A Time to Kill

"And that’s only half of them-other half s waitin’ at the courthouse."

Ozzie hadn’t said much. One newspaper had criticized him for the shooting, implying the security around the courthouse was intentionally relaxed. He was tired of the press. Twice Wednesday he had ordered reporters out of the jail.

"I got an idea," he said.

"What?" asked Moss Junior.

"Is Curtis Todd still in jail?"

"Yep. Gets out next week."

"He sorta favors Carl Lee, don’t he?"

"Whatta you mean?"

"Well, I mean, he’s ’bout as black as Carl Lee, roughly the same height and weight, ain’t he?"

"Yeah, well, so what?" asked Prather.

Moss Junior grinned and looked at Ozzie, whose eyes never left the window. "Ozzie, you wouldn’t."

"What?" asked Prather.

"Let’s go. Get Carl Lee and Curtis Todd," Ozzie ordered. "Drive my car around back. Bring Todd here for some instructions."

Ten minutes later the front door of the jail opened and a squad of deputies escorted the prisoner down the sidewalk. Two deputies walked in front, two behind, and one on each side of the man with the thick sunglasses and handcuffs, which were not fastened. As they approached the reporters, the cameras clicked and rolled. The questions flew:

"Sir, will you plead guilty?"

"Sir, will you plead not guilty?"

"Sir, how will you plead?"

"Mr. Hailey, will you plead insanity?"

The prisoner smiled and continued the slow walk to the waiting patrol cars. The deputies smiled grimly and ignored the mob. The photographers scrambled about trying to get the perfect shot of the most famous vigilante in the country.

Suddenly, with the nation watching, with deputies all around him, with dozens of reporters recording his every move, the prisoner broke and ran. He jolted, jumped, twisted, and squirmed, running wildly across the parking lot, over a ditch, across the highway, into some trees and out of sight. The reporters shouted and broke ranks and several even chased him for a moment. Curiously, the deputies ran back to the jail and slammed the door, leaving the vultures roaming in circles of disarray. In the woods, the prisoner removed the handcuffs and walked home. Curtis Todd had just been paroled one week early.

Ozzie, Moss Junior, and Carl Lee quickly left through the rear of the jail and drove down a back street to the courthouse, where more deputies waited to escort him into the courthouse.

"How many niggers out there?" Bullard screamed at Mr. Pate.

"A ton."

"Wonderful! A ton of niggers. I guess there’s a ton of rednecks too?"

"Quite a few."

"Is the courtroom full?"

"Packed."

"My God-it’s only a preliminary!" Bullard screamed. He finished a half pint of vodka as Mr. Pate handed him another one.

"Take it easy, Judge."

"Brigance. It’s all his fault. He could waive this if he wanted to. I asked him to. Asked him twice. He knows I’ll send it to the grand jury. He knows that. All lawyers know that. But now I gotta make all the niggers mad because I won’t turn him loose, and I’ll make all the rednecks mad because I won’t execute him today in the courtroom. I’ll get Brigance for this. He’s playing for the cameras. I have to get reelected, but he doesn’t, does he?"

"No, Judge."

"How many officers out there?"

"Plenty. Sheriffs called in the reserves. You’re safe."

"How about the press?"

"They’re lined up on the front rows."

"No cameras!"

"No cameras."

"Is Hailey here?"

"Yes, sir. He’s in the courtroom with Brigance. Ever-body’s ready, just waitin’ on you."

His Honor filled a Styrofoam cup with straight vodka. "Okay, let’s go."

Just like in the old days before the sixties, the courtroom was neatly segregated with the blacks and whites separated by the center aisle. The officers stood solemnly in the aisle and around the walls of the courtroom. Of particular concern was an assemblage of slightly intoxicated whites sitting together in two rows near the front. A couple were recognized as brothers or cousins of the late Billy Ray Cobb.

They were watched closely. The two front rows, the one on the right in front of the blacks and the one on the left in front of the whites, were occupied by two dozen journalists of various sorts. Some took notes while some sketched the defendant, his lawyer, and now finally, the judge.

"They gonna make this nigger a hero," mumbled one of the rednecks, loud enough for the reporters.

When Bullard assumed the bench, the deputies locked the rear door.

"Call your first witness," he ordered in the direction of Rocky Childers.

"The State calls Sheriff Ozzie Walls."

The sheriff was sworn and took the stand. He relaxed and began a long narrative describing the scene of the shooting, the bodies, the wounds, the gun, the fingerprints on the gun and the fingerprints of the defendant. Childers produced an affidavit signed by Officer Looney and witnessed by the sheriff and Moss Junior. It identified the gunman as Carl Lee. Ozzie verified Looney’s signature and read the affidavit into the record.

"Sheriff, do you know of any other eyewitness?" asked Childers with no enthusiasm.

"Yes, Murphy, the janitor."

"What’s his first name?"

"Nobody knows. He’s just Murphy."

"Okay. Have you talked to him?"

"No, but my investigator did."

"Who is your investigator?"

"Officer Rady."

Rady was sworn and seated in the witness chair. Mr. Pate fetched the judge another cup of ice water from chambers. Jake took pages of notes. He would call no witnesses, and he chose not to cross-examine the sheriff. Occasionally, the State’s witnesses would get their lies confused in a preliminary, and Jake would ask a few questions on cross-examination to nail down, for the record, the discrepancies. Later at trial when the lying started again, Jake would produce the testimony from the preliminary to further confuse the liars. But not today.

"Sir, have you had an occasion to talk with Murphy?" Childers asked.

"Murphy who?"

"I don’t know-just Murphy, the janitor."

"Oh him. Yes, sir."

"Good. What did he say?"

"About what?"

Childers hung his head. Rady was new, and had not testified much. Ozzie thought this would be good practice.

"About the shooting! Tell us what he told you about the shooting."

Jake stood. "Your Honor. I object. I know hearsay is admissible in a preliminary, but this Murphy fella is available. He works here in the courthouse. Why not let him testify?"

"Because he stutters," replied Bullard.

"What!"

"He stutters. And I don’t want to hear him stutter for the next thirty minutes. Objection overruled. Continue, Mr. Childers."

Jake sat in disbelief. Bullard snickered at Mr. Pate, who left for more ice water.

"Now, Mr. Rady, what did Murphy tell you about the shooting?"

"Well, he’s hard to understand because he was so excited, and when he gets excited he stutters real bad. I mean he stutters anyway, but-"

"Just tell us what he said!" Bullard shouted.

"Okay. He said he saw a male black shoot the two white boys and the deputy."

"Thank you," said Childers. "Now where was he when this took place?"

"Who?"

"Murphy!"