A Time to Kill

16

The Swede had called several times during the two weeks her husband had been in Mississippi. She didn’t trust him down there. There were old girlfriends he had confessed to. Each time she called, Lester was not around, and Gwen lied and explained that he was fishing or cutting pulpwood so they could buy groceries. Gwen was tired of lying, and Lester was tired of carousing, and they were tired of each other. When the phone rang before dawn Friday morning, Lester answered it. It was the Swede.

Two hours later the red Cadillac was parked at the jail. Moss Junior led Lester into Carl Lee’s cell. The brothers whispered above the sleep of the inmates.

“Gotta go home,” Lester mumbled, somewhat ashamed, somewhat timid.

“Why?” Carl Lee asked as if he had been expecting it.

“My wife called this mornin’. I gotta be at work tomorrow or I’m fired.”

Carl Lee nodded approvingly.

“I’m sorry, bubba. I feel bad about goin’, but I ain’t got no choice.”

“I understand. When you comin’ back?”

“When you want me back?”

“For the trial. It’ll be real hard on Gwen and the kids. Can you be back then?”

“You know I’ll be here. I got some vacation time and all. I’ll be here.”

They sat on the edge of Carl Lee’s bunk and watched each other in silence. The cell was dark and quiet. The two bunks opposite Carl Lee’s were empty.

“Man, I forgot how bad this place is,” Lester said.

“I just hope I ain’t here much longer.”

They stood and embraced, and Lester called for Moss Junior to open the cell. “I’m proud of you, bubba,” he said to his older brother, then left for Chicago.

Carl Lee’s second visitor of the morning was his attorney, who met him in Ozzie’s office. Jake was red eyed and irritable.

“Carl Lee, I talked to two psychiatrists in Memphis yesterday. Do you know what the minimum fee is to evaluate you for trial purposes? Do you?”

“Am I supposed to know?” asked Carl Lee.

“One thousand dollars,” Jake shouted. “One thousand dollars. Where can you find a thousand dollars?”

“I gave you all the money I got. I even offered—”

“I don’t want the deed to your land. Why? Because nobody wants to buy it, and if you can’t sell it, it’s no good. We’ve got to have cash, Carl Lee. Not for me, but for the psychiatrists.”

“Why?”

“Why!” Jake repeated in disbelief. “Why? Because I’d like to keep you away from the gas chamber, and it’s only a hundred miles from here. It’s not that far. And to do that, we’ve got to convince the jury that you were insane when you shot those boys. I can’t tell them you were crazy. You can’t tell them you were crazy. It takes a psychiatrist. An expert. A doctor. And they don’t work for free. Understand?”

Carl Lee leaned on his knees and watched a spider crawl across the dusty carpet. After twelve days in jail and two court appearances, he had had enough of the criminal justice system. He thought of the hours and minutes before the killings. What was he thinking? Sure the boys had to die. He had no regrets. But did he contemplate jail, or poverty, or lawyers, or psychiatrists? Maybe, but only in passing. Those unpleasantries were only by-products to be encountered and endured temporarily before he was set free. After the deed, the system would process him, vindicate him, and send him home to his family. It would be easy, just as Lester’s episode had been virtually painless.

But the system was not working now. It was conspiring to keep him in jail, to break him, to make orphans of his children. It seemed determined to punish him for performing an act he considered unavoidable. And now, his only ally was making demands he could not meet. His lawyer asked the impossible. His friend Jake was angry and yelling.

“Get it,” Jake shouted as he headed for the door. “Get it from your brothers and sisters, from Gwen’s family, get it from your friends, get it from your church. But get it. And as soon as possible.”

Jake slammed the door and marched out of the jail.

Carl Lee’s third visitor of the morning arrived before noon in a long black limousine with a chauffeur and Tennessee plates. It maneuvered through the small parking lot and came to rest straddling three spaces. A large black bodyguard emerged from behind the wheel and opened the door to release his boss. They strutted up the sidewalk and into the jail.

