A Time for Mercy

18

It was well known that the law business peaked at noon each Friday and then shut down. The lawyers who normally clogged the halls of the courthouse vanished after lunch. Most of them fibbed to their secretaries and left for the country stores where they bought cold beer and roamed the back roads in blessed solitude. With the phones silent and the bosses gone, the secretaries often sneaked away too. No self-respecting judge would be caught dead in a robe on Friday afternoon. Most went fishing or played golf. The clerks who generally milled about laden with important documents ran errands across the street and didn’t come back, instead easing away to beauty parlors and grocery stores. By mid-afternoon, the wheels of justice ground to a halt.

Jake was planning to call Harry Rex to explore the possibility of a drink to catch up on things. At 3:30, he was done for the week and contemplating which excuse to feed Portia so he could leave without appearing shiftless. He still thought it was important to lead by example and she was quite impressionable. However, after working there for two years Portia knew his schedule and his lame excuses.

She buzzed him at 3:40 and said there was someone to see him. No, the person had not made an appointment. Yes, she realized it was Friday afternoon, but it was Pastor Charles McGarry and he told her the matter was urgent.

Jake welcomed him to his office and they sat in a corner, Charles on the old leather sofa, Jake in a chair that was at least a hundred years old. The preacher declined coffee or tea and was obviously troubled. He told the story of driving Josie and Kiera to Whitfield on Tuesday, leaving them there, and fetching them the following day. Jake knew all this. He had spoken twice with Dr. Sadie Weaver and knew the family had spent almost seven hours in three sessions.

Charles said, “When we were driving down early Tuesday, Kiera got sick and threw up twice. Josie said she always got car sick real easy. I didn’t think much about it. When I went back to get them at Whitfield on Wednesday, one of the nurses told me that Kiera had been sick that morning, nausea, throwing up, you know? I thought it was unusual because she had not been in a car that morning. They had a room on the campus. Driving home Wednesday afternoon she was fine. Yesterday morning, Mrs. Golden, the lady who’s tutoring her at church, said she got sick again and threw up. And not for the first time. I told my wife, Meg, about it and, well, you know how women are usually smarter than we are? Well, Meg and I have one child and she’s due with our second in two months. We are so blessed and very excited. She had one of those home pregnancy tests left over from last year.”

Jake was nodding. He had purchased several since Hanna arrived, and the results had always been negative, to their great disappointment.

“Meg agreed to have a chat with Josie. Kiera took the test and it’s positive. I drove them to a doctor in Tupelo this morning. She’s three months along. Wouldn’t tell the doctor or his nurse anything about the father.”

Jake felt like he’d been mule-kicked in the gut.

The preacher was on a roll. “Driving back this morning, she got sick again and threw up in my car. What a mess. Poor girl. We got her back to the church and Josie put her to bed. She and Meg took turns sitting with her until she felt better. She had some soup for lunch and we all just sat around in the kitchen and she started talking, you know. She said Kofer started molesting her back around Christmas, said he did it about five or six times and that he threatened to kill her if she told anyone. She didn’t tell Josie and of course this near ’bout killed her mother. A lot of tears today, Jake. Mine too. Can you imagine? Fourteen years old and getting raped by a thug that she was terrified of? Too frightened to tell anyone. Not sure when it would end. She said she thought about killing herself.”

“Did Drew know?” Jake asked. The answer could have enormous consequences.

“Don’t know. You need to ask her that, Jake. You need to talk to her and to Josie. They’re a mess, as you might guess. I mean, think about what they’ve been through in the past two weeks. The shooting, surgery, hospitals, Drew in jail, Whitfield and back, losing everything they had, which wasn’t much, but now they’re living in the back of our church. And all the talk about putting Drew in the gas chamber. They’re pitiful, Jake, and they really need your help. They trust you and want your advice. I’m doing the best I can, Jake, but I’m just a rookie preacher who never made it to college.” His voice cracked and his eyes watered. He looked away, shook his head, fought his emotions. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day with those two, Jake. A real long day, and they need to talk to you.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And there’s something else, Jake. Josie’s first reaction was that they would get an abortion. She feels pretty strong about it, at least for now. And I’m not in favor, for obvious reasons. I’m deadset against it. Josie seems to have some strong feelings. So do I. If Kiera gets an abortion then she’s outta my church.”

“Let’s worry about that later, Charles. You said she saw a doctor in Tupelo?”

