A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,59

hereby direct the Sheriff of Ford County to transport the above named defendant to the state mental hospital with all possible speed, preferably on Friday, March 30, 1990, and there to surrender his person to Mr. Rupert Easley, Director of Security, until further orders of this court. So Ordered, Signed, Judge Omar Noose.”

Jake smiled at the outcome and placed the order on Portia’s desk. He had done his job and protected the best interests of his client. He could almost hear the courthouse gossip, the rumblings at the coffee shops, the cursing among the deputies.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore.

14

The weather was perfect for a funeral, though the setting left something to be desired. On Saturday, the last day of March, the sky was dark and threatening, the wind cold and biting. A week earlier, on the last day of his life, Stuart Kofer had gone fishing with friends on the lake on a beautiful, warm afternoon. They wore T-shirts and shorts and drank cold beer in the sunshine as if summer had arrived early. But so much had changed, and now, on the day of his burial, raw winds swept across the land and added more gloom.

The service was at the National Guard Armory, a bland and sterile 1950s-style block building designed for troop gatherings and community events, but not for funerals. It could hold three hundred and the family was expecting a crowd. Though unchurched, the Kofers had lived in the county for a hundred years and knew a lot of people. Stu was a popular cop with friends, acquaintances, and colleagues with families. All funerals were open to the public, and tragic deaths always attracted the curious who had little else to do and wanted to get close to the story. At 1:00 p.m., an hour before the service, the first news van arrived and was ordered to park in a reserved area. Uniformed officers were everywhere, waiting for the crowd, the press, the pomp and ceremony. The front doors of the armory opened and the parking lot began to fill. Another news van arrived and began filming. Some reporters with cameras were allowed to congregate near the flagpole.

Inside, three hundred rented chairs had been neatly arranged in a half-moon around a temporary stage and podium. The wall behind it was layered with dozens of flower arrangements, and more lined the walls. A large color photo of Stuart Kofer stood on a tripod to one side. By 1:30 the meeting hall was almost full and a few ladies were already sobbing. In the place of proper hymns favored by real Christians, someone within the family had selected a playlist of sad tunes by some country crooner, and his mournful braying echoed from a set of cheap speakers. Fortunately, the volume was not high, but it was still loud enough to add to the somber mood.

The crowd filed in and before long all chairs were taken. Additional mourners were asked to stand against the walls. By 1:45, there was no more space and those trying to get in were told the service would be broadcast outside over a PA system.

The family gathered in a small office wing and waited for the hearse from Megargel Funeral Home, the last remaining mortuary for white people in Ford County. There were two for the blacks, who were buried in their cemeteries. The whites were buried in theirs, and, even in 1990, the graveyards were tightly segregated. No one had been put to rest out of place.

Because it was a big funeral, with a crowd and the chance of cameras, Mr. Megargel had leaned on friends in the business and borrowed some nicer cars. When he pulled his sleek black hearse into the drive beside the armory there were six identical black sedans behind him. They were empty for the moment and parked in a neat row behind the building. Mr. Megargel hopped out, as did his squad of men in somber suits, and began directing things. He opened the rear door of the hearse and called for the eight pallbearers to come forward. Slowly, they pulled the casket out and placed it on a gurney draped in velvet cloth. The family came out of the small office and stood behind the pallbearers. With Megargel leading the way, the small parade turned alongside the building and headed for the front where an impressive battalion of uniformed men awaited them.

Ozzie had worked the phones all week and his requests had been