A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,86

agree?”

Jake said, “Yes,” but wasn’t sure he meant it. Noose had a point. If Drew was back in Ozzie’s jail and awaiting trial, the locals might settle down.

Noose said, “I’ll call the clerk and get the jury list released tomorrow. I think a hundred names should suffice, don’t you?”

“Yes sir.” One hundred was about average for a civil trial.

Noose took his time cleaning another pipe. He carefully added more tobacco, lit the pipe, savored the smoke, then stood, unfolding his lanky frame out of the chair with some effort. He walked to a window and gazed out as if taking in a beautiful landscape. Without turning around, he said, over his shoulder, “Something else, Jake, something off the record. Okay?” He seemed burdened with an unpleasant thought.

“Sure, Judge.”

“I once made a living as a politician and was quite good at it. Then the voters called me home and I had to go clean and make an honest living. I’ve worked hard as a judge and I’d like to think I’ve grown into this job. Been here for eighteen years, never had a serious opponent. My reputation is pretty solid, right, Jake?” He turned around and looked down his long nose.

“I’d say it’s very solid, Judge.”

Noose sucked on his pipe and watched the smoke swirl near the ceiling. “I have come to despise judicial elections. Politics should be kept out of the judiciary at all levels. I know that’s easy for me to say because I’ve been on the bench for a long time. Incumbency has its advantages. But it’s sort of unseemly for judges to be forced to shake hands and kiss babies and hustle for votes, don’t you agree, Jake?”

“Yes sir. It’s a bad system.” As bad as it seemed, the truth was that judges were rarely challenged and almost never defeated. Most ambitious lawyers considered it financial suicide to run against a sitting judge, and lose. Jake suspected Rufus Buckley was very much on Noose’s mind.

He said, “It appears as though I’ll have an opponent next year.”

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Your old pal Buckley.”

“I still despise him, Judge. I guess I always will.”

“He blamed me for the Hailey acquittal. Blamed you. Blamed everyone but himself. He’s been stewing for five years, plotting revenge. When he lost the D.A.’s race three years ago he became so depressed he had to seek help, at least according to my sources in Smithfield. Now he’s back and he’s running his mouth. Thinks the public needs him sitting on the bench in my chair. Last Friday at the Rotary Club he babbled on about the Kofer case, said you had hoodwinked the court again and convinced me to release the boy.”

“I’m not worried about the Rotary Club gossip in Smithfield, Judge.”

“Of course not, but your name won’t be on the ballot there, now will it?”

“Judge, look, the last time Buckley ran he lost four out of five counties, and Lowell Dyer was an unknown.”

“I know, I know. It wasn’t close.”

Jake was surprised that the conversation had shifted so quickly from business to politics. Noose had never let his guard down and become so personal. He was obviously worried about a campaign that was months away and might never happen.

Jake said, “Ford County has more voters than the other four, and your reputation there is stellar. The bar is solidly behind you for all the right reasons, and the bar utterly loathes Rufus Buckley. You’ll be in good shape, Judge.”

Noose returned to his desk and added the pipe to the collection in the pasta bowl. He did not sit down but rubbed his hands together as if to say, “Done.”

“Thanks, Jake. Let’s keep an eye on Buckley.”

Jake stood and said, “Will do. I’ll see you early in the morning a week from Monday.”

They shook hands and Jake left in a hurry. In his car, he called Harry Rex, bluffed his way past two rude secretaries, and finally delivered the wonderful news that a trial date was set and they would know the names of the potential jurors within twenty-four hours.

Harry Rex bellowed loud enough for his entire office to hear, then cackled into the phone, “I’ve already got the list.”

20

A sizable chunk of the funds from the litigation loan at Stan’s bank had been used to pay the fee of a fancy jury consultant named Murray Silerberg. He owned a firm based in Atlanta and boasted of securing huge verdicts for the past twenty years. Jake had heard him speak at a convention