Tuesday morning he barged in and growled at Ethel: “Jake in?” He lumbered toward the stairs, glaring at her and daring her to speak. She nodded, knowing better than to ask if he was expected. He had cursed her before. He had cursed everybody before.
The stairway shook as he thundered upward. He was gasping for air as he entered the big office.
“Morning, Harry Rex. You gonna make it?”
“Why don't you get an office downstairs?” he demanded between breaths.
“You need the exercise. If it weren't for those stairs your weight would be over three hundred.”
“Thanks. Say, I just came from the courtroom. Noose wants you in chambers at ten-thirty if possible. Wants to talk about Hailey with you and Buckley. Set up arraignment, trial date, all that crap. He asked me to tell you.”
“Good. I'll be there.”
“I guess you heard about the grand jury?”
“Sure. I've got a copy of the indictment right here.”
Harry Rex smiled. “No. No, I mean the vote on the indictment.”
Jake froze and looked at him curiously. Harry Rex moved in silent and dark circles like a cloud over the county. He was an endless source of gossip and rumor, and took great pride in spreading only the truth-most of the time. He was the first to know almost everything. The legend of Harry Rex began twenty years earlier with his first jury trial. The railroad he had sued for millions refused to offer a dime, and after three days of trial the jury retired to deliberate. The railroad lawyers became concerned when the jury failed to return with a quick verdict in their favor. They offered Harry Rex twenty-five thousand to settle when the deliberations went into the second day. With nerves of steel, he told them to go to hell. His client wanted the money. He told his client to go to hell. Hours later a weary and fatigued jury returned with a verdict for one hundred fifty thousand. Harry Rex shot the bird at the railroad lawyers, snubbed his clients and went to the bar at the Best Western. He bought drinks for everyone, and during the course of the long evening explained in detail exactly how he had wired the jury room and knew exactly what the jury was up to. Word spread, and Murphy found a series of wires running through the heating ducts to the jury room. The State Bar Association snooped around, but found nothing. For twenty years the judges had ordered the bailiffs to inspect the jury room when Harry Rex was in any way connected with a case.
“How do you know the vote?” Jake asked, suspicion hanging on every syllable.
“I got sources.”
“Okay, what was the vote?”
“Twelve to six. One fewer vote and you wouldn't be holding that indictment.”
“Twelve to six,” Jake repeated.
“Buckley near 'bout died. A guy named Crowell, white guy, took charge and almost convinced enough of them not to indict your man.”
“Do you know Crowell?”
“I handled his divorce two years ago. He lived in Jackson until his first wife was raped by a nigger. She went crazy and they got a divorce. She took a steak knife and sliced her wrists. Then he moved to Clanton and married some sleazebag out in the county. Lasted about a year. He ate Buckley's lunch. Told him to shut up and sit down. I wish I could've seen it.”
“Sounds like you did.”
“Naw. Just got a good source.”
“Who?”
“Jake, come on.”
“You been wiring rooms again?”
“Nope. I just listen. That's a good sign, ain't it?”
“What?”
“The close vote. Six outta eighteen voted to let him walk. Five niggers and Crowell. That's a good sign. Just get a couple of niggers on the jury and hang it. Right?”
“It's not that easy. If it's tried in this county there's a good chance we'll have an all-white jury. They're common here, and as you know, they're still very constitutional. Plus this guy Crowell sounds like he came outta nowhere.”
“That's what Buckley thought.—You should see that ass. He's in the courtroom strutting around ready to sign autographs over his big TV splash last night. No one wants to talk about it, so he manages to work it into every conversation. He's like a kid begging for attention.”
“Be sweet. He may be your next governor.”
“Not if he loses Hailey. And he's gonna lose Hailey, Jake. We'll pick us a good jury, twelve good and faithful citizens, then we'll buy them.”
“I didn't hear that.”
“Works every time.”
A few minutes after ten-thirty, Jake entered the judge's chamber behind the courtroom and coolly shook hands with Buckley, Musgrove, and Ichabod. They had been waiting on him. Noose waved him toward a seat and sat behind the desk.
“Jake, this will take just a few minutes.” He peered down that nose. “I would like to arraign Carl Lee Hailey in the morning at nine. Any problems with that?”
