A Time to Kill

The fellowship hall of the Springdale Church had been thoroughly cleaned and shined, and the folding tables and chairs dusted and placed in perfect rows around the room. It was the largest black church in the county and it was in Clanton, so the Reverend Agee deemed it necessary to meet there. The purpose of the press conference was to get vocal, to show support of the local boy who made good, and to announce the establishment of the Carl Lee Hailey Legal Defense Fund. The national director of the NAACP was present with a five-thousand-dollar check and a promise of serious money later. The executive director of the Memphis branch brought five thousand and grandly laid it on the table. They sat with Agee behind the two folding tables in the front of the room with every member of the council seated behind them and two hundred black church members in the crowded audience. Gwen sat next to Agee. A few reporters and cameras, much fewer than expected, grouped in the center of the room and filmed away.

Agee spoke first and was inspired by the cameras. He talked of the Haileys and their goodness and innocence, and of baptizing Tonya when she was only eight. He talked of a family wrecked by racism and hatred. There were sniffles in the audience. Then he got mean. He tore into the judicial system and its desire to prosecute a good and decent man who had done no wrong; a man, who, if white, would not be on trial; a man who was on trial only because he was black and that was what was so wrong with the prosecution and persecution of Carl Lee Hailey. He found his rhythm and the crowd joined in, and the press conference took on the fervor of a tent revival. He lasted for forty-five minutes.

He was a hard act to follow. But the national director did not hesitate. He delivered a thirty-minute oratorical condemnation of racism. He seized the moment and spouted national statistics on crime and arrests and convictions and inmate population and summed it all up by declaring that the criminal justice system was controlled by white people

who unfairly persecuted black people. Then in a bewildering flurry of rationale he brought the national statistics to Ford County and pronounced the system unfit to deal with Carl Lee Hailey. The lights from the TV cameras produced a line of sweat above his eyebrows and he warmed to the task. He got angrier than Reverend Agee and pounded the podium and made the cluster of microphones jump and shake. He exhorted the blacks of Ford County and of Mississippi to give until it hurt. He promised demonstrations and marches. The trial would be a battle cry for black and oppressed folk everywhere.

He answered questions. How much money would be raised? At least fifty thousand, they hoped. It would be expensive to defend Carl Lee Hailey and fifty thousand may not be enough, but they would raise whatever it took. But time was running short. Where would the money go? Legal fees and litigation expenses. A battery of lawyers and doctors would be needed. Would NAACP lawyers be used? Of course. The legal staff in Washington was already at work on the case. The capital defense unit would handle all aspects of the trial. Carl Lee Hailey had become their top priority and all available resources would be devoted to his defense.

When he finished, Reverend Agee retook the podium and nodded at a piano player in the corner. The music started. They all stood, hand in hand, and sang a stirring rendition of "We Shall Overcome."

Jake read about the defense fund in Tuesday’s paper. He had heard rumors of the special offering being administered by the council, but was told the money was for the support of the family. Fifty thousand for legal fees! He was angry, but interested. Would he be fired again? Suppose Carl Lee refused to hire the NAACP lawyers, what would happen to the money? The trial was five weeks away, plenty of time for the capital defense team to descend on Clanton. He had read about these guys; a team of six capital murder specialists who toured the South defending blacks accused of heinous and notorious crimes. "The Death Squad" was their nickname. They were very bright, very talented, very educated lawyers dedicated to rescuing black murderers from the vari-

ous gas chambers and electric chairs around the South. They handled nothing .but capital murder cases and were very, very good at their work. The NAACP ran their interference, raising money, organizing local blacks, and generating publicity. Racism was their best, and sometimes only, defense and though they lost much more than they won, their record was not bad. The cases they handled were supposed to be lost, all of them. Their goal was to martyr the defendant before the trial and hopefully hang the jury. Now they were coming to Clanton.

A week earlier Buckley had filed the proper motions to have Carl Lee examined by the State’s doctors. Jake requested the doctors be required to conduct their examinations in Clantqn, preferably in Jake’s office. Noose declined, and ordered the sheriff to transport Carl Lee to the Mississippi State Mental Hospital at Whitfield. Jake requested that he be allowed to accompany his client and be present during the examinations. Again, Noose declined.

Early Wednesday morning, Jake and Ozzie sipped coffee in the sheriffs office and waited for Carl Lee to shower and change clothes. Whitfield was three hours away, and he was to check ia at nine. Jake had final instructions for his client.

"How long will y’all be there?" Jake asked Ozzie.

"You’re the lawyer. How long will it take?"

"Three or four days. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?"

"Sure, we’ve had to transport plenty of crazy people. But nothin’ like this. Where do they keep him?"

"They’ve got all kinds of cells."

Deputy Hastings casually entered the office, sleepy-eyed and crunching on a stale doughnut. "How many cars we takin’?"

"Two," answered Ozzie. "I’ll drive mine and you drive yours. I’ll take Pirtle and Carl Lee, you take Riley and Nes-bit."

"Guns?"

"Three shotguns in each car. Plenty of shells. Everbody

wears a vest, including Carl Lee. Get the cars ready. I’d like to leave by five-thirty."

Hastings mumbled something and disappeared.

"Are you expecting trouble?" Jake asked.

"We’ve had some phone calls. Two in particular mentioned the trip to Whitfield. Lot of highway between here and there."

"How are you going?"

"Most folks take 22 to the interstate, wouldn’t .you say? It might be safer to take some smaller highways. We’ll probably run 14 south to 89."

"That would be unexpected."

"Good. I’m glad you approve."

"He’s my client, you know."

"For right now, anyway."

Carl Lee quickly devoured the eggs and biscuits as Jake briefed him on what to expect during the stay at Whitfield.

"I know, Jake. You want me to act crazy, right?" Carl Lee said with a laugh. Ozzie thought it was funny too.

"This is serious, Carl Lee. Listen to me."

"Why? You said yourself it won’t matter what I say or do down there. They won’t say I was insane when I shot them. Them doctors work for the State, right? The State’s prosecutin’ me, right? What difference does it make what I say or do? They’ve already made up their minds. Ain’t that right, Ozzie?"

"I’m not gettin’ involved. I work for the State."

"You work for the County," said Jake.

"Name, rank, and serial number. That’s all they’re get-tin’ outta me," Carl Lee said as he emptied a small paper sack.

"Very funny," said Jake.

"He’s crackin’ up, Jake," Ozzie said.

Carl Lee stuck two straws up his nose and began tiptoeing around the office, staring at the ceiling and then grabbing at something above his head. He put it in the sack. He lunged at another one and put it in the sack. Hastings returned and stopped in the door. Carl Lee grinned at him with wild eyes, then grabbed at another one toward the ceiling.