The secretary stopped typing and smiled suspiciously. “Good mornin’.”

“Mornin’,” said the smaller one, the one with the patch. “My name is Cat Bruster, and I’d like to see Sheriff Walls.”

“May I ask what for?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s regardin’ a Mr. Hailey, a resident of your fine facility.”

The sheriff heard his name mentioned, and appeared from his office to greet this infamous visitor. “Mr. Bruster, I’m Ozzie Walls.” They shook hands. The bodyguard did not move.

“Nice to meet you, Sheriff. I’m Cat Bruster, from Memphis.”

“Yes. I know who you are. Seen you in the news. What brings you to Ford County?”

“Well, I gotta buddy in bad trouble. Carl Lee Hailey, and I’m here to help.”

“Okay. Who’s he?” Ozzie asked, looking up at the bodyguard. Ozzie was six feet four, and at least five inches shorter than the bodyguard. He weighed at least three hundred pounds, most of it in his arms.

“This here is Tiny Tom,” Cat explained. “We just call him Tiny for short.”

“I see.”

“He’s sort of like a bodyguard.”

“He’s not carryin’ a gun, is he?”

“Naw, Sheriff, he don’t need a gun.”

“Fair enough. Why don’t you and Tiny step into my office?”

In the office, Tiny closed the door and stood by it while his boss took a seat across from the sheriff.

“He can sit if he wants to,” Ozzie explained to Cat.

“Naw, Sheriff, he always stands by the door. That’s the way he’s been trained.”

“Sorta like a police dog?”

“Right.”

“Fine. What’d you wanna talk about?”

Cat crossed his legs and laid a diamond-clustered hand on his knee. “Well, Sheriff, me and Carl Lee go way back. Fought together in ’Nam. We was pinned down near Da Nang, summer of ’71. I got hit in the head, and, bam! two seconds later he got hit in the leg. Our squad disappeared, and the gooks was usin’ us for target practice. Carl Lee limped to where I’s layin’, put me on his shoulders, and ran through the gunfire to a ditch next to a trail. I hung on his back while he crawled two miles. Saved my life. He got a medal for it. You know that?”

“No.”

“It’s true. We laid next to each other in a hospital in Saigon for two months, then got our black asses outta Vietnam. Don’t plan to go back.”

Ozzie was listening intently.

“And now that my man is in trouble, I’d like to help.”

“Did he get the M-16 from you?”

Tiny grunted and Cat smiled. “Of course not.”

“Would you like to see him?”

“Why sure. It’s that easy?”

“Yep. If you can move Tiny away from that door, I’ll get him.”

Tiny stepped aside, and two minutes later Ozzie was back with the prisoner. Cat yelled at him, hugged him, and they patted each other like boxers. Carl Lee looked awkwardly at Ozzie, who took the hint and left. Tiny again closed the door and stood guard. Carl Lee moved two chairs together so they could face each other closely and talk.

Cat spoke first. “I’m proud of you, big man, for what you did. Real proud. Why didn’t you tell me that’s why you wanted the gun?”

“Just didn’t.”

“How was it?”

“Just like ’Nam, except they couldn’t shoot back.”

“That’s the best way.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish none of this had to happen.”

“You ain’t sorry, are you?”

Carl Lee rocked in his chair and studied the ceiling. “I’d do it over, so I got no regrets about that. I just wish they hadn’t messed with my little girl. I wish she was the same. I wish none of it ever happened.”

“Right, right. It’s gotta be tough on you here.”

“I ain’t worried ’bout me. I’m real concerned with my family.”

“Right, right. How’s the wife?”

“She’s okay. She’ll make it.”

“I saw in the paper where the trial’s in July. You been in the paper more than me here lately.”

“Yeah, Cat. But you always get off. I ain’t so sure ’bout me.”

“You gotta good lawyer, don’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s good.”

Cat stood and walked around the office, admiring Ozzie’s trophies and certificates. “That’s the main reason I came to see you, my man.”

