A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,110

we’re not there yet. So we soldier on.”

She finally took another bite.

Jake had asked for money and manpower. Money for expert testimony and litigation expenses. And he wanted the assistance of another seasoned lawyer in the “second chair” during the trial. The law required a second defense lawyer but Noose was having trouble finding one.

Jake had made these requests in writing and they had discussed them over the phone. KAF lawyers were overworked. Its funds were tight. He had driven five hours for the meeting to say hello and impress upon Libby Provine the urgency of Drew’s case. Perhaps a face-to-face meeting would lead to her cooperation.

Two other requests to similar organizations were pending but did not look promising.

She said, “We’ve used a child psychiatrist from Michigan in a number of cases, a Dr. Emile Jamblah. He’s the best so far. A Syrian, slightly darker skin, speaks with an accent. Might this be a problem down there?”

“Oh yes. Could be a real problem. Anybody else?”

“Our second choice would be a doctor out of New York.”

“Got anybody with the right accent?”

“Maybe. There’s one who’s on the faculty at Baylor.”

“Now you’re talking. You know how experts work in courtrooms, Libby. He or she needs to be from another state because the farther he or she has traveled to get there, the smarter he or she is perceived to be by the jury. On the other hand, people down there react strongly to strange accents, especially Northern ones.”

“I know. I tried a case in Alabama ten years ago. Can you imagine me talking to a jury in Tuscaloosa? It was not a good outcome. The kid was seventeen. Now he’s twenty-seven and still on death row.”

“I think I read that case.”

“What will your jury look like?”

“Frightening. A regular posse. It’s rural north Mississippi, and I’ll try to change venue to another county simply because of the notoriety. But wherever we go the demographics are much the same. Seventy-five percent white. Average household income of thirty thousand. I expect nine or ten whites, two or three blacks, seven women, five men, ages thirty to sixty, all Christians or claiming to be. Of the twelve, maybe four made it to college. Four didn’t finish high school. One person earning fifty thousand a year. Two or three unemployed. God-fearing souls who believe in law and order.”

“I’ve seen that jury. Is the trial still set for August the sixth?”

“It is and I don’t see a delay.”

“Why so soon?”

“Why not? And I have a good reason for wanting the trial on August sixth. I’ll explain in a moment.”

“Okay. How do you see it unfolding?”

“Fairly cut-and-dried, to a point. The State will go first, of course. The prosecutor is competent but inexperienced. He’ll begin with the investigators, crime scene photos, cause of death, autopsy, and so on. The facts are plain, unambiguous, the photos are horrendous, so he’ll have the jury in his pocket at the opening bell. The victim was an army veteran, a fine peace officer, a local boy, all that. The case is really not that complicated. Within minutes the jury will know the victim and his killer and see the murder weapon. During cross-examination, I’ll ask about the autopsy and drag out the truth that at the time of his death Mr. Kofer was blind drunk. That will begin the ugly process of putting him on trial, and it’ll get worse. Some of the jurors will resent this. Others will be shocked. At some point the State will probably call the sister, Kiera, to the stand. She is an important witness and she’ll be expected to say that she heard the gunshot and her brother admitted to killing Kofer. The D.A. will attempt to prove that his actions and movements before the shooting show that the kid knew what he was doing. It was revenge. He thought his mother was dead and he wanted revenge.”

“Sounds believable.”

“Indeed it does. But Kiera’s testimony could be even more dramatic. When she takes the stand, the jury and everybody else in the courtroom will know immediately that she is pregnant. Over seven months along. And guess who the father is?”

“Not Kofer.”

“Yes. I’ll ask her to identify the father and she’ll testify, rather emotionally I suspect, that he was raping her on a regular basis. Five or six times, beginning around Christmas. Whenever they were alone he raped her, and after each assault he threatened to kill her and her brother if she told anyone.”

Libby was speechless. She