A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,174

the force. The front door was unlocked and slightly open. He entered cautiously and saw Drew Gamble sitting in a chair in the den, looking out the window. He spoke to him and Drew said, “My mother’s dead. Stuart killed her.” Tatum asked, “Where is she?” He said, “In the kitchen.” Tatum asked, “Where’s Stuart?” He said, “He’s dead too, back there in his bedroom.” Tatum eased through the house, saw a light on in the kitchen, saw the woman lying on the floor with the girl holding her head. Behind him, at the end of the hall, he could see feet hanging off the bed. He walked to the bedroom and found Stuart lying across his bed, his pistol a few inches from his head, and blood everywhere.

He returned to the kitchen and asked the girl what happened. She said, “He killed my mother.” Tatum asked, “Who shot Stuart?”

Dyer paused and looked at Jake, who was getting to his feet. As if rehearsed, he said, “Your Honor, I object to this testimony on the grounds that it is hearsay.”

His Honor was waiting for this. “Your objection is noted, Mr. Brigance. For the record, the defense filed a motion to limit this portion of the testimony. The State responded, and on July the sixteenth I held a hearing on the motion. After full and spirited argument from both sides, and being fully briefed, the court ruled that this testimony is admissible.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Jake said and sat down.

“You may proceed, Mr. Dyer.”

“Now, Deputy Tatum, when you asked the girl, Miss Kiera Gamble, who shot Stuart, what did she say?”

“She said, ‘Drew shot him.’ ”

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing. She was holding her mother, crying.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went to the den and asked the boy, I mean, the defendant, if he shot Stuart. He did not respond. He just sat there looking out the window. When it became obvious he wasn’t talking, I left the house, went to my patrol car, and called for backup.”

Jake watched and listened to his friend, a guy he’d known throughout his career, a regular at the Coffee Shop, an old buddy who would do anything he asked, and he wondered, briefly, if his life would ever be the same. Surely, as the months and years passed, it would return to normal and he would not be viewed by the cops as a defender of the guilty, a coddler of criminals.

Jake shook it off and told himself to worry about the future next month.

Dyer said, “Thank you, Deputy Tatum. I have no more questions.”

“Mr. Brigance?”

Jake stood and walked to the podium. He glanced at some notes on a legal pad and took in the witness. “Now, Deputy Tatum, when you first entered the house you asked Drew what happened.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And where, exactly, was he?”

“As I said, he was in the den, sitting in a chair, looking out the front window.”

“As if waiting for the police?”

“I guess. Not sure what he was waiting for. He was just sitting there.”

“Did he look at you when he said his mother and Stuart were dead?”

“No. He just kept looking out the window.”

“Was he in a daze? Was he frightened?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to analyze him.”

“Was he crying, emotional?”

“No.”

“Was he in shock?”

Dyer rose and said, “Objection, Your Honor. I’m not sure this witness is competent to give an opinion as to the defendant’s mental state.”

“Sustained.”

Jake continued, “And you then found both bodies, Josie Gamble’s and Stuart Kofer’s, and you spoke to the girl. Then you walked back to the den, and where was the defendant?”

“As I said, he was still sitting at the window, looking out.”

“And you asked him a question and he didn’t respond, correct?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Did he look at you, acknowledge your question, your presence?”

“No. He just sat there, like I said.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Dyer?”

“Nothing, Your Honor.”

“Deputy Tatum, you are excused. Please get your gun and have a seat in the courtroom. Who’s next?”

Dyer said, “Sheriff Ozzie Walls.”

A moment passed as the courtroom waited. Jake whispered to Libby and ignored the stares from the jurors. Ozzie, with the swagger of a former professional football player, strode down the aisle, through the bar, and to the witness stand where he was disarmed and sworn to tell the truth.

Dyer began with the routine questions about his background, election and reelection, his training. Like all good prosecutors, he was methodical, almost tedious. No one was expecting a long trial and there