A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,12

his two nephews. Looney asked him to leave but he said it was his property. Family property, he called it. I think he’s still there.”

“Okay, in about an hour I’m goin’ to see Earl to meet with the whole family. You want to go?”

“Hell no.”

“Well, you’re goin’ and that’s an order. I need a couple of white boys backin’ me up and I want you and Looney.”

“Those people vote for you?”

“Everybody voted for me, Moss, don’t you know that? When you win a local race, everybody and his grandmother voted for you. I got seventy percent of the vote, so no complaints, but I have yet to meet a single person in Ford County who didn’t vote for me. And they’re proud of it, can’t wait to go vote for me again.”

“I thought it was sixty-eight percent.”

“It would’ve been seventy if your lazy-ass people out in Blackjack had turned out.”

“Lazy? My people vote like hell, Ozzie. They’re tireless, relentless voters. They vote early, often, all day long, late, absentee, with real ballots, stuffed ballots, fake ballots. They vote dead people, crazy people, underage people, convicted felons who have no right to vote. You don’t remember—it was about twenty years ago—but my uncle Felix went to jail for votin’ dead people. Wiped out two cemeteries in one election. Still wasn’t enough, and when his enemy won by six votes he got him indicted.”

“Your uncle went to prison?”

“I didn’t say prison. I said jail. He served about three months, said it wasn’t that bad, came out a hero but never could vote again. So he learned how to stuff ballot boxes. You need my people, Ozzie, we know how to swing elections.”

Ozzie again parked near the ER entrance and they hustled inside. On the third floor, the same two deputies walked him down the hall where the same young doctor was chatting with a nurse. The report was quick. Josie Gamble was conscious, though sedated because of sharp pains in her splintered jaw. Her vitals were normal. She had not been told that Stuart Kofer was dead or that her son Drew was in jail. She was asking about her children and the doctor assured her they were safe.

Ozzie took a deep breath, looked at Tatum who was reading his mind and already shaking his head. Tatum said softly, “All yours, boss.”

Ozzie asked the doctor, “Can she handle the bad news?”

The doctor smiled and shrugged and said, “Now or later. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Let’s go,” Ozzie said.

“I’ll wait here,” Tatum said.

“No you won’t. Follow me.”

* * *

—

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Ozzie and Tatum were leaving the hospital when they noticed Pastor McGarry and Kiera sitting in the ER waiting room. Ozzie walked over and quietly explained that he had just spoken with Josie and that she was alert and eager to see Kiera. She was distraught and confused by Kofer’s death and Drew’s arrest and really wanted to see her daughter.

He again thanked the pastor for his help and promised to call later.

At the car, Ozzie said, “You drive,” and walked to the passenger door.

“Gladly. Where to?”

“Well, I haven’t seen a bloody corpse in several hours, so let’s have a look at Stuart, may he rest in peace.”

“I doubt he’s moved much.”

“And I need to speak to the state boys.”

“Surely they can’t screw up a case like this.”

“They’re good boys.”

“If you say so.” Tatum slammed the door and cranked the engine. Past the city limits, Ozzie said, “It’s eight-thirty and I’ve been up since three.”

“Same here, especially that bit about eight-thirty.”

“And I’ve had no breakfast.”

“I’m starvin’.”

“What’s open at this wonderful hour on the Sabbath?”

“Well, Huey’s is probably just now closin’ and they don’t do breakfast. What about Sawdust?”

“Sawdust?”

“Yep, as far as I know it’s the only place open this early on Sundays, at least in this part of the county.”

“Well, I know I’ll be welcome because they have a special door for me. Says, NEGROES ENTER HERE.”

“I heard they took that down. You ever been inside?”

“No, Deputy Tatum, I have never been inside the Sawdust country store. When I was a kid here it was still used by the Klan for meetings that were not so secret. We may be living in 1990, but the people who shop and dine at Sawdust, along with those who sit by the old iron stove in the wintertime and tell nigger jokes, and those who chew tobacco on the front porch and spit on the gravel as they whittle and play checkers, are not