psychiatrist will be Dr. Wilbert Rode-heaver, head of staff at Whitfield. He's been there forever, and has testifed in hundreds of cases. I want you to dig a little and see how often his name appears in court decisions."
"Fve already run across his name."
"Good. As you know, the only cases we read about from the Supreme Court are the ones where the defendant at trial was convicted and has appealed. The acquittals are not reported. I'm more interested in these."
"Where are you coming from?"
"I have a hunch Rodeheaver is very reluctant to give an opinion that a defendant was legally insane. There's a chance he's never done it. Even in cases where the defendant was clearly crazy and did not know what he was doing. I'd like to ask Rodeheaver, on cross-examination, about some of the cases in which he's said there's nothing wrong with an obviously sick man, and the jury acquitted him."
"Those cases will be very hard to find."
"I know, but you can do it, Row Ark. I've watched you work for a week now, and I know you can do it."
"I'm flattered, boss."
"You may have to make phone calls to attorneys around the state who've crossed Rodeheaver before. It'll be hard, Row Ark, but get it done."
"Yes, boss. I'm sure you wanted it yesterday."
"Not really. I doubt if we'll get to Rodeheaver next week, so you have some time."
"I don't know how to act. You mean it's not urgent?"
"No, but that rape brief is."
"Yes, boss."
"Have you had lunch?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Good. Don't make any plans for dinner."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've got an idea."
"Sort of like a date?"
"No, sort of like a business lunch with two professionals."
Jake packed two briefcases and left. "I'll be at Lu-cien's," he told her, "but don't call unless it's a dire emergency. Don't tell anyone where I am."
"What are you working on?"
"The jury."
Lucien had passed out drunk in the swing on the porch, and Sallie was not around. Jake helped himself to the spacious study upstairs. Lucien had more law books in his home than most lawyers had in their offices. He unpacked his mess in a chair, and on the desk he placed an alphabetical list of the jurors, a stack of three-by-five notecards, and several Magic Markers.
The first name was Acker, Barry Acker. The last name was written in large print across the top of a notecard with a blue Magic Marker. Blue for men, red for women, black for blacks, regardless of gender. Under Acker's name he made notes with a pencil. Age, about forty. Married to his second wife, three children, two daughters. Runs a small unprofitable hardware store on the highway in Clanton. Wife, secretary at a bank. Drives a pickup. Likes to hunt. Wears cowboy boots. Pretty nice guy. Atcavage had gone to the hardware store Thursday to get a look at Barry Acker. Said he looked okay, talked like he had .some education. Jake wrote the number nine by the name Acker.
Jake was impressed with his research. Surely Buckley would not be as thorough.
The next name was Bill Andrews. What a name. There were six of them in the phonebook. Jake knew one, Harry Rex knew another one, and Ozzie knew a black one, but nobody knew which one got the summons. He pvut a question mark by the name.
Gerald Ault. Jake smiled when he wrote the name on the notecard. Ault had passed through his office a few years back when the bank foreclosed on his house in Clanton. His wife was stricken with kidney disease, and the medical bills broke them. He was an intellectual, educated at Princeton,
where he met his wife. She was from Ford County, the only child of a once prominent family of fools who had invested all their money in railroads. He arrived in Ford County just in time for his in-laws to go under, and the easy life he had married dissolved into one of struggle. He taught school for a while, then ran the library, then worked as a clerk in the courthouse. He developed an aversion to hard work. Then his wife got sick, and they lost their modest house. He now worked in a convenience store.
Jake knew something about Gerald Ault that no one else knew. As a child in Pennsylvania, his family lived in a farmhouse near the highway. One night while they slept, the house caught fire. A passing motorist stopped, kicked in the front door and began rescuing the Aults. The fire