A Time for Mercy

22

He should’ve lingered and at least attempted to offer words of explanation to Steve Smallwood, Taylor’s brother and the family’s spokesman. He should’ve given instructions to Portia, who was dumbfounded. He should’ve huddled with Harry Rex and agreed on when to meet again to curse and throw things. He should’ve said goodbye, see you later to Murray Silerberg and his team scattered throughout the courtroom. He should’ve circled back to Noose’s chambers and perhaps apologized or tried to make amends. Instead, he bolted for a side door and was out of the courthouse before most of the prospective jurors left the courtroom. He went to his car and hurried away from the square, taking the first road out of town. At the edge of Clanton he stopped at a convenience store and bought some peanuts and a soda. He had not eaten in hours. He sat by the gas pumps, ripped off his tie, then took off his coat and listened as his car phone rang. It was Portia, at the office, and he was certain she was calling about something he had no desire to deal with.

He drove south and was soon close to Lake Chatulla. He parked in a rest area on a bluff and looked at the large muddy lake. He checked the time, 9:45, and knew that Carla would be in class. He had to call her but wasn’t sure what to say.

“Well, dear, I tried to hide a crucial witness whose testimony would kill our case.”

Or: “Well, dear, those damned insurance lawyers outfoxed me again and caught me cheating with discovery.”

Or: “Well, dear, I violated the rules and now the case has been postponed. And we’re screwed!!”

He drove here and there, east and west, staying on narrow, shaded lanes that wound through the county. He finally called the office and was informed by Portia that Dumas Lee had been hanging around, smelling a story, and that Steve Smallwood had stopped by in a foul mood and was looking for answers. Lucien wasn’t in, and Jake instructed her to lock the door and take the phone off the hook.

He vowed again to get rid of the red Saab because it was so conspicuous, a veritable bull’s-eye, and at the moment the last thing he wanted was to be noticed. He wanted to take another turn and drive south for hours until he hit the Gulf. Then, maybe he would just keep going, off a pier and into the ocean. He could not remember a time in his life that he had so desperately wanted to run away. To disappear.

His phone startled him. It was Carla. He grabbed it and said hello.

“Jake, where are you? Are you okay? I just talked to Portia.”

“I’m okay, just taking a drive, trying to avoid the office.”

“She said the case has been postponed.”

“That’s it. Postponed.”

“Can you talk?”

“Not now. It’s a bad story and will take some time to go through it. I’ll be home this afternoon when you get there.”

“Okay. But you’re fine?”

“I’m not going to kill myself, Carla, if that’s what you’re worried about. Maybe I’ve thought about it, but I’m under control. I’ll see you this afternoon and explain everything.”

That was a conversation he would love to avoid. Yes, honey, I cheated, and big-time, and I got caught.

The lawyers would gather one day to depose Neal Nickel, though Sean Gilder would, as always, stall as long as possible. Now that he had the upper hand, and now that Jake would not be screaming for a trial, it would be months before that deposition took place. And Nickel would no doubt be a superb witness, well dressed and articulate and thoroughly believable. He would discredit Hank Grayson, bolster the testimony of the engineer, and lend enormous credence to the railroad’s theory that Taylor Smallwood was either asleep or thoroughly distracted when he drove into the train.

The case was over, plain and simple. The case of a lifetime, or at least a career, had just gone down the toilet, flushed by the ambitions and greed of a lawyer who deliberately sidestepped the rules and arrogantly believed he wouldn’t get caught.

The litigation loan was at $70,000.

He glanced at his watch — 10:05. At that moment he should have been standing before the panel of prospective jurors. Eighty had arrived that morning and Jake knew all eighty names, knew where they lived, worked, worshipped. He knew where some were born, knew where some of their families were buried. He knew their ages, skin color, some of their children. He, Harry Rex, and Murray Silerberg had spent hours secluded in the workroom memorizing all the data the team had gathered.

There was not another decent case in his office and he was behind on his bills. He was arguing with the IRS.

A road sign pointed to Karaway, his hometown. He turned in the other direction, fearful that his mother might see him driving aimlessly around on a beautiful Monday morning in late April.

And now he was stuck with Drew Gamble and a losing case that would only drain away time and money, not to mention causing a lot of bad will around town.

He didn’t deliberately drive through Pine Grove, but he passed the settlement anyway and was close to the Good Shepherd Bible Church before he realized it. He pulled into the gravel lot with the idea of turning around, but caught a glimpse of a woman sitting at a picnic table near the small cemetery behind the church. It was Josie Gamble, reading a book. Kiera came into view and sat near her mother.

Jake switched off his engine and decided to have a chat with two people who knew nothing of his morning’s disaster, nor would they care. As he walked over, they smiled and were obviously pleased to see him. But then Jake figured they would be happy to see any visitor.

“What brings you out here?” Josie asked.

