A Time to Kill

"We could excuse the twenty," he wondered aloud.

"That won’t help. The entire county knows about it or will know about it within a few hours. You know how fast word travels. The entire panel will feel threatened."

"Then we could disqualify the entire panel and summon a new one."

"Won’t work," Jake answered sharply, frustrated by Noose’s stubbornness. "All jurors must come from Ford County, and everybody in the county knows about it. And how do you keep the Klan from harassing the next panel? It won’t work."

"What makes you so confident the Klan won’t follow the case if I move it to another county?" The sarcasm dripped from every word.

"I think they will follow it," Jake admitted. "But we don’t know that for sure. What we do know is that the Klan is already in Ford County, that it’s quite active now, and that it has already intimidated some potential jurors. That’s the issue. The question is, what will you do about it?"

"Nothing," Noose said bluntly.

"Sir?"

"Nothing. I will do nothing but dismiss the twenty. I will

carefully interrogate the panel next Monday, when the trial starts in Clanton."

Jake stared in disbelief. Noose had a reason, a motive, a fear, something he was not telling. Lucien was right-someone had gotten to him. ‘ "May I ask why?"

"I don’t think it matters where we try Carl Lee Hailey. I don’t think it matters who we put in the jury box. I don’t think it matters what color they are. Their minds are made up. All of them, wherever and whoever they are. They’ve already made up their minds, Jake, and it’s your job to pick those who think your man is a hero."

That’s probably true, thought Jake, but he wouldn’t admit it. He continued staring at the trees outside. "Why are you afraid to move it?"

Ichabod’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Jake. "Afraid? I’m not afraid of any ruling I make. Why are you afraid to try it in Ford County?"

"I thought I just explained it."

"Mr. Hailey will be tried in Ford County starting Monday. That’s three days from today. And he will be tried there not because I’m afraid to move it, but because it wouldn’t do any good to move it. I’ve considered all this very carefully, Mr. Brigance, many times, and I feel comfortable with the trial in Clanton. It will not be moved. Anything further?"

"No, sir."

"Good. See you Monday."

Jake entered his office through the rear door. The front door had been locked for a week now, and there was always someone banging on it and yelling at it. Most of them were reporters, but many were friends just stopping by to gossip and find out what they could about the big trial. Clients were a thing of the past. The phone rang constantly. Jake never touched it and Ellen grabbed it if she was nearby.

He found her in the conference room up to her elbows in law books. The M’Naghten brief was a masterpiece. He had requested no more than twenty pages. She gave him seventy-five perfectly typed and plainly worded pages, and explained there was no way to cover the Mississippi version

of M’Naghten in fewer words. Her research was painstaking and detailed. She had started with the original M’Naghten case in England in the 1800’s and worked through a hundred and fifty years of insanity law in Mississippi. She discarded insignificant or confusing cases, and explained in wonderful simplicity the complicated, major cases. The brief concluded with a summary of current law, and applied it to the trial of Carl Lee Hailey.

In a smaller brief, only fourteen pages, she had reached the unmistakable conclusion that the jury would see the sickening pictures of Cobb and Willard with their brains splattered about the stairway. Mississippi admitted such inflammatory evidence, and she had found no way around it.

She had typed thirty-one pages of research on the defense of justifiable homicide, something Jake had considered briefly after the killings. She reached the same conclusion Jake had reached-it wouldn’t work. She had found an old Mississippi case where a man had caught and killed an escaped convict who was armed. He had been acquitted, but the differences in that case and Carl Lee’s case were enormous. Jake had not asked for the brief, and was irritated that so much energy had been spent on it. He said nothing, however, since she had produced everything he had asked for.

The most pleasant surprise had been her work with Dr. W.T. Bass. She had met with him twice during the week, and they had covered M’Naghten in great detail. She prepared a twenty-five-page script of the questions to be asked by Jake and the answers to be given by Bass. It was a skillfully crafted dialogue, and he marveled at her seasoning. When he was her age, he was an average student more concerned with romance than research. She, on the other hand, as a third-year law student was writing briefs that read like treatises.

"How’d it go?" she asked.

"As expected. He did not budge. The trial will start here Monday with the same panel, minus the twenty who received their subtle warnings."

Chapter Twenty-Two

"He’s crazy."

"What’re you working on?"

"I’m finishing the brief to support our position that the

details of the rape should be discussed before the jury. It looks good, at this point."

"When will you finish it?"

"Is there some hurry?"

"By Sunday, if possible. I’ve got another chore, something a little different."

She slid her legal pad away and listened.

"The State’s psychiatrist will be Dr. Wilbert Rode-heaver, head of staff at Whitfield. He’s been there forever, and has testifed in hundreds of cases. I want you to dig a little and see how often his name appears in court decisions."

"Fve already run across his name."

"Good. As you know, the only cases we read about from the Supreme Court are the ones where the defendant at trial was convicted and has appealed. The acquittals are not reported. I’m more interested in these."

"Where are you coming from?"

"I have a hunch Rodeheaver is very reluctant to give an opinion that a defendant was legally insane. There’s a chance he’s never done it. Even in cases where the defendant was clearly crazy and did not know what he was doing. I’d like to ask Rodeheaver, on cross-examination, about some of the cases in which he’s said there’s nothing wrong with an obviously sick man, and the jury acquitted him."

"Those cases will be very hard to find."

"I know, but you can do it, Row Ark. I’ve watched you work for a week now, and I know you can do it."

"I’m flattered, boss."

"You may have to make phone calls to attorneys around the state who’ve crossed Rodeheaver before. It’ll be hard, Row Ark, but get it done."

"Yes, boss. I’m sure you wanted it yesterday."

"Not really. I doubt if we’ll get to Rodeheaver next week, so you have some time."

"I don’t know how to act. You mean it’s not urgent?"

"No, but that rape brief is."

"Yes, boss."

"Have you had lunch?"

"I’m not hungry."

"Good. Don’t make any plans for dinner."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I’ve got an idea."

"Sort of like a date?"

"No, sort of like a business lunch with two professionals."

Jake packed two briefcases and left. "I’ll be at Lu-cien’s," he told her, "but don’t call unless it’s a dire emergency. Don’t tell anyone where I am."

"What are you working on?"

"The jury."