A Time for Mercy

15

Lowell Dyer was hearing the noise from down the road in Ford County. He took three calls at home Sunday afternoon, all from strangers who claimed they voted for him, and listened to their complaints about what was happening in the Gamble case. After the third, he unplugged his phone. The one at the office had a number that was advertised in every directory in the Twenty-second District, and evidently it rang all weekend. When his secretary reached for it early Monday morning she saw that there were over twenty calls and the mailbox was full. On an average weekend there were half a dozen. Zero was not unusual.

Over coffee, she and Lowell and the assistant D.A., D. R. Musgrove, listened to the messages. Some of the callers gave their names and addresses, others were more timid and seemed to think they were doing something wrong by calling the district attorney. A few hotheads used profanity, did not give their names, and implied that if the judicial system continued to go haywire they just might have to fix it themselves.

But it was unanimous — the kid was out of jail and pretending to be crazy and his damned lawyer was once again pulling a fast one. Please, Mr. Dyer, do something! Do your job!

Lowell had never had a case that attracted so much interest, and he swung into action. He called Judge Noose, who was at home “reading briefs” as he always claimed to be doing when he wasn’t in court, and they agreed it was a good idea to call a special meeting of the grand jury to deal with the case. As the district attorney, Lowell controlled every aspect of “his” grand jury and needed no one’s approval to call it into session. But given the sensational nature of the Gamble case, he wanted to keep the presiding judge apprised. During their brief conversation Noose said something about a “long weekend” around his house, and Lowell suspected his phone had been ringing too.

He sounded uncertain, even troubled, and when it was time for the conversation to end, Noose prolonged it by saying, “Say, Lowell, let’s go off the record here and talk in the graveyard.”

A pause as if it was Lowell’s turn to respond. “Sure, Judge.”

“Well, I’m having a devil of a time finding another lawyer to defend this boy. Nobody in the district wants the case. Pete Habbeshaw over in Oxford has three capital cases right now and just can’t take on another. Rudy Thomas in Tupelo is undergoing chemo. I even had a chat with Joe Frank Jones in Jackson, and he gave me a flat no. I can’t force the case on anyone outside of my jurisdiction, as you know, so all I could do was lean on these guys and I got nowhere. You have any ideas? You know our lawyers well.”

Lowell indeed knew them well and wouldn’t hire a single one of them if his neck were on the block. There were some fine lawyers in the district but most avoided trial work, especially of the indigent criminal variety. To stall and divert, Lowell asked, “Not sure, Judge. Who did the last capital case in the district?”

The last capital case in the Twenty-second had been three years earlier in Milburn County, in the town of Temple. The prosecutor had been Rufus Buckley, who was still smarting from his momentous loss in the Carl Lee Hailey case. He won an easy verdict because the facts had been so horrible: A twenty-year-old drug addict murdered both of his grandparents for eighty-five dollars to buy more crack. He was now on death row at Parchman. Noose had presided and had not been impressed with the local defense lawyer he had dragged into the case.

“That won’t work,” he said. “That boy, what’s his name, Gordy Wilson, wasn’t very good and I hear he’s pretty much closed shop. Who would you hire, Lowell, if you were facing these charges? Who would you hire in the Twenty-second?”

For obvious selfish reasons, Lowell wanted a pushover sitting at the defense table, but he knew that was unlikely and unwise. A weak or incompetent defense lawyer would only screw up the case and give the appeals courts plenty to chew on for the next decade.

He replied, “I’d probably go with Jake.”

Without hesitation, Noose said, “So would I. But let’s not tell him about this conversation.”

“Of course not.” Lowell got on well with Jake and did not want any friction. If Jake somehow learned that the D.A. and the judge had conspired to keep him on the clock, he would hold a grudge.

Next, Lowell called Jake and found him at the office. The purpose of the call was not to break the news that he was stuck with Gamble till the bitter end, but something more professional. Lowell said, “Jake, just calling to let you know that I’m assembling the grand jury tomorrow afternoon at the courthouse.”

