A Time to Kill

"No thanks."

"I just don’t see any reason to move the trial from Clanton. If we did, we’d be fooling ourselves if we thought we could find twelve people who are undecided about Mr. Hailey’s guilt."

"Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind, Judge."

"I have. We’re not changing venue. The trial will be held in Clanton. I’m not comfortable with it, but I see no reason to move the trial. Besides, I like Clanton. It’s close to home and the air conditioning works in the courthouse."

Noose reached for a file and found an envelope. "Jake, this is an order, dated today, overruling the request to change venue. I’ve sent a copy to Buckley, and there’s a copy for you. The original is in here, and I would appreciate you filing this with the clerk in Clanton."

"I’ll be glad to."

"I just hope I’m doing the right thing. I’ve really struggled with this."

"It’s a tough job," Jake offered, attempting sympathy.

Noose called the maid and ordered a gin and tonic. He insisted that Jake view his rose garden, and they spent an hour in the sprawling rear lawn admiring His Honor’s flow-

ers. Jake thought of Carla, and Hanna, and his home, and the dy***ite, but gallantly remained interested in Ichabod’s handiwork.

Friday afternoons often reminded Jake of law school, when, depending on the weather, he and his friends would either group in their favorite bar in Oxford and guzzle happy-hour beer and debate their new-found theories of law or curse the insolent, arrogant, terroristic law professors, or, if the weather was warm and sunny, pile the beer in Jake’s well-used convertible Beetle and head for the beach at Sardis Lake, where the women from sorority row plastered their beautiful, bronze bodies with oil and sweated in the sun and coolly ignored the catcalls from the drunken law students and fraternity rats. He missed those innocent days. He hated law school-every law student with any sense hated law school-but he missed the friends and good times, especially the Fridays. He missed the pressureless lifestyle, although at times the pressure had seemed unbearable, especially during the first year when the professors were more abusive than normal. He missed being broke, because when he had nothing he owed nothing and most of his classmates were in the same boat. Now that he had an income he worried constantly about mortgages, the overhead, credit cards, and realizing the American dream of becoming affluent. Not wealthy, just affluent. He missed his Volkswagen because it had been his first new car, a gift at high school graduation, and it was paid for, unlike the Saab. He missed being single, occasionally, although he was happily married. And he missed beer, either from a pitcher, can, or bottle. It didn’t matter. He had been a social drinker, only with friends, and he spent as much time as possible with his friends, He didn’t drink every day in law school, and he seldom got drunk. But there had been several painful, memorable hangovers.

Then came Carla. He met her at the beginning of his last semester, and six months later they married. She was beautiful, and that’s what got his attention. She was quiet, and a little snobby at first, like most of the wealthy sorority girls at Ole Miss. But he found her to be warm and personable and lacking in self-confidence. He had never under-

stood how someone as beautiful as Carla could be insecure. She was a Dean’s List scholar in liberal arts with no intention of ever doing more than teaching school for a few years. Her family had money, and her mother had never worked. This appealed to Jake-the family money and the absence of a career ambition. He wanted a wife who would stay home and stay beautiful and have babies and not try to wear the pants. It was love at first sight.

But she frowned on drinking, any type of drinking. Her father drank heavily when she was a child, and there were painful memories. So Jake dried out his last semester in law school and lost fifteen pounds. He looked great, felt great, and he was madly in love. But he missed beer.

There was a country grocery a few miles out of Chester with a Coors sign in the window. Coors had been his favorite in law school, although at that time it was not for sale east of the river. It was a delicacy at Ole Miss, and the bootlegging of Coors had been profitable around the campus. Now that it was available everywhere most folks had returned to Budweiser.

It was Friday, and hot. Carla was nine hundred miles away. He had no desire to go to the office, and anything there could wait until tomorrow. Some nut just tried to kill his family and remove his landmark from the National Register of Historic Places. The biggest trial of his career was ten days away. He was not ready.and the pressure was mounting. He had just lost his most critical pretrial motion. And he was thirsty. Jake stopped and bought a six-pack of Coors.

It took almost two hours to travel the sixty miles from Chester to Clanton. He enjoyed the diversion, the scenery, the beer. He stopped twice to relieve himself and once to get another six-pack. He felt great.

There was only one place to go in his condition. Not home, not the office, certainly not the courthouse to file Ichabod’s villainous order. He parked the Saab behind the nasty little Porsche and glided up the sidewalk with cold beer in hand. As usual, Lucien was rocking slowly on the front porch, drinking and reading a treatise on the insanity defense. He closed the book and, noticing the beer, smiled at his former associate. Jake just grinned at him.

"What’s the occasion, Jake?"

"Nothing, really. Just got thirsty."

"I see. What about your wife?"

"She doesn’t tell me what to do. I’m my own man. I’m the boss. If I want beer, I’ll drink some beer, and she’ll say nothing." Jake took a long sip.

"She must be outta town."

"North Carolina."

"When did she leave?"

"Six this morning. Flew from Memphis with Hanna. She’ll stay with her parents in Wilmington until the trial’s over. They’ve got a fancy little beach house where they spend their summers."

"She left this morning, and you’re drunk by mid-afternoon."

"I’m not drunk," Jake answered. "Yet."

"How long you been drinkin’?"

"Coupla hours. I bought a six-pack when I left Noose’s house around one-thirty. How long have you been drinking?"

"I normally drink my breakfast. Why were you at his house?"

"We discussed the trial over lunch. He refused to change venue."

"He what?"

"You heard me. The trial will be in Clanton."

Lucien took a drink and rattled his ice. "Sallie!" he screamed.

"Did he give any reason?"

"Yeah. Said it would be impossible to find jurors anywhere who hadn’t heard of the case."

"I told you so. That’s a good common sense reason not to move it, but it’s a poor legal reason. Noose is wrong."

Sallie returned with a fresh drink and took Jake’s beer to the refrigerator. Lucien took a slug and smacked his lips. He wiped his mouth with his arm, and took another long drink.

"You know what that means, don’t you?" he asked.

"Sure. An all-white jury."

"That, plus a reversal on appeal if he’s convicted."

"Don’t bet on it. Noose has already consulted with the Supreme Court. He thinks the Court will affirm him if challenged. He thinks he’s on solid ground."

"He’s an idiot. I can show him twenty cases that say the trial should be moved. I think he’s afraid to move it."

"Why would Noose be afraid?"

"He’s taking some heat."

"From who?"

Lucien admired the golden liquid in his large glass and slowly stirred the ice cubes with a finger. He grinned and looked as though he knew something but wouldn’t tell unless he was begged.