A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,28

bunk. He pulled the blanket tight around his neck as if it protected him and leaned forward with his feet hanging free. Dirty socks, shoes over by the commode. He stared at the floor and huddled under the blanket.

Jake studied his face and was certain there had to be a mistake. Drew’s eyes were red and puffy from a day spent under the covers and probably no small amount of crying. His blond hair was wild and in need of a trim. And he was tiny.

When Jake was sixteen years old he was the starting quarterback for Karaway High School, ten miles from Clanton. He also played basketball and baseball and was shaving, driving, and dating every cute girl who would say yes. This kid belonged on a bike with training wheels.

Chatter was important and Jake said, “Paperwork says you’re sixteen years old, right?”

No response.

“When’s your birthday?”

He stared at the floor, motionless.

“Come on, Drew, surely you know your own birthday.”

“Where’s my mother?”

“She’s at the hospital and she’ll be there for a few days. She has a broken jaw and I think the doctors want to operate. I’m going by there tomorrow to say hello and I’d like to tell her that you’re okay. Under the circumstances.”

“She’s not dead?”

“No, Drew, your mother is not dead. What do you want me to say to her?”

“I thought she was dead. So did Kiera. We both thought Stu had finally killed her. That’s why I shot him. What’s your name?”

“Jake. I’m your lawyer.”

“The last lawyer lied to me.”

“Sorry about that, but I’m not lying. I swear I don’t lie. Ask me something now, anything, and I promise I’ll give you a straight answer without lying. Try me.”

“How long will I be here in jail?”

Jake hesitated and said, “I don’t know and that’s not a lie. It’s the truth, because right now nobody knows how long you’ll stay in jail. A safe answer would be ‘a long time.’ They’re going to charge you with killing Stuart Kofer, and murder is the most serious crime of all.”

He looked at Jake and with red moist eyes said, “But I thought he killed my mother.”

“I get that, but the truth is, Drew, that he didn’t.”

“I’m still glad I shot him.”

“I wish you had not.”

“I don’t care if they keep me in prison forever because he can never hurt my mother again. And he can’t hurt Kiera and he can’t hurt me. He got what he deserved, Mr. Jake.”

“It’s just ‘Jake,’ okay? Drew and Jake. Lawyer and client.”

Drew wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes tightly and began shaking, shivering as if the chills were sweeping through him. Jake pulled down another thin blanket from the top bunk and draped it over his shoulders. He was sobbing now, shaking and sobbing with tears dripping off his cheeks. He cried for a long time, a small, pitiful, terrified little boy so utterly alone in the world. More of a little boy than a teenager, Jake thought more than once.

When the shaking stopped, Drew went back into his own world and refused to speak, refused to acknowledge Jake’s presence. He wrapped himself in the blankets, lay down, and stared blankly at the mattress frame above him.

Jake brought up his mother again, but it didn’t work. He mentioned food and soft drinks but there was no response. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. When it became apparent that Drew was not going to respond, Jake said, “Okay, I’m outta here, Drew. I’ll see your mother in the morning and tell her you’re doing just great. While I’m away, you are not to speak to anyone else. No jailer, no policeman, no investigator, nobody, you hear? Which, for you, should not be a problem. Just say nothing until I get back.”

Jake left him much as he’d found him, lying still, trance-like, staring wide-eyed but seeing nothing.

He closed the door behind him. At the desk he signed out, avoided some familiar faces, and left the jail on foot for the long walk home.

* * *

—

OUT OF CURIOSITY, he took a detour near the square and saw an office light on, as he’d expected. Harry Rex often locked himself away late at night, especially on Sunday, to catch up with the madness that was his practice. During most days his dingy waiting room was filled with warring spouses and other unhappy clients, and he spent more time refereeing than settling disputes. In addition to that stress, his fourth