A Time to Kill

"He used to work for you?"

"Yeah, but I don’t think you met him. He was in the firm about two years before I left. He’s young, early thirties. Clean, aggressive, works hard."

"And he used to work for you?"

"That’s what I said. He’s got trial experience for his age. This is not his first murder case, but, if I’m not mistaken, it’s his first insanity case."

"That’s nice to hear. I don’t want someone asking a lot of questions."

"I like your confidence. Wait till you meet the D.A."

"I just don’t feel good about this. We tried it twice, and it didn’t work."

Lucien shook his head in bewilderment. "You’ve got to be the humblest doctor I’ve known."

"And the poorest."

"You’re supposed to be pompous and arrogant. You’re the expert. Act like one. Who’s gonna question your professional opinion in Clanton, Mississippi?"

"The State will have experts."

"They will have one psychiatrist from Whitfield. He’ll examine the defendant for a few hours, and then drive up for trial and testify that the defendant is the sanest man he’s

ever met. He’s never seen a legally insane defendant. To him no one is insane. Everybody’s blessed with perfect mental health. Whitfield is full of sane people, except when it applies for government money, then half the state’s crazy. He’d get fired if he started saying defendants are legally insane. So that’s who you’re up against."

"And the jury will automatically believe me?"

"You act as though you’ve never been through one of these before."

"Twice, remember. One ra**st, one murderer. Neither was insane, in spite of what I said. Both are now locked away where they belong."

Lucien took a long drink and studied the light brown liquid and the floating ice cubes. "You said you would help me. God knows you owe me the favor. How many divorces did I handle for you?"

"Three. And I got cleaned out every time."

"You deserved it every time. It was either give in or go to trial and have your habits discussed in open court."

"I remember."

"How many clients, or patients, have I sent you over the years?"

"Not enough to pay my alimony."

"Remember the malpractice case by the lady whose treatment consisted primarily of weekly sessions on your couch with the foldaway bed? Your malpractice carrier refused to defend, so you called your dear friend Lucien who settled it for peanuts and kept it out of court."

"There were no witnesses."

"Just the lady herself. And the court files showing where your wives had sued for divorce on the grounds of adultery."

"They couldn’t prove it."

"They didn’t get a chance. We didn’t want them to try, remember?"

"All right, enough, enough. I said I would help. What about my credentials?"

"Are you a compulsive worrier?"

"No. I just get nervous when I think of courtrooms."

"Your credentials are fine. You’ve been qualified before as an expert witness. Don’t worry so much."

"What about this?" He waved his drink at Lucien.

"You shouldn’t drink so much," he said piously.

The doctor dropped his drink and exploded in laughter. He rofled out of his chair and crawled to the edge of the porch, holding his stomach and shaking in laughter.

"You’re drunk," Lucien said as he left for another bottle.

When Jake arrived an hour later, Lucien was rocking slowly in his huge wicker rocker. The doctor was asleep in the swing at the far end of the porch. He was barefoot, and his toes had disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the porch. Jake walked up the steps and startled Lucien.

"Jake, my boy, how are you?" he slurred.

"Fine, Lucien. I see you’re doing quite well." He looked at the empty bottle and one not quite empty.

"I wanted you to meet that man," he said, trying to sit up straight.

"Who is he?"

"He’s our psychiatrist. Dr. W.T. Bass, from Jackson. Good friend of mine. He’ll help us with Hailey."

"Is he good?"

"The best. We’ve worked together on several insanity cases."

Jake took a few steps in the direction of the swing and stopped. The doctor was lying on his back with his shirt unbuttoned and his mouth wide open. He snored heavily, with an unusual guttural gurgling sound. A horsefly the size of a small sparrow buzzed around his nose and retreated to the top of the swing with each thunderous exhalation. A rancid vapor emanated with the snoring and hung like an invisible fog over the end of the porch.

"He’s a doctor?" Jake asked as he sat next to Lucien.

"Psychiatry," Lucien said proudly.

"Did he help you with those?" Jake nodded at the bottles.

"I helped him. He drinks like a fish, but he’s always sober at trial."

"That’s comforting."

"You’ll like him. He’s cheap. Owes me a favor. Won’t cost a dime."

"I like him already."

Lucien’s face was as red as his eyes. "Wanna drink?"

"No. It’s three-thirty in the afternoon."

"Really! What day is it?"

"Wednesday, June 12. How long have y’all been drinking?"

" ‘Bout thirty years." Lucien laughed and rattled his ice cubes.

"I mean today."

"We drank our breakfast. What difference does it make?"

"Does he work?"

"Naw, he’s retired."

"Was his retirement voluntary?"

"You mean, was he disbarred, so to speak?"

"That’s right, so to speak."

"No. He still has his license, and his credentials are impeccable."

"He looks impeccable."

"Booze got him a few years ago. Booze and alimony. I handled three of his divorces. He reached the point where all of his income went for alimony and child support, so he quit working."

"How does he manage?"

"We, uh, I mean, he stashed some away. Hid it from his wives and their hungry lawyers. He’s really quite comfortable."

"He looks comfortable."

"Plus he peddles a little dope, but only to a rich clientele. Not really dope, but narcotics which he can legally prescribe. It’s not really illegal; just a little unethical."

"What’s he doing here?"

"He visits occasionally. He lives in Jackson but hates it. I called him Sunday after I talked to you. He wants to meet Hailey as soon as possible, tomorrow if he can."

The doctor grunted and rolled to his side, causing the swing to move suddenly. It swung a few times, and he moved again, still snoring. He stretched his right leg, and his foot caught a thick branch in the shrubbery. The swing jerked

sideways and threw the good doctor onto the porch. His head crashed onto the wooden floor while his right foot remained lodged through the end of the swing. He grimaced and coughed, then began snoring again. Jake instinctively started toward him, but stopped when it was apparent he was unharmed and still asleep.

"Leave him alone!" ordered Lucien between laughs.

Lucien slid an ice cube down the porch and just missed the doctor’s head. The second cube landed perfectly on the tip of his nose. "Perfect shot!" Lucien roared. "Wake up, you drunk!"

Jake walked down the steps toward his car, listening to his former boss laugh and curse and throw ice cubes at Dr. W.T. Bass, psychiatrist, witness for the defense.

Deputy DeWayne Looney left the hospital on crutches, and drove his wife and three children to the jail, where the sheriff, the other deputies, the reserves, and a few friends waited with a cake and small gifts. He would be a dispatcher now, and would retain his badge and uniform and full salary.