A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,173

to find the witness, and Earl soon appeared. He was led to the witness stand where he raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth. He gave his name and address and said he had lived in Ford County his entire life. He was sixty-three years old, married to Janet for almost forty years, and had three sons and a daughter.

Dyer pressed a button and a large image of a teenage boy appeared. “Is this your son?”

Earl glanced at it and said, “That was Stuart when he was fourteen.” He paused for a second and added, “That’s my boy, my oldest son.” His voice cracked and he looked down at his feet.

Dyer took his time and finally pressed the button again. The next image was of Stuart in a high school football uniform. “How old was Stuart in this photo, Mr. Kofer?”

“Seventeen. He played for two years before he messed up his knee.” He groaned loudly into the mike and wiped his eyes. The jurors watched him with tremendous sympathy. Dyer pressed the button and the third photo of Stuart appeared, this one of a smiling twenty-year-old in a crisp army uniform. Dyer asked, “How long did Stuart serve his country?”

Earl gritted his teeth, wiped his eyes again, and tried to collect himself. He struggled to say, “Six years. He liked the army and talked of making it a career.”

“What did he do after the army?”

Earl shifted uncomfortably and in measured words said, “Came home, worked a couple of jobs in the county, then decided to go into law enforcement.”

The army shot was replaced by the familiar one of a smiling Stuart decked out in a full deputy’s uniform.

“When was the last time you saw your son, Mr. Kofer?”

He bent forward and collapsed as tears ran down his cheeks. After a long awkward gap, he tightened his jaws and said, loudly, clearly, bitterly, “At the funeral home, in his casket.”

Dyer studied him for a moment, to prolong the drama, and said, “I tender the witness.”

Jake had offered to admit in pretrial filings that Stuart Kofer was indeed dead, but Dyer refused. Noose believed that a proper murder trial should begin with some tears from the victim’s family, and he was not alone. Virtually every trial judge in the state allowed such needless testimony, and the Supreme Court had approved it decades earlier.

Jake stood and walked to the podium to begin the ugly task of tarnishing the reputation of a dead man. He had no choice.

“Mr. Kofer, was your son married at the time of his death?”

Earl glared at him with unbridled hatred and said, simply, “No.”

“Was he divorced?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Twice.”

“When did he get married the first time?”

“I don’t know.”

Jake walked to the defense table and grabbed some papers. He returned to the podium and asked, “Is it true that he married one Cindy Rutherford in May of 1982?”

“If you say so. That sounds right.”

“And they divorced thirteen months later, in June of 1983?”

“If you say so.”

“And in September of 1985 he married one Samantha Pace?”

“If you say so.”

“And eight months later they were divorced?”

“If you say so.” He was snarling, spewing venom, obviously disgusted with Mr. Brigance. His cheeks, wet only moments earlier, were fiery red, and his anger was costing him sympathy.

“Now, you said that your son talked about a career in the army. Why did he change his mind?”

“I don’t know, don’t really remember.”

“Could it have been because he was kicked out of the army?”

“That’s not true.”

“I have a copy of his dishonorable discharge. Would you like to see it?”

“No.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor.”

“You are excused, Mr. Kofer,” His Honor said. “You may take a seat out there. Mr. Dyer, call your next witness.”

“The State calls Deputy Moss Junior Tatum.”

The witness was retrieved from the hallway, entered a packed but silent courtroom, nodded at Jake as he passed him, and stopped by the court reporter. He was armed and in full uniform, and Judge Noose said, “Deputy Tatum, state law prohibits a witness from taking the stand with a gun. Please put it right there on the table.” As if coached, Tatum placed his Glock next to the one used in the murder, in plain view of the jurors. He swore to tell the truth, took his seat, and answered Dyer’s preliminary questions.

On to the night in question. The 911 call came in at 2:29 a.m. and he was dispatched to the scene. He knew it was the home of Stuart Kofer, his friend on