“I’m very busy.”
   “And I wanted to discuss the Hailey case.”
   “Call Marsharfsky.”
   “I was looking forward to the battle, especially with you on the other side. You’re a worthy adversary, Jake.”
   “I’m honored.”
   “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like you, and I haven’t for a long time.”
   “Since Lester Hailey.”
   “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You won, but you cheated.”
   “I won, that’s all that counts. And I didn’t cheat. You got caught with your pants down.”
   “You cheated and Noose let you by with it.”
   “Whatever. I don’t like you either.”
   “Good. That makes me feel better. What do you know about Marsharfsky?”
   “Is that the reason you’re here?”
   “Could be.”
   “I’ve never met the man, but if he was my father I wouldn’t tell you anything. What else do you want?”
   “Surely you’ve talked to him.”
   “We had some words on the phone. Don’t tell me you’re worried about him.”
   “No. Just curious. He’s got a good reputation.”
   “Yes, he does. You didn’t come here to discuss his reputation.”
   “No, not really. I wanted to talk about the case.”
   “What about it?”
   “Chances for an acquittal, possible defenses, was he really insane. Things like that.”
   “I thought you guaranteed a conviction. In front of the cameras, remember? Just after the indictment. One of your press conferences.”
   “Do you miss the cameras already, Jake?”
   “Relax, Rufus. I’m out of the game. The cameras are all yours, at least yours and Marsharfsky’s, and Walter Sullivan’s. Go get them, tiger. If I’ve stolen some of your spotlight, then I’m deeply sorry. I know how it hurts you.”
   “Apology accepted. Has Marsharfsky been to town?”
   “I don’t know.”
   “He promised a press conference this week.”
   “And you came here to talk about his press conference, right?”
   “No, I wanted to discuss Hailey, but obviously you’re too busy.”
   “That’s right. Plus I have nothing to discuss with you, Mr. Governor.”
   “I resent that.”
   “Why? You know it’s true. You’d prosecute your mother for a couple of headlines.”
   Buckley stood and began pacing back and forth behind his chair. “I wish you were still on this case, Brigance,” he said, the volume increasing.
   “So do I.”
   “I’d teach you a few things about prosecuting murderers. I really wanted to clean your plow.”
   “You haven’t been too successful in the past.”
   “That’s why I wanted you on this one, Brigance. I wanted you so bad.” His face had returned to the deep red that was so familiar.
   “There’ll be others, Governor.”
   “Don’t call me that,” he shouted.
   “It’s true, isn’t it, Governor. That’s why you chase the cameras so hard. Everybody knows it. There goes old Rufus, chasing cameras, running for governor. Sure it’s true.”
   “I’m doing my job. Prosecuting thugs.”
   “Carl Lee Hailey’s no thug.”
   “Watch me burn him.”
   “It won’t be’that easy.”
   “Watch me.”
   “It takes twelve out of twelve.”
   “No problem.”
   “Just like your grand jury?”
   Buckley froze in his tracks. He squinted his eyes and frowned at Jake. Three huge wrinkles creased neatly across his mammoth forehead. “What do you know about the grand jury?”
   “As much as you do. One vote less and you’d have sucked eggs.”
   “That’s not true!”
   “Come on, Governor. You’re not talking to a reporter. I know exactly what happened. Knew it within hours.”
   “I’ll tell Noose.”
   “And I’ll tell the newspapers. That’ll look good before the trial.”
   “You wouldn’t dare.”
   “Not now. I have no reason to. I’ve been fired, remember? That’s the reason you’re here, right, Rufus? To remind me that I’m no longer on the case, t]ut you are. To rub a little salt in the wounds. Okay, you’ve done it. Now I wish you’d leave. Go check on the grand jury. Or maybe there’s a reporter hanging around the courthouse. Just leave.”
   “Gladly. I’m sorry I bothered.”
   “Me too.”
   Buckley opened the door leading into the hall, then stopped. “I lied, Jake. I’m tickled to death you’re not on this case.”
   “I know you lied. But don’t count me out.”
   “What does that mean?”
   “Good day, Rufus.”