“No. That'll be fine,” replied Jake.
“We'll have some other arraignments in the morning, then we start a burglary case at ten. Right, Rufus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Now let's discuss a trial date for Mr. Hailey. As you know, the next term of court here is in late Augustthird Monday-and I'm sure the docket will be just as crowded then. Because of the nature of this case and, frankly, because of the publicity, I think it would be best if we had a trial as soon as practical.”
“The sooner the better,” inserted Buckley.
“Jake, how long will you need to prepare for trial?”
“Sixty days.”
“Sixty days!” Buckley repeated in disbelief. “Why so long?”
Jake ignored him and watched Ichabod adjust his reading glasses and study his calendar. “Would it be safe to anticipate a request for a change of venue?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Won't make any difference,” Buckley said. “We'll get a conviction anywhere.”
“Save it for the cameras, Rufus,” Jake said quietly.
“You shouldn't talk about cameras,” Buckley shot back. “You seem to enjoy them yourself.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Noose said. “What other pretrial motions can we expect from the defense?”
Jake thought for a moment. “There will be others.”
“May I inquire about the others?” asked Noose with a hint of irritation.
“Judge, I really don't care to discuss my defense at this time. We just received the indictment and I haven't discussed it with my client. We obviously have some work to do.”
“How much time do you need?”
“Sixty days.”
“Are you kidding!” Buckley shouted. “Is this a joke? The State could try it tomorrow, Judge. Sixty days is ridiculous.”
Jake began to burn but said nothing. Buckley walked to the window and mumbled to himself in disbelief.
Noose studied his calendar. “Why sixty days?”
“It could be a complicated case.”
Buckley laughed and continued shaking his head.
“Then we can expect a defense of insanity?” asked the judge.
“Yes, sir. And it will take time to have Mr. Hailey examined by a psychiatrist. Then the State will of course want him examined by its doctors.”
“I see.”
“And we may have other pretnal matters. 11 s a oig case, and I want to make sure we have time to adequately prepare.”
“Mr. Buckley?” said the judge.
“Whatever. It makes no difference to the State. We'll be ready. We could try it tomorrow.”
Noose scribbled on his calendar and adjusted his reading glasses, which were perched on the tip of that nose and held in place by a tiny wart located perfectly at the foot of the beak. Due to the size of the nose and the odd shape of the head, specially built reading glasses with extra long stems were required for His Honor, who never used them for reading or any other purpose except in a vain effort to distract from the size and shape of the nose. Jake had always suspected this, but lacked the courage to inform His Honor that the ridiculous, orange-tinted hexagonal glasses diverted attention from everything else directly to the nose.
“How long do you anticipate for trial, Jake?” Noose asked.
“Three or four days. But it could take three days to pick the jury.”
“Mr. Buckley?”
“Sounds about right. But I don't understand why it takes sixty days to prepare for a three-day trial. I think it should be tried sooner.”
“Relax, Rufus,” Jake said calmly. “The cameras will be here in sixty days, even ninety days. They won't forget about you. You can give interviews, hold press conferences, preach sermons, everything. The works. But don't worry so much. You'll get your chance.”
Buckley's eyes narrowed and his face reddened. He took three steps in Jake's direction. “If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Brigance, you've given more interviews and seen more cameras than I have during the past week.”
“I know, and you're jealous, aren't you?”
“No, I'm not jealous! I don't care about the cameras—”
“Since when?”
“Gentlemen, please,” Noose interrupted. “This promises to be a long, emotional case. I expect my attorneys to act like professionals. Now, my calendar is congested. The only opening I have is the week of July 22. Does that present a problem?”
“We can try it that week,” said Musgrove.
Jake smiled at Buckley and flipped through his pocket calendar. “Looks good to me.”
“Fine. All motions must be filed and pretrial matters disposed of by Monday, July 8. Arraignment is set for tomorrow at nine. Any questions?”
Jake stood and shook hands with Noose and Musgrove, and left.
After lunch he visited his famous client in Ozzie's office at the jail. A copy of the indictment had been served on Carl Lee in his cell. He had some questions for his lawyer.
“What's capital murder?”