Jake was pleased, thought it was a courteous gesture, and said, “Thanks, Lowell. I’m sure it will be a brief meeting. Mind if I sit in?”

“You know that’s not possible, Jake.”

“Just kidding. Mind giving me a call when the indictment comes down?”

“You know I will.”

Ozzie’s chief investigator was his only investigator, at the moment, and he wasn’t really looking for another one. His name was Kirk Rady, a veteran of the department and a well-regarded officer. Ozzie could dig for the facts better than most sheriffs, and together with Rady they handled all of the serious crimes in the county.

At straight-up four o’clock Monday afternoon, they walked into Jake’s office and said hello to Portia at the front desk. She was professional as always and asked them to wait a moment.

Though he was now doing battle with Jake, Ozzie was proud to see a smart and ambitious young black woman working in one of the law offices around the square. He knew Portia and her family, and he knew she planned to be the first black female lawyer in the county, and with Jake as her mentor and supporter she would certainly succeed.

She returned and waved them over to a door down the hall. They stepped inside and the room was already occupied. Jake welcomed them with handshakes and then introduced the sheriff and Rady to Josie Gamble, Kiera Gamble, and their minister, Charles McGarry. They were on one side of the table, and Jake offered Ozzie and Rady seats on the other side. Portia closed the door and sat beside Kiera, facing Ozzie. Judging from the open legal pads, the half-empty coffee cups and water bottles, the scattered pens, and Jake’s loosened tie, it was fairly obvious that the lawyer had already spent time with the witnesses.

Ozzie had not seen Josie since his quick visit to the hospital the day after the murder, a week earlier. Jake had told him that her surgery had gone well and she was mending as expected. Her left eye was still puffy, black and blue, and her left jaw was still swollen. Two band-aids were visible. She tried to be polite and smile but it didn’t work.

After some awkward chitchat, Jake punched a button on a tape recorder in the center of the table and said, “Do you mind if I record this?”

Ozzie shrugged and said, “It’s your office.”

“True, but it’s your interview. I don’t know if you routinely record these things.”

“Sometimes we do, sometimes we don’t,” Rady said like an ass. “We don’t normally talk to witnesses in lawyers’ offices.”

“Ozzie called me,” Jake fired back. “Asked me to arrange this interview. You can do it somewhere else if you like.”

“We’re fine,” Ozzie said. “Record anything you want.”

Jake spoke to the recorder, gave the date, place, and names of everyone in the room. When he finished, Ozzie said, “Now, I’d like to understand everybody’s role here. We’re officers investigating a crime. You two ladies are potential witnesses. And Pastor McGarry, what is your role?”

“I’m just the chauffeur,” Charles said with a smile.

“That’s nice.” Ozzie looked at Jake and asked, “Should he be in the room?”

Jake shrugged and said, “That’s your call, Ozzie. This is not my interview. I’m just making things happen.”

“I’d feel better if you stepped outside,” Ozzie said.

“No problem.” Charles smiled and left the room.

“And what’s your role here, Jake? You don’t represent these ladies, do you?”

“Technically no. I have been appointed to represent Drew. Not the family. However, if we assume there will be a trial one day, Josie and Kiera will be important witnesses, perhaps called by the State, perhaps called by the defense. I may well be the defense lawyer. Their testimony might be crucial. Therefore, I have a real interest in what they tell you.”

Ozzie was not a lawyer and not about to argue trial strategy and criminal procedure with Jake Brigance. “Can we interrogate them without you?”

“No. I’ve already advised them not to cooperate unless I’m in the room. As you know, you can’t make them talk. You can subpoena them to the stand at trial, but you can’t make them talk right now. They’re just potential witnesses.” Jake’s tone was more aggressive, his words sharper. The tension was rising considerably.

