"Plus he's black, and this is a white county. I have no confidence in these bigots around here."
"And if he were white?"
"If he were white and he killed two blacks who raped his daughter, the jury would give him the courthouse."
Bass finished one glass and poured another. A fifth and a bucket of ice sat on the wicker table between the two.
"What about his lawyer?" he asked.
"He should be here in a minute."
"He used to work for you?"
"Yeah, but I don't think you met him. He was in the firm about two years before I left. He's young, early thirties. Clean, aggressive, works hard."
"And he used to work for you?"
"That's what I said. He's got trial experience for his age. This is not his first murder case, but, if I'm not mistaken, it's his first insanity case."
"That's nice to hear. I don't want someone asking a lot of questions."
"I like your confidence. Wait till you meet the D.A."
"I just don't feel good about this. We tried it twice, and it didn't work."
Lucien shook his head in bewilderment. "You've got to be the humblest doctor I've known."
"And the poorest."
"You're supposed to be pompous and arrogant. You're the expert. Act like one. Who's gonna question your professional opinion in Clanton, Mississippi?"
"The State will have experts."
"They will have one psychiatrist from Whitfield. He'll examine the defendant for a few hours, and then drive up for trial and testify that the defendant is the sanest man he's
ever met. He's never seen a legally insane defendant. To him no one is insane. Everybody's blessed with perfect mental health. Whitfield is full of sane people, except when it applies for government money, then half the state's crazy. He'd get fired if he started saying defendants are legally insane. So that's who you're up against."
"And the jury will automatically believe me?"
"You act as though you've never been through one of these before."
"Twice, remember. One rapist, one murderer. Neither was insane, in spite of what I said. Both are now locked away where they belong."
Lucien took a long drink and studied the light brown liquid and the floating ice cubes. "You said you would help me. God knows you owe me the favor. How many divorces did I handle for you?"
"Three. And I got cleaned out every time."
"You deserved it every time. It was either give in or go to trial and have your habits discussed in open court."
"I remember."
"How many clients, or patients, have I sent you over the years?"
"Not enough to pay my alimony."
"Remember the malpractice case by the lady whose treatment consisted primarily of weekly sessions on your couch with the foldaway bed? Your malpractice carrier refused to defend, so you called your dear friend Lucien who settled it for peanuts and kept it out of court."
"There were no witnesses."
"Just the lady herself. And the court files showing where your wives had sued for divorce on the grounds of adultery."
"They couldn't prove it."
"They didn't get a chance. We didn't want them to try, remember?"
"All right, enough, enough. I said I would help. What about my credentials?"
"Are you a compulsive worrier?"
"No. I just get nervous when I think of courtrooms."
"Your credentials are fine. You've been qualified before as an expert witness. Don't worry so much."
"What about this?" He waved his drink at Lucien.
"You shouldn't drink so much," he said piously.
The doctor dropped his drink and exploded in laughter. He rofled out of his chair and crawled to the edge of the porch, holding his stomach and shaking in laughter.
"You're drunk," Lucien said as he left for another bottle.
When Jake arrived an hour later, Lucien was rocking slowly in his huge wicker rocker. The doctor was asleep in the swing at the far end of the porch. He was barefoot, and his toes had disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the porch. Jake walked up the steps and startled Lucien.
"Jake, my boy, how are you?" he slurred.
"Fine, Lucien. I see you're doing quite well." He looked at the empty bottle and one not quite empty.
"I wanted you to meet that man," he said, trying to sit up straight.
"Who is he?"
"He's our psychiatrist. Dr. W.T. Bass, from Jackson. Good friend of mine. He'll help us with Hailey."
"Is he good?"
"The best. We've worked together on several insanity cases."
Jake took a few steps in the direction of the swing and stopped. The doctor was lying on his back with his shirt unbuttoned and his mouth wide open. He snored heavily, with an unusual guttural gurgling sound. A