   The Ford County grand jury had been busy, and by Thursday of the second week of the term Jake had been retained by two freshly indicted defendants. One was a black who cut another black at Massey’s Tonk back in April. Jake enjoyed the stabbings because acquittals were possible; just get an all-white jury full of rednecks who could care less if all niggers stabbed each other. They were just having a little fun down at the tonk, things got out of hand, one got stabbed, but didn’t die. No harm, no conviction. It was similar to the strategy Jake had learned with Lester Hailey. The new client promised fifteen hundred dollars, but first had to post bond.
   The other new indictee was a white kid caught driving a stolen pickup. It was the third time he’d been caught in a stolen pickup, and there was no way to keep him out of Parchman for seven years.
   Both were in jail, and their presence there afforded Jake the opportunity, and duty, to visit them and check with Ozzie. Late Thursday afternoon he found the sheriff in his office.
   “Are you busy?” Jake asked. A hundred pounds of paper was strewn over the desk and onto the floor.
   “No, just paperwork. Any more burnin’ crosses?”
   “No, thank God. One’s enough.”
   “I haven’t seen your friend from Memphis.”
   “That’s strange,” said Jake. “I thought he would be here by now. Have you talked to Carl Lee?”
   “Every day. He’s gettin’ nervous. The lawyer ain’t even called, Jake.”
   “Good. Let him sweat. I don’t feel sorry for him.”
   “You think he made a mistake?”
   “I know he did. I know these rednecks around here, Ozzie, and I know how they act when you put them on a jury. They won’t be impressed by some slick-talking foreigner. You agree?”
   “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. I don’t doubt what you say, Jake. I’ve seen you work.”
   “He’s not even licensed to practice in Mississippi. Judge Noose is laying for him. He hates out-of-state lawyers.”
   “You’re kiddin’?”
   “Nope. I talked to him yesterday.”
   Ozzie looked disturbed and eyed Jake carefully. “You wanna see him?”
   “Who?”
   “Carl Lee.”
   “No! I have no reason to see him.” Jake glanced in his briefcase. “I need to see Leroy Glass, aggravated assault.”
   “You got Leroy?”
   “Yeah. His folks came in this morning.”
   “Follow me.”
   Jake waited in the Intoxilyzer room while a trusty went for the new client. Leroy wore the standard Ford County jail issue of glow-in-the-dark orange coveralls. Pink sponge rollers shot in all directions from his scalp, and two long greasy cornrows clung to the back of his neck. His black leathery feet were protected from the dirty linoleum by a pair of lime green terrycloth slides. No socks. A wicked, aged scar started next to his right ear lobe, made the ridge over his cheekbone, and connected neatly with his right nostril. It proved beyond a reasonable doubt that Leroy was no stranger to stabbings and carvings. He wore it like a medal. He smoked Kools.
   “Leroy, I’m Jake Brigance,” the lawyer introduced him—self and pointed to a folding chair next to the Pepsi machine. “Your momma and brother hired me this morning.”
   “Good to know you, Mr. Jake.”
   A trusty waited in the hall by the door as Jake asked questions. He filled three pages of notes on Leroy Glass. Of primary interest, at least at this point, was money. How much did he have, and where could he find more. They would talk about the stabbing later. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, friends, anyone with a job who might be able to make a loan. Jake took phone numbers.
   “Who referred you to me?” Jake asked.
   “Saw you on TV, Mr. Jake. You and Carl Lee Hailey.”
   Jake was proud, but did not smile. Television was just part of his job. “You know Carl Lee?”
   “Yeah, know Lester too. You’s Lester’s lawyer, wasn’t you?”
   “Yes.”
   “Me and Carl Lee in the same cell. Moved me last night.”
   “You don’t say.”
   “Yeah. He don’t talk much. He said you’s a real good lawyer and all, but he found somebody else from Memphis.”
   “That’s right. What does he think of his new lawyer?”
   “I don’t know, Mr. Jake. He was fussin’ this mornin’ cause the new lawyer ain’t been to see him yet. He say you come to see him all the time and talk ‘bout the case, but the new lawyer, some funny name, ain’t even been down to meet him yet.”
   Jake concealed his delight with a grim face, but it was difficult. “I’ll tell you something if you promise you won’t tell Carl Lee.”
   “Okay.”
   “His new lawyer can’t come to see him.”
   “No! Why not?”
   “Because he doesn’t have a license to practice law in Mississippi. He’s a Tennessee lawyer. He’ll get thrown out of court if he comes down here by himself. I’m afraid Carl Lee’s made a big mistake.”