“Yes. Josie likes the guy who operated on her, so she called his nurse. They called someone else and the guy did a favor and got her in. Said she’s healthy and all, but she’s just a kid.”

“And Meg knows all this?”

“Meg was in the room, Jake. Meg is right there with them.”

“Okay, it’s real important to keep this as quiet as possible. My head is spinning as I try to think of all of the ramifications. I know how gossip flies around in a small church.”

“Right, right.”

Almost as fast as it flies around in a coffee shop. Jake asked, “Is she showing?”

“I couldn’t tell anything. I mean, I tried not to stare, but I don’t think so. Why don’t you come see for yourself, Jake? They’re at the church waiting for you.”

Kiera was napping upstairs when Jake entered the rear door that opened into the kitchen. At one end of a long table was a stack of textbooks and notepads, proof that the student was getting tutored at some level. Meg and Josie were at the table working on a large jigsaw puzzle. The McGarrys’ four-year-old, Justin, was playing quietly in a corner.

Josie stood and hugged Jake as if they’d been close for years. Meg went to the counter and rinsed out the coffeepot to brew a fresh one. Though the windows were up and the curtains were moving with the breeze, the room had the heavy feel and smell of a long day’s drama.

It took twenty-two minutes to drive from the Clanton square to the Good Shepherd Bible Church, and in that short period Jake had tried, unsuccessfully, to first identify all the new legal issues, and then to untangle them. Assuming she was really pregnant and that Kofer was the father, how would this be presented at Drew’s trial? Since she was present at the shooting, she would undoubtedly be called as a witness for the prosecution. Could her pregnancy be mentioned? What if her mother insisted on an abortion? Would the jury know about that? If Drew knew Kofer was raping his sister, wouldn’t that seriously impact his defense? He killed to stop it. He killed out of retribution. Regardless of why he killed, Lowell Dyer could argue persuasively that he knew exactly what he was doing. How could they prove the child was Kofer’s? What if someone else was the father? With Kiera’s troubled background, wasn’t it possible she had started having sex early? Could there be a boyfriend somewhere? Was Jake obliged to inform Lowell Dyer that his star witness had been impregnated by the deceased? Depending on when the trial took place, would it be wise to put her on the stand when she was obviously pregnant? By proving the rapes and physical abuse, wasn’t Jake in effect putting Stuart Kofer on trial? If Kiera chose to abort, who would pay for it? If she didn’t, what would happen to the child? With no home, would Kiera be allowed to keep it?

As he drove, he had decided that these issues required an entire team. Lawyer, minister, at least two psychiatrists, some counselors.

Jake looked across the table at Josie and asked, point-blank, “Did Drew know that Kofer was raping Kiera?”

The tears were instant, the emotions raw and barely contained. “She won’t say,” Josie said. “Which leads me to believe that he did. Otherwise, why wouldn’t she just say no? I didn’t know. But I cannot believe she would tell Drew and not me.”

“And you had no clue?”

She shook her head and began sobbing. Meg poured Jake some coffee in a ceramic cup stained brown from decades of use. Like everything else in the room, it appeared to be well used but clean.

Josie wiped her face with a paper towel and said, “What will this do to Drew’s case?”

“It helps. It hurts. Some jurors might be sympathetic to Drew for taking matters into his own hands and protecting his sister, if that’s what he was thinking. We don’t know yet. The prosecutors will make much of the fact that he killed Kofer to stop him, so he knew what he was doing and can’t claim insanity. I honestly can’t tell you how it will play out. Keep in mind, I’m just on the case temporarily. There’s a good chance Judge Noose will appoint someone else for the trial.”

“You can’t leave us, Jake,” Josie said.

Oh yes I can, he thought. Especially now. “We’ll see.” In search of a subject slightly less depressing, he said, “I understand you spent time with Drew.”

She nodded.

“And how is he doing?”

“As well as can be expected. They put him on some meds, some antidepressants, and he says he’s sleepin’ better. He likes the doctors, says the food is good. He’d rather stay there than in the jail here. Why can’t he get out, Jake?”

“We’ve had this conversation, Josie. He has been indicted for capital murder. Nobody gets bail in a case like this.”

“But what about school? He’s two years behind anyway, and he’s just sittin’ there losin’ ground every day. They won’t put him in a class at Whitfield because he’s a security risk and only temporary. Bring him back here to wait for trial, and they ain’t got no tutors at the jail here. Why can’t they send him to a juvenile facility somewhere? Someplace where they at least make ’em go to class.”

