A Time for Mercy

by John Grisham

  “I can arrest him anyway, you know?”

  “Don’t do that. Besides, you can’t convict if I don’t testify. Just tell the Kofers to leave me alone. No more phone calls, no more threats, no more intimidation. If they as much as frown at me, then I’ll file an affidavit for this and press charges. Let’s keep it hanging over their heads. Okay?”

  Ozzie shrugged. No sense arguing with Jake. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is. And tell the family that I carry guns and have permits. They won’t catch me out again like that, but if they get too close they’ll pay.”

  “Come on, Jake,” Carla mumbled.

  * * *

  —

  FOR HIS THIRD and final night, he slept alone. Carla was tired of the backbreaking foldaway, and Jake convinced her to go fetch their daughter and have a quiet night at home. They called at nine and said goodnight.

  But the sleeping pills didn’t work, nor did the pain relievers. He asked a nurse for something stronger but she said he’d had enough. The second sleeping pill backfired and at 2:00 a.m. he was wide awake. The physical shock was wearing off and the swelling was decreasing, but he would be stiff, fragile, and racked with pain for a long time. His bones and muscles, though, would heal. He wasn’t so sure about the fear, the horror of being so violated. One moment he was his usual self, fit and busy with his mind on pressing matters; the next moment he was on his back, stunned, bleeding, and taking blow after blow to the face while getting mauled. Forty-eight hours later, it still seemed surreal. He’d had the same nightmare twice, a horrific recall of seeing the hate-filled face of the man on top of him pounding away. He could still feel the hard asphalt under his head, blow after blow.

  He thought of Josie again and wondered how any human could tolerate the reality of constant physical danger. Jake was six feet tall, weighed 180, and if he’d had the chance he could have traded a few punches before going down. Josie weighed all of 120 and didn’t stand a chance against a brute like Kofer. And imagine the horror the kids endured hearing their mother getting knocked around, again.

  34

  When Dr. McKee arrived early on his rounds, Jake was standing in the center of his room with his hands raised halfway above his head. His gown was lying across his bed and he wore a T-shirt and bulky sweatpants, the largest pair Carla could find. And he was wearing running shoes, as if ready for a morning jog.

  “What are you doing?” McKee asked.

  “Stretching. I’m leaving. Sign the papers.”

  “Sit down, Jake.”

  He backed onto the bed and sat on the edge. The doctor gently unwrapped the gauze around his head, probed his stitches, and said, “We’ll get these out in a week or so. Not much else to do with your nose but let it heal. It reset nicely and won’t have much of a bend to it.”

  “I really don’t want a crooked nose, Doc.”

  “You’ll have more of a rugged look,” McKee replied like a smart-ass as he pulled off the last of the gauze. “How are your ribs?”

  “Still there.”

  “Stand up and drop your pants.” Jake did so and gritted his teeth as the doctor examined, quite delicately, his testicles. “Still growing,” he mumbled.

  “When can I have sex?”

  “Wait till you get home.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Coupla years maybe. I’ll release you, Jake, but you must take it easy. This will not be a quick recovery.”

  “Take it easy? What else can I do? I can barely walk with these things.”

  Carla eased into the room as Jake was pulling up his sweatpants. “I’m outta here,” he said proudly.

  “Take him home,” McKee said to her. “But he stays in bed for the next three days, and I mean it. No physical activity at all. And we’re cutting back on the Vicodin. That stuff’s addictive. I want to see you Monday.”

  He left and Carla handed Jake a newspaper, the Times from the day before. A bold headline announced: “BRIGANCE ATTACKED, HOSPITALIZED.”

  “Front page again,” she said. “Just where you want to be.”

  Jake sat on the edge of the bed and read Dumas Lee’s sensational account of the beating. No suspects had been identified. No comments from the victim or his family or anyone in his office. Ozzie said only that it was still under investigation. There was a stock photo of Jake entering the courthouse during the Hailey trial.

  A nurse brought some paperwork and a bottle of Vicodin. “Only two a day for the next five days, and then that’s it,” she said as she gave the bottle to Carla. She left and returned with a fruit shake and a straw, his usual breakfast. An hour later an orderly pushed a wheelchair through the door and asked Jake to have a seat. He declined, said he wanted to walk out. The orderly said no, hospital procedure required all patients to leave in a chair. What if a patient fell and hurt himself again? He’d probably sue, you know? Especially a lawyer.

  “Just sit, Jake,” Carla snapped. She handed him a cap and his sunglasses and said, “I’ll get the car.” As the orderly pushed him out of the room and along the hallway, Jake said goodbye to the nurses and thanked them for their help. He rode the elevator down and was at the front entrance when he spotted Dumas Lee lurking near the door with a camera. Dumas approached him with a smile and said, “Hello, Jake, got time for a comment?”

  Jake kept his cool and said, “Dumas, if you take a photo of me right now I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Dumas didn’t touch his camera but asked, “Any idea who did it, Jake?”

  “Did what?”

  “Attack you.”

  “Oh that. No, no idea and no comment. Get lost, Dumas.”

  “You think it’s related to the Kofer case?”

  “No comment. Get lost. And don’t touch that camera.”

