by John Grisham
She nibbled on the crust of her sandwich and nodded. “You’ll need at least two experts. One for the insanity defense, which I believe is all you have, and one for sentencing, assuming he’s convicted. That’s where we can help. Virtually all of our clients are guilty, and some of their crimes are pretty horrific. We just try to keep them alive and out of prison for the rest of their lives.”
Jake had a mouthful so he just nodded. Libby apparently was a light eater.
She continued, “One day in this great land the Supreme Court will rule that sending juveniles to death row is cruel and unusual punishment, but we’re not there yet. The Court may also see the light and rule that sentencing kids to prison for life without parole is nothing but a death sentence. Again, we’re not there yet. So we soldier on.”
She finally took another bite.
Jake had asked for money and manpower. Money for expert testimony and litigation expenses. And he wanted the assistance of another seasoned lawyer in the “second chair” during the trial. The law required a second defense lawyer but Noose was having trouble finding one.
Jake had made these requests in writing and they had discussed them over the phone. KAF lawyers were overworked. Its funds were tight. He had driven five hours for the meeting to say hello and impress upon Libby Provine the urgency of Drew’s case. Perhaps a face-to-face meeting would lead to her cooperation.
Two other requests to similar organizations were pending but did not look promising.
She said, “We’ve used a child psychiatrist from Michigan in a number of cases, a Dr. Emile Jamblah. He’s the best so far. A Syrian, slightly darker skin, speaks with an accent. Might this be a problem down there?”
“Oh yes. Could be a real problem. Anybody else?”
“Our second choice would be a doctor out of New York.”
“Got anybody with the right accent?”
“Maybe. There’s one who’s on the faculty at Baylor.”
“Now you’re talking. You know how experts work in courtrooms, Libby. He or she needs to be from another state because the farther he or she has traveled to get there, the smarter he or she is perceived to be by the jury. On the other hand, people down there react strongly to strange accents, especially Northern ones.”
“I know. I tried a case in Alabama ten years ago. Can you imagine me talking to a jury in Tuscaloosa? It was not a good outcome. The kid was seventeen. Now he’s twenty-seven and still on death row.”
“I think I read that case.”
“What will your jury look like?”
“Frightening. A regular posse. It’s rural north Mississippi, and I’ll try to change venue to another county simply because of the notoriety. But wherever we go the demographics are much the same. Seventy-five percent white. Average household income of thirty thousand. I expect nine or ten whites, two or three blacks, seven women, five men, ages thirty to sixty, all Christians or claiming to be. Of the twelve, maybe four made it to college. Four didn’t finish high school. One person earning fifty thousand a year. Two or three unemployed. God-fearing souls who believe in law and order.”
“I’ve seen that jury. Is the trial still set for August the sixth?”
“It is and I don’t see a delay.”
“Why so soon?”
“Why not? And I have a good reason for wanting the trial on August sixth. I’ll explain in a moment.”
“Okay. How do you see it unfolding?”
“Fairly cut-and-dried, to a point. The State will go first, of course. The prosecutor is competent but inexperienced. He’ll begin with the investigators, crime scene photos, cause of death, autopsy, and so on. The facts are plain, unambiguous, the photos are horrendous, so he’ll have the jury in his pocket at the opening bell. The victim was an army veteran, a fine peace officer, a local boy, all that. The case is really not that complicated. Within minutes the jury will know the victim and his killer and see the murder weapon. During cross-examination, I’ll ask about the autopsy and drag out the truth that at the time of his death Mr. Kofer was blind drunk. That will begin the ugly process of putting him on trial, and it’ll get worse. Some of the jurors will resent this. Others will be shocked. At some point the State will probably call the sister, Kiera, to the stand. She is an important witness and she’ll be expected to say that she heard the gunshot and her brother admitted to killing Kofer. The D.A. will attempt to prove that his actions and movements before the shooting show that the kid knew what he was doing. It was revenge. He thought his mother was dead and he wanted revenge.”
“Sounds believable.”
“Indeed it does. But Kiera’s testimony could be even more dramatic. When she takes the stand, the jury and everybody else in the courtroom will know immediately that she is pregnant. Over seven months along. And guess who the father is?”
“Not Kofer.”
“Yes. I’ll ask her to identify the father and she’ll testify, rather emotionally I suspect, that he was raping her on a regular basis. Five or six times, beginning around Christmas. Whenever they were alone he raped her, and after each assault he threatened to kill her and her brother if she told anyone.”
Libby was speechless. She shoved her sandwich a few inches away and closed her eyes. After a moment, she asked, “Why would the State put her on the stand if she’s pregnant?”
“Because the State doesn’t know it.”
She took a deep breath, moved her chair back, stood, and walked to the other end of her office. From behind her desk, she asked, “Don’t you have an obligation to inform the prosecutor?”
“No. She’s not my witness. She’s not my client.”
“I’m sorry, Jake, but I’m having some trouble processing this. Are you trying to hide the fact that she’s pregnant?”
