A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,5

he deserved. Drew slowly closed the door, as if to protect Kiera from any involvement. How easy would it be? Drew clasped the pistol with both hands. He held his breath and lowered the gun until the tip of the barrel was an inch from Stu’s left temple.

He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

2

Kiera never looked up. She stroked her mother’s hair and asked, “What did you do?”

“I shot him,” Drew said matter-of-factly. His voice had no expression, no fear or regret. “I shot him.”

She nodded and said nothing else. He went to the den and looked out the front window again. Where were the red and blue lights? Where were the responders? You call and report your mother has been killed by a brute and no one shows up. He turned on a lamp and glanced at the clock. 2:47. He would always remember the exact moment he shot Stuart Kofer. His hands were shaking and numb, his ears were ringing, but at 2:47 a.m. he had no regrets for killing the man who’d killed his mother. He walked back to the bedroom and turned on the ceiling light. The gun was beside Stu’s head, which had a small, ugly hole in the left side. Stu was still looking at the ceiling, now with his eyes open. A circle of bright red blood was spreading in an arc through the sheets.

Drew walked back to the kitchen, where nothing had changed. He went to the den, turned on another light, opened the front door, and took a seat in Stu’s recliner. Stu would have a fit if he caught anyone else sitting on his throne. It smelled like him—stale cigarettes, dried sweat, old leather, whiskey and beer. After a few minutes, Drew decided he hated the recliner, so he pulled a small chair to the window to wait for the lights.

The first were blue, blinking and swirling furiously, and when they topped the driveway’s last incline Drew was stricken with fear and had trouble breathing. They were coming to get him. He would leave in handcuffs in the rear seat of a deputy’s patrol car, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The second responder was an ambulance with red lights, the third was another police car. Once it was known that there were two bodies and not just one, another ambulance arrived in a rush, followed by more law enforcement.

Josie had a pulse and was quickly loaded onto a stretcher and raced away to the hospital. Drew and Kiera were sequestered in the den and told not to move. And where would they go? Every light in the house was on and there were cops in every room.

Sheriff Ozzie Walls arrived by himself and was met in front of the house by Moss Junior Tatum, his chief deputy, who said, “Looks like Kofer came home late, they had a fight, he slapped her around, then passed out on his bed. The kid got his gun and shot him once in the head. Instant.”

“You talked to the kid?”

“Yep. Drew Gamble, age sixteen, son of Kofer’s girlfriend. Wouldn’t say much. I think he’s in shock. His sister is Kiera, age fourteen, she said they’ve lived here about a year and that Kofer was abusive, beat their mom all the time.”

“Kofer’s dead?” Ozzie asked in disbelief.

“Stuart Kofer is dead, sir.”

Ozzie shook his head in disgust and disbelief and walked to the front door, which was wide open. Inside, he stopped and glanced at Drew and Kiera who were sitting beside each other on the sofa, both staring down and trying to ignore the chaos. Ozzie wanted to say something but let it pass. He followed Tatum into the bedroom, where nothing had been touched. The gun was on the sheets, ten inches from Kofer’s head, and there was a wide circle of blood in the center of the bed. On the other side, the bullet’s exit had blown out a section of the skull, and blood and matter had been sprayed against the sheets, pillows, headboard, and wall.

At the moment, Ozzie had fourteen full-time deputies. Now thirteen. And seven part-timers, along with more volunteers than he cared to fool with. He’d been the sheriff of Ford County since 1983, elected seven years earlier in an historic landslide. Historic because he was, at the time, the only black sheriff in Mississippi and the first ever from a predominantly white county. In seven years he’d never lost a man.