“The worst kind.”
“How many kinds are there?”
“Basically three. Manslaughter, regular murder, and capital murder.”
“What's manslaughter?”
“Twenty years.”
“What's regular murder?”
“Twenty to life.”
“What's capital murder?”
“Gas chamber.”
“What's aggravated assault on an officer?”
“Life. No parole.”
Carl Lee studied the indictment carefully. “You mean I got two gas chambers and a life sentence.”
“Not yet. You're entitled to a trial first. Which, by the way, has been set for July 22.”
“That's two months away! Why so long?”
“We need the time. It'll take that long to find a psychiatrist who'll say you were crazy. Then Buckley gets to send you to Whitfield to be examined by the State's doctors, and they'll all say you were not crazy at the time. We file motions, Buckley files motions, we have a bunch of hearings. It takes time.”
“No way to have it sooner?”
“We don't want it sooner.”
“What if I do?” Carl Lee snapped.
Jake studied him carefully. “What's the matter, Dig man?”
“I gotta get outta here, and fast.”
“I thought you said jail wasn't so bad.”
“It ain't, but I need to get home. Gwen's outta money, can't find a job. Lester's in trouble with his wife. She's callin' all the time, so he won't last much longer. I hate to ask my folk for help.”
“But they will, won't they?”
“Some. They got their own problems. You gotta get me outta here, Jake.”
“Look, you'll be arraigned in the morning at nine. The trial is July 22, and the date won't be changed, so forget about that. Have I explained the arraignment to you?”
Carl Lee shook his head.
“It won't last twenty minutes. We appear before Judge Noose in the big courtroom. He'll ask you some questions, then ask me some questions. He'll read the indictment to you in open court, and ask if you've received a copy. Then he'll ask you to plead guilty or not guilty. When you answer not guilty, he'll set the trial date. You'll sit down, and me and Buckley will get into a big fight over your bond. Noose will refuse to set a bond, then they'll bring you back to the jail, where you'll stay until the trial.”
“What about after the trial?”
Jake smiled. “Naw, you won't be in jail after the trial.”
“You promise?”
“Nope. No promises. Any questions about tomorrow?”
“No. Say, Jake, uh, how much money did I pay you?”
Jake hesitated and smelled trouble. “Why do you ask?”
“Just thinkin'.”
“Nine hundred, plus a note.”
Gwen had less than a hundred dollars. Bills were due and food was low. She had visited on Sunday and cried for an hour. Panic was a part of her life, her makeup, her composition. But he knew they were broke and she was scared. Her family would be of little help, maybe some vegetables from the garden and a few bucks for milk and eggs. When it came to funerals and hospital stays they were very dependable. They were generous and gave of their time freely to wail and moan and put on a show. But when real money was needed they scattered like chickens. He had little use for her family, and his wasn't much better.
He wanted to ask Jake for a hundred dollars, but decided to wait until Gwen was completely broke. It would be easier then.
Jake flipped through his legal pad and waited for Carl Lee to ask for money. Criminal clients, especially the blacks, always asked for some of the fee back after it was paid. He doubted he would ever see more than nine hundred dollars, and he was not about to return any. Besides, the blacks always took care of their own. The families would be there and the churches would get involved. No one would starve.
He waited and placed the legal pad and file in his briefcase. “Any questions, Carl Lee?”
“Yeah. What can I say tomorrow?”
“What do you want to say?”
“I wanna tell that judge why I shot them boys. They raped my daughter. They needed shootin'.”
“And you want to explain that to the judge tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“And you think he'll turn you loose once you explain it all?”
Carl Lee said nothing.
“Look, Carl Lee, you hired me to be your lawyer. And you hired me because you have confidence in me, right? And if I want you to say something tomorrow, I'll tell you. If I don't, you stay quiet. When you go to trial in July you'll have the chance to tell your side. But in the meantime, I'll do the talking.”
“You got that right.”
Lester and Gwen piled the boys and Tonya in the red Cadillac and drove to the doctor's building next to the hospital. The rape was two weeks in the past. Tbnya walked with a slight limp and wanted to run and climb steps with her brothers. But her mother held her hand. The soreness in her legs and buttocks was almost gone, the bandages on her wrists and ankles had been removed by the doctor last week, and the cuts were healing nicely. The gauze and cotton between her legs remained.