“Because he’s not being treated like a juvenile. As of now he’s an adult.”

“I know, I know. Adult? What a joke. He’s just a little kid who’s not even shavin’ yet. One of his counselors down there told me she’d never seen a sixteen-year-old boy as physically immature as Drew.” A pause as she wiped her red cheeks. “His father was like that. Just a kid.”

Jake glanced at Meg, who glanced at Charles. Jake decided to dig a little. “Who is his father?”

Josie laughed and shrugged and would’ve said “What the hell” but she was in a church. “A guy named Ray Barber. He was a boy down the road and I sorta grew up with him. When we were fourteen we started foolin’ around one day, one thing led to another and we did it. Did it again and again and were havin’ some fun. Didn’t know a thing about birth control or basic biology, we were just a coupla stupid kids carryin’ on. I got pregnant at fifteen and Ray wanted to get married. He was afraid he might get cut off. My mother sent me to live with an aunt in Shreveport to have the baby. I don’t recall any discussion about terminatin’ the pregnancy. I had the baby and they wanted me to give it up, and I should have. I really should have. What I’ve put my kids through is nothin’ but a sin.”

She took a deep breath, then a sip of water from a bottle. “Anyway, I remember Roy worryin’ because the other boys were shavin’ and gettin’ hair on their legs and he wasn’t. He was afraid he was growin’ up late, like his father. Evidently, other parts were workin’ okay.”

“What happened to Ray?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know. I never went back home. When I wouldn’t give up the baby, my aunt kicked me out. You know something, Jake, gettin’ pregnant at fifteen was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. It changed my life, and not for the better. I love Drew, same as I love Kiera, but when a girl has a baby that young her whole future is shot to hell. Pardon my language. The girl probably won’t finish school. She probably won’t marry well. She probably won’t find a good job. She’ll probably do what I did — bounce from one bad man to another. That’s why Kiera is not havin’ this baby, you understand, Jake? If I have to rob a bank to get the money for an abortion, I’ll do it. She is not messin’ up her life. Hell, she didn’t even want to have sex. I did. Pardon my language.”

Charles shook his head and bit his lip but said nothing. It was obvious, though, that he would have plenty to say about an abortion.

Calmly, Jake said, “I understand. But this topic can be discussed at a later time. For now, I need to ask a question that has to be asked. She says Kofer is the father. Is there a chance there could be anyone else?”

Nothing fazed Josie, not even the delicate suggestion that her young daughter might have been sleeping around. She shook her head, no. “I asked her that. As you have probably noticed, she’s normal for her age, a lot more mature than her brother. I know from experience what kids can do, so I asked her if there had been anybody else. She got upset at the question, said absolutely not. Said Kofer was the first to ever touch her down there.”

“And this started around Christmas?”

“Yes. She said she was at the house by herself on a Saturday, right before Christmas.”

Charles said, “That would’ve been the twenty-third of December.”

“I was at work. Drew was over at a friend’s. Stu came home early and decided to go to her room. He said he wanted to do it. She said no, please no. He forced himself on her, but was careful not to leave marks. When it was over, he said he’d kill her and Drew too if she ever told. He even asked her if she enjoyed it. Can you imagine? This happened several more times, five or six altogether, she thinks, and she says she was waitin’ for the right time to tell me. She said she couldn’t keep on like that, said she even thought about suicide. This is all my fault, Jake. See what I’ve done to my kids? All my fault.” She was sobbing again.

Jake walked to the sink and poured out the cold coffee. He refilled his cup and walked to the door to look out. When her noises stopped, he returned to his seat and looked at her. “A few more questions?”

“Sure. I’ll tell you anything, Jake.”

“Do Drew and Kiera know they have different fathers?”

“No. I’ve never told them. I figured they’d realize it soon enough. They look nothin’ alike.”

“Did Kofer physically abuse Drew?”

“Yes. He slapped him around, same for Kiera, but never with his fists. He beat me several times, always when he was drunk. Sober, Stu was okay, you know? But he was a crazy drunk. Very intimidating, though, drunk or sober.”

“Will you be able to take the witness stand and tell the jury about the physical abuse?”

“I suppose. I guess I’ll have to, right?”

“Probably. Will Kiera?”

“I don’t know, Jake. Poor thing is a total wreck right now.”