  A security guard appeared from nowhere and walked between Jake and the reporter. The wheelchair was rolled through the wide front doors and Carla was waiting at the curb. She and the orderly eased Jake into the front seat, closed the door, and as they drove away Jake flipped Dumas the bird.

  “Was that really necessary?” Carla asked.

  Jake did not reply. She said, “Look, I know you’re in a lot of pain, but you’re being rude to people and I don’t like it. We’re about to be cooped up in the house together and you’re going to be nice to me. And to Hanna.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “Me. The boss. Just chill out and be nice.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Jake said as he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I’m not sure you’re cut out to be a nurse.”

  “I am most certainly not.”

  “Just keep the bedpan warm and the pain pills coming and I’ll be super nice.” They rode in silence as they approached the square. “Who’s at the house?” he asked.

  “Your parents are there with Hanna. No one else.”

  “Is she ready for this?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror this morning. My little girl will be horrified when she sees her father. Purple, puffy eyes. Cuts and bruises. A nose the size of a potato.”

  “Just keep your pants on.”

  Jake started laughing and felt like crying at the same time as his ribs screamed. When he managed to stop, he said, “Most nurses have great compassion. I’m not feeling it here.”

  “I’m not a nurse. I’m the boss and you’ll do what I say.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She parked in the drive and helped him get out. As he waddled across the patio, the rear door opened and Hanna ran out. He wanted to grab her and squeeze her and whirl her around, but he bent low for a peck on the cheek. She had been warned and didn’t try to hug him.

  “How’s my girl?” he asked.

  “Great, Daddy. How
are you?”

  “Much better. In a week I’ll be as good as new.”

  She took his hand and led him inside where his parents were waiting in the kitchen. He was already exhausted and lowered himself into a chair at the breakfast nook, where the small table was covered with cakes, pies, platters of cookies, and flowers of all varieties. Hanna pulled a chair close to him and held his hand. He chatted with his parents for a few minutes as Carla poured coffee.

  Hanna said, “Are you going to take off those sunglasses?”

  “No, not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “But how can you see in here?”

  “I can see your beautiful face just fine and that’s all that matters.”

  “Those stitches are gross. How many do you have? Tim Bostick cut his arm last year and got eleven stitches. He was so proud.”

  “Well, I’ve got forty-one, so I beat him.”

  “Mom says you lost two teeth. Let me see.”

  Carla scolded, “Hanna, that’s enough. I said we’re not going to talk about this stuff.”

  * * *

  —

  JUDGE NOOSE WAS up in Tyler County, in the courthouse at Gretna, going through another dreary Civil Docket call, staring at a list of active cases that no judge anywhere would want to preside over. The plaintiffs’ lawyers were half-heartedly pushing for trials while the defense lawyers were using their standard delay tactics. He called for recess and retired to his chambers, where Lowell Dyer was waiting with a copy of The Ford County Times.

  Noose took off his robe and poured a cup of stale coffee. He read the article and asked, “Have you talked to Jake?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “No. I’ll call him this afternoon. I’ve spoken to his wife, and I chatted with his law clerk, Portia Lang, at his office. Any idea who’s behind it?”

  “I talked to Ozzie. He swore me to secrecy, said it’s some of the Kofers, but Jake refuses to press charges.”

  “Sounds like Jake.”

  “Me, I’d want the death penalty.”

  “But you’re a prosecutor. What does this do to venue?”

  “You’re asking me? You’re the judge.”

  “I know, and I’m trying to decide. I think Jake has a point. My sources in Clanton tell me it’s a hot topic and picking a jury might get complicated. Why run the risk on appeal? Does it really matter to the State where we have the trial?”

  “I don’t know. Where would you move it?”

  “Well, I’d certainly keep it in the Twenty-second. You could pick the same jury in the other four counties. But Ford County worries me.”

  “Bring it here.”

  Noose laughed and said, “What a surprise. You’d like it in your own backyard, wouldn’t you?”

  Dyer thought about this and took a sip of coffee. “What about the Kofers? They’ll be upset if you move it.”

  “They’re not in charge, are they? And they’re gonna be upset by everything that happens. I gotta tell you, Lowell, I’m really bothered by what happened to Jake. I forced the case on him and now he’s been beaten to within an inch of his life. If we tolerate this, then the whole system starts to break down.”

  With Ford and Tyler out of the running, that left Polk, Milburn, and Van Buren counties. The last place Dyer wanted to try a big case was in the old courthouse in Chester, Noose’s home. He had a hunch, though, that that was where it was headed.

  He said, “Jake will be on the sidelines for a while, Judge. You think he’ll ask for more time, want a continuance? The trial is seven weeks away.”

  “I’ll ask him this afternoon. Will you object if he asks for more time?”

  “No, not under these circumstances. But the trial will not be that complicated. I mean, there’s no question about who pulled the trigger. The only sticky part is the insanity issue. If that’s where Jake is headed I need to know soon so I can send the boy back to Whitfield for an evaluation. Jake needs to make a decision.”

  “Agreed. I’ll bring it up.”

  “Just curious about something, Judge. How did Jake convince the jury that Hailey was insane?”

