A Time to Kill

"Yes, sir."

"Who else?"

"Grady Listen, district attorney, Fourteenth District."

"Same testimony?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that all?"

"Well, Your Honor, we have several more. But their testimony will pretty much follow the other witnesses’."

"Good, then we can limit your proof to these six witnesses?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will hear your proof. I will allow each of you five minutes to conclude your arguments, and I will rule on this motion within two weeks. Any questions?"

It hurt to say no to the reporters. They followed Jake across Washington Street, where he excused himself, offered his no comments, and sought refuge in his office. Undaunted, a photographer from Newsweek pushed his way inside and asked if Jake would pose for a photograph. He wanted one of those important ones with a stern look and thick leather books in the background. Jake straightened his tie and showed the photographer into the conference room, where he posed in court-ordered silence. The photographer thanked him and left.

"May I have a few minutes of your time?" Ethel asked politely as her boss headed for the stairs.

"Certainly."

"Why don’t you sit down. We need to talk."

She’s finally quitting, Jake thought as he took a seat by the front window.

"What’s on your mind?"

"Money."

"You’re the highest-paid legal secretary in town. You got a raise three months ago."

"Not my money. Please listen. You don’t have enough in the bank to pay this month’s bills. June is almost gone, and we’ve grossed seventeen hundred dollars."

Jake closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"Look at these bills," she said, waving a stack of invoices. "Four thousand dollars worth. How am I supposed to pay these?"

"How much is in the bank?"

"Nineteen hundred dollars, as of Friday. Nothing came in this morning."

"Nothing?"

"Not a dime."

"What about the settlement on the Liford case? That’s three thousand in fees."

Ethel shook her head. "Mr. Brigance, that file has not been closed. Mr. Liford has not signed the release. You were to take it by his house. Three weeks ago, remember?"

"No, I don’t remember. What about Buck Britt’s retainer? That’s a thousand dollars."

"His check bounced. The bank returned it, and it’s been on your desk for two weeks."

She paused and took a deep breath. "You’ve stopped seeing clients. You don’t return phone calls, and-"

"Don’t lecture me, Ethel!"

"And you’re a month behind on everything."

"That’s enough."

"Ever since you took the Hailey case. That’s all you think about. You’re obsessed with it. It’s going to break us."

"Us! How many paychecks have you missed, Ethel? How many of those bills are past due? Huh?"

"Several."

"But no more than usual, right?"

"Yes, but what about next month? The trial is four weeks away."

"Shut up, Ethel. Just shut up. If you can’t take the pressure, then quit. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, then you’re fired."

"You’d like to fire me, wouldn’t you?"

"I could care less."

She was a tough, hard woman. Fourteen years with Lu-cien had toughened her skin and hardened her conscience, but she was a woman nonetheless, and at this moment her lip started to quiver, and her eyes watered. She dropped her head.

"I’m sorry," she muttered. "I’m just worried."

"Worried about what?"

"Me and Bud."

"What’s wrong with Bud?"

"He’s a very sick man."

"I know that."

Chapter Sixteen

"His blood pressure keeps acting up. Especially after the phone calls. He’s had three strokes in five years, and he’s due for another one. He’s scared; we’re both scared."

"How many phone calls?"

"Several. They threaten to burn our house or blow it up. They always tell us they know where we live, and if Hailey is acquitted, then they’ll burn it or stick dy***ite under

it while we are asleep. A couple have threatened to kill us. It’s just not worth it."

"Maybe you should quit."

"And starve? Bud hasn’t worked in ten years, you know that. Where else would I work?"

"Look, Ethel, I’ve had threats too. I don’t take them seriously. I promised Carla I’d give up the case before I endangered my family, and you should be comforted by that. You and Bud should relax. The threats are not serious. There are a lot of nuts out there."

"That’s what worries me. People are crazy enough to do something."

"Naw, you worry too much. I’ll tell Ozzie to watch your house a bit closer."

"Will you do that?"

"Sure. They’ve been watching mine. Take my word, Ethel, there’s nothing to worry about. Probably just some young punks."

She wiped her eyes. "I’m sorry for crying, and I’m sorry for being so irritable lately."

You’ve been irritable for forty years, Jake thought. "That’s okay."

"What about these?" she asked, pointing to the invoices.

"I’ll get the money. Don’t worry about it."

Willie Hastings finished the second shift at 10:00 P.M. and punched the clock next to Ozzie’s office. He drove straight to the Hailey house. It was his night to sleep on the couch. Someone slept on Owen’s couch every night; a brother, a cousin, or a friend. Wednesday was his night.

It was impossible to sleep with the lights on. Tonya refused to go near the bed unless every light in the house was on. Those men could be in the dark, waiting for her. She had seen them many times crawling along the floor toward her bed, and lurking in the closets. She had heard their voices outside her window, and she had seen their bloodshot eyes peering in, watching her as she got ready for bed. She heard noises in the attic, like the footsteps of the bulky cowboy boots they had kicked her with. She knew they were up

there, waiting for everyone to go to sleep so they could come down and take her back to the woods. Once a week her mother and oldest brother climbed the folding stairs and inspected the attic with a flashlight and a pistol.

Not a single room in the house could be dark when she went to bed. One night, as she lay wide awake next to her mother, a light in the hall burned out. She screamed violently until Gwen’s brother drove to Clanton to an all-night quick shop for more bulbs.

She slept with her mother, who held her firmly for hours until the demons faded into the night and she drifted away. At first, Gwen had trouble with the lights, but after five weeks she napped periodically through the night. The small body next to her wiggled and jerked even while it slept.

Willie said good night to the boys and kissed Tonya. He showed her his gun and promised to stay awake on the couch. He walked through the house and checked the closets. When Tonya was satisfied, she lay next to her mother and stared at the ceiling. She cried softly.

Around midnight, Willie took off his boots and relaxed on the couch. He removed his holster and placed the gun on the floor. He was almost asleep when he heard the scream. It was the horrible, high-pitched cry of a child being tortured. He grabbed his gun and ran to the bedroom. Tonya was sitting on the bed, facing the wall, screaming and shaking. She had seen them in the window, waiting for her. Gwen hugged her. The three boys ran to the foot of the bed and watched helplessly. Carl Lee, Jr., went to the window and saw nothing. They had been through it many times in five weeks, and knew there was little they could do.