On cue, Kiera appeared in the door and walked over to the table. Her eyes were puffy, her hair a mess. She wore baggy jeans and a sweat shirt, and Jake couldn’t help but look at her stomach. He saw nothing suspicious. She smiled at him but didn’t speak. She had a beautiful smile with perfect teeth, and Jake tried to imagine the horror of being a fourteen-year-old girl who had just learned that her body was carrying a child she wanted nothing to do with. Why does biology allow children to have children?

Charles was saying, “Back to the trial. Any idea when it will take place?”

“None whatsoever. It’s still very early in the process. I know for minors who are tried as adults the courts tend to move pretty fast. Maybe this summer, but I’m not sure.”

“The sooner the better,” Josie said. “I want this mess behind us.”

“It’s not going away with a trial, Josie.”

“Oh, I know that, Jake,” she snapped. “It never goes away with me. Everything’s a mess, always has been and I guess it always will be. I’m so sorry for this. The kids were beggin’ me to leave Stu and I wanted to. If I had known about him and Kiera we would’ve fled in the middle of the night. Don’t ask me where, but we would’ve left. I’m just so sorry.”

There was another long pause as everyone — Jake, Charles, Meg, and even Kiera — tried to think of something to say that might be comforting.

Josie said, “I didn’t mean to be short, Jake. Please understand.”

“I do. It is imperative that this pregnancy be kept absolutely quiet. I’m sure you all get this, but the question is how do we go about it. Kiera is not in school so we don’t have to worry about her friends getting suspicious. What about folks around the church here?”

Charles said, “Well, we’ll have to tell Mrs. Golden, the tutor. She’s already suspicious.”

“Can you handle that?”

“Sure.”

Josie blurted, “Well, after we get the abortion we won’t have to worry about it, will we?”

Charles couldn’t hold his tongue any longer and snapped, “As long as you’re living in this church, abortion is out of the question. If she gets one, then you’ll have to leave.”

“We always leave. Jake, where’s the nearest abortion clinic?”

“Memphis.”

“How much does one cost these days?”

“Don’t know from experience, but I’ve heard it’s something like five hundred dollars.”

“Will you loan me five hundred?”

“I will not.”

“Okay, we’ll get us another lawyer.”

“I’m not sure you can find another one.”

“Oh, there are plenty out there.”

Charles said, “Everybody take a deep breath. It’s been a long day and nerves are frazzled.” A moment passed. Jake took a last sip of coffee, rose, and walked back to the sink.

He stepped to the end of the table and said, “I need to be going, but I want you to think about a scenario that’s hard to imagine. If there is an abortion, and I’m not in favor of one but that’s not my decision, then you not only destroy a life, but you also destroy valuable evidence. Kiera will be called to testify at trial. If there is an abortion, she will not be permitted to mention it, nor should she because of resentment among the jurors. She can tell the jury that Stuart Kofer raped her, repeatedly, but other than her word, she cannot prove it. The police were never called. However, if she is obviously pregnant, or if she has already given birth, then the baby will be powerful evidence of Kofer’s rapes. And Kiera will create enormous sympathy not only for herself, but, and more importantly, for her brother. Carrying the baby will be a huge factor in Drew’s favor at trial.”

“So she has the baby to save her brother?” Josie asked.

Jake replied, “She has the baby because it’s the right thing to do. And, it alone will not save her brother, but it could certainly help a very desperate cause.”

“She’s too young to get stuck raisin’ a kid,” Josie said.

“There are a lot of desperate and deserving couples, Josie,” Jake said. “I do three or four private adoptions a year and they’re my favorite cases.”

“What about its father? Not sure I’d want that gene pool.”

“Since when are we allowed to pick our parents?”

But Josie was shaking her head in disgust and disagreement. As Jake drove away, he was struck by the flashes of meanness that Josie had instinctively displayed. Not that he blamed her. She had been hardened by a life of bad choices and was desperate to provide something better for her children. She had probably gone the abortion route herself and was quietly thankful that she only had two kids to worry about. Two were proving to be enough.

He almost stopped at a country store for a beer, one for the road, a sixteen-ounce can of something ice-cold that would take him about twenty minutes to savor. Then his car phone rang. It was Carla, reminding him in clipped tones that they were supposed to leave the house in thirty minutes for dinner at the Atcavages’. He had forgotten this. She had been calling for an hour. Where had he been?

“I can explain it all later,” he said and hung up. In his sensitive cases he always struggled with how much to tell his wife. Divulging anything was technically an ethical violation, but every human, including lawyers, needed to confide in someone. Without fail, she provided a different perspective, especially when women were involved, and she never hesitated to argue a point. She would have some strong feelings about these latest developments in an already tragic story.