Portia, taking notes, thought to herself: I can’t wait to become a lawyer.

Everyone took a deep breath. Ozzie flashed his best politician’s smile and said, “Okay, let’s get on with it.”

Rady opened his notebook and gave Josie a smile so drippy Jake wanted to slap him. He said, “First of all, Ms. Gamble, I’d like to ask if you are able to talk, and if so, for how long? I understand the surgery was only a few days ago.”

Josie nodded nervously and said, “Thank you. I’m okay. The stitches and wires came out this morning and I can talk a little.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not too bad.”

“Are you taking medication for pain?”

“Just some ibuprofen.”

“Okay. Can we start with you and your background, that sort of thing?”

Jake immediately interrupted with “Let’s try this. We’re working on what we hope to be a complete biographical sketch of the Gamble family. Birthdates, birthplaces, homes, addresses, marriages, employers, relatives, criminal records, the good, the bad, the ugly. Some of it they remember, some is not so clear. We need it for our side. Portia is in charge of it and it has priority. When it is complete we’ll give you a copy. Full disclosure. You can read it and if you then want to interrogate these witnesses again, we’ll talk about it. This will save us at least an hour today and there won’t be any gaps. Fair enough?”

Rady and Ozzie exchanged looks, skeptical ones. Ozzie said, “We’ll try it.”

Rady flipped a page and said, “Okay, let’s go back to Saturday night, March 24, just over a week ago. Can you tell us what happened? Tell us your story about that night.”

Josie took a sip of water through a straw and glanced nervously at Jake, who had given her strict instructions about what to cover and what to leave alone. She began with “Well, it was late, and Stu wasn’t home.” As instructed, she spoke slowly, and seemed to struggle with each word. The swelling didn’t help. She described what it was like to wait and wait while expecting the worst. She was downstairs. The kids were upstairs in their bedrooms, awake, waiting, afraid. Stu finally came home around two, very drunk, belligerent as usual, and they had a fight. She got hit and woke up in the hospital.

“You said ‘drunk as usual.’ Did Stu often come home drunk?”

“Yes, he was out of control. We had lived there about a year, and his drinkin’ was a real problem.”

“Do you know where he had been that night?”

“No, he would never tell me that.”

“But you knew he hung out in bars and such, right?”

“Oh, yes. I went with him a few times, in the earlier days, but I stopped because he would get in fights.”

Rady was careful here because the sheriff’s department was still looking for paperwork. On two occasions, Josie had called the dispatcher and said she was being beaten by Stuart Kofer. But when the deputies showed up, she refused to press charges. The reports were filed and then they disappeared. Jake would probably learn about this down the road, and Ozzie did not look forward to those questions. Missing paperwork, a cover-up, a sheriff’s department looking the other way while one of its own spiraled out of control. Jake would make them bleed in the courtroom.

“Didn’t you meet in a bar?”

“We did.”

“Around here?”

“No, it was a club up around Holly Springs.”

Rady paused and struggled with his notes. The wrong question could provoke the wrath of Jake. “So, you don’t remember the shooting?”

“No.” She shook her head and stared at the table.

“Didn’t hear a thing?”

“No.”

“Have you talked to your son since the shooting?”

She took a deep breath and fought to keep her composure. “We spoke by phone last night, the first time. He’s down in Whitfield, but you probably know that. Said the sheriff here drove him down on Friday.”

“How’s he doing, if I may ask?”

She shrugged and looked away. Jake helped out with “Just so you’ll know. I’ve talked to the counselors down there. Josie and Kiera will go to Whitfield tomorrow, the preacher is taking them, and they’ll see Drew and meet with the people who are treating him. It seems to be very important that they, the doctors, talk to the family and get the background.”

Ozzie and Rady nodded their approval. Rady flipped a page and read some of his notes. “Did Stu ever take Drew hunting?”

Josie shook her head. “He took him fishin’ once, but it didn’t go well.”

