A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,96

of the country. I’ll postpone the trial and allow you gentlemen time to finish discovery. You’re dismissed.”

Jake said, “But, Judge, we should at—”

Noose cut him off with “No, Jake, nothing further. I’ve heard enough. Please, you’re all dismissed.”

The lawyers stood, some quicker than others, and filed out of chambers. At the door, Walter Sullivan said to Harry Rex, “What’re your plans with that two-million-dollar verdict?” Sean Gilder laughed.

Jake managed to step between the two before Harry Rex could throw a punch.

22

He should’ve lingered and at least attempted to offer words of explanation to Steve Smallwood, Taylor’s brother and the family’s spokesman. He should’ve given instructions to Portia, who was dumbfounded. He should’ve huddled with Harry Rex and agreed on when to meet again to curse and throw things. He should’ve said goodbye, see you later to Murray Silerberg and his team scattered throughout the courtroom. He should’ve circled back to Noose’s chambers and perhaps apologized or tried to make amends. Instead, he bolted for a side door and was out of the courthouse before most of the prospective jurors left the courtroom. He went to his car and hurried away from the square, taking the first road out of town. At the edge of Clanton he stopped at a convenience store and bought some peanuts and a soda. He had not eaten in hours. He sat by the gas pumps, ripped off his tie, then took off his coat and listened as his car phone rang. It was Portia, at the office, and he was certain she was calling about something he had no desire to deal with.

He drove south and was soon close to Lake Chatulla. He parked in a rest area on a bluff and looked at the large muddy lake. He checked the time, 9:45, and knew that Carla would be in class. He had to call her but wasn’t sure what to say.

“Well, dear, I tried to hide a crucial witness whose testimony would kill our case.”

Or: “Well, dear, those damned insurance lawyers outfoxed me again and caught me cheating with discovery.”

Or: “Well, dear, I violated the rules and now the case has been postponed. And we’re screwed!!”

He drove here and there, east and west, staying on narrow, shaded lanes that wound through the county. He finally called the office and was informed by Portia that Dumas Lee had been hanging around, smelling a story, and that Steve Smallwood had stopped by in a foul mood and was looking for answers. Lucien wasn’t in, and Jake instructed her to lock the door and take the phone off the hook.

He vowed again to get rid of the red Saab because it was so conspicuous, a veritable bull’s-eye, and at the moment the last thing he wanted was to be noticed. He wanted to take another turn and drive south for hours until he hit the Gulf. Then, maybe he would just keep going, off a pier and into the ocean. He could not remember a time in his life that he had so desperately wanted to run away. To disappear.

His phone startled him. It was Carla. He grabbed it and said hello.

“Jake, where are you? Are you okay? I just talked to Portia.”

“I’m okay, just taking a drive, trying to avoid the office.”

“She said the case has been postponed.”

“That’s it. Postponed.”

“Can you talk?”

“Not now. It’s a bad story and will take some time to go through it. I’ll be home this afternoon when you get there.”

“Okay. But you’re fine?”

“I’m not going to kill myself, Carla, if that’s what you’re worried about. Maybe I’ve thought about it, but I’m under control. I’ll see you this afternoon and explain everything.”

That was a conversation he would love to avoid. Yes, honey, I cheated, and big-time, and I got caught.

The lawyers would gather one day to depose Neal Nickel, though Sean Gilder would, as always, stall as long as possible. Now that he had the upper hand, and now that Jake would not be screaming for a trial, it would be months before that deposition took place. And Nickel would no doubt be a superb witness, well dressed and articulate and thoroughly believable. He would discredit Hank Grayson, bolster the testimony of the engineer, and lend enormous credence to the railroad’s theory that Taylor Smallwood was either asleep or thoroughly distracted when he drove into the train.

The case was over, plain and simple. The case of a lifetime, or at least a career, had just gone down the toilet,