In a small room she unaressea anu sat HCAI iu n,, mother on a padded table. Her mother hugged her and helped her stay warm. The doctor poked in her mouth and rubbed her jaw. He held her wrists and ankles and inspected them. He laid her on the table and touched between her legs. She cried and clutched her mother, who leaned over her.
She was hurting again.
At five Wednesday morning, Jake sipped coffee in his office and stared through the French doors across the dark courtyard square. He had slept fitfully, and several hours earlier had given up and left his warm bed in a desperate effort to find a nameless Georgia case that, as he thought he remembered from law school, required the judge to allow bail in a capital murder case if the defendant had no prior criminal record, owned property in the county, had a stable job, and had plenty of relatives nearby. It had not been found. He did find a battery of recent, well-reasoned, clear, and unambiguous Mississippi cases allowing the judge complete discretion in denying bail to such defendants. That was the law and Jake now knew it well, but he needed something to argue to Ichabod. He dreaded asking bail for Carl Lee. Buckley would scream and preach and cite those wonderful cases, and Noose would smile and listen, then deny bail. Jake would get his tail kicked in the first skirmish.
“You're here early this morning, sweetheart,” Dell said to her favorite customer as she poured his coffee.
“At least I'm here.” He had missed a few mornings since the amputation. Looney was popular, and there was resentment at the Coffee Shop and around town for Hailey's lawyer. He was aware of it and tried to ignore it.
There was resentment among many for any lawyer who would defend a nigger for killing two white men.
“You got a minute?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Dell said, looking around. At five-fifteen, the cafe was not yet full. She sat across from Jake in a small booth and poured coffee.
“What's the talk in here?” he asked.
“The usual. Politics, fishing, farming. It never changes. I've been here for twenty-one years, serving the same food to the same people, and they're still talking about the same things.”
“Nothing new?”
“Hailey. We get a lotta talk about tnat. except wiicn me strangers are here, then it goes back to the usual.”
“Why?”
“Because if you act like you know anything about the case, some reporter will follow you outside with a bunch of questions.”
“That bad, huh?”
“No. It's great. Business has never been better.”
Jake smiled and buttered his grits, then added Tabasco.
“How do you feel about the case?”
Dell scratched her nose with long, red, fake fingernails and blew into her coffee. She was famous for her bluntness, and he was hoping for a straight answer.
“He's guilty. He killed them. It's cut and dried. But he had the best damned excuse I've ever seen. There's some sympathy for him.”
“Let's say you're on the jury. Guilty or innocent?”
She watched the front door and waved at a regular. “Well, my instinct is to forgive anyone who kills a rapist. Especially a father. But, on the other hand, we can't allow people to grab guns and hand out their own justice. Can you prove he was crazy when he did it?”
“Let's assume I can.”
“Then I would vote not guilty, even though I don't think he was crazy.”
He smeared strawberry preserves on dry toast and nodded his approval.
“But what about Looney?” she asked. “He's a friend of mine.”
“It was an accident.”
“Is that good enough?”
“No. No, it's not. The gun did not go off by accident. Looney was accidentally shot, but I doubt if that's a valid defense. Would you convict him for shooting Looney?”, “Maybe,” she answered slowly. “He lost a leg.”
How could he be insane when he shot Cobb and Wil-lard, and not when he shot Looney, Jake thought, but didn't ask. He changed the subject.
“What's the gossip on me?”
“About the same. Someone was asking where you were the other day, and said you don't have time for us now that you're a celebrity. I've heard some mumbling, about you and the nigger, but it's pretty quiet. They don't criticize you loudly. I won't let them.”
“You're a sweetheart.”
“I'm a mean bitch and you know it.”
“No. You just try to be.”
“Yeah, watch this.” She jumped from the booth and shouted abuse at a table of farmers who had motioned for more coffee. Jake finished alone, and returned to the office.
When Ethel arrived at eight-thirty, two reporters were loitering on the sidewalk outside the locked door. They followed Ethel inside and demanded to see Mr. Brigance. She refused, and asked them to leave. They refused, and repeated their demand. Jake heard the commotion downstairs and locked his door. Let Ethel fight with them.
