A Time for Mercy

40

Monday, August 6. Jake slept in short little naps interrupted by long stretches of wide-eyed worries about all the things that could go wrong. His dream was to become a great trial lawyer, but, as always on the first morning, he asked himself why anyone would want the stress. The meticulous pretrial preparation was tedious and nerve-racking, but nothing compared to the actual battle. In the courtroom, and in front of the jury, a lawyer has at least ten things on his mind, all crucial. He must concentrate on the witness, either his or an opponent’s, and hear every word of the testimony. Should he object, and why? Has he covered all of the facts? Are the jurors listening, and if so do they believe the witness? Do they like the witness? If they’re not paying attention, is this beneficial or not? He must observe every move made by his opponent and predict where he is going. What is his strategy? Has he changed midcourse, or is he laying a trap? Who was the next witness? And where was she or he? If the next witness was adverse, how effective would she be? If he was a defense witness, was he ready? Actually in the courthouse? And prepared? The absence of discovery in criminal trials only heightened the stress because the lawyers were not always certain what the witness might say. And the judge — was he on top of his game? Listening? Napping? Hostile or friendly or neutral? Were the exhibits properly prepared and ready? Would there be a fight over their admission into evidence, and if so did the lawyer know the rules of evidence inside and out?

Lucien had lectured him on the importance of being relaxed, cool, calm, unflappable, regardless of how the trial was progressing. The jurors missed nothing, and every move made by the lawyer was noticed. Acting was important: feigning disbelief at damaging testimony, showing compassion where needed, occasionally flashing anger when appropriate. But overacting could be devastating if it verged on phoniness. Humor could be lethal because in tense situations everyone needed a good laugh, but it was to be used rarely. A man’s life was on the line and a comment made too lightly could backfire. Watch the jurors constantly but don’t overdo it, don’t let them catch you trying to read them.

Have all motions been properly filed? Were the jury instructions ready? The final summation was often the most dramatic moment, but preparing it ahead of time was difficult because the witnesses had not yet been heard. He’d won the Hailey acquittal with a stunning closing argument. Could he do it again? What magic words or phrases could he conjure up to save his client?

His greatest moment would be ambushing the State with Kiera’s pregnancy, and he had lost hours of sleep thinking about it. How could he protect the secret that very morning, in just a few hours, as all the players gathered in the crowded courtroom?

He drifted away again and woke up from a moment of deep sleep to the distant aroma of frying bacon. It was 4:45 and Carla was at the stove. He said good morning, kissed her, poured coffee, and said he was taking a quick shower.

They ate quietly at the breakfast nook — bacon and scrambled eggs with toast. Jake had eaten little over the weekend and had no appetite.

She said, “I’d like to run through my plan again, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. You’re basically babysitting.”

“Nice to be so necessary.”

“I assure you your role is crucial. Let’s hear it.”

“I’ll meet Josie and Kiera outside the courthouse at ten and keep them in the hallway on the first floor. We’ll wait there while the selection process begins. What am I supposed to do if Dyer wants to talk to them?”

“Not sure. Dyer will have plenty on his mind first thing this morning. Like me, he’ll be consumed with worry about the jury pool, but if he asks about Kiera and Josie I’ll tell him they’re on the way. Selection will drag on through the morning and probably the entire day, and I’ll send instructions to you. If I get a break, I’ll come find you. They’re under subpoena so they have to be close by.”

“And if Dyer finds us?”

“He has the right to talk to Kiera, not Josie. He’ll probably realize she’s pregnant but I doubt he’ll have the guts to ask who’s the father. Keep in mind the only thing Dyer wants from her is the testimony that Drew shot Kofer. He has to have that, and I doubt he’ll go much further.”

“I can do this,” she said nervously.

“Sure you can. There will be a crowd swarming around the courthouse so just try to get lost in it. At some point I’ll want you in the courtroom as we narrow the pool and start picking the twelve.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the courtroom, exactly?”

“Study the jurors, especially those on the first four rows. Especially the women.”

After a few bites, he said, “Gotta go. I’ll see you over there.”

“You need to eat, Jake.”

“I know, but I’ll probably lose it anyway.”

He kissed her on the cheek and left the house. In his car, he removed a pistol from his briefcase and hid it under the seat. He parked in front of his office, unlocked the door, and turned on the lights. Portia arrived half an hour later, and at seven Libby Provine made her entrance in a tight pink designer dress, high heels, and a loud paisley scarf. She had arrived in Clanton late Sunday afternoon and they had worked until eleven.

“You look rather smashing,” Jake observed, with reservations.

“You like it?” she shot back.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty bold. I doubt if we’ll see another pink dress in the courtroom today.”

“I like to be noticed, Jake,” she sang in her best Scottish brogue. “I know it’s rather nontraditional, but I’ve found that jurors, especially the men, like a bit of fashion amongst all the dark suits. You look quite handsome.”

“Thanks, I guess. My newest lawyer suit.”

Portia kept staring at the pink dress.

Libby said, “Just wait till they hear me talk.”

“They probably won’t understand a word.”

