A Time to Kill

"Noose wants us in chambers," Musgrove whispered to Jake as he returned to the defense table.

Ichabod, Buckley, and the court reporter were chatting when Jake and Ellen entered chambers. Jake introduced his clerk to His Honor and Buckley and Musgrove, and to Norma Gallo, the court reporter. He explained that Ellen Roark was a third-year law student at Ole Miss who was clerking in his office, and requested that she be allowed to sit near counsel table and participate in the proceedings in chambers. Buckley had no objections. It was common practice, Noose explained, and he welcomed her.

"Preliminary matters, gentlemen?" Noose asked.

"None," said the D.A.

"Several," said Jake as he opened a file. "I want this on the record."

Norma Gallo started writing.

"First of all, I want to renew my motion for a change of venue-"

"We object," interrupted Buckley.

"Shut up, Governor!" Jake yelled. "I’m not through, and don’t interrupt me again!"

Buckley and the others were startled by this loss of composure. It’s all those margaritas, thought Ellen.

"I apologize, Mr. Brigance," Buckley said calmly. "Please don’t refer to me as governor."

"Let me say something at this point," Noose started. "This trial will be a long and arduous ordeal. I can appreciate the pressure you’re both under. I’ve been in your shoes many times myself, and I know what you’re going through. You’re both excellent lawyers, and I’m thankful that I have

two fine lawyers for a trial of this magnitude. I can also detect a certain amount of ill will between you. That’s certainly not uncommon, and I will not ask you to shake hands and be good friends. But I will insist that when you’re in my courtroom or in these chambers that you refrain from interrupting each other, and that the shouting be held to a bare minimum. You will refer to each other as Mr. Brigance, and Mr. Buckley, and Mr. Musgrove. Now do each of you understand what I’m saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then continue, Mr. Brigance."

"Thank you, Your Honor, I appreciate that. As I was saying, the defendant renews his motion for a change of venue. I want the record to reflect that as we sit here now in chambers, at nine-fifteen, July twenty-second, as we are about to select a jury, the Ford County Courthouse is surrounded by the Mississippi National Guard. On the front lawn a group of Ku Klux Klansmen, in white robes, is at this very moment yelling at a group of black demonstrators, who are, of course, yelling back. The two groups are separated by heavily armed National Guardsmen. As the jurors arrived for court this morning, they witnessed this circus on the courthouse lawn. It will be impossible to select a fair and impartial jury."

Buckley watched with a cocky grin on his huge face, and when Jake finished he said, "May I respond, Your Honor?"

"No," Noose said bluntly. "Motion is overruled. What else do you have?"

"The defense moves to strike this entire panel."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that there has been an overt effort by the Klan to intimidate this panel. We know of at least twenty cross burnings."

"I intend to excuse those twenty, assuming they all showed up," said Noose.

"Fine," Jake replied sarcastically. "What about the threats we don’t know about? What about the jurors who’ve heard of the cross burnings?"

Noose wiped his eyes and said nothing. Buckley had a speech but didn’t want to interrupt.

"I’ve got a list here," Jake said, reaching into a file, "of the twenty jurors who received visits. I’ve also got copies of the police reports, and an affidavit from Sheriff Walls in which he details the acts of intimidation. I am submitting these to the court in support of my motion to strike this panel. I want this made a part of the record so the Supreme Court can see it in black and white."

"Expecting an appeal, Mr. Brigance?" asked Mr. Buck-ley.

Ellen had just met Rufus Buckley, and now, seconds later, she understood exactly why Jake and Harry Rex hated him.

"No, Governor, I’m not expecting an appeal. I’m trying to insure that my man gets a fair trial from a fair jury. You should understand that."

"I’m not going to strike this panel. That would cost us a week," Noose said.

"What’s time when a man’s life is at stake? We’re talking about justice. The right to a fair trial, remember, a most basic constitutional right. It’s a travesty not to strike this panel when you know for a fact that some of these people have been intimidated by a bunch of goons in white robes who want to see my client hanged."

"Your motion is overruled," Noose said flatly. "What else do you have?"

"Nothing, really. I request that when you do excuse the twenty, you so do in such a way that the other jurors don’t know the reason."

"I can handle that, Mr. Brigance."

Mr. Pate was sent to find Jean Gillespie. Noose handed her a list of the twenty names. She returned to the courtroom and read the list. They were not needed for jury duty, and were free to go. She returned to chambers.

"How many jurors do we have?" Noose asked her.

"Ninety-four."

"That’s enough. I’m sure we can find twelve who are fit to serve."

"You couldn’t find two," Jake mumbled to Ellen, loud enough for Noose to hear and Norma Gallo to record. His Honor excused them and they took their places in the courtroom.

Ninety-four names were written on small strips of paper that were placed in a short wooden cylinder. Jean Gillespie spun the cylinder, stopped it, and picked a name at random. She handed it to Noose, who sat above her and everyone else on his throne, or bench, as it was called. The courtroom watched in dead silence as he squinted down that nose and looked at the first name.

"Carlene Malone, juror number one," he shrieked in his loudest voice. The front row had been cleared, and Mrs. Malone took her seat next to the aisle. Each pew would seat ten, and there were ten pews, all to be filled with jurors. The ten pews on the other side of the aisle were packed with family, friends, spectators, but mainly reporters who scribbled down the name of Carlene Malone. Jake wrote her name too. She was white, fat, divorced, lower income. She was a two on the Brigance scale. Zero for one, he thought.

Jean spun again.

"Marcia Dickens, juror number two," yelled Noose. White, fat, over sixty with a rather unforgiving look. Zero for two.

"Jo Beth Mills, number three."

Jake sank a little in his seat. She was white, about fifty, and worked for minimum wage at a shirt factory in Karaway. Thanks to affirmative action, she had a black boss who was ignorant and abusive. She had a zero by her name on the Brigance notecard. Zero for three.

Jake stared desperately at Jean as she spun again. "Reba Betts, number four."

He sunk lower and began pinching his forehead. Zero for four. "This is incredible," he mumbled in the direction of Ellen. Harry Rex shook his head.

"Gerald Ault, number five."

Jake smiled as his number-one juror took a seat next to Reba Betts. Buckley placed a nasty black mark by his name.

"Alex Summers, number six."

Carl Lee managed a weak smile as the first black emerged from the rear and took a seat next to Gerald Ault. Buckley smiled too as he neatly circled the name of the first black.

The next four were white women, none of whom rated above three on the scale. Jake was worried as the first pew

filled. By law he had twelve peremptory challenges, free strikes with no reason required. The luck of the draw would force him to use at least half of his peremptories on the first pew.