Crossing into Clanton and almost home, he decided he would wait a day or so, or maybe more, before he told Carla that Kiera was pregnant because she had been raped by Stuart Kofer. Just saying this to himself made his stomach churn. It was hard to imagine the raw anger that would boil in the courtroom if and when Jake detailed the sins of Stuart Kofer. A dead cop unable to defend himself.

Hanna was at a sleepover and the house was quiet. Carla was frosty because they were late, but Jake didn’t care. It was Friday night, they were meeting friends, it was a casual dinner on the patio with a keg of beer. He took off his suit and changed into jeans, then sat and waited for her at the kitchen table.

As he drove, she asked, “So where have you been?”

“The Good Shepherd Bible Church, visiting with Josie and her team out there.”

“That wasn’t planned.”

“No, it just happened. Charles McGarry came to the office at three thirty and said they needed to talk, said they were upset and needed some hand-holding. That’s part of my job.”

“You’re getting stuck with this case, aren’t you?”

“Feels like quicksand.”

“We got another phone call about an hour ago. It’s time to change the number.”

“Did he give his name and address?”

“I doubt if he has an address, probably lives under a rock. Some bizarre, rambling nut yelling into the phone. Said that if that boy gets off he won’t last forty-eight hours on the streets. Said his lawyer won’t make it for twenty-four.”

“So, they’ll kill me first?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. Let’s change the number.”

“Are you calling Ozzie?”

“Yes, not that it will do any good. We should continue that discussion about hiring private security.”

“Or maybe you should just tell Noose that you’ve had enough.”

“You want me to quit? I thought you were worried about Drew.”

“I am worried about Drew. I’m also worried about Hanna, and you and me, and surviving in this very small town.”

Stan Atcavage lived out by the country club in a wooded development of sprawling suburban homes built around the only golf course in the county. He ran Security Bank and held most of Jake’s mortgages, as well as the brand-new line of credit for the litigation expenses of the Smallwood case. Stan at first had balked at such a novel loan, as had Jake and Harry Rex. But as the case progressed they realized they had no choice but to borrow. After three divorces and now with a fourth wife, Harry Rex’s balance sheet was as unimpressive as Jake’s, though he currently had only one mortgage on his home. At fifty-one, Harry Rex was gazing at the future and worrying about it. Jake was only thirty-seven, but it seemed as though the longer he practiced law, the more money he owed.

Stan was a close friend but Jake couldn’t stomach his wife, nor could Carla. Her name was Tilda and she was from an old Jackson family she often described as wealthy, which turned off most people in Clanton. The town was far too small for her and her expensive tastes. Seeking brighter lights, she had forced Stan to join the Tupelo Country Club, a status symbol in the area, and a luxury they struggled to afford. She also drank too much, spent too much, and kept the pressure on her husband to earn more. As a banker in a small town, Stan said little, but he had confided enough in Jake to let him know the marriage was not going well. Fortunately, when they arrived half an hour late Tilda was already several drinks ahead and had moved beyond her customary stuffiness.

There were five couples, all in their late thirties and early forties, with kids ranging from three to fifteen. The women gathered at one end of the patio at a wine bar and talked about their children, while the men gathered at the keg and discussed other topics. First it was the stock market, a subject that bored Jake because he didn’t have the money to play it, and even if loaded with cash he thought he knew enough to avoid it. Next, it was the rather salacious rumor that a doctor they all knew had cracked up and run off with a nurse. She was well known too because she was drop-dead gorgeous and one of the most lusted-after women in the county, single or married. Jake had not heard the rumor, never met the woman, didn’t like the doctor, and tried to avoid the gossip.

It was Carla’s long-standing opinion that men, contrary to popular opinion, were worse gossips than women. Jake found it hard to disagree. He was relieved when the conversation drifted to sports, and even more pleased when Stan announced dinner. No one had mentioned the Kofer killing.

They dined on smoked ribs, corn on the cob, and slaw. It was a perfect spring evening, just warm enough to eat outside on the patio and enjoy the blooming dogwoods. The fourteenth fairway was fifty yards away, and after a dessert of store-bought coconut pie, the five men fired up cigars and walked to the golf course for a smoke. The Masters was in full swing at Augusta National and this dominated the talk. Nick Faldo and Raymond Floyd were battling it out, and Stan, a serious golfer, was generous with his analysis. Since he was hosting and wouldn’t be driving, he was drinking too much.

