A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,32

story. A hospital gown was provided for Kiera, and when the nurses turned down the lights, she was sitting at her mother’s feet.

* * *

—

AT 5:30 A.M. Jake’s alarm clock started making noises. He silenced it with a slap and rolled back under the covers. So far, he had slept little and was not ready to begin his day. He burrowed deep, found Carla’s warm body, moved closer but was met with resistance. He withdrew, opened his eyes and thought about his newest client sitting in jail, and was about to surrender to the morning when thunder rolled in the distance. A cold front was expected, with potential storms, and perhaps it wasn’t safe to venture out. Another reason to sleep more was the desire to avoid the Coffee Shop on this dark day, when all the chatter and gossip would be about poor Stu Kofer and the teenage thug who murdered him.

Yet another reason was the fact that he was not due in court or anywhere else the entire day. As the reasons accumulated he felt them closing in, smothering him, and eventually he drifted off.

Carla wakened him with a pleasant kiss on the cheek and a cup of coffee, then she was off to rouse Hanna and get her ready for school. After two sips, Jake thought about the newspapers and hopped out of bed. He pulled on some jeans, found the dog, leashed him, and went outside. The morning editions from Tupelo, Jackson, and Memphis were strewn along his drive, and he quickly scanned each. All had the Kofer story on the front page. He tucked them under his arm, made the block, and returned to the kitchen where he poured more coffee and spread out the papers.

The gags were holding; no one was talking. Ozzie wouldn’t even confirm that he was the sheriff. Reporters had been shooed away from the crime scene, the jail, the home of Earl and Janet Kofer, and the hospital. Officer Kofer was thirty-three, an army veteran, single with no children, four years as a deputy. The sparse details of his bio were spread thin. The Memphis paper covered the story of Kofer’s deadly run-in with some drug dealers three years earlier on a rural road near Karaway, a shoot-out that left the bad guys dead and Lieutenant Kofer only slightly wounded. A bullet grazed his arm and he refused hospitalization and never missed a day of work.

Jake was suddenly in a hurry. He showered, skipped breakfast, kissed his girls goodbye, and headed to the office. He needed to visit the hospital and it was imperative that he see Drew again. He was convinced the kid was traumatized and needed help, medical as well as legal, but he wanted to pick the right moment for another attorney-client consultation.

Evidently, others felt differently. Portia was at her desk, standing, holding the receiver of her phone, looking puzzled. Her customary smile was missing as Jake walked into the office.

“This man just yelled at me,” she said.

“Who was it?”

She put the receiver away, picked up the Tupelo paper, pointed to the black-and-white photo of Stuart Kofer, and said, “Said he was his father. Said his boy got shot yesterday, shot dead, and that you’re the lawyer for the kid who shot him. Talk to me, Jake.”

Jake tossed his briefcase onto a chair. “Earl Kofer?”

“That’s him. Sounded crazy. Said the kid, Drew somebody, didn’t deserve no lawyer, crazy stuff like that. What’s the deal?”

“Have a seat. Is there any coffee?”

“It’s brewing.”

“Noose appointed me to the case yesterday. I met with the kid last night at the jail, so, yes, our little law firm now represents a sixteen-year-old boy who will probably be indicted for capital murder.”

“What about the public defender?”

“He couldn’t defend a bully in kindergarten and everybody, especially Noose, knows it. He called around and couldn’t find anyone else and he thinks I know what I’m doing.”

Portia sat down, tossed the newspaper aside, and said, “I like it. This will really liven up the place. Almost nine o’clock on a Monday morning and we’ve already had our first nasty phone call.”

“There will probably be others.”

“Does Lucien know?”

“I haven’t told him. And Noose is promising that he’ll replace me in thirty days, just wants me to handle the preliminary stuff.”

“Did the boy shoot him?”

“He didn’t talk much. In fact he clammed up and went into a daze. I think he needs some help. Based on what Ozzie said, he shot him once in the head