   “Why don’t you tell him?”
   “Because he’s already fired me. I can’t give him advice anymore.”
   “Somebody ought to.”
   “You just promised you won’t, okay?”
   “Okay. I won’t.”
   “Promise?”
   “I swear.”
   “Good. I gotta go. I’ll meet with the bondsman in the morning, and maybe we’ll have you out in a day or so. Not a word to Carl Lee, right?”
   “Right.”
   Tank Scales was leaning on the Saab in the parking lot when Jake left the jail. He stepped on a cigarette butt and pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “Two numbers. Top one’s for home, bottom for work. But don’t call at work unless you have to.”
   “Good work, Tank. Did you get them from Iris?”
   “Yeah. She didn’t want to. She stopped by the tonk last night and I got her drunk.”
   “I owe you one.”
   “I’ll get it, sooner or later.”
   It was dark, almost eight o’clock. Dinner was cold, but that was not unusual. That’s why he had bought her a microwave. She was accustomed to the hours and the warmed-over dinners,and she did not complain. They would eat when he came home, whether it was six or ten.
   Jake drove from the jail to his office. He wouldn’t dare call Lester from home, not with Carla listening. He settled behind his desk and stared at the numbers Tank had located. Carl Lee had told him not to make this call. Why should he do it? Would it be solicitation? Unethical? Would it be unethical to call Lester and tell him that Carl Lee had fired him and hired another lawyer? No. And to answer Lester’s questions about the new lawyer? No. And to express concern? No. And to criticize the new lawyer? Probably not. Would it be unethical to encourage Lester to talk to his brother? No. And convince him to fire Marsharfsky? Probably so. And to rehire Jake? Yes, no doubt about it. That would be very unethical. What if he just called Lester and talked about Carl Lee and allowed the conversation to follow its own course.
   “Hello.”
   “Is there a Lester Hailey there?”
   “Yes. Who’s calling?” came the accented reply from the Swede.
   “Jake Brigance, from Mississippi.”
   “One moment.”
   Jake checked his watch. Eight-thirty. It was the same time in Chicago, wasn’t it?
   “Jake!”
   “Lester, how are you?”

   “Fine, Jake. Tired, but fine. How ‘bout you?”
   “Great. Listen, have you talked to Carl Lee this week?”
   “No. I left Friday, and I’ve been workin’ two shifts since Sunday. I ain’t had time for nothin’.”
   “You seen the newspapers?”
   “No. What’s happened?”
   “You won’t believe it, Lester.”
   “What is it, Jake?”
   “Carl Lee fired me and hired a big-shot lawyer from Memphis.”
   “What! You’re kiddin’? When?”
   “Last Friday. I guess after you left. He didn’t bother to tell me. I read it in the Memphis paper Saturday morning.”
   “He’s crazy. Why’d he do it, Jake? Who’d he hire?”
   “You know a guy named Cat Bruster from Memphis?”
   “Of course.”
   “It’s his lawyer. Cat’s paying for it. He drove down from Memphis last Friday and saw Carl Lee at the jail. Next morning I saw my picture in the paper and read where I’ve been fired.”
   “Who’s the lawyer?”
   “Bo Marsharfsky.”
   “He any good?”
   “He’s a crook. He defends all the pimps and drug dealers in Memphis.”
   “Sounds like a Polack.”
   “He is. I think he’s from Chicago.”
   “Yeah, bunch of Polacks up here. Does he talk like these?”
   “Like he’s got a mouthful of hot grease. He’ll go over big in Ford County.”
   “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Carl Lee never was too bright. I always had to think for him. Stupid, stupid.”
   “Yeah, he’s made a mistake, Lester. You know what a murder trial is like because you’ve been there. You realize how important that jury is when they leave the courtroom and go to the jury room. Your life is in their hands. Twelve local people back there fighting and arguing over your case, your life. The jury’s the most important part. That’s why you gotta be able to talk to the jury.”
   “That’s right, Jake. You can do it too.”
   “I’m sure Marsharfsky can do it in Memphis, but not Ford County. Not jn rural Mississippi. These people won’t trust him.”
   “You’re right, Jake. I can’t believe he did it. He’s screwed up again.”
   “He did it, Lester, and I’m worried about him.”
   “Have you talked to him?”
