home. He was appointed to every indigent case in Ford County.
He suspected, but of course could never prove, that Chancellor Reuben Atlee had intervened with one of his judges-only chats and whispered to Noose something to the effect of “You stuck him with Gamble, now help him out.”
Two weeks before the Gamble trial, Jake was in Gretna, seat of Tyler County, handling the first appearances of three freshly indicted car thieves, with Lowell Dyer representing the State. After a long morning grinding the wheels of justice, Judge Noose called them both to the bench and said, “Gentlemen, let’s have lunch together in chambers. We have things to discuss.”
Since Dyer’s office was just down the hall, he asked his secretary to order sandwiches. Jake asked for egg salad, the easiest to chew. When the food arrived, they took off their jackets, loosened their ties, and started eating.
“In the Gamble matter, gentlemen, what’s pending?” Noose knew exactly what matters needed to be decided before trial, but the meeting was informal and off the record so he let the lawyers choose the impromptu agenda.
Jake said, “Well, venue, for one.”
Noose said, “Yes, and I’m inclined to agree with you, Jake. It might be difficul
t to pick an impartial jury in Clanton. I’m changing venue. Lowell?”
“Judge, we’ve filed our objection and supporting affidavits. There’s nothing else to say.”
“Good. I’ve been fully briefed and I’ve thought about it for a long time.”
And you’ve also had an earful from Judge Atlee, Jake thought.
“We’ll try the case in Chester,” Noose declared.
For the defense, any venue other than Clanton was a win. But trying the case in the dilapidated Van Buren County Courthouse was not much better. Jake nodded and tried to appear pleased. An August trial in that dusty old courtroom, with a packed house, would be like slugging it out in a sauna. He almost wished he hadn’t howled for a change of venue. Polk County had a modern courthouse with toilets that actually flushed. Why not there? And Milburn County Courthouse had just been renovated.
“It may not be your favorite courtroom,” Noose said, stating the obvious. “But I’ll get it spruced up. I’ve already ordered some new window units to keep things cool.”
The only way to improve Noose’s favorite courtroom was to burn it. What a challenge it would be to examine witnesses over the din of straining AC units.
Noose went on, trying to justify a decision based more on the comfort of the judge than the convenience of the litigants. “The trial is two weeks away and I’ll have the place ready.” Jake suspected His Honor wanted to shine in front of his home folks. Whatever. The slight advantage was Jake’s, but the State could try the case anywhere and still have the upper hand.
“We’ll be ready,” Dyer said. “I’m concerned about the psychiatric expert for the defense, Your Honor. We’ve asked twice for his name and résumé and have received nothing.”
Jake said, “I’m not going with insanity, and I’m withdrawing the M’Naghten notice.”
Dyer was startled and blurted, “Couldn’t find an expert?”
“Oh, there are plenty of experts, Lowell,” Jake said coolly. “Just a change in strategy.”
Noose was surprised too. “When did you decide this?”
“Within the past few days.” They ate for a moment and considered this.
“Well, that should make the trial even shorter,” Noose said, obviously pleased. Neither side wanted a war over expert testimony that few jurors could grasp. Insanity was used in less than 1 percent of all criminal trials, and though it rarely worked for the defense it never failed to stir strong emotions and confuse juries.
“Any more surprises, Jake?” Lowell asked.
“Not at this time.”
“I don’t like surprises, gentlemen,” Noose said.
Dyer said, “Well, Judge, there’s an important matter still hanging in the air, and it’s no surprise to anyone. It seems patently unfair to the State to allow this trial to turn into a slander campaign against the victim, a fine officer of the law who cannot be there to defend himself. There will be allegations of physical abuse, even sexual abuse, and we have no way of knowing the truth about these claims. The only three witnesses are Josie Gamble and her two children, assuming Drew will be a witness, which I doubt, but these three will have the opportunity to say virtually anything about Stuart Kofer. How am I supposed to get to the truth?”
“They’ll be under oath,” Noose said.
“Sure they will, but they’ll have every motive known to man to exaggerate, even lie and fabricate. Drew will be on trial for his very life, and I don’t doubt for a second that he and his mother and sister will paint a nasty portrait of the victim. It is simply not fair.”
Jake deftly opened a file and withdrew two enlarged color photos of Josie lying in the hospital bed with her face swollen and bandaged. He slid one across the table to Dyer and handed the other to His Honor. “Why lie?” he asked. “This speaks for itself.”
Dyer had already seen the photographs. “You plan to offer this as evidence?”
“I certainly do, when she testifies.”
“I’ll object to the jury seeing this one and the others.”
“Object all you want, but you know they’ll be admitted.”
“I’ll make that decision at trial,” Noose said, reminding them of who was in charge.
“And what about the girl?” Dyer asked. “I assume she’ll testify that she was sexually assaulted by Kofer.”
“Correct. She was repeatedly raped.”