“Just passing through,” he said as he sat across the table. An old maple tree shaded them. “How are you doing, Kiera?”

“I’m okay,” she said and blushed. Under her loose sweatshirt there were no signs of her pregnancy.

Josie said, “I’ve never known anyone to just pass through Pine Grove.”

“It happens. What are you reading?”

She folded a page in the paperback and said, “A history of ancient Greece. Pretty excitin’ stuff. Let’s just say the church’s library is rather small.”

“You read a lot?”

“Well, Jake, I think I told you that I spent two years in prison in Texas. Seven hundred and forty-one days. I read seven hundred and thirty books. When they released me I asked if I could stay two more weeks so I could average a book a day. They said no.”

“How do you read a book a day?”

“You ever spent time in prison?”

“Not yet.”

“Granted, most of them were not that thick or complicated. One day I read four Nancy Drew mysteries.”

“Still a lot of books. Do you read, Kiera?”

She shook her head and looked away.

Josie said, “When I went in I could barely read, but they had a decent education program. Got my GED and started reading. The more I read, the faster I got. We saw Drew yesterday.”

“How was that?”

“It was nice. They let us all three sit together in a little room, so we got to hug him and give him kisses, or at least I did. A lot of tears but we managed a few laughs too, didn’t we Kiera?”

She nodded and smiled but said nothing.

“It was real sweet. They let us visit for over an hour, then ran us off. I don’t like that jail, you know?”

“You’re not supposed to like it.”

“Guess not. Now they’re talkin’ death row. They can’t really send him away, can they?”

“They’ll certainly try. I saw him last Thursday.”

“Yeah, he said you hadn’t been by in a few days, said you had a big trial comin’ up. How’d it go?”

“Is he taking his meds?”

“Says he is. Says he feels a lot better.” Her voice cracked and she covered her eyes for a moment. “He looks so little, Jake. They got him wearin’ some old faded orange coveralls, says ‘County Jail’ across the back and front, the smallest they had and still way too big. Got his sleeves and pants rolled up. Damned things just swallow him, and he just looks like a little boy because that’s what he really is. Just a kid. And now they want to put him in the gas chamber. I can’t believe this, Jake.”

Jake glanced at Kiera, who was wiping her cheeks too. These poor people.

Another car pulled into the parking lot. Josie watched it and said, “That’s Mrs. Golden, the tutor. She’s comin’ four days a week now, says Kiera is catchin’ up.”

Kiera stood and without a word walked to the door of the church and hugged Mrs. Golden, who waved at them. They went inside and closed the door.

“She’s nice to do this,” Jake said.

“I can’t believe how wonderful this church is, Jake. We live here for free. They’re feedin’ us. Mr. Thurber, who’s a foreman at the feed mill, got it worked out so I can do ten to twenty hours a week. It’s only minimum wage but I’ve worked for that before.”

“That’s good news, Josie.”

“If I have to work five jobs and do eighty hours a week I swear I’ll do it, Jake. She is not havin’ that baby and ruinin’ her life.”

Jake put up his hands in mock surrender. “We’ve had this conversation, Josie, and I really don’t want to go through it again.”

“I’m sorry.” For a long time nothing was said. Jake gazed across the cemetery to the hills beyond it. Josie closed her eyes and seemed to meditate.

Jake finally stood and said, “I need to be going.”

She opened her eyes and flashed a pretty smile. “Thanks for stoppin’ by.”

“I think she needs counseling, Josie.”

“Hell, don’t we all?”

“She’s been through a lot. She was raped repeatedly, and now she’s enduring another nightmare. Her situation is not going to improve.”

“Improve? How can we improve, Jake? That’s easy for you to say.”

“Do you mind if I talk to Dr. Rooker, the psychiatrist who examined Drew over in Tupelo?”

“And talk about what?”

“About seeing Kiera.”

“Who’s gonna pay for it?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

“You do that, Jake.”

There was nothing pleasant waiting at the office, and Jake wanted to avoid the square anyway. If he bumped into Walter Sullivan he might throw a punch. And by now every lawyer in town knew the gossip, knew that Brigance had been bounced out of court and had somehow managed to screw up Smallwood, the case they had all coveted. Only two or three of the thirty or so lawyers in town would truly be sad at the news. Some would be downright gleeful, and that was fine with Jake because he despised them too. Lost on the back roads, he called Lucien.

He parked in the drive behind the 1975 Porsche Carrera with a million miles on it and trudged along the sidewalk to the steps of the sweeping old porch that wrapped around the first level of the house. Lucien’s grandfather had built it just before the Great Depression with the intention of having the most magnificent home in town. It sat on a hill, half a mile from the courthouse, and from the front porch where he spent his time Lucien looked down on his neighbors. He had inherited the house, along with the law firm, in 1965 when his father died suddenly.

