A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,61

their wives, there were exactly ten black faces in the crowd. And Ozzie knew full well that they were welcome only because of his position.

Wyfong said another prayer, a shorter one, and sat down as Stuart’s twelve-year-old cousin walked nervously to the mike holding a sheet of paper. He adjusted the mike, looked fearfully at the crowd, and began reciting a poem he had written about fishing with his favorite “Uncle Stu.”

Ozzie listened for a moment then began to drift. The day before he had driven Drew three hours south to Whitfield, the state mental hospital, and turned him over to the authorities there. By the time he returned to his office the news was raging around the county. The kid was already out of jail and was pretending to be crazy. Jake Brigance was pulling another fast one, just like he did five years earlier when he convinced a jury that Carl Lee Hailey was temporarily insane. Hailey killed two men in cold blood, in the courthouse even, and walked. Walked free as a bird. Late Friday afternoon, Earl Kofer drove to the jail and confronted Ozzie, who showed him a copy of the court order signed by Judge Noose. Kofer left, cursing and vowing to get even.

At the moment, the crowd was mourning a tragic death, but many of those seated around him were seething with anger.

The young poet had some talent and managed to get a laugh. His refrain was “But not with Uncle Stu. But not with Uncle Stu.” When he finally finished, he broke down and walked away bawling. This was contagious and others sobbed.

Wyfong rose with his Bible and began his sermon. He read from the Book of Psalms and spoke of God’s comforting words in a time of death. Ozzie listened for a moment with interest, then began to drift again. He had called Jake early in the morning, to pass along the latest about the funeral and give him a heads-up that the Kofers and their friends were upset. Jake said he’d already talked to Harry Rex, who’d called late Friday night and said the gossip was wild.

Ozzie would admit only to himself and to his wife that the boy was in bad shape. During the long drive to Whitfield, he had not said a word to either Ozzie or Moss Junior. They initially tried to engage him in small talk, but he said nothing. He didn’t rudely ignore them. Their words just didn’t register. With his hands cuffed in front of him, Drew was able to lie down and pull his knees to his chest. And he started that damned humming. For over two hours he hummed and groaned and at times seemed to hiss. “You okay back there?” Moss Junior had asked when he got louder. He quieted down but did not respond. Driving back to Clanton without him, Moss Junior thought it would be funny to mimic the kid and he started humming too. Ozzie told him to stop or he’d turn around and take him to Whitfield. It was good for a laugh, which they needed.

Earl Kofer’s only request to the preacher was to “keep it short.” And Wyfong complied with a fifteen-minute sermon that was remarkably short on emotion and long on comfort. He finished with another prayer, then nodded at the singer for a final song. It was a secular number about a lonesome cowboy and it worked. Women were bawling again and it was time to go. The pallbearers took their positions around the casket and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” began to play softly over the speakers. The family followed the casket down the aisle, with Earl holding Janet steady as she wept. The procession moved slowly as someone turned up the volume.

Outside, two lines of uniformed men led to the hearse with its rear door open and waiting. The pallbearers lifted the casket and carefully placed it inside. Megargel and his men directed the family to the waiting sedans. A parade formed behind them, and when everyone was in place, the hearse inched away, followed by the family, followed by rows of officers on foot, with the Ford County contingent leading. Any and all friends, relatives, and strangers who wanted to make the trek to the cemetery fell in behind. The procession moved slowly away from the armory and down Wilson Street where barricades were in place and children stood silently by them. Townsfolk gathered on sidewalks and watched from porches and paid