A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,51

or anywhere else in the Twenty-second Judicial District for that matter, and it took Portia two hours on the phone to finally locate one in Oxford, an hour to the west.

On Wednesday morning, Jake talked to him briefly before the guy said he could evaluate Drew in a couple of weeks, and in his office, not at the jail. He did not make house calls. Nor did the two in Tupelo, though the second one, a Dr. Christina Rooker, warmed up quickly when she recognized the identity of the potential patient. She had read about the murder of the officer and was intrigued by what Jake told her on the phone. He described Drew’s condition, appearance, behavior, and near catatonic state. Dr. Rooker agreed that the situation was urgent and agreed to see him the following day, Thursday, in her office in Tupelo, not at the jail in Clanton.

Lowell Dyer objected to Drew’s leaving for any reason, as did Ozzie. Judge Noose was hearing motions at the Polk County Courthouse in Smithfield. Jake drove forty-five minutes south, walked into the courtroom, and waited until some rather long-winded lawyers finished their bickering and His Honor had a few moments to spare. In chambers, Jake again described his client’s condition, explained that Dr. Rooker felt the matter was urgent, and insisted that the kid be allowed out of the jail for an examination. He posed no safety or flight risk. Hell, he was barely capable of feeding himself. Jake finally convinced the judge that the ends of justice would be served by getting the defendant some immediate medical help.

“And her fee is five hundred dollars,” he added on his way out of the door.

“For a two-hour consultation?”

“That’s what she said. I promised her we, the State, because you and I are now on its payroll, right, would cover it. And that brings up the matter of my fees.”

“We’ll discuss them later, Jake. I have lawyers waiting.”

“Thanks, Judge. I’ll call Lowell and Ozzie and they’ll bitch and cuss and probably come crying to you.”

“That’s part of my job. I’m not worried about them.”

“I’ll tell Ozzie that you want him to drive the kid to Tupelo. He’ll like that.”

“Whatever.”

“And I’m filing a motion to transfer the case to youth court.”

“Please wait until there’s an indictment.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t waste a lot of time on the motion.”

“Is that because you don’t plan to waste a lot of time with it?”

“That’s correct, Jake.”

“Well, thanks for the candor.”

“As always.”

* * *

—

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK Thursday morning, Drew Gamble was led to a small dark room and told by the jailer that it was time for a shower. He had declined earlier requests and needed a good scrubbing. He was given a bar of soap and a towel and told to hurry, there was a five-minute limit on showers throughout the jail, and also warned that the hot water, if any, would last for only the first two minutes. He closed the door, stripped, and tossed out his soiled clothing, which the jailer collected and took to the laundry. When Drew was finished, he was given the smallest orange jumpsuit available and a pair of well-used rubber shower shoes, also orange in color, and taken back to his cell where he declined a plate of eggs and bacon. Instead, he munched on peanuts and drank a soda. As usual, he did not speak to the jailers even when spoken to. They had at first assumed their prisoner had some serious attitude but soon realized that his mind was functioning at a very low level. One whispered to another, “His light’s barely on but nobody’s home.”

Jake arrived just before nine with two dozen fresh doughnuts that he passed around the jail in an effort to score points with old friends who now viewed him as an enemy. A few were taken but most were ignored. He left one box at the front desk and walked back to the jail. Alone with Drew in his cell, he offered his client a doughnut, and, to his surprise, he ate two of them. The sugar seemed to jack up his energy and he asked, “Is something going on today, Jake?”

“Yes. You’re taking a trip to Tupelo to see a doctor.”

“I’m not sick, am I?”

“We’ll let the doctor decide that. She’ll ask you a lot of questions about yourself and your family, and where you’ve lived and all that, and you need to tell the truth and answer to the best of your ability.”

“Is