“What’s that?” Carl Lee asked, unsure of what his friend had in mind, but certain his visit had a purpose.

“Carl Lee, you know how many times I been on trial?”

“Seems like all the time.”

“Five! Five times they put me on trial. The federal boys. The state boys. The city boys. Dope, gamblin’, bribery, guns, racketeerin’, whores. You name it, and they’ve tried me for it. And you know somethin’, Carl Lee, I’ve been guilty of it all. Evertime I’ve gone to trial, I’ve been guilty as hell. You know how many times I been convicted?”

“No.”

“None! Not once have they got me. Five trials, five not guilties.”

Carl Lee smiled with admiration.

“You know why they can’t convict me?”

Carl Lee had an idea, but he shook his head anyway.

“Because, Carl Lee, I got the smartest, meanest, crookedest criminal lawyer in these parts. He cheats, he plays dirty, and the cops hate him. But I’m sittin’ here instead of some prison. He’ll do whatever it takes to win a case.”

“Who is he?” Carl Lee asked eagerly.

“You’ve seen him on television walkin’ in and outta court. He’s in the papers all the time. Evertime some big-shot crook gets in trouble, he’s there. He gets the drug dealers, the politicians, me, all the big-time thugs.”

“What’s his name?”

“He handles nothin’ but criminal cases, mainly dope, bribery, extortion, stuff like that. But you know what his favorite is?”

“What?”

“Murder. He loves murder cases. Ain’t never lost one. Gets all the big ones in Memphis. Remember when they caught those two niggers throwin’ a dude off the bridge into the Mississippi. Caught them red-handed. ’Bout five years ago?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Had a big trial for two weeks, and they got off. He was the man. Walked them outta there. Not guilty.”

“I think I remember seein’ him on TV.”

“Sure you did. He’s a bad dude, Carl Lee. I’m tellin’ you the man never loses.”

“What’s his name?”

Cat landed in his chair and stared solemnly into Carl Lee’s face. “Bo Marsharfsky,” he said.

Carl Lee gazed upward as if he remembered the name. “So what?”

Cat laid five fingers with eight carats on Carl Lee’s knee. “So he wants to help you, my man.”

“I already got one lawyer I can’t pay. How I’m gonna pay another?”

“You ain’t gotta pay, Carl Lee. That’s where I come in. He’s on my retainer all the time. I own him. Paid the guy ’bout a hundred thousand last year just to keep me outta trouble. You don’t pay.”

Suddenly, Carl Lee had a keen interest in Bo Marsharfsky. “How does he know ’bout me?”

“Because he reads the paper and watches the tube. You know how lawyers are. I was in his office yesterday and he was studyin’ the paper with your picture on the front. I told him ’bout me and you. He went crazy. Said he had to have your case. I said I would help.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“Right, right. He said he knew just the folks to get you off.”

“Like who?”

“Doctors, psychiatrists, folks like that. He knows them all.”

“They cost money.”

“I’ll pay for it, Carl Lee! Listen to me! I’ll pay for it all. You’ll have the best lawyer and doctors money can buy, and your old pal Cat will pay the tab. Don’t worry ’bout money!”

“But I gotta good lawyer.”

“How old is he?”

“I guess ’bout thirty.”

Cat rolled his eyes in amazement. “He’s a child, Carl Lee. He ain’t been outta school long enough. Marsharfsky’s fifty, and he’s handled more murder cases than your boy’ll ever see. This is your life, Carl Lee. Don’t trust it to no rookie.”

Suddenly, Jake was awful young. But then there was Lester’s trial when Jake had been even younger.

“Look, Carl Lee, I been in many trials, and that crap is complicated and technical. One mistake and your ass is gone. If this kid misses one trick, it might be the difference between life and death. You can’t afford to have no young kid in there hopin’ he don’t mess up. One mistake,” Cat snapped his fingers for special effect, “and you’re in the gas chamber. Marsharfsky don’t make mistakes.”