“Let’s just say I don’t want the other side to know it.”
“But won’t the D.A. and his investigators meet with their witnesses before trial?”
“Normally, yes. It’s up to them. They can meet with her whenever they want. They talked to her two weeks ago in my office.”
“Is the girl in hiding? Does she have friends?”
“Not many, and, yes, she’s basically in hiding. I explained to Kiera and Josie that it would be best if no one knows she’s pregnant, but there’s always the chance that she’ll be discovered. There’s also the chance that the D.A. will find out. But she’s going to testify at trial, either for the prosecution or the defense, and if the trial’s in August she’ll be seven months pregnant.”
“Is she, uh, showing?”
“Barely. Her mother has told her to wear nothing but oversized clothing. They’re still living in the church but I’m trying to find them a place, an apartment in another town. They stopped attending church services a couple of weeks ago and are trying to avoid everyone.”
“At your recommendation, I’m sure.”
Jake smiled and nodded. Libby paced back to the table and sat down. She drank from her bottle and said, “Wow.”
“I thought you’d like it. A defense lawyer’s dream. A total ambush of the prosecution’s witness.”
“I know discovery is limited down there, but this seems a bit extreme.”
“As I said in my memo, there is virtually no discovery in criminal cases. Same for most of the country.”
She knew this. She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly, her mind racing. “What about a mistrial? Surely the State will scream about the surprise and want a new trial.”
“The State rarely gets a mistrial. We’ve gone back eighty years and researched hundreds of cases involving mistrials. Only three were granted to the prosecution, and all involved important witnesses who didn’t show up for court. And I’ll argue that a mistrial is unnecessary because the girl will testify at trial regardless of which side calls her as a witness.”
“Any chance Kofer is not the f
ather?”
“Doubtful. She’s fourteen and swears he was the first and only.”
Libby shook her head and looked away. When she looked back, Jake noticed moisture in her eyes. “She’s just a baby,” she said softly.
“A sweet girl who’s had a tough life.”
“You know, Jake, these are terrible trials. I’ve been through dozens of them in many states. Kids who commit murder are not like adults who commit murder. Their brains have not fully formed. They are easily influenced. They are often abused and mistreated and cannot escape bad environments. Yet they’re able to pull the trigger, same as an adult, and the victims are just as dead. Their survivors are just as angry. This is your first, right?”
“Yes, and I didn’t ask for it.”
“I know. As bad as these trials are, this is my work, my calling, and I’m still challenged by it. I love the courtroom, Jake, and I really don’t want to miss the moment when Kiera takes the stand. Talk about drama of the highest order.”
“Does this mean—”
“I want to be there. I have a trial in Kentucky in early August but we’ll push for a continuance. Our other lawyers are booked. Maybe, just maybe, I can clear my schedule and step in.”
“That would help considerably.” Jake could not suppress a smile. “What about the money?”
“We’re broke, same as always. We’ll cover my time and expenses and we’ll provide the expert if and when we get to the sentencing. I’m afraid you’re on your own to hire the right insanity person.”
“Any ideas?”
“Oh sure,” she said. “I know plenty of them. White, black, brown, male, female, young or old. Take your pick. I’ll find the right one, just let me think about it.”
“Definitely white, probably female, don’t you think? Our best chance for a little mercy might come from women. Someone who’s been slapped around by a drunk. Someone carrying a dark secret about being sexually assaulted. Someone with a teenage daughter.”
“We keep a thick file on the best experts.”
“Don’t forget about the accent.”
“Of course not. In fact there’s a shrink in New Orleans we used about three years ago. I wasn’t in the courtroom but our lawyers were impressed. So was the jury.”
“How much might this expert cost me?”
“Twenty thousand, give or take.”
“I don’t have twenty thousand.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Jake offered a hand to shake and said, “Welcome to Ford County, though let’s hope the trial is somewhere else.”
She shook his hand and said, “Deal.”
27
The investigator for the district attorney was a former Tyler County deputy named Jerry Snook. On a Monday morning, he arrived for work at the D.A.’s office in the courthouse in Gretna and began planning his week. Fifteen minutes later he was summoned to Lowell Dyer’s office next door.
His boss was already in a foul mood. Dyer said, “Just got off the phone with Earl Kofer, who calls me at least three times a week. Wanted to know what he always wants to know. When’s the trial? I said August the sixth, same as the last time you called. The date is set and will not be moved. Wanted to know if the trial will be in Ford County. I said I don’t know because Brigance wants to move it. Why, he asked? Because he thinks there’s too much notoriety around Clanton and is looking for a friendlier venue. He wants a jury that’s not familiar with the case. This upset Earl and he started cussing, said the system is always rigged to protect the criminal. I explained that we will resist any effort to move the case but the decision will be left to Judge Noose. He ranted about Brigance and the Carl Lee Hailey trial and said the system wasn’t fair because he got off by claiming to be insane and that’s what Brigance will do again. I reminded him that Judge Noose refused to change venue in that trial and it’s been a long time since he agreed to move one. I explained that it’s rare in Mississippi for a judge to change venue, and so on. But he doesn’t listen and is really bitter, which I understand. He wants me to guarantee that the kid will be convicted and sent to death row, and he wanted to know when there will be an execution. He said he read somewhere that Mississippi has plenty of men on death row but can’t seem to get them to the gas chamber. Said the average time on death row is eighteen years. Said he can’t wait that long, that his family is devastated, and on and on. The same conversation we had last Friday.”