She wouldn’t be talking much, not at first. Her role was to assist Jake during the guilt, or second, phase of the trial, and say little until then. If Drew were convicted of capital murder, she would play a bigger role in the war over his sentencing. Dr. Thane Sedgwick was on standby at Baylor in case he was needed to sprint over to try and save the kid’s life. Jake was praying that would not be necessary, but he expected it. He didn’t have time to worry about it that morning.

Jake looked at her and said, “Tell me about Luther Redford.”

Libby shot back, “White male, age sixty-two, lives in the country on Pleasant Valley Road, raises organic chickens and sells them to the best restaurants in Memphis. Married for forty years to the same woman, three adult children, scattered, a bunch of grandchildren. Church of Christ.”

“And what does ‘Church of Christ’ mean?”

“Devout, clannish, conservative, fundamental, strong on law and order with a dim view of violent crime. Almost certainly a teetotaler with no use at all for alcohol and drunkenness.”

“Would you take him?”

“Probably not, but he might be on the cusp. We defended a seventeen-year-old two years ago in Oklahoma and the defense lawyer avoided all Church of Christ members, as well as a lot of Baptists and Pentecostals.”

“And?”

“Guilty. It was an awful crime, but we hung the jury on sentencing and got life without parole, which is supposed to be a win, I guess.”

“Would you take him, Portia?”

“No.”

“We can play this game driving over. How many jurors are complete mysteries?”

“Seventeen,” Portia said.

“That’s a lot. Look, I’ll load the car while the two of you go through the hit-list of all jurors we will challenge for cause.”

“We’ve already done that, at least twice,” Portia said. “I have the list memorized.”

“Memorize it again.”

Jake left his office, went downstairs, and loaded three large document boxes into the trunk of his Impala, which had far more space than the old Saab. At 7:30, the defense team left Clanton with Portia behind the wheel and Jake in the backseat calling off the names of people they had never seen but were about to meet.

Josie parked at the jail and told Kiera to stay in the car. Lying neatly on the rear seat was a navy blazer, white shirt, clip-on tie, and gray slacks, all arranged carefully on a hanger. Josie retrieved the outfit, which she had put together in the past week browsing through discount stores in and around Oxford. Jake had given her strict instructions on what to buy, and she had spent the previous day washing and ironing Drew’s trial ensemble. The shoes didn’t matter, Jake had said. He wanted his client to look nice and respectful but not too preppy. Drew’s secondhand sneakers would do just fine.

Mr. Zack was waiting at the jail desk and he led her down the hall to the juvenile cell. “He’s had his shower, but he didn’t want to,” he said quietly as he unlocked the door. Josie stepped in and he closed the door behind them.

The defendant was sitting at his table playing solitaire. He stood and hugged his mother and noticed her red eyes. “Are you cryin’ again, Mom?” he asked.

She did not reply but laid his outfit on the bottom bunk. On the top bunk she noticed an untouched tray of eggs and bacon and asked, “Why haven’t you eaten?”

“Not hungry, Mom. I guess this is my big day, huh?”

“It is. Let’s get dressed.”

“I gotta wear all that?”

“Yes sir. You’re goin’ to court and you gotta look nice, like Jake said. Let me have the overalls.” No sixteen-year-old boy wanted to strip in front of his mother, regardless of the circumstances, but Drew knew he couldn’t complain. He stepped out of the orange jail garb as she handed him the slacks first.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” he asked, taking them and quickly pulling them on.

“Here and there. You gotta wear this every day, Jake’s orders.”

“How many days, Mom? How long will this take?”

“Most of the week, I think.” She helped him into his shirt and buttoned it for him. He stuffed in the shirttail and said, “It feels a little too big.”

“Sorry, it’s the best we can do.” She picked up the tie, clipped it over the top button, fussed with it, and said, “When’s the last time you wore a tie?”

He shook his head and wanted to complain, but why bother? “I’ve never worn one.”

“Didn’t think so. You’re gonna be in the courtroom with lots of lawyers and important people and you need to look nice, okay? Jake said the jury will look you over and appearances are important.”

“He wants me to look like a lawyer?”

“No, he wants you to look like a fine young man. And don’t stare at the jurors.”

“I know, I know. I’ve read his instructions a hundred times. Sit straight, pay attention, don’t show emotion. If I get bored, scribble something on some paper.”

The entire family had pages of written instructions from their lawyer.

She helped him into the navy blazer, another first, and stepped back to admire him. “You look great, Drew.”

“Where’s Kiera?”

“Outside in the car. She’s doin’ fine.”

She was not. She was a wreck, same as her mother. Three lost souls about to enter a lions’ den with no idea what was about to happen to any of them. She tousled his mop of blond hair and wished she had a pair of scissors. Then she grabbed him and squeezed him fiercely and said, “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I got us into this mess. It’s all my fault. All my fault.”

He stood stiff as a board and waited for the moment to pass. When she finally released him he looked at her moist eyes and said, “We’ve already talked about this, Mom. I did what I did and I don’t regret it.”

“Don’t say that, Drew. Don’t say it now and don’t say it in court. Don’t ever say that to anyone, you understand?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not.”

“What about my shoes?”

“Jake said to wear your sneakers.”

“Well, they don’t really go with the rest of my outfit, do they?”

“Just do as he says. Always, Drew, just do what he says. You look nice.”

“And you’ll be there, right, Mom?”

“Of course I’ll be there. On the front row, right behind you.”