  “I don’t think he did. Hailey wasn’t insane, not under our definition. He carefully planned those killings and knew exactly what he was doing. It was nothing but retribution, plain and simple. Jake won by convincing the jurors that they would have done what Hailey did if given the chance. It was masterful.”

  “He may have trouble doing it this time.”

  “Indeed. Every case is different.”

  * * *

  —

  AFTER TWO HOURS at home, Jake was bored. Carla pulled the shades in the living room, unplugged the phone, closed the door, and ordered him to rest. He had a stack of pink sheets, as they were commonly known—advance copies of the state supreme court rulings that every lawyer claimed to dutifully read immediately upon publication—but his eyes wouldn’t focus and his head ached. Everything ached, and the Vicodin was proving less effective. He napped periodically but it wasn’t the deep sleep he needed. When his nurse peeked in to check on him, he demanded the right to go to the den to watch television. She reluctantly agreed and he changed sofas. When Hanna passed through and saw his face without the sunglasses, she bent low for a better look and started crying.

  Soon he was starving and insisted on a bowl of ice cream for lunch. Hanna shared one with him, and as they were watching a western the doorbell rang. Carla took care of it and reported that it was a neighbor, one they barely knew and rarely saw, who wanted to say hello to Jake.

  A lot of people wanted to stop by but Jake was adamant. The swelling around his eyes would last for days and the colors would go from purple to black and blue. He had seen this in football locker rooms and he had seen it several times with clients charged in honky-tonk brawls. A depressing range of dark and ominous colors was creeping through his face, and the show would go on for a couple of weeks.

  Once Hanna was over the shock, she cuddled with her father under his quilt and they watched television for hours.

  * * *

  —

  AFTER MUCH DISCUSSION, it was finally decided, by Ozzie, that the meeting would best be handled by two white guys. He sent Moss Junior and Marshall Prather, Stuart’s closest friend in uniform. They called ahead, and Earl Kofer was waiting for them outside under the sourwood tree late on Thursday afternoon. After each lit a cigarette, Earl said, “So what’s up?”

  “Cecil,” Moss Junior said. “Jake identified him. Pretty stupid move, Earl, and it complicates matters for you and the family.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Brigance ain’t the brightest guy in town so obviously he’s mistaken.”

  Prather smiled and looked away. Moss Junior would do the talking and continued, “Okay. Whatever you say. Aggravated assault carries twenty years in prison, not sure if they can make it stick, but hell, even simple assault can get the boy a year in the county jail. Judge Noose is really pissed about this and would probably throw the book.”

  “Throw it at who?”

  “Right. Jake’s not pressin’ charges, not now anyway, but he can always do it later. Statute of limitations is somethin’ like five years. Plus he can sue in a civil court, Judge Noose again, and collect money to cover his medical expenses, money I’m sure Cecil doesn’t have.”

  “Am I supposed to be gettin’ nervous?”

  “I would be. If Jake decides to pull the trigger then Cecil is off to jail and bankrupt to boot. It ain’t smart to fool with a lawyer like that, Earl.”

  “You boys want a drink?”

  “We’re on duty. Please pass this along to your son, both sons, cousins, all the clan. No more mischief, Earl, you got it?”

  “I got nothin’ for you.”

  They turned and walked back to their patrol car.

  35

  For l
unch Friday, Jake managed to choke down a bowl of mushy pea soup. Chewing was still uncomfortable and solid foods were out of the question. Afterward, Carla and Hanna left to spend the afternoon shopping and doing girl stuff, and as soon as they disappeared Jake called Portia and asked her to stop by. Immediately. She arrived forty-five minutes later and, once over the shock of his battered face, followed him to the dining room where they spread out a stack of files she had brought. They covered his current cases and upcoming court appearances and made plans to deal with his brief absence.

  “Anything new?” he asked, almost afraid of her answer.

  “Not really, boss. The phone’s been ringing but it’s primarily friends and old law school buddies checking on you. You have some nice friends, Jake. A lot of them want to drive over and say hello.”

  “Not now. They can wait. Most of them just want to see how bad I got my butt kicked.”

  “Pretty bad, I’d say.”

  “Yes, it wasn’t much of a fight.”

  “And you’re not pressing charges?”

  “No. That decision has been made.”

  “Why not? I mean, I’ve talked to Lucien and Harry Rex, at length, and we agree that you should go after these thugs, teach ’em a lesson.”

  “Look, Portia, that decision is behind me. I don’t have the mental or physical energy to pursue Cecil Kofer right now. Have you been to the jail?”

  “No, not this week.”

  “I’d like for you to stop by every other day and spend an hour with Drew. He likes you and needs a friend. Don’t talk about the case, just play cards and games with him and encourage him to do his homework. Carla says he’s studying more.”

  “Will do. When are you coming back to the office?”

  “Real soon, I hope. My nurse is a Nazi and my doctor’s a hard-ass, but I think he’ll release me next week when he takes out the stitches. I had a long chat with Noose yesterday and he’s pushing me to make a decision on insanity. I’m inclined to notify him and Dyer that we plan to go with M’Naghten and argue our client did not appreciate the nature of his actions. Your thoughts?”