From his office he watched a camera crew set up by the rear door of the courthouse. He smiled and felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline. He could see himself on the evening news walking briskly, stern, businesslike, across the street followed by reporters begging for dialogue but getting no comments. And this was just the arraignment. Imagine the trial! Cameras everywhere, reporters yelling questions, front page stories, perhaps magazine covers. An Atlanta paper had called it the most sensational murder in the South in twenty years. He would have taken the case for free, almost.
Moments later he interrupted the argument downstairs, and warmly greeted the reporters. Ethel disappeared into the conference room.
“Could you answer some questions?” one of them asked.
“No,” Jake answered politely. “I have to meet with Judge Noose.”
“Just a couple of questions?”
“No. But there will be a press conference at three P. M.” Jake opened the door, and the reporters followed him onto the sidewalk.
“Where's the press conference?”
“In my office.”
“What's the purpose?”
“To discuss the case.”
Jake walked slowly across the street and up the short driveway to the courthouse answering questions along me way.
“Will Mr. Hailey be at the press conference?”
“Yes, along with his family.”
“The girl, too?”
“Yes, she will be there.”
“Will Mr. Hailey—answer questions?”
“Maybe. I haven't decided.”
Jake said good day, and disappeared into the courthouse, leaving the reporters to chat and gossip about the press conference.
Buckley entered the courthouse through the huge wooden front doors, amid no fanfare. He had hoped for a camera or two, but was dismayed to learn they were gathering at the rear door to catch a glimpse of the defendant. He would use the rear door in the future.
Judge Noose parked by a fire hydrant in front of the post office and loped along the east sidewalk across the courtyard square and into the courthouse. He, too, attracted no attention, except for a few curious stares.
Ozzie peered through the front windows of the jail and watched the mob waiting for Carl Lee in the parking lot. The ploy of another end run crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. His office had received two dozen death threats on Carl Lee, and Ozzie took a few seriously. They were specific, with dates and places. But most were just general, everyday death threats. And this was just the arraignment. He thought of the trial, and mumbled something to Moss Junior. They surrounded Carl Lee with uniformed bodies and marched him down the sidewalk, past the press and into a rented step van. Six deputies and a driver piled in. Escorted by Ozzie's three newest patrol cars, the van drove quickly to the courthouse.
Noose had scheduled a dozen arraignments for 9:00 A. M., and when he settled into the chair on the bench he shifted through the files until he found Hailey's. He looked to the front row in the courtroom and saw a somber group of suspicious-looking men, all newly indicted. At the far end of the front row, two deputies sat next to a handcuffed defendant, and Brigance was whispering to him. Must be Hailey.
Noose picked up a red court file and adjusted his read—ing glasses so they would not hinder his reading. “State versus Carl Lee Hailey, case number 3889. Will Mr. Hailey come forward?”
The handcuffs were removed, and Carl Lee followed his attorney to the bench, where they stood looking up to His Honor, who quietly and nervously scanned the indictment in the file. The courtroom grew silent. Buckley rose and strutted slowly to within a few feet of the defendant. The artists near the railing busily sketched the scene.
Jake glared at Buckley, who had no reason to stand before the bench during the arraignment. The D. A. was dressed in his finest black three-piece polyester suit. Every hair on his huge head had been meticulously combed and plastered in place. He had the appearance of a television evangelist.
Jake walked to Buckley and whispered, “That's a nice suit, Rufus.”
“Thanks,” he replied, somewhat off-guard.
“Does it glow in the dark?” Jake asked, then returned to the side of his client.
“Are you Carl Lee Hailey?” asked the judge.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Brigance your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“I'm holding here a copy of an indictment returned against you by the grand jury. Have you been served a copy of this?”
“Yes.”
