A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,208

trunk of the new Impala and headed to Oxford, forty-five minutes away. They parked on the square and went to a burger joint, one of Jake’s favorites from his college days. It was the ninth of August and the students were trickling back to town. In two weeks, Portia would be back as a first-year law student and she was counting the days. After two years as Jake’s secretary and paralegal, she was leaving the firm and Jake had no idea what he would do without her.

Over beers they talked about law school, not the trial. Anything but the trial.

At seven sharp, Josie and Kiera walked in smiling; hugs all around. They gathered at a table and ordered sandwiches and fries. Josie had a thousand questions and Jake patiently answered as many as possible. The truth was that he didn’t know what would happen to Drew. He would certainly be re-indicted on the same charges, and there would be another trial. When? Where? Jake didn’t know.

They would worry about that tomorrow.

51

Late Friday morning, Jake grew weary of the unanswered phone ringing incessantly and decided to leave his gloomy office. Portia had the day off, at his insistence, and no one else was there. The calls were coming from reporters, and a few lawyer pals who wanted to chat, and several strangers who did nothing but rant without identifying themselves. There were no calls from potential new clients. He listened to the messages as they came in and realized that work was impossible. He reminded himself that in the business of criminal law a mistrial was a victory. The State, with all its resources, had failed to meet its burden. His client was still not guilty, and Jake was pleased with the defense he had mounted. But the State would be back, and Drew would be tried again, and again if necessary. There was no limit on the number of hung juries a defendant could face for a crime, and the murder of a police officer would keep the same indictments coming for years. But, that was not an altogether depressing thought. Jake had found his home in the old courtroom. He had thrived on the pressure. His witnesses had been thoroughly prepared and performed beautifully. His strategies and ambushes had worked to perfection. His appeals to the jury had been carefully rehearsed and nicely delivered. Most importantly, Jake had reached the point of not giving a damn about what others thought. The police, the opposing lawyers, the crowd watching, the entire community. He didn’t care. His job was to fight for his client, regardless of how unpopular the cause.

He walked down the street, ducked into the Coffee Shop, and found Dell at the counter drying glasses. He gave her a quick hug and they huddled in a booth in the rear.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“No. Just coffee.”

She went to the counter, returned with a pot, filled two cups, sat down and asked, “How you doing?”

“I’m good. It’s a win but it’s only temporary.”

“I hear they’ll do it again.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot this week.”

She laughed and said, “Yes, I have. Prather and Looney were in this morning and there was plenty of talk.”

“Let me guess. Brigance pulled another slick one and got the boy off.”

“Several versions of that, yes. The guys were pretty ticked off because you kept them in court all week over there under subpoena, then didn’t call them to the stand.”

Jake shrugged it off. “That’s part of their job. They’ll get over it.”

“Sure they will. Prather said you ambushed them with the pregnant girl, said you kept her in hiding.”

“It was a fair fight, Dell. Lowell Dyer got out-lawyered and the facts fell our way. And the boy’s still in jail.”

“Can he get out?”

“I doubt it. He should get out, you know? He’s still innocent until proven guilty. Was that ever mentioned?”

“No, of course not. They said the testimony was pretty ugly, said you made Kofer look like a monster.”

“I didn’t change a single fact, Dell. And yes, Stuart Kofer got what he deserved.”

“Old man Hitchcock stood up for you. Said that if he ever got in trouble you’d be the first lawyer he called.”

“That’s just what I need—another client who can’t pay a dime.”

“It’s not all bad, Jake. You still have some friends here, and on some level there’s a certain amount of admiration for your skills in the courtroom.”

“That’s nice to hear, Dell, but I really don’t care anymore. I’ve starved for twelve years