A Time to Kill

Lucien drank and watched the lights from the square.

"What happened to the girl?"

"According to Bass, a week before he finished medical school, his wife, who’s pregnant again, and the little boy were killed in a train wreck in Fort Worth. That’s when he started drinking, and quit living."

"And he’s never told you this before?"

"Don’t interrogate me. I told you I knew nothing about it. I put him on the witness stand twice myself, remember. If I had known it, he would never have testified."

"Why didn’t he ever tell you?"

"I guess because he thought the record was erased. I don’t know. Technically, he’s right. There is no record after the expungement. But he was convicted."

Jake took a long, bitter drink of whiskey. It was nasty.

They sat in silence for ten minutes. It was dark and the crickets were in full chorus. Sallie walked to the screen door and asked Jake if he wanted supper. He said no thanks.

"What happened this afternoon?" Lucien asked.

"Carl Lee testified, and we adjourned at four. Buckley didn’t have his psychiatrist ready. He’ll testify Monday."

"How’d he do?"

"Fair. He followed Bass, and you could feel the hatred from the jurors. He was stiff and sounded rehearsed. I don’t think he scored too many points."

"What’d Buckley do?"

"Went wild. Screamed at Carl Lee for an hour. Carl Lee kept getting smart with him, and they sniped back and forth. I think they both got hurt. On redirect, I propped him

up some and he came across pitiful and sympathetic. Almost cried at the end."

"That’s nice."

"Yeah, real nice. But they’ll convict him, won’t they?"

"I would imagine."

"After we adjourned, he tried to fire me. Said I’d lost his case and he wanted a new lawyer."

Lucien walked to the edge of the porch and unzipped his pants. He leaned on a column and sprayed the shrubs. He was barefoot and looked like a flood victim. Sallie brought him a fresh drink.

"How’s Row Ark?" he asked.

"Stable, they say. I called her room and a nurse said she couldn’t talk. I’ll go over tomorrow."

"I hope she’s okay. She’s a fine girl."

"She’s a radical bitch, but a very smart one. I feel like it’s my fault, Lucien."

"It’s not your fault. It’s a crazy world, Jake. Full of crazy people. Right now I think half of them are in Ford County."

"Two weeks ago, they planted dy***ite outside my bedroom window. They beat to death my secretary’s husband. Yesterday they shot at me and hit a guardsman. Now they grab my law clerk, tie her to a pole, rip her clothes off, cut her hair, and she’s in the hospital with a concussion. I wonder what’s next."

"I think you should surrender."

"I would. I would march down to the courthouse right now and surrender my briefcase, lay down my arms, give up. But to whom? The enemy is invisible."

"You can’t quit, Jake. Your client needs you."

"To hell with my client. He tried to fire me today."

"He needs you. This thing ain’t over till it’s over."

Nesbit’s head hung halfway out the window and the saliva dripped down the left side of his chin, down the door, forming a small puddle over the "O" in the Ford of the Sheriffs Department insignia on the side of the car. An empty beer can moistened his crotch. After two weeks of bodyguard duty he had grown accustomed to sleeping with the mosquitoes in his patrol car while protecting the nigger’s lawyer.

Moments after Saturday turned into Sunday, the radio violated his rest. He grabbed the mike while wiping his chin on his left sleeve.

"S.O. 8," he responded.

"What’s your 10-20?"

"Same place it was two hours ago."

"The Wilbanks house?"

"10-4."

"Is Brigance still there?"

"10-4."

"Get him and take him to his house on Adams. It’s an emergency."

Nesbit walked past the empty bottles on the porch, through the unlocked door, where he found Jake sprawled on the couch in the front room.

"Get up, Jake! You gotta go home! It’s an emergency!"

Jake jumped to his feet and followed Nesbit. They stopped on the front steps and looked past the dome of the courthouse. In the distance a boiling funnel of black smoke rose above an orange glow and drifted peacefully toward the half moon.

Adams Street was blocked with an assortment of volunteer vehicles, mostly pickups. Each had a variety of red and yellow emergency lights, at least a thousand in all. They spun and flashed and streaked through the darkness in a silent chorus, illuminating the street.

The fire engines were parked haphazardly in front of the house. The firemen and volunteers worked frantically laying lines and getting organized, responding occasionally to the commands of the chief. Ozzie, Prather, and Hastings stood near an engine. Some guardsmen lingered benignly near a jeep.

The fire was brilliant. Flames roared from every window across the front of the. house, upstairs and down. The carport was completely engulfed. Carla’s Cutlass burned inside and out-the four tires emitting a darker glow of their own. Curiously, another, smaller car, not the Saab, burned next to the Cutlass.

The thundering, crackling noise of the fire, plus the rumbling of the fire engines, plus the loud voices, attracted

neighbors from several blocks. They crowded together in the lawns across the street and watched.

Jake and Nesbit ran down the street. The chief spotted them and came running.

"Jake! Is anybody in the house?"

"No!"

"Good. I didn’t think so."

"Just a dog."

"A dog!"

Jake nodded and watched the house.

"I’m sorry," said the chief.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

They gathered at Ozzie’s car in front of Mrs. Pickle’s house. Jake answered questions,

"That’s not your Volkswagen under there, is it, Jake?"

Jake stared in stunned silence at Carla’s landmark. He shook his head.

"I didn’t think so. Looks like that’s where it started."

"I don’t understand," said Jake.

"If it ain’t your car, then somebody parked it there, right? Notice how the floor of the carport is burnin’? Concrete don’t normally burn. It’s gasoline. Somebody loaded the VW with gasoline, parked it and ran away. Probably had some kinda device which set the thing off."

Prather and two volunteers agreed.

"How long’s it been burning?" Jake asked.

"We got here ten minutes ago," the chief said, "and it was well involved. I’d say thirty minutes. It’s a good fire. Somebody knew what they’s doin’."

"I don’t suppose we could get anything out of there, could we?" Jake asked in general, knowing the answer.

"No way, Jake. It’s too involved. My men couldn’t go in there if people were trapped. It’s a good fire."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, look at it. It’s burnin’ evenly through the house. You can see flames in every window. Downstairs and up. •That’s very unusual. In just a minute, it’ll burn through the roof."

Two squads inched forward with the lines, shooting water in the direction of the windows by the front porch. A smaller line was aimed at a window upstairs. After watching for a minute or two as the water disappeared into the flames

with no noticeable effect, the chief spat and said, "It’ll burn to the ground." With that he disappeared around an engine and began shouting.

Jake looked at Nesbit. "Will you do me a favor?"