A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,149

and Dr. Sadie Weaver at Whitfield. Taken as a whole, they portrayed an adolescent physically, emotionally, and mentally immature and whose first sixteen years had been shockingly chaotic. He had been traumatized by Stuart Kofer and threatened repeatedly, and on the night in question was certain that his mother had been killed. But, he was not mentally ill.

Jake knew it was possible to find and hire an expert who would say otherwise, but he did not want a courtroom fight over insanity that he could not win. Portraying Drew as deranged and unaccountable would backfire with the jury. He planned to pursue the ruse of M’Naghten for the next few weeks, then drop it before trial. It was, after all, a chess match, and there was nothing wrong with sending Lowell Dyer off in the wrong direction.

* * *

—

STAN ATCAVAGE WAS at his desk when Jake interrupted with “Hey, got a minute?”

Stan was genuinely glad to see him. He had stopped by the house a week earlier, as soon as Carla would allow it, and had a glass of lemonade on the patio.

“Good to see you out and about,” he said.

Seventeen days after the beating, Jake was almost back to normal. The scars were small but visible, and his eyes were clear with only a trace of bruising under them.

“Glad to be out,” he said as he handed over some papers. “A little gift for you and the boys in Jackson.”

“What is it?”

“My mortgage cancellation. Security Bank is paid in full.”

Stan looked at the sheet on top. It was stamped CANCELED.

“Congratulations,” Stan said, shocked. “Who’s the lucky bank?”

“Third Federal in Tupelo.”

“Great. How much did they loan?”

“That’s really none of your business, now is it? And I’m moving all my accounts over there too. Meager as they are.”

“Come on, Jake.”

“No, seriously, they’re really nice folks and I didn’t have to beg. They recognized the full value of my lovely home and they have confidence in my ability to pay. How refreshing.”

“Come on, Jake. If it was left up to me, you know?”

“But it’s not, not anymore. All you have to worry about now is the litigation loan. Tell your boys down there to relax and it’ll get paid soon enough.”

“Sure it will. I have no doubts. But you don’t have to move your business. Hell, Jake, we’ve handled your accounts and loans since the beginning.”

“Sorry, Stan, but this bank couldn’t help me when I really needed it.”

Stan tossed the paperwork onto his desk and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, okay. Are we still pals?”

“Always.”

* * *

—

ON FRIDAY, July 6, Jake awoke in the dark from a nightmare and realized he was soaked with sweat. The dream was the same—his head stuck on the hot asphalt as a hulking, faceless thug battered his face. His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily, but he managed to settle himself without moving and waking Carla. He glanced at the clock—4:14. Slowly he calmed himself and his breathing returned to normal. For a long time he was still, afraid to move a muscle because they all still ached, and he stared at the black ceiling and tried to shake off the nightmare.

The trial was one month away, and once he started thinking about it there would be no more sleep. At 5:00, he managed to gently pull down the sheets and swing his stiff legs to the side of the bed. As he stood, Carla said, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“I need coffee. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m fine, Carla, go back to sleep.”

He went quietly into the kitchen, made the coffee, and stepped onto the patio where the air was still warm from the day before and would only grow hotter with the hours. He was still wet with sweat and the coffee did little to cool things, but he needed it because it was an old friend and starting the day without it was unthinkable. Thinking—that was the curse these days. Too much to think about. He dwelt on Cecil Kofer and the beating and how badly he wanted to press charges and sue for civil damages, to at least get some measure of justice, not to mention a few bucks to cover his medical expenses. He thought of Janet and Earl Kofer and their tragic loss, and as a parent he tried mightily to feel sympathy. But the sins of their son had caused heartbreak that could not be measured and would last