A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,201

settled around Lucien’s handsome teak dining table. The house was old, but the interior decorating was modern, with plenty of glass and metal and odd accessories. The walls were adorned with a baffling collection of contemporary art, as if the king of the castle rejected everything old and traditional.

The king was enjoying his whiskey, as did Thane, and the war stories began, long tall tales of courtroom dramas over the years, all with the raconteur himself as the hero. Once Thane realized he probably wouldn’t be needed on Thursday, he poured another drink and seemed ready for a late night.

Portia, being a young black woman who’d grown up on the other side of town, was not to be shut out. She told a startling story of a military murder she had worked on in the army in Germany. And that reminded Thane of a double murder somewhere in Texas in which the alleged killer was only thirteen.

By 10:30 Jake was ready for bed. He and Carla excused themselves and went home. At 2:00 a.m. he was still awake.

* * *

—

THE COURTROOM ROSE almost in unison to honor the appearance of Judge Omar Noose, who quickly waved them off and asked them to sit down. He welcomed the crowd, commented on the cooler temperature, said good morning to his jury and asked, gravely, if anyone had tried to contact any of them during the recess. All twelve jurors shook their heads. No.

Omar had presided over a thousand trials, and not once had a juror raised a hand to admit that he or she had been contacted out of court. If there was contact, it would probably involve the payment of cash, something no one would ever talk about in the first place. But Omar loved his traditions.

He explained that the next hour would probably be the dullest portion of the entire trial because, as required by law, he would instruct the jury. He would read into the record, and for the benefit of the jurors, the black letter law, the state’s statutes, that would dictate their deliberations. Their duty was to weigh the evidence and apply it to the law, and to take the law as it was written and apply it to the facts. Listen carefully. It was very important. And for their benefit, copies of the jury instructions would be available in the jury room.

When he had them thoroughly confused, Judge Noose began reading into his mike. Page after page of dry, verbose, complicated, badly written statutes that tried to define intent, murder, capital murder, murder of a law enforcement officer, premeditation, guilt, and justifiable homicide. They listened intently for about ten minutes, then began peeling off with glances around the courtroom. Some fought mightily to hang on every word. Others realized that they could read that stuff later if they wanted to.

After forty minutes Noose abruptly stopped, to the relief of everyone. He slapped his papers together, squared them up nicely, smiled at the jury as if he’d done a fine job, and said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, both sides will be given the opportunity to make closing arguments. As always, the State goes first. Mr. Dyer.”

Lowell stood with great purpose, buttoned the top button of his light blue seersucker jacket, and walked to the jury box—the podium was optional at that point—and began. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this trial is almost over and it has moved along more efficiently than expected. Judge Noose has given each side thirty minutes to summarize things for you, but thirty minutes is far too long in this case. Half an hour is not needed to convince you of what you already know. You don’t need that much time to decide that the defendant, Drew Allen Gamble, did indeed murder Stuart Kofer, an officer of the law.”

A great opening, Jake thought. Any audience, whether twelve jurors in a box or two thousand lawyers at a convention, appreciates a speaker who promises to be brief.

“Let’s talk about that murder. Tuesday morning, when we started, I asked you to ask yourselves, as you listened to the witnesses, if, at that horrible moment, did Drew Gamble have to pull the trigger? Why did he pull the trigger? Was it in self-defense? Was he protecting himself, his sister, his mother? No, ladies and gentlemen, it was not in self-defense. It was not justifiable. It was nothing but cold, calculated murder.

“Now, the defense has had a field day slandering the reputation of Stuart