A Time for Mercy

16

The long day began at sunrise when Charles McGarry swept his headlights across the rear of his little country church. Lights were on in the kitchen and he knew that Josie and Kiera were wide awake and ready to go. He met them at the door, exchanged hurried greetings because they had hours to talk in the car, and locked the church behind them. Kiera folded her long legs into the rear of the small McGarry family car and Josie got herself situated in the front passenger seat. Charles pointed to the digital clock on the dash and said, “Six forty-six. Remember the time. It’s supposed to take three hours.”

His wife, Meg, had planned to join them, but, truthfully, the car was too small for four people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder for a long ride. And a grandmother who’d promised to babysit had fallen ill.

“Meg sent some sausage biscuits,” he said. “In that bag back there.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Kiera said.

“She’s not feelin’ well,” Josie said.

“I’m gonna be sick, Mom,” she said again.

“Serious?” he asked.

“Pull over. Quick.” They had gone less than half a mile; the church was almost visible behind them. Charles hit the brakes and stopped on the shoulder. Josie was already opening the door and pulling her daughter out. She vomited in a ditch and retched for a few minutes while Charles watched for headlights and tried not to listen. She cried and apologized to her mother and they discussed something. Both were crying when they got back in the car, and for a long time nothing was said.

Finally, Josie offered a fake laugh and said, “She’s always had a problem with car sickness. Never seen anything like it. Kid can chuck it before I start the engine.”

“You okay back there?” Charles asked over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, head back, eyes closed, arms across her stomach.

“How about some music?” he asked.

“Sure,” Josie said.

“You like gospel?”

Not really, she thought. “How about it, Kiera, you want to listen to some gospel music?”

“No.”

Charles turned on the radio and tuned in to the country station out of Clanton. They skirted around the edge of town and found the main highway south. At seven the news came on, weather first, then a report that the district attorney, Lowell Dyer, had confirmed that the Ford County grand jury would meet later in the day to work on its docket. And, yes, the murder of Officer Stuart Kofer would be discussed. Charles reached over and turned off the radio.

The car sickness struck again a few miles south of Clanton, this time on a highway busy with early morning traffic. Charles turned the car into someone’s gravel drive and Kiera jumped out, barely averting a mess. Once she was back in the car, Josie said, “It might be the smell of those biscuits. Could we put them in the trunk?”

Charles really wanted one for breakfast, but he decided not to take chances. He unbuckled, grabbed the bag off the backseat, opened the trunk, and put away their breakfast. Meg had been up at five to fry the sausage and thaw the frozen biscuits.

On the road again, Charles glanced in his mirror every minute or so. Kiera was pale and her forehead was wet. Her eyes were closed and she was trying to nap.

Josie felt the uneasiness and knew that Charles was worrying about her daughter. To change the subject she said, “We talked to Drew last night. Thanks for allowin’ us to use the church phone.”

“No problem. How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. He’s in a better place, a small room with a cellmate, a kid who’s seventeen but a good boy, so far. And Drew says the people, the doctors, are nice and seem really concerned about him. They’ve put him on a drug, an antidepressant, and he says he’s feelin’ better. He met with two different doctors yesterday and they just asked him a bunch of questions, in general.”

“Any idea how long they’ll keep him?”

“No. That has not been discussed so far. But he’d rather stay where he is than go back to the jail in Clanton. Jake says there’s no way to get him out. Says no judge in the state would set a bond in a case like this.”

“I’m sure Jake knows what he’s talking about.”

“We like Jake a lot. Do you know him well?”

“No. Remember, Josie, I’m new around here, just like you. I grew up over in Lee County.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Gotta tell you, it sure is a comfort havin’ a guy like Jake as our lawyer. Are we supposed to pay him?”

“I don’t think so. Isn’t he appointed by the court?”

She nodded and mumbled something, as if she suddenly remembered another story. Kiera managed to curl herself into a ball in the rear seat and take a nap. After a few miles, Josie turned to look at her and whispered, “Hey, baby, you okay?”

Kiera did not respond.

It took an hour to get processed and directed to one building and then another, where they were herded into a waiting room where two guards wore guns on their hips. One of them with a clipboard emerged from the back and approached Charles. She managed a forced smile and asked, “Are you here to see Drew Gamble?”

Charles pointed to Josie and Kiera and said, “They are. They’re his family.”

“Please follow me.”

Every door had a buzzer that clicked, and as they moved deeper into the labyrinth the halls became wider and cleaner. They stopped at a metal door with no window and the guard said, “I’m sorry but it’s family only.”