He was waiting, rocking, always reading a thick book of nonfiction, always with a glass on the table next to him. Jake fell into a dusty wicker rocker on the other side of the table and asked, “How can you start the day with Jack Daniel’s?”

“It’s all about pacing, Jake. I talked to Harry Rex.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. He’s worried about you, thought maybe they’d find you in the woods with the motor running and a garden hose stuck in the tailpipe.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“You want a drink?”

“No, I do not. But thanks.”

“Sallie’s grilling pork chops and we have fresh corn from the garden.”

“I didn’t want her to cook.”

“That’s her job and I eat lunch every day. What in hell were you thinking?”

“Maybe I wasn’t.”

Sallie appeared from around a corner and ambled toward them in her usual confident way, as if time meant nothing and she ruled the house because she’d been sleeping with the boss for over a decade. She wore one of her short white dresses that made the most of her long brown legs. She was always barefoot. Lucien had hired her as a housekeeper when she was eighteen years old, and she had soon been promoted.

“Hello, Jake,” she said with a smile. No one considered her a mere house servant and she had not said the words “Mister” or “Missus” in years. “Something to drink?”

“Thanks, Sallie. Just some ice tea, no sugar.”

She disappeared. “I’m listening,” Lucien said.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, maybe I do. Did you really think you could hide an eyewitness in such a major lawsuit?”

“It wasn’t so much hiding as it was just hoping he would stay away.”

Lucien nodded and put his book on the table. He lifted his glass and took a sip. He looked cold sober, no red eyes or nose. Jake was sure his innards were pickled but Lucien was a legendary drinker who could hold his liquor with anyone. He smacked his lips and said, “Harry Rex told me you guys made the decision together.”

“That’s awfully big of him.”

“I probably would’ve done the same thing. It’s a bad rule that lawyers have hated forever.”

There wasn’t the slightest doubt in Jake’s mind that Lucien would have laughed at Sean Gilder’s interrogatories and declined to identify any and all troublesome witnesses. The difference was that Lucien would not have located someone like Neal Nickel to begin with. Jake stumbled across him because he was being too thorough.

“You got a best-case scenario?” Lucien asked. “Harry Rex did not.”

“Not really. Maybe we depose the witness and he’s not as solid as we fear, then we go to trial, something like six months from now. We’ve paid the experts so they’ll be on board. The jury guy will cost us another bundle, if we use him. The facts haven’t changed, though a couple have shifted a little. The crossing is dangerous. Its warning-light system was antiquated and poorly maintained. The railroad knew it had a problem and refused to fix it. Four people were killed. We’ll get to the jury and roll the dice.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Seventy thousand.”

“You’re kiddin’? Seventy thousand dollars in litigation expenses?”

“That’s not unusual these days.”

“I never borrowed a dime on a lawsuit.”

“That’s because you inherited money, Lucien. Most of us are not so lucky.”

“My office, crazy as it was, always showed a profit.”

“You asked for the best-case scenario. You see a better one?”

Sallie came back with a tall glass of ice tea and some lemon. “Lunch in thirty minutes,” she said as she disappeared again.

“You haven’t asked for my advice yet.”

“Okay, Lucien, got any advice?”

“You gotta go after this new guy. There’s a reason he held back and a reason he came forward.”

“He told the investigator he got sued one time and hates lawyers.”

“Go after him. Find out everything about that lawsuit. Find the dirt, Jake. You gotta bury this guy in front of the jury.”

“I don’t want to go to court. I’d like to be trout fishing in some secluded mountain stream. That’s all I want.”

Lucien took another sip and returned his glass to the table. “You talked to Carla?”

“Not yet. I will when she gets home. What fun. Telling my wife, a person I adore, that I got caught cheating and tossed out of court.”

“I never did well with wives.”

“You think the railroad would settle?”

“Don’t think like that, Jake. Don’t ever show weakness. You can rebound from this by pushing hard again, squawking at Noose until he gives a new trial date, and drag these sumbitches back into court. Attack the new witness. Pick a good jury. You can handle this, Jake. No talk of settling.”

For the first time in hours, Jake managed a chuckle.

The Hocutt House had been built a few years before Lucien’s. Thankfully, old man Hocutt didn’t care for yard work so he selected a small city lot for his fine new home. Jake didn’t care for it either, but once a week during warm weather he pulled out the lawn mower and edger and spent a couple of hours sweating.

Monday afternoon seemed like a good time, and he was in the backyard laboring away when his girls got home from school. He was never there waiting for them, and Hanna was thrilled to see her father at home so early. He had cans of lemonade in a cooler, and they sat on the patio and talked about school until Hanna got bored with the adults and went inside.

“Are you okay?” Carla asked with great concern.

“No.”

“You want to talk?”

“Only if you promise to forgive me.”

“Always.”

“Thanks. It might be difficult.”

She smiled and said, “I’m with you, okay?”