Carl Lee was on the ropes. “Would he work with my lawyer?” he asked, seeking compromise.

“No! No way. He don’t work with nobody. He don’t need no help. Your boy’d be in the way.”

Carl Lee placed his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet. A thousand bucks for a doctor would be impossible. He did not understand the need for one since he had not felt insane at the time, but evidently one would be necessary. Everyone seemed to think so. A thousand bucks for a cheap doctor. Cat was offering the best money could buy.

“I hate to do this to my lawyer,” he muttered quietly.

“Don’t be stupid, man,” Cat scolded. “You better be lookin’ out for Carl Lee and to hell with this child. This ain’t no time to worry ’bout hurtin’ feelin’s. He’s a lawyer, forget him. He’ll get over it.”

“But I already paid him—”

“How much?” Cat demanded, snapping his fingers at Tiny.

“Nine hundred bucks.”

Tiny produced a wad of cash, and Cat peeled off nine one-hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them in Carl Lee’s shirt pocket. “Here’s somethin’ for the kids,” he said as he unraveled a one-thousand-dollar bill and stuffed it with the rest.

Carl Lee’s pulse jumped as he thought of the cash covering his heart. He felt it move in the pocket and press gently against his chest. He wanted to look at the big bill and hold it firmly in his hand. Food, he thought, food for his kids.

“We gotta deal?” Cat asked with a smile.

“You want me to fire my lawyer and hire yours?” he asked carefully.

“Right, right.”

“And you gonna pay for everthing?”

“Right, right.”

“What about this money?”

“It’s yours. Lemme know if you need more.”

“Mighty nice of you, Cat.”

“I’m a very nice man. I’m helpin’ two friends. One saved my life many years ago, and the other saves my ass ever two years.”

“Why does he want my case so bad?”

“Publicity. You know how lawyers are. Look at how much press this kid’s already made off you. It’s a lawyer’s dream. We gotta deal?”

“Yeah. It’s a deal.”

Cat struck him on the shoulder with an affectionate blow, and walked to the phone on Ozzie’s desk. He punched the numbers. “Collect to 901-566-9800. From Cat Bruster. Person to person to Bo Marsharfsky.”

On the twentieth floor in a downtown office building, Bo Marsharfsky hung up the phone and asked his secretary if the press release was prepared. She handed it to him, and he read it carefully.

“This looks fine,” he said. “Get it to both news papers immediately. Tell them to use the file photograph, the new one. See Frank Fields at the Post. Tell him I want it on the front page in the morning. He owes me a favor.”

“Yes, sir. What about the TV stations?” she asked.

“Deliver them a copy. I can’t talk now, but I’ll hold a news conference in Clanton next week.”

Lucien called at six-thirty Saturday morning. Carla was buried deep under the blankets and did not respond to the phone. Jake rolled toward the wall and grappled with the lamp until he found the receiver. “Hello,” he managed weakly.

“What’re you doing?” Lucien asked.

“I was sleeping until the phone rang.”

“You seen the paper?”

“What time is it?”

“Go get the paper and call me after you read it.”

The phone was dead. Jake stared at the receiver, then placed it on the table. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed the fog from his eyes, and tried to remember the last time Lucien called his house. It must be important.

He made the coffee, turned out the dog, and walked quickly in his gym shorts and sweatshirt to the edge of the street where the three morning papers had fallen within ten inches of each other. He rolled the rubber bands off onto the kitchen table and spread the papers next to his coffee. Nothing in the Jackson paper. Nothing from Tupelo. The Memphis Post carried a headline of death in the Middle East, and, then, he saw it. On the bottom half of the front page he saw himself, and under his picture was the caption: “Jake Brigance — Out.” Next was a picture of Carl Lee, and then a splendid picture of a face he had seen before. Under it, the words: “Bo Marsharfsky — In.” The headline announced that the noted Memphis criminal attorney had been hired to represent the “vigilante killer.”