“Fine with me,” Charles said. He hardly knew Drew and was not eager to spend the next hour with him. Josie and Kiera walked inside and found Drew seated in the small, windowless room. All three grabbed each other with fierce embraces and began crying. Charles watched from the open door and felt enormous pity for them. The guard backed out, closed the door, and said, “A counselor would like to speak to you.”

“Sure.” What else was he supposed to say?

The counselor was standing in the door of a small, cluttered office in yet another wing. She introduced herself as Dr. Sadie Weaver and said she was borrowing the office for the moment. They wedged themselves inside and she closed the door.

“And you’re their minister?” she began, with no thought of preliminary chatter. She gave every impression of being incredibly busy.

“Well, sort of, let’s say yes, okay? They’re not officially members of my church but we’ve sort of adopted them. They have no place else to go. No family in the area.”

“We spent a few hours with Drew yesterday. Sounds like the family has had a rough time of it. He’s never seen his father. I’ve spoken with their lawyer, Mr. Brigance, and with Dr. Christina Rooker in Tupelo. She saw Drew last Thursday and asked the court to commit him for evaluation. So I know some of the background. Where are they living?”

“In our church. They’re safe and well-fed.”

“Bless you. Sounds like the mother and sister are being cared for. I, of course, am more concerned with Drew. We’ll spend this afternoon and tomorrow with him and his mother and sister. I assume you’re their driver.”

“I am.”

“How long can you leave them here?”

“I’m flexible. I have no plans.”

“Good. Leave them here for twenty-four hours, pick them up tomorrow.”

“Okay. How long will you keep Drew?”

“It’s hard to say. Weeks, not months. As a general rule, they’re better off here than in a county jail.”

“Right. Keep him as long as you can. Things are pretty tense in Ford County.”

“I understand.”

Charles made his way out of the building and eventually found his car. He cleared the checkpoints and by noon was back on the road, headed north. At a convenience store he bought a soft drink, retrieved his biscuits from the trunk, and enjoyed the solitude with his brunch and gospel music.

The Ford County grand jury met twice a month. Its docket was typically mundane — petty drug busts, car thefts, a knifing or two at the clubs and tonks. The last killing had been a Wild West — style shootout after a black funeral where two warring families squared off and began firing. One man was killed, but it was impossible to determine who shot who. The grand jury indicted the most likely suspect for manslaughter and his case was still pending, with no one really pushing it. He was free on bond.

There were eighteen members of the grand jury, all registered voters from the county, and they had been empaneled by Judge Noose two months earlier. They met in the small courtroom down the hall from the main one and their meetings were private. No spectators, no press, none of the usual bored courthouse gang looking for a little drama.

Typically, for the first month or so the honor of being a member of the grand jury was worth bragging about, but after a few sessions the job grew tedious. They heard only one side of the story, the one presented by law enforcement, and there was almost never any dissent. So far, they had not failed to issue any of the indictments being sought. Whether they realized it or not, they had quickly become little more than a rubber stamp for the police and prosecutors.

A special session was unusual, and by the time they gathered on Tuesday afternoon, April 3, each of the sixteen present knew exactly why they had been summoned. Two were absent but there was easily a quorum.

Lowell Dyer welcomed them back, thanked them again as if they had a choice, and explained that they had a very serious matter in front of them. He gave the basics of the Kofer murder and asked Sheriff Walls to sit in the witness seat at the end of the table. Ozzie was sworn to tell the truth, and began his narrative: time and date, cast of characters, 911 call, the scene when Chief Deputy Moss Junior Tatum first arrived. He described the bedroom and the bloody mattress, and passed around enlarged color photos of Stuart with part of his head blown off. Several of the grand jurors took a look, reacted, then looked away. The service pistol was beside the body. The cause of death was fairly obvious. A single shot to the head, close range.

“The boy was in the living room and told Deputy Tatum that Stuart Kofer was in his bedroom and he thought he was dead. Tatum went to the bedroom, saw the body, and asked the boy, Drew, what happened but got no answer. The girl, Kiera, was in the kitchen, and when Tatum asked her what happened, she said, ‘Drew shot him.’ It’s an open-and-shut case.”

Dyer was pacing around the room and stopped to say, “Thank you, Sheriff. Any questions?”

The room was silent as the grand jurors felt the weight of such an awful crime. Finally, Miss Tabitha Green from Karaway raised her hand and asked Ozzie, “How old are these children?”

“The boy, Drew, is sixteen. His sister, Kiera, is fourteen.”

“And were they home by themselves?”

“No. Their mother was with them.”

“And who’s their mother?”

“Josie Gamble.”

“What’s her relationship with the deceased?”

“Girlfriend.”

