A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,140

as Carla poured coffee.

Hanna said, “Are you going to take off those sunglasses?”

“No, not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

“But how can you see in here?”

“I can see your beautiful face just fine and that’s all that matters.”

“Those stitches are gross. How many do you have? Tim Bostick cut his arm last year and got eleven stitches. He was so proud.”

“Well, I’ve got forty-one, so I beat him.”

“Mom says you lost two teeth. Let me see.”

Carla scolded, “Hanna, that’s enough. I said we’re not going to talk about this stuff.”

* * *

—

JUDGE NOOSE WAS up in Tyler County, in the courthouse at Gretna, going through another dreary Civil Docket call, staring at a list of active cases that no judge anywhere would want to preside over. The plaintiffs’ lawyers were half-heartedly pushing for trials while the defense lawyers were using their standard delay tactics. He called for recess and retired to his chambers, where Lowell Dyer was waiting with a copy of The Ford County Times.

Noose took off his robe and poured a cup of stale coffee. He read the article and asked, “Have you talked to Jake?”

“No. Have you?”

“No. I’ll call him this afternoon. I’ve spoken to his wife, and I chatted with his law clerk, Portia Lang, at his office. Any idea who’s behind it?”

“I talked to Ozzie. He swore me to secrecy, said it’s some of the Kofers, but Jake refuses to press charges.”

“Sounds like Jake.”

“Me, I’d want the death penalty.”

“But you’re a prosecutor. What does this do to venue?”

“You’re asking me? You’re the judge.”

“I know, and I’m trying to decide. I think Jake has a point. My sources in Clanton tell me it’s a hot topic and picking a jury might get complicated. Why run the risk on appeal? Does it really matter to the State where we have the trial?”

“I don’t know. Where would you move it?”

“Well, I’d certainly keep it in the Twenty-second. You could pick the same jury in the other four counties. But Ford County worries me.”

“Bring it here.”

Noose laughed and said, “What a surprise. You’d like it in your own backyard, wouldn’t you?”

Dyer thought about this and took a sip of coffee. “What about the Kofers? They’ll be upset if you move it.”

“They’re not in charge, are they? And they’re gonna be upset by everything that happens. I gotta tell you, Lowell, I’m really bothered by what happened to Jake. I forced the case on him and now he’s been beaten to within an inch of his life. If we tolerate this, then the whole system starts to break down.”

With Ford and Tyler out of the running, that left Polk, Milburn, and Van Buren counties. The last place Dyer wanted to try a big case was in the old courthouse in Chester, Noose’s home. He had a hunch, though, that that was where it was headed.

He said, “Jake will be on the sidelines for a while, Judge. You think he’ll ask for more time, want a continuance? The trial is seven weeks away.”

“I’ll ask him this afternoon. Will you object if he asks for more time?”

“No, not under these circumstances. But the trial will not be that complicated. I mean, there’s no question about who pulled the trigger. The only sticky part is the insanity issue. If that’s where Jake is headed I need to know soon so I can send the boy back to Whitfield for an evaluation. Jake needs to make a decision.”

“Agreed. I’ll bring it up.”

“Just curious about something, Judge. How did Jake convince the jury that Hailey was insane?”

“I don’t think he did. Hailey wasn’t insane, not under our definition. He carefully planned those killings and knew exactly what he was doing. It was nothing but retribution, plain and simple. Jake won by convincing the jurors that they would have done what Hailey did if given the chance. It was masterful.”

“He may have trouble doing it this time.”

“Indeed. Every case is different.”

* * *

—

AFTER TWO HOURS at home, Jake was bored. Carla pulled the shades in the living room, unplugged the phone, closed the door, and ordered him to rest. He had a stack of pink sheets, as they were commonly known—advance copies of the state supreme court rulings that every lawyer claimed to dutifully read immediately upon publication—but his eyes wouldn’t focus and his head ached. Everything ached, and the Vicodin was proving less effective. He napped periodically but it wasn’t the deep sleep he needed. When his nurse peeked in to check on him, he demanded