A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,46

was choking them down with a glass of water. He looked at Jake and asked, “Who would do it?”

“State Health has a regional office in Oxford. Maybe we can send him over there to be examined.”

“Can they send someone over here?” Noose asked. “I really don’t like the idea of the defendant leaving jail so soon.”

“Agreed,” Lowell said. “They haven’t had the funeral yet. I’m not sure the kid would be safe outside the jail.”

“Fine,” Jake said. “I don’t care how we do it.”

Noose raised his hands and called for order. “Let’s agree on a plan here, fellas. I assume, Mr. Dyer, that you plan to seek an indictment for capital murder, is this correct?”

“Well, Judge, it’s still a bit early, but, yes, that’s how I’m leaning as of today. It appears as if the facts call for such an indictment.”

“And when would you present this case to your grand jury?”

“We meet here in two weeks, but I can always call it early. Do you have a preference?”

“No. The grand jury is really none of my business. Mr. Brigance, how do you see the next few weeks unfolding?”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Since my client is so young I will have no choice but to ask you to transfer his case over to youth court.”

Lowell Dyer bit his tongue and gave Noose plenty of room to respond. Noose looked at him with raised eyebrows and Dyer said, “Of course, the State will oppose such a motion. We believe the case belongs in this court and that the defendant should be tried as an adult.”

Jake did not react. He took a sip of coffee and glanced at a legal pad as if he knew this was coming, which in fact he did because there was no chance at all that the Honorable Omar Noose was going to allow the Ford County Youth Court to handle such a serious crime. Lesser offenses committed by teenagers were often sent down—car theft, drugs, small-time larcenies and burglaries—and the juvenile judge was known to be judicious in dealing with them. But not serious crimes involving bodily harm, and certainly not murders.

Most white Southerners firmly believed that a sixteen-year-old like Drew Gamble who shot a man sleeping in his own bed must be tried as an adult and given a harsh sentence, even death. A small minority felt otherwise. Jake wasn’t sure, yet, how he felt, though he already doubted whether Drew had the wherewithal to understand criminal intent.

Jake also knew the political realities. Next year, 1991, both Omar Noose and Lowell Dyer faced reelection—Dyer for the first time, Noose for the fifth. Though His Honor was pushing seventy and took a lot of meds he was showing no signs of slowing down. He enjoyed the job, the prestige, the salary. He had always faced light opposition—few lawyers were willing to challenge a sitting and entrenched judge—but there was always the chance of that screwball election where an underdog caught fire and the voters decided they wanted a new face. Three years earlier, Noose had been hounded by a quack of a lawyer from Milburn County who made a bunch of wild claims about lenient sentences in criminal cases. He got a third of the vote, which was not unimpressive for a complete unknown with little credibility.

Now, a more ominous threat was looming. Jake had heard the rumors and he was sure Noose had heard them too. Rufus Buckley, the ex–district attorney, the showboat Dyer had defeated in a close election, was reportedly making waves and dropping hints about wanting Noose’s seat on the bench. Buckley had been banished to the sidelines, where he spent his days in a small office down in Smithfield drafting deeds and fuming and plotting his comeback. His greatest loss was the not-guilty verdict of Carl Lee Hailey, and he would forever blame Noose. And Jake. And everyone else remotely connected to the case. Everyone but himself.

“File your motion in due course,” Noose said, as if he’d already made up his mind.

“Yes sir. Now, about the psychiatric examination.”

Noose stood and grunted and walked to his desk where he took a pipe from an ashtray and stuck the stem between his stained teeth. “And you think this is urgent?”

“Yes I do, Judge. I’m afraid this kid is slipping as the hours pass.”

“Has Ozzie seen him?”

“Ozzie’s not a shrink. I’m sure he’s seen him because he’s at the jail.”

Noose looked at Dyer and asked, “And your position on this?”

“The State is not