A long pause. No details were coming. “What happened?” Rady asked.

“Drew was usin’ one of Stu’s rods and he hooked a big fish that bit hard and ran and yanked the rod out of Drew’s hands. It was gone. Stu had been drinkin’ beers and he flew hot, hit Drew, made him cry. That was their only fishin’ trip.”

“Did he take him hunting?”

“No. You gotta understand that Stu didn’t want my kids to begin with, and the longer they stayed the more he resented them. The whole situation was slowly blowin’ up. His drinkin’, my kids, fights over money. The kids were beggin’ me to leave but we had no place to go.”

“To your knowledge, had Drew ever fired a gun before?”

She paused and caught her breath. “Yeah, one time Stu took him out behind the barn and they shot at targets. I don’t know which gun they used. Stu had a bunch of them, you know? It didn’t work out too well because Drew was afraid of guns and couldn’t hit anything and Stu laughed at him.”

“You said he hit Drew. Did that happen more than once?”

Josie glared at Rady and said, “Sir, it happened all the time. He hit all of us.”

Jake leaned forward and said, “We’re not going into the physical abuse today, guys. There was a lot of it, and we’ll detail it in our summary. It might be a factor in a trial, or it might not be. But as for now, we’re skipping it.”

Fine with Ozzie. What was offered as proof at trial was the business of the district attorney, not the sheriff. But what a messy trial it could be.

He said, “Look, since this is the first of these visits, let’s just hit the high points and move on. We’ve established that you, Josie, were unconscious when the shooting occurred. We didn’t know that, now we do, so we’re making progress. We’ll ask Kiera a few questions and that’ll be it, all right?”

“Sounds good,” Jake said.

Rady produced another sappy smile and said to Kiera, “Okay, miss, could you tell us your story? What happened that night?”

Her story was much more involved because she remembered all of it: the dread of another Saturday night, the waiting until late, the sweep of the headlights, the commotion in the kitchen, the yelling, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the horror of hearing his stumbling boots coming up the stairs, his heaving, his slurred words, his goofy calling of her name, their jerry-rigged brace against the door, the rattling of the doorknob, the banging, the yelling, the unrestrained fear as brother and sister clung to each other; then the silence, the sounds of his retreat down the stairs; and, worst of all, nothing from their mother. They knew he had killed her. For an eternity the house was silent, and with each passing minute they knew their mother was dead. Otherwise, she would be trying to protect them.

Kiera managed to narrate the story while wiping away tears and not slowing down. She had tissues in both hands and spoke with emotion but her voice did not crack. Jake still had no plans to be anywhere near the trial of Drew Gamble, but the courtroom lawyer in him could not help but assess her as a witness. He was impressed with her toughness, her maturity, her determination. Though two years younger, she seemed to be years ahead of her brother.

But the part about her dead mother slowed her to the point of needing water. She took a drink from a bottle, wiped her cheeks, gave Rady a hard look, and continued: They found her on the kitchen floor, nonresponsive, no pulse, and they wept. Drew eventually called the dispatcher. Hours seemed to pass. He closed the bedroom door. She heard a shot.

Rady asked, “So, did you see Stu on the bed before he was shot?”

“No.”

As per Jake, answers in response to a direct question should be kept short.

“Did you see Drew with a gun?”

“No.”

“Did Drew say anything to you after you heard the shot?”

Jake was quick to interrupt. “Don’t answer that. It could be hearsay and inadmissible in court. I’m sure we’ll fight over it later, but not now.”

Ozzie had heard enough, both from the witnesses and from the lawyer. He abruptly stood and said, “That’s all we need. Thank you for your time, ladies. Jake, we’ll be in touch. Or not. I’m sure you’ll hear from the district attorney in the near future.”

Jake stood as they left the room. He sat down when they were gone, and Portia closed the door.

Josie asked, “How’d we do?”

“You were great.”