Jake had little experience with cigars and even less with golf, and as he gamely listened his mind went back to the scene at the church and the look of hopelessness and fear in young Kiera’s eyes. He shook it off, and wanted to go home and crawl into bed.

Stan, though, wanted to end the night with a digestif, a fine brandy someone had sent him. Back on the patio, he poured five generous shots and the boys drifted over to bother the girls.

Carla looked at the drink in Jake’s hand and whispered, “Haven’t you had enough?”

“I’m okay.”

One couple was paying a babysitter and needed to call it a night. Another had a new puppy that was all alone. It was almost 11:00 p.m., Friday night, and most of them were looking forward to a late morning sleeping in. Thanks and farewells were offered and accepted and the guests left.

At the car, Jake’s red Saab, Carla asked, “Are you okay to drive?”

“Sure. I’m fine.”

They got in and she asked, “How many drinks have you had?”

“I didn’t know we were counting. Not enough.”

She gritted her teeth, looked away, and said nothing else. Jake was determined to prove his sobriety and drove slowly and carefully. “So what did the girls talk about?” he asked, trying to break the ice.

“Usual stuff. Kids, school, mothers-in-law. You heard about Dr. Freddie and the nurse?”

“Oh yes. All the details. I’ve always avoided him.”

“He’s a creep, but then his wife is not much better. Watch your speed.”

“I’m doing just fine, Carla, thank you.” Jake fumed and concentrated on the road. He turned onto a bypass east of town and the bright lights of Clanton were just ahead. He glanced in his mirror and mumbled, “Crap! A cop.”

The patrol car had materialized from nowhere and was suddenly on his bumper, with blue lights flashing and a siren that could be heard for miles. Jake knew immediately that it was a county car. The town limits of Clanton were a mile away.

Carla turned around in horror and saw the lights close behind. “Why is he stopping us?” she asked.

“Hell if I know. I was under the speed limit.” Jake slowed and managed to stop on a wide shoulder.

“Do you have any gum?” he asked. Carla opened her purse, which in keeping with the current style was almost large enough to check in as luggage at the airport. Finding gum or breath mints in it, and in the dark, and under pressure, seemed unlikely. Fortunately, the officer was in no hurry. She found the gum and Jake crammed two pieces into his mouth.

It was Mike Nesbit, a deputy Jake knew well. He knew all of them, didn’t he? The officer shined his light inside and asked, “Jake, can I see your license and registration, please?”

“Sure, Mike. How you doing?” Jake said as he handed them over.

“Great.” Nesbit examined the cards and said, “Just a minute.” He strolled back to his car and got in, just as a green Audi passed them in the center of the road. Jake wasn’t positive but he believed the car was owned by the Janeways, a couple they had just enjoyed dinner with. And since Jake had the only red Saab within fifty miles, there was little doubt as to who was getting pulled over.

“Do you have any water?” he asked his wife.

“I don’t normally carry water.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you drink too much?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“How much did you drink?”

“I wasn’t counting but I was not excessive. Do I seem drunk now?”

She turned away and didn’t answer. The flashing lights seemed ready to burst, but thankfully the siren had been turned off. Another car passed, slowly. Jake handled at least one DUI charge each month and had been doing so for years. The great question was always: Do you agree to take a breath test, or do you refuse? Take or refuse? If you take the test and it registers too high, then you’re guaranteed a conviction. Take it and slide just under the limit, and you go free. Refuse, and the cops automatically take you to jail. You post bond, get out, hire a lawyer, and slug it out in court where you have a decent chance of winning. The sage advice, always given after the fact and far too late to be of any benefit, was to take the test if you’d had only a couple of drinks. If you know you’re bombed, refuse and take a trip to jail.

Take or refuse? As Jake sat there trying to act as though he had no worries, he realized his hands were shaking. Which humiliation would be greater? Getting handcuffed in front of his wife and taken away? Or dealing with the aftermath of a failed test and the embarrassment of losing his driver’s license? Could there even be a bar complaint? He had represented so many drunk drivers that he’d lost any sympathy he might have for someone facing a weekend in jail. You drink and drive, you deserve the punishment.

Now, though, with the minimum level set so low, at.10, even a few drinks during the evening was too much. Take or refuse?

Nesbit was back. He approached with his flashlight shining into Jake’s face. “Jake, have you been drinking?”

