not represent Mr. Hailey because he had not been hired by Mr. Hailey, so a meeting was imperative. Today, preferably. Tomorrow morning at the latest, because he had a flight out of Memphis at noon. He was needed in a murder trial somewhere in Georgia. Reverend Agee promised to arrange a meeting with the defendant as
soon as possible. He was friends with the sheriff. Fine, said Reinfeld, just get it done.
"How much money have you raised?" Reinfeld asked.
"Fifteen thousand from you folks," Agee answered.
"I know that. How much locally?"
"Six thousand," Agee said proudly.
"Six thousand!" repeated Reinfeld. "Is that all? I thought you people were organized. Where's all this great local support you were talking about? Six thousand! How much more can you raise? We've only got three weeks."
The council members were silent. This Jew had a lot of nerve. The only white man in the group and he was on the attack.
"How much do we need?" asked Agee.
"That depends, Reverend, on how good a defense you want for Mr. Hailey. I've only got eight other attorneys on my staff. Five are in trial at this very moment. We've got thirty-one capital murder convictions at various stages of appeal. We've got seventeen trials scheduled in ten states over the next five months. We get ten requests each week to represent defendants, eight of which we turn down because we simply don't have the staff or the money. For Mr. Hailey, fifteen thousand has been contributed by two local chapters and the home office. Now you tell me that only six thousand has been raised locally. That's twenty-one thousand. Fpr that amount you'll get the best defense we can afford. Two attorneys, at least one psychiatrist, but nothing fancy. Twenty-one thousand gets a good defense, but not what I had in mind."
"What exactly did you have in mind?"
"A first-class defense. Three or four attorneys. A battery of psychiatrists. Half dozen investigators. A jury psychologist, just to name a few. This is not your run-of-the-mill murder case. I want to win. I was led to believe that you folks wanted to win."
"How much?" asked Agee.
"Fifty thousand, minimum. A hundred thousand would be nice."
"Look, Mr. Reinfeld, you're in Mississippi. Our people are poor. They've given generously so far, but there's no way we can raise another thirty thousand here."
Reinfeld adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and
scratched his graying beard. "How much more can you raise?"
"Another five thousand, maybe."
"That's not much money."
"Not to you, but it is to the black folk of Ford County."
Reinfeld studied the floor and continued stroking his beard. "How much has the Memphis chapter given?"
"Five thousand," answered someone from Memphis.
"Atlanta?"
"Five thousand."
"How about the state chapter?"
"Which state?"
"Mississippi."
"None."
"None?"
"None."
"Why not?"
"Ask him," Agee said, pointing at Reverend Henry Hillman, the state director.
"Uh, we tryin' to raise some money now," Hillman said weakly. "But-"
"How much have you raised so far?" asked Agee.
"Well, uh, we got-"
"Nothin', right? You ain't raised nothin', have you, Hillman?" Agee said loudly.
"Come on, Hillman, tell us how much you raised," chimed in Reverend Roosevelt, vice-chairman of the council.
Hillman was dumbfounded and speechless. He had been sitting quietly on the front pew minding his own business, half asleep. Suddenly he was under attack.
"The state chapter will contribute."
"Sure you will, Hillman. You folks at state are constantly badgerin' us locals to contribute here and donate there for this cause and that cause, and we never see any of the money. You always cryin' about bein' so broke, and we're always sendin' money to state. But when we need help, state don't do a thing but show up here and talk."
"That's not true."
"Don't start lyin', Hillman."
Reinfeld was embarrassed and immediately aware that
a nerve had been touched. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, let's move on," he said diplomatically.
"Good idea," Hillman said.
"When can we meet with Mr. Hailey?" Reinfeld asked.
"I'll arrange a meetin' for in the mornin'," Agee said.
"Where can we meet?"
"I suggest we meet in Sheriff Walls' office in the jail. He's black, you know, the only black sheriff in Mississippi."
"Yes, I've heard."
"I think he'll let us meet in his office."
"Good. Who is Mr. Hailey's attorney?"
"Local boy. Jake Brigance."
"Make sure he's invited. We'll ask him to help us on the case. It'll ease the pain."
Ethel's obnoxious, high-pitched, bitchy voice broke the tran-quility of the late afternoon and startled her boss. "Mr. Brigance, Sheriff Walls is on line two," she said through the intercom.
"Okay."
"Do you need me for anything else, sir?"
"No. See you in the morning."
Jake punched line two. "Hello, Ozzie. What's up?"
"Listen Jake, we've got a bunch of NAACP big shots