He was stunned, weak, and confused. Surely it was a mistake. He had seen Carl Lee only yesterday. He read the story slowly. There were few details, just a history of Marsharfsky’s greatest verdicts. He promised a news conference in Clanton. He said the case would present new challenges, etc. He had faith in the jurors of Ford County.

Jake slipped silently into starched khakis and a button-down. His wife was still lost somewhere deep in the bed. He would tell her later. He took the paper and drove to the office. The Coffee Shop would not be safe. At Ethel’s desk he read the story again and stared at his picture on the front page.

Lucien had a few words of comfort. He knew Marsharfsky, or “The Shark,” as he was known. He was a sleazy crook with polish and finesse. Lucien admired him.

Moss Junior led Carl Lee into Ozzie’s office, where Jake waited with a newspaper. The deputy quickly left and closed the door. Carl Lee sat on the small black vinyl couch.

Jake threw the newspaper at him. “Have you seen this?” he demanded.

Carl Lee glared at him and ignored the paper.

“Why, Carl Lee?”

“I don’t have to explain, Jake.”

“Yes, you do. You didn’t have the guts to call me like a man and tell me. You let me read it in the paper. I demand an explanation.”

“You wanted too much money, Jake. You’re always gripin’ over the money. Here I am sittin’ in jail and you’re bitchin’ ’bout somethin’ I can’t help.”

“Money. You can’t afford to pay me. How can you afford Marsharfsky?”

“I ain’t gotta pay him.”

“What!”

“You heard me. I ain’t payin’ him.”

“I guess he works for free.”

“Nope. Somebody else is payin’.”

“Who!” Jake shouted.

“I ain’t tellin’. It ain’t none of your business, Jake.”

“You’ve hired the biggest criminal lawyer in Memphis, and someone else is payin’ his bill?”

“Yep.”

The NAACP, thought Jake. No, they wouldn’t hire Marsharfsky. They’ve got their own lawyers. Besides, he was too expensive for them. Who else?

Carl Lee took the newspaper and folded it neatly. He was ashamed, and felt bad, but the decision had been made. He had asked Ozzie to call Jake and convey the news, but the sheriff wanted no part of it. He should have called, but he was not going to apologize. He studied his picture on the front page. He liked the part about the vigilante business.

“And you’re not going to tell me who?” Jake said, somewhat quieter.

“Naw, Jake. I ain’t tellin’.”

“Did you discuss it with Lester?”

The glare returned to his eyes. “Nope. He ain’t on trial, and it ain’t none of his business.”

“Where is he?”

“Chicago. Left yesterday. And don’t you go call him. I’ve made up my mind, Jake.”

We’ll see, Jake said to himself. Lester would find out shortly.

Jake opened the door. “That’s it. I’m fired. Just like that.”

Carl Lee stared at his picture and said nothing.

Carla was eating breakfast and waiting. A reporter from Jackson had called looking for Jake, and had told her about Marsharfsky.

There were no words, just motions. He filled a cup with coffee and went to the back porch. He sipped from the steaming cup and surveyed the unkempt hedges that lined the boundary of his long and narrow backyard. A brilliant sun baked the rich green Bermuda and dried the dew, creating a sticky haze that drifted upward and hung to his shirt. The hedges and grass were waiting on their weekly grooming. He kicked off his loafers — no socks — and walked through the soggy turf to inspect a broken birdbath near a scrawny crepe myrtle, the only tree of any significance.

She followed the wet footprints and stood behind him. He took her hand and smiled. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

He shook his head and said nothing.

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

He nodded and stared at the birdbath.

“There will be other cases,” she said without confidence.

“I know.” He thought of Buckley, and could hear the laughter. He thought of the guys at the Coffee Shop, and vowed not to return. He thought of the cameras and reporters, and a dull pain moved through his stomach. He thought of Lester, his only hope of retrieving the case.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked.

“No. I’m not hungry. Thanks.”

“Look on the bright side,” she said. “We won’t be afraid to answer the phone.”

“I think I’ll cut the grass,” he said.