A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,39

slowly eased into his chair. He nodded and Jake sat down too.

Ozzie said, “Record the calls and bring them to me. I’ll do what I can. You want security again?”

“No. We got tired of that. I’ll just shoot them myself.”

“Jake, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. The family is upset but they’re not crazy. We’ll get through the funeral, maybe things will settle down. You’ll be off the case soon, right?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. Have you checked on the boy this morning?”

“I talked to the jailer. Kid’s really shut down.”

“Has he eaten anything?”

“Some chips maybe, drank a Coke.”

“Look, Ozzie, I’m no expert, but I think the kid is traumatized and needs help. He could be in the middle of some type of a breakdown, for all we know.”

“Forgive me, Jake, but I’m not feelin’ the sympathy.”

“I get that. I’ll see Noose in the morning before the Civil Docket, and I plan to ask him to send the kid to Whitfield for tests. I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. Noose admires you, and if you agree that the kid needs to see a professional, then he might go along. The kid is in your custody and you know more about his condition than anyone else right now. Bring the jailer over and we’ll meet with Noose in his chambers. Off the record. You won’t have to testify or anything. The rules are different for minors.”

Ozzie gave a sarcastic laugh and looked away. “Let me get this straight. This kid, regardless of his age, murdered my deputy, whose memorial service or funeral or whatever you white folks call these events, has not yet been planned, and here I am with the defense lawyer who’s askin’ me to help out with the defense. Right, Jake?”

“I’m asking you to do what’s right here, Ozzie. That’s all.”

“The answer is no. I haven’t even seen the kid since they brought him in. You’re pushin’ too hard, Jake. Back off.”

Ozzie was glaring across the desk when he gave the warning, and Jake got the message. He got to his feet, said, “Okay. I’d like to see my client.”

* * *

—

HE TOOK HIM a can of Mountain Dew and a package of peanuts, and after a few minutes managed to coax Drew from under the covers. He sat on the edge of his bed and opened the drink.

“I saw your mother this morning,” Jake said. “She’s doing great. Kiera is with her at the hospital and there are some folks from the church taking care of them.”

Drew’s eyes never left his feet as he nodded. His blond hair was stringy, matted, dirty, and his entire body needed a good scrubbing. They had yet to dress him in the standard orange jail jumpsuit, which would be an improvement over the cheap and wrinkled clothes he wore.

He kept nodding and asked, “What church?”

“I believe it’s called the Good Shepherd Bible Church. The pastor is a guy named Charles McGarry. You know him?”

“I think so. Stu didn’t want us to go to church. Is he really dead?”

“He’s dead, Drew.”

“And I shot him?”

“Sure looks that way. You don’t remember?”

“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I think I’m dreaming, you know? Like right now. Are you really here, talking to me? What’s your name?”

“Jake. We met last night when I stopped by. Do you remember that?”

A long silence followed. He took a sip and then tried to open the peanuts. When he couldn’t, Jake gently took the package, tore the top, and gave it back.

Jake said, “This is not a dream, Drew. I’m your lawyer. I’ve met your mother and sister and so now I represent the family. It’s important for you to trust me and talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About what. Let’s talk about the house where you live with Kiera and your mother and Stuart Kofer. How long have you lived there?”

More silence as he stared at the floor, as if he’d heard nothing Jake said.

“How long, Drew? How long did you live with Stuart Kofer?”

“I don’t remember. Is he really dead?”

“Yes.”

The can slipped from his hand and hit the floor with foam splashing near Jake’s feet. It rolled a bit, then stopped but continued leaking the soda. Drew did not react to the dropped can, and Jake tried his best to ignore it too as the puddle inched closer to his shoes. Drew closed his eyes and began to make a low humming sound, a soft painful groan that came from somewhere deep