A Time to Kill

"The fear of a young family as the father walks into the courtroom and faces a jury of his peers?"

"No." It was unbuttoned, and under it a thin, fluorescent band of white silk glittered against the brown skin.

"The latent unfairness of our judicial system?"

"No." She slid an almost perfect bronze leg up, up, up to the back of the sofa where it gently came to rest.

"The unethical and unscrupulous tactics employed by cops and prosecutors to nail innocent defendants?"

"No." She unsnapped the band of silk between the two almost perfect br**sts.

"The fervor, the fury, the intensity, the uncontrolled emotions, the struggle of the human spirit, the unbridled passion?"

"Close enough," she said. Shirts and shorts ricocheted off the lamps and coffee tables as the bodies meshed deep under the cushions. The old sofa, a gift from her parents, rocked and squeaked on the ancient hardwood floor. It was sturdy, and accustomed to the rocking and squeaking. Max the mix-breed instinctively ran down the hall to stand guard by Hanna’s door.

Harry Rex Vonner was a huge slob of a lawyer who specialized in nasty divorce cases and perpetually kept some jerk in jail for back child support. He was vile and vicious, and his services were in great demand by divorcing parties in Ford County. He could get the children, the house, the farm, the VCR, and microwave, everything. One wealthy farmer kept him on retainer just so the current wife couldn’t hire him for the next divorce. Harry Rex sent his criminal cases to Jake, and Jake sent his nasty divorces to Harry Rex. They were friends and disliked the other lawyers, especially the Sullivan firm.

Tuesday morning he barged in and growled at Ethel: "Jake in?" He lumbered toward the stairs, glaring at her and daring her to speak. She nodded, knowing better than to ask if he was expected. He had cursed her before. He had cursed everybody before.

The stairway shook as he thundered upward. He was gasping for air as he entered the big office.

"Morning, Harry Rex. You gonna make it?"

"Why don’t you get an office downstairs?" he demanded between breaths.

"You need the exercise. If it weren’t for those stairs your weight would be over three hundred."

"Thanks. Say, I just came from the courtroom. Noose wants you in chambers at ten-thirty if possible. Wants to talk about Hailey with you and Buckley. Set up arraignment, trial date, all that crap. He asked me to tell you."

"Good. I’ll be there."

"I guess you heard about the grand jury?"

"Sure. I’ve got a copy of the indictment right here."

Harry Rex smiled. "No. No, I mean the vote on the indictment."

Jake froze and looked at him curiously. Harry Rex moved in silent and dark circles like a cloud over the county. He was an endless source of gossip and rumor, and took great pride in spreading only the truth-most of the time. He was the first to know almost everything. The legend of

Harry Rex began twenty years earlier with his first jury trial. The railroad he had sued for millions refused to offer a dime, and after three days of trial the jury retired to deliberate. The railroad lawyers became concerned when the jury failed to return with a quick verdict in their favor. They offered Harry Rex twenty-five thousand to settle when the deliberations went into the second day. With nerves of steel, he told them to go to hell. His client wanted the money. He told his client to go to hell. Hours later a weary and fatigued jury returned with a verdict for one hundred fifty thousand. Harry Rex shot the bird at the railroad lawyers, snubbed his clients and went to the bar at the Best Western. He bought drinks for everyone, and during the course of the long evening explained in detail exactly how he had wired the jury room and knew exactly what the jury was up to. Word spread, and Murphy found a series of wires running through the heating ducts to the jury room. The State Bar Association snooped around, but found nothing. For twenty years the judges had ordered the bailiffs to inspect the jury room when Harry Rex was in any way connected with a case.

"How do you know the vote?" Jake asked, suspicion hanging on every syllable.

"I got sources."

"Okay, what was the vote?"

"Twelve to six. One fewer vote and you wouldn’t be holding that indictment."

"Twelve to six," Jake repeated.

"Buckley near ’bout died. A guy named Crowell, white guy, took charge and almost convinced enough of them not to indict your man."

"Do you know Crowell?"

"I handled his divorce two years ago. He lived in Jackson until his first wife was raped by a nigger. She went crazy and they got a divorce. She took a steak knife and sliced her wrists. Then he moved to Clanton and married some sleazebag out in the county. Lasted about a year. He ate Buckley’s lunch. Told him to shut up and sit down. I wish I could’ve seen it."

"Sounds like you did."

"Naw. Just got a good source."

"Who?"

"Jake, come on."

"You been wiring rooms again?"

"Nope. I just listen. That’s a good sign, ain’t it?"

"What?"

"The close vote. Six outta eighteen voted to let him walk. Five niggers and Crowell. That’s a good sign. Just get a couple of niggers on the jury and hang it. Right?"

"It’s not that easy. If it’s tried in this county there’s a good chance we’ll have an all-white jury. They’re common here, and as you know, they’re still very constitutional. Plus this guy Crowell sounds like he came outta nowhere."

"That’s what Buckley thought. -You should see that ass. He’s in the courtroom strutting around ready to sign autographs over his big TV splash last night. No one wants to talk about it, so he manages to work it into every conversation. He’s like a kid begging for attention."

"Be sweet. He may be your next governor."

"Not if he loses Hailey. And he’s gonna lose Hailey, Jake. We’ll pick us a good jury, twelve good and faithful citizens, then we’ll buy them."

"I didn’t hear that."

"Works every time."

A few minutes after ten-thirty, Jake entered the judge’s chamber behind the courtroom and coolly shook hands with Buckley, Musgrove, and Ichabod. They had been waiting on him. Noose waved him toward a seat and sat behind the desk.

"Jake, this will take just a few minutes." He peered down that nose. "I would like to arraign Carl Lee Hailey in the morning at nine. Any problems with that?"

"No. That’ll be fine," replied Jake.

"We’ll have some other arraignments in the morning, then we start a burglary case at ten. Right, Rufus?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Now let’s discuss a trial date for Mr. Hailey. As you know, the next term of court here is in late August- third Monday-and I’m sure the docket will be just as crowded then. Because of the nature of this case and, frankly, because of the publicity, I think it would be best if we had a trial as soon as practical."

"The sooner the better," inserted Buckley.

"Jake, how long will you need to prepare for trial?"

"Sixty days."

"Sixty days!" Buckley repeated in disbelief. "Why so long?"

Jake ignored him and watched Ichabod adjust his reading glasses and study his calendar. "Would it be safe to anticipate a request for a change of venue?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Won’t make any difference," Buckley said. "We’ll get a conviction anywhere."

"Save it for the cameras, Rufus," Jake said quietly.