“But how do we know? Did she tell her mother? Did she tell anyone? We know she didn’t call the authorities.”
“That was because Kofer threatened to kill her if she did.”
Dyer threw up his hands and said, “See, Judge, how do we know she was raped?”
Just wait, thought Jake. You’ll find out soon enough.
Dyer went on, “It’s just not fair, Judge. They can say anything they want about Stuart Kofer and we have no way to counter.”
“The facts are the facts, Lowell,” Jake said. “They were living a nightmare and were afraid to tell anyone. That’s the truth and we can’t hide it or change it.”
“I want to talk to the girl,” Dyer said. “I have the right to know what she’ll say on the stand, assuming I’m forced to call her as a witness.”
“If you don’t call her I will.”
“Where is she?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Come on, Jake. Are you hiding another witness?”
Jake took a deep breath and held his tongue. Noose showed them his palms and said, “We’re not going to bicker, gentlemen. Jake, do you know where they are?”
Jake glared at Dyer and said, “Cheap shot.” He looked at Noose and said, “I do and I’m sworn to secrecy, Your Honor. They’re not far away and they’ll be in court when the trial starts.”
“Are they hiding?”
“You could say that, yes. After I was attacked they were rattled and left the area. Who can blame them? That, plus Josie has bill collectors hounding her, so she’s gone underground. Nothing new for her, really, because she’s been running most of her life. She’s moved around more than the three of us combined. They’ll be in the courtroom when the trial starts, I guarantee it. They will be witnesses and they have to be there for Drew.”
“I’d still like to talk to her,” Dyer said.
“You’ve done that twice already, both times in my office. You asked me to make them available and I did.”
“Are you going to put the defendant on the stand?” Dyer asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Jake said with a sappy smile, because he didn’t have to answer the question. “I’ll wait and see how the trial goes.”
Noose took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a while. “I don’t like the idea of putting the deceased on trial. However, there was obviously a violent encounter with the mother just moments before he died. There are allegations of abuse of the children, and threats to keep them silent. Taken as a whole, I see no way to keep this from the jury. I’d like you to submit briefs on this issue and we’ll talk again before the trial.”
They had already submitted briefs and had nothing to add. Noose was stalling and looking for a way to avoid a tough decision. “Anything else?” he asked.
“What about the list of potential jurors?” Jake asked.
“It will be faxed to your respective offices at nine a.m. next Monday. I’m working on it now. We purged our voter registration rolls last year, at my direction, and this county is in good shape. We’ll summon about a hundred for jury selection. And I’m warning both of you to stay away from the pool. Jake, as I recall, there were a lot of rumors about contact with the pool in the Hailey trial.”
“Not by me, Your Honor. Rufus Buckley was out of control and the prosecution was stalking people.”
“Whatever. This is a small county and I know most of the people. If anyone is contacted I’ll hear about it.”
“B
ut we can conduct our basic investigations, right, Judge?” Dyer asked. “We have the right to gather as much background as possible.”
“Yes, but no direct contact.”
Jake was already thinking about Harry Rex and wondering who he might know in Van Buren County. And Gwen Hailey, Carl Lee’s wife, was from Chester and had grown up not far from the courthouse. And years ago Jake had handled a land dispute for a nice family out in the county, and won it. And Morris Finley, one of the few lawyers left in Chester, was an old friend.
Across the table, Lowell Dyer was having similar thoughts. In the race to dig up dirt on the potential jurors, he would have the upper hand because Ozzie would lean on the local sheriff, an old-timer who knew everybody. The race was on.
* * *
—
LEAVING THE COURTHOUSE in Gretna, Jake called Harry Rex and told him the trial would be in Chester. Harry Rex cursed and said, “Why that dump?”
“That’s the question of the day. Probably because Noose wants the trial in his backyard so he can go home for lunch. Get busy.”
He had just crossed into Ford County when a red warning light next to his odometer began flashing. His engine was losing power and he stopped in front of a country church without another car in sight. It had finally happened. He and his beloved 1983 Saab had traveled 270,000 miles together and their journey had finally come to an end. He called the office and asked Portia to send a tow truck. He sat on the shaded steps of the church for an hour and stared at his most cherished possession.
It had been the coolest in town when he bought it new, in Memphis, after settling a workers’ comp case. The fee went for the down payment but the monthly notes had stretched on for five years. He should have traded it in two years earlier when he had cash from the Hubbard will contest, but he didn’t want to spend the money. Nor did he want to part with the only red Saab in the county. But the repair bills had become outrageous because no mechanic in Clanton would touch the damned thing. Service required an all-day trip to Memphis, something he would not miss. The car attracted too much attention. He had been easy to spot driving away from Stan’s that night when Mike Nesbit pulled him over and almost charged him with DUI. And he had no doubt that his beating at Kroger had been facilitated by the fact that the red Saab was easy to follow.