“Have you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Have you discussed it with your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I'm required by law to read it to you in open court.” Noose cleared his throat. “ 'The grand jurors of the State of Mississippi, taken from the body of good and lawful citizens of Ford County thereof, duly elected, empaneled, sworn, and charged to inquire in and for said county and state aforesaid, in the name and under the authority of the State of Mississippi, upon their oaths present that Carl Lee Hailey, late of the county and state aloresaia, wimm me jurisdiction of this court, did unlawfully, willfully, and feloniously and intentionally and with malice aforethought, kill and murder Billy Ray Cobb, a human being, and Pete Wil-lard, a human being, and did shoot and attempt to kill DeWayne Looney, a peace officer, in direct violation of the Mississippi Code, and against the peace and dignity of the State of Mississippi. A true bill. Signed, Laverne Gossett, foreman of the grand jury.”
Noose caught his breath. “Do you understand the charges against you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand that if convicted you could be put to death in the gas chamber at the state penitentiary at Parchman?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to plead guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty.”
Noose reviewed his calendar as the audience watched intently. The reporters took notes. The artists focused-on the principals, including Buckley, who had managed to enter the picture and stand sideways, allowing for a profile shot. He was anxious to say something. He scowled contemptuously at the rear of Carl Lee's head, as if he could not wait to fry this murderer. He swaggered to the table where Musgrove was sitting and the two whispered importantly. He marched across the courtroom and engaged in hushed conversation with one of the clerks. Then he returned to the bench where the defendant stood motionless next to his attorney, who was aware of Buckley's show and was trying desperately to ignore it.
“Mr. Hailey,” Noose squeaked, “your trial is set for Monday, July 22. All pretrial motions and matters must be filed by June 24, and disposed of by July 8.”
Carl Lee and Jake nodded.
“Anything further?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Buckley boomed loud enough for the reporters in the rotunda. “The State opposes any request for bail by this defendant.”
Jake gripped his fists and wanted to scream. “Your Honor, the defendant has not yet asked for bail. Mr. Buck—ley, as usual, is confused about the procedure. He cannot oppose a request until it is made. He should've learned that in law school.”
Buckley was stung, but continued. “Your Honor, Mr. Brigance always requests bail, and I'm sure he'll request it today. The State will oppose any such request.”
“Well, why don't you wait until he makes his request?” Noose asked the D. A. with a touch of irritation.
“Very well,” Buckley said. His face had reddened and he glared at Jake.
“Do you plan to request bail?” Noose asked.
“I had planned to at the proper time, but before I got a chance Mr. Buckley intervened with his theatrics—”
“Never mind Mr. Buckley,” Noose interrupted.
“I know, Judge, he's just confused.”
“Bail, Mr. Brigance?”
“Yes, I had planned to request it.”
“I thought so, and I've already considered whether bail should be allowed in this case. As you know, it is completely within my discretion, and I never allow bail in a capital murder case. I don't feel as though an exception is in order in this case.”
“You mean you've decided to deny bail?”
“Yes.” ' Jake shrugged his shoulders and laid a file on the table. “Good enough.”
“Anything further?” Noose asked.
“No, Your Honor,” Jake said.
Buckley shook his head in silence.
“Good. Mr. Hailey, you are hereby ordered to remain in the custody of the Ford County sheriff until trial. You are dismissed.”
Carl Lee returned to the front row, where a deputy waited with the handcuffs. Jake opened his briefcase, and was stuffing it with files and papers when Buckley grabbed his arm.
“That was a cheap shot, Brigance,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You asked for it,” Jake replied. “Let go of my arm.”
Buckley released his arm. “I don't appreciate it.”
“Too bad, big man. You shouldn't talk so mucn. Big mouths get burned.”
Buckley had three inches and fifty pounds on Jake, and his irritation was growing. The exchange had drawn attention, and a deputy moved between them. Jake winked at Buckley and left the courtroom.
At two the Hailey clan, led by Uncle Lester, entered Jake's office through the rear door. Jake met them in a small office next to the conference room downstairs. They talked about the press conference. Twenty minutes later, Ozzie and Carl Lee strolled nonchalantly through the rear door, and Jake led them to the office, where Carl Lee was reunited with his family. Ozzie and Jake left the room.
The press conference was carefully orchestrated by Jake, who marveled at his ability to manipulate the press and its willingness to be manipulated. On one side of the long conference table he sat with the three Hailey boys standing behind him. Gwen was seated to his left, Carl Lee to his right holding Tonya.
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