pad and waited for Carl Lee to ask for money. Criminal clients, especially the blacks, always asked for some of the fee back after it was paid. He doubted he would ever see more than nine hundred dollars, and he was not about to return any. Besides, the blacks always took care of their own. The families would be there and the churches would get involved. No one would starve.
He waited and placed the legal pad and file in his briefcase. "Any questions, Carl Lee?"
"Yeah. What can I say tomorrow?"
"What do you want to say?"
"I wanna tell that judge why I shot them boys. They raped my daughter. They needed shootin'."
"And you want to explain that to the judge tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"And you think he'll turn you loose once you explain it all?"
Carl Lee said nothing.
"Look, Carl Lee, you hired me to be your lawyer. And you hired me because you have confidence in me, right? And if I want you to say something tomorrow, I'll tell you. If I don't, you stay quiet. When you go to trial in July you'll have the chance to tell your side. But in the meantime, I'll do the talking."
"You got that right."
Lester and Gwen piled the boys and Tonya in the red Cadillac and drove to the doctor's building next to the hospital. The rape was two weeks in the past. Tbnya walked with a slight limp and wanted to run and climb steps with her brothers. But her mother held her hand. The soreness in her legs and buttocks was almost gone, the bandages on her wrists and ankles had been removed by the doctor last week, and the cuts were healing nicely. The gauze and cotton between her legs remained.
In a small room she unaressea anu sat HCAI mother on a padded table. Her mother hugged her and helped her stay warm. The doctor poked in her mouth and rubbed her jaw. He held her wrists and ankles and inspected them. He laid her on the table and touched between her legs. She cried and clutched her mother, who leaned over her.
She was hurting again.
At five Wednesday morning, Jake sipped coffee in his office and stared through the French doors across the dark courtyard square. He had slept fitfully, and several hours earlier had given up and left his warm bed in a desperate effort to find a nameless Georgia case that, as he thought he remembered from law school, required the judge to allow bail in a capital murder case if the defendant had no prior criminal record, owned property in the county, had a stable job, and had plenty of relatives nearby. It had not been found. He did find a battery of recent, well-reasoned, clear, and unambiguous Mississippi cases allowing the judge complete discretion in denying bail to such defendants. That was the law and Jake now knew it well, but he needed something to argue to Ichabod. He dreaded asking bail for Carl Lee. Buckley would scream and preach and cite those wonderful cases, and Noose would smile and listen, then deny bail. Jake would get his tail kicked in the first skirmish.
"You're here early this morning, sweetheart," Dell said to her favorite customer as she poured his coffee.
"At least I'm here." He had missed a few mornings since the amputation. Looney was popular, and there was resentment at the Coffee Shop and around town for Hailey's lawyer. He was aware of it and tried to ignore it.
There was resentment among many for any lawyer who would defend a nigger for killing two white men.
"You got a minute?" Jake asked.
"Sure," Dell said, looking around. At five-fifteen, the cafe was not yet full. She sat across from Jake in a small booth and poured coffee.
"What's the talk in here?" he asked.
"The usual. Politics, fishing, farming. It never changes. I've been here for twenty-one years, serving the same food to the same people, and they're still talking about the same things."
"Nothing new?"
"Hailey. We get a lotta talk about tnat. except wiicn me strangers are here, then it goes back to the usual."
"Why?"
"Because if you act like you know anything about the case, some reporter will follow you outside with a bunch of questions."
"That bad, huh?"
"No. It's great. Business has never been better."
Jake smiled and buttered his grits, then added Tabasco.
"How do you feel about the case?"
Dell scratched her nose with long, red, fake fingernails and blew into her coffee. She was famous for her bluntness, and he was hoping for