“Sorry, boss,” Snook said.
Dyer moved some papers around on his desk. “Oh well, just part of the job, I guess.”
“You wanted to talk about the mother and sister.”
“Yes, primarily the sister. We need to talk to them, now. We have a general idea of what Josie will say at trial, but we will not call her as a witness. The girl, though, has to testify. We have to assume that the defendant will not take the stand, so we have to call his sister. What do you know about them as of today?”
“They’re still living in the church. Josie is working at least two part-time jobs. Don’t know what the girl is doing. She’s a kid and school’s out.”
“We can’t talk to her unless her mother is present. I mean, we could, in theory, but it would cause problems. Brigance would get involved and raise hell. It looks like they’re doing whatever he says.”
“I don’t mind knocking on the door when Josie is gone.”
Dyer was shaking his head. “She’ll freak out and call her mother. It’s too risky. I’ll call Brigance and arrange a meeting.”
“Good luck with that.”
“The trial’s in two months. Are you ready?”
“I will be.”
“When are you headed to Ford County?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Stop by and say hello to Earl Kofer. The family needs to be reassured.”
“Would love to.”
* * *
—
JAKE AND CARLA parked in front of the jail and walked in the front door. He had his briefcase. She was carrying a large cloth bag filled with textbooks and notepads. Inside, Jake spoke to two deputies he knew but did not introduce his wife. The mood was immediately tense and the greetings were strained. He led Carla through a door to the jail and stopped at the counter where Sergeant Buford was waiting on them.
Jake said, “Ozzie told us to be here at nine. Judge Noose’s orders.”
Buford glanced at his watch as if Jake couldn’t tell time. “I need to look at that,” he said, pointing to Jake’s briefcase. Jake opened it for a quick inspection. Satisfied but not pleased with the encounter, Buford looked at Carla’s bag and asked, “What’s in there?”
She opened it and said, “Textbooks and notepads.”
He poked around without removing anything and growled, “Follow me.”
Though Jake had reassured her, Carla’s stomach was in knots. She had never been inside the jail and half-expected to see real criminals leering at her through the bars. But there were no cells, only a dank, narrow hallway with worn carpet and doors on both sides. They stopped at one and Buford unlocked it with one of the many keys on his ring.
“Ozzie said two hours. I’ll be back at eleven.”
“I’d like to leave in an hour,” Jake said.
Buford shrugged as if he could not care less and opened the door. With a jerk of the head, he motioned for them to step inside and then locked the door behind them.
Drew was sitting at a small table in the same faded coveralls he wore every day. He did not stand or say hello. His hands were free and he’d been playing with a deck of cards.
Jake said, “Drew, this is my wife, Ms. Brigance, but you can call her Miss Carla.”
Drew smiled, because it was impossible not to smile at Carla. They sat in metal chairs across the narrow table.
Carla smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Drew.”
&n
bsp; Jake said, “Now, Drew, as I explained yesterday, Miss Carla will visit you twice a week and organize a plan for your schoolwork.”
“Okay.”
Carla said, “Jake tells me you were in the ninth grade last year, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
With a smile, Jake said, “Drew, I want you to get in the habit of saying ‘Yes ma’am’ and ‘No ma’am.’ ‘Yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ would be a good thing too. Can you practice this?”
“Yes sir.”
“Attaboy.”
Carla said, “I checked with your teachers and they told me your subjects were Mississippi history, Algebra One, English, and general science. Does that sound right?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you have a favorite subject?”
“Not really. I didn’t like any of them. I hate school.”
The teachers had verified this. They were unanimous in their assessment that he was indifferent to his studies, barely made passing grades, had few friends, kept to himself, and in general seemed miserable at school.
Carla’s first impression was similar to Jake’s. It was difficult to believe that the kid was sixteen years old. Thirteen would have been a good guess. He was frail, skinny, with a mop of blond hair that badly needed trimming. He was awkward, timid, and avoided eye contact. The thought that he had committed such a heinous murder was hard to fathom.
She said, “Okay, a lot of kids hate school, but you can’t drop out. Let’s just say that this is not school. Let’s call it private tutoring. What I want to do is take about thirty minutes with each subject and then leave you with some homework.”
“Homework sounds like school,” Drew said and they laughed. For Jake, it was a minor breakthrough, the first attempt at humor he had seen by his client.
“I guess it does. Where would you like to start?”
He shrugged and said, “I don’t care. You’re the teacher.”
“Okay. Let’s start with math.”
Drew frowned and Jake mumbled, “Not my favorite either.”