“Forgive me, Sheriff, but you’re not exactly forthcoming with all the facts here. I feel like I’m prying stuff out of you and that makes me very suspicious.” Miss Tabitha looked around as she spoke, looking for support. So far there was none.

Ozzie glanced at Dyer as if he might need some help. He said, “Josie Gamble is the mother, and she and her two children had been living with Stuart Kofer for about a year.”

“Thank you. And where was Ms. Gamble when the shooting took place?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Doing what?”

“Well, according to the story, she was unconscious. When Stuart Kofer came home that night they had a fight and evidently Josie got injured and was unconscious.”

“He knocked her unconscious?”

“That seems to be what happened.”

“Well, Sheriff, why didn’t you tell us that? What are you trying to hide from us?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. Stuart Kofer was shot and killed by Drew Gamble, plain and simple, and we’re here to get him indicted for it.”

“Understood, but we’re not a bunch of kindergartners. You want us to indict a person for capital murder, and that of course could mean the gas chamber. Don’t you think it’s only natural that we might want all the facts?”

“I guess so.”

“We’re not guessing, Sheriff. This happened at two a.m. on a Sunday morning. Is it safe to assume that Stuart Kofer was not exactly sober when he came home and beat his girlfriend?”

Ozzie squirmed and looked about as guilty as an innocent man could look. He glanced at Dyer again and said, “Yes, it is safe to assume that.”

To Miss Tabitha’s rescue came Mr. Norman Brewer, a retired barber who lived in an old section of Clanton. “How drunk was he?” he asked.

A loaded question. If he had simply asked, “Was he drunk?” Ozzie could have simply answered, “Yes,” while avoiding the ugly details.

“He was quite intoxicated,” he said.

Mr. Brewer said, “So he came home quite drunk, as you say, and he punched her, knocked her out cold, then the suspect shot him. Is that what happened, Sheriff?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Basically? Did I get something wrong?”

“No sir.”

“Did he physically abuse the children?”

“They did not report that at the time.”

“What condition was Kofer in when he got shot?”

“Well, we believe he was lying on his bed, asleep. Evidently, there was no struggle with Drew.”

“Where was the gun?”

“We don’t know exactly.”

Mr. Richard Bland from down in Lake Village said, “So, Sheriff, it looks like Mr. Kofer was passed out drunk on his bed and was not awake when the kid shot him, is that right?”

“We don’t know if Stu was awake or asleep when he was shot, no sir.”

Lowell didn’t like the direction of the questioning and said, “I’d like to remind you that the condition of either the deceased or the defendant is not an issue for this grand jury. Claims of self-defense or insanity or whatever might be raised by the defense lawyers, but they are a matter for the trial jury to consider. Not you.”

“They’re already claiming insanity, from what I hear,” said Mr. Bland.

“Maybe so, but what you hear on the street is not important inside this room,” Lowell said in a lecturing tone. “We’re just dealing with the facts here. Any more questions?”

Miss Tabitha asked him, “Have you had a capital murder indictment before, Lowell? This is certainly the first one for us.”

“I have not, and I’m grateful for that.”

“It just seems so routine,” she said. “Like all the other cases we process in here. Present a few facts, the bare necessities, limit the discussion, and we vote. We just rubber-stamp whatever you want. But this is something else. This is the first step in a case that could send a man, or a kid, to death row at Parchman. It all seems too easy, too sudden to me. Anybody else feel this way?” She looked around but found little support.

Dyer said, “I understand, Miss Green. What else would you like to know? This is a simple case. You’ve seen the dead body. We have the murder weapon. Besides the victim there were three other people in the house, at the scene. One was unconscious. One was a sixteen-year-old boy whose fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. The third person, his sister, told Deputy Tatum that her brother shot Stuart Kofer. That’s it. Plain and simple.”

Miss Tabitha took a deep breath and fell back into her chair. Lowell waited and gave them plenty of time to think. Finally, he said, “Thank you, Sheriff.”

Without a word, Ozzie stood and left the room.

Benny Hamm looked across the table at Miss Tabitha and asked, “What’s the problem? There’s plenty of proof. What else do you want to do?”

“Oh, nothing. It just seems so fast, you know?”

Lowell said, “Well, Miss Tabitha, I assure you there’ll be plenty of time to hash out all the issues in this case. After I file the indictment, my office will investigate and prepare for a full-blown trial. The defense will do the same. Judge Noose will insist on a speedy trial, and before long you and everyone else on this grand jury can show up in the main courtroom down the hall and see how it goes.”

Benny Hamm said, “Let’s vote.”

“Let’s do it,” someone said.

Miss Tabitha said, “Oh, I’ll vote to indict. It just seems too perfunctory. Know what I mean?”

All sixteen voted and the indictment was unanimously returned.