Another crucial question no one was ever prepared to answer. Say yes, and try to explain how little, and the officer would most certainly take the next step down the path to ruin. Say no, and lie, and face the consequences when he smelled the presence of alcohol. Say something like “Hell no! I don’t drink!” and really irritate the officer with slurred words and a thick tongue.

“Yes sir,” Jake said. “We’re returning from a dinner party and I had some wine. Not much, though. I’m not under the influence, Mike. I’m fine. May I ask what I did wrong?”

“Swerving.” Which, as Jake well knew, could mean exactly that, or it could mean anything else. Or nothing.

“Where was I swerving?”

“Will you agree to take a BAC test here on the road?”

Jake was about to say yes when more blue lights came over the hill in their direction. It was another deputy. He slowed, passed them, turned around, and parked behind Nesbit, who left to have a chat.

“I’m not believing this,” Carla said.

“Nor am I, dear. Just be cool.”

“Oh, I’m cool. You have no idea how cool this makes me.”

“I’d rather not fight here beside the road. Can you wait till we get home?”

“Are you going home, Jake? Or somewhere else?”

“I don’t know. I did not drink that much, I swear. I don’t even feel a buzz.”

Loss of license, time in jail, a stiff fine, increased insurance rates. Jake remembered the awful list of punishments he’d recited to a hundred clients. As a lawyer he could always game the system, at least for first-time offenders. Like himself. He could avoid jail, get some community service, cut the fine, justify his fee of $500.

Minutes dragged by as the blue lights flickered silently. Another car approached, slowed for a good look, and passed. Jake promised himself that if and when he was financially able to buy a new car, it would not be an exotic Swedish thing in a bright color. It would be either a Ford or a Chevrolet.

Nesbit approached for the third time and said, “Jake, would you please get out of the car.”

Jake nodded and told himself to take careful steps and speak clearly. The field sobriety test was designed to be flunked by all drivers, after which the police could then push hard for a breath test. Jake walked to the rear of his car where the second deputy was waiting. It was Elton Frye, a veteran he had known for years.

“Evenin’, Jake,” Frye said.

“Hello, Elton. Sorry to trouble you.”

“Mike says you been drinkin’.”

“At dinner. Look at me, Elton, I’m obviously not drunk.”

“So you’ll take the test?”

“Of course I’ll take it.”

The two officers looked at each other and seemed uncertain as to their next move. Nesbit said, “Stu was a friend of mine, Jake. A great guy.”

“I liked Stu too, Mike. Sorry about what happened. I know it’s tough for you guys.”

“It’s gonna be tougher if that punk gets off, Jake. Talk about rubbin’ salt into some pretty raw wounds.”

Jake offered a sappy smile at such foolishness. At that moment he would say just about anything to score a few points. “He’s not getting off, I can promise you that. Besides, I’m just handling his case on a temporary basis. The court will appoint another lawyer for the trial.”

Mike liked this and nodded at Frye, who extended a hand that held Jake’s license and registration. Mike said, “We called Ozzie. He told us to follow you home. Take it easy, okay?”

Jake’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled. “Thanks, fellas. I owe you one.”

“You owe Ozzie, Jake, not us.”

He got in the car, latched his seat belt, cranked the engine, glanced at his mirror, and ignored his wife, who appeared to be praying. As he pulled away, she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing. It was Mike Nesbit and Elton Frye and they both could tell I’m not drunk. They called Ozzie, told him so, and he said follow us home. Everything’s fine.”

The blue lights were turned off as the two patrol cars followed the red Saab into Clanton. Inside the car, nothing else was said.

The kitchen phone showed three voice mails received during the evening. Carla was rinsing the coffeepot to prepare for the morning, as Jake poured a glass of ice water and punched a button. The first call was a wrong number, some poor soul searching for takeout pizza. The second call was from a reporter in Jackson. The third call was from Josie Gamble, and as soon as Jake hit PLAY he wished he had not. She said:

Carla was holding the coffeepot filled with water, her mouth open. Jake punched the CLEAR button and looked at his wife. It was difficult holding client confidences when the client left secrets in recorded voice mails.

“Abortion?” Carla asked.

Jake took a deep breath and said, “Do we have any decaf?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s make a pot. I’ll be up all night anyway. Between a near DUI and a pregnant fourteen-year-old, I won’t be sleeping much.”

“Kiera?”

“Yes. Make the coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”