   “Last Saturday, after I saw the newspaper, I went straight to the jail. I asked him why, and he could not answer. He felt bad about it. I haven’t talked to him since then. But neither has Marsharfsky. He hasn’t found Clanton yet, and I understand Carl Lee’s upset. As far as I can tell, nothing has been done on the case this week.”
   “Has Ozzie talked to him?”
   “Yeah, but you know Ozzie. He’s not gonna say too much. He knows Bruster’s a crook and Marsharfsky’s a crook, but he won’t lean on Carl Lee.”
   “Man oh man. I can’t believe it. He’s stupid if he thinks those rednecks’ll listen to some shyster from Memphis. Hell, Jake, they don’t trust the lawyers from Tyler County and it’s next door. Man oh man.”
   Jake smiled at the receiver. So far, nothing unethical.
   “What should I do, Jake?”
   “I don’t know, Lester. He needs some help, and you’re the only one he’ll listen to. You know how headstrong he is.”
   “I guess I’d better call him.”
   No, thought Jake, it would be easier for Carl Lee to say no over the phone. Confrontation was needed between the brothers. A drive from Chicago would make an impact.
   “I don’t think you’ll get very far over the phone. His mind’s made up. Only you can change it, and you can’t do it over the phone.”
   Lester paused a few seconds while Jake waited anxiously. “What’s today?”, “Thursday, June 6.”
   “Let’s see,” Lester mumbled. “I’m ten hours away. I work the four-to-midnight shift tomorrow and again Sunday. I could leave here midnight tomorrow, and be in Clanton by ten Saturday mornin’. Then I could leave early Sunday mornin’ and be back by four. That’s a lot of drivin’, but I can handle it.”
   “It’s very important, Lester. I think it’s worth the trip.”
   “Where will you be Saturday, Jake?”
   “Here at the office.”
   “Okay. I’ll go to the jail, and if I need you I’ll call the office.”
   “Sounds good. One other thing, Lester. Carl Lee told me not to call you. Don’t mention it.”
   “What’ll I tell him?”
   “Tell him you called Iris, and she gave you the story.”
   “Iris who?”
   “Come on, Lester. It’s been common knowledge around here for years. Everybody knows it but her husband, and he’ll find out.”
   “I hope not. We’ll have us another murder. You’ll have another client.”
   “Please. I can’t keep the ones I’ve got. Call me Saturday.”
   He ate from the microwave at ten-thirty. Hanna was asleep. They talked about Leroy Glass and the white kid in the stolen pickup. About Carl Lee, but not about Lester. She felt better, safer now that Carl Lee Hailey was behind them. No more calls. No more burning crosses. No more stares at church. There would be other cases, she promised. He said little; just ate and smiled.
   Just before the courthouse closed on Friday, Jake called the clerk to see if a trial was in progress. No, she said, Noose was gone. Buckley, Musgrove, everybody was gone. The courtroom was deserted. Secure with that knowledge, Jake eased across the street, through the rear door of the courthouse, and down the hall to the clerk’s office. He flirted with the clerks and secretaries while he located Carl Lee’s file. He held his breath as he flipped through the pages. Good! Just as he had hoped. Nothing had been added to the file all week, with the exception of his motion to withdraw as counsel. Marsharfsky and his local counsel had not touched the file. Nothing had been done. He flirted some more and eased back to his office.
   Leroy Glass was still in jail. His bond was ten thousand dollars, and his family couldn’t raise the thousand-dollar premium to pay a bondsman. So he continued to share the cell with Carl Lee. Jake had a friend who was a bondsman and who took care of Jake’s clients. If a client needed out of jail, and there was little danger of him disappearing once he was sprung, the bond would be written. Terms were available for Jake’s clients. Say, five percent down and so much a month. If Jake wanted Leroy Glass out of jail, the bond could be written anytime. But Jake needed him in jail.
   “Look, Leroy, I’m sorry. I’m working with the bondsman,” Jake explained to his client in the Intoxilyzer room.
   “But you said I’d be out by now.”
   “Your folks don’t have the money, Leroy. I can’t pay it myself. We’ll get you out, but it’ll take a few days. I want you out so you can go to work, make some money and pay me.”
   Leroy seemed satisfied. “Okay, Mr. Jake, just do what you can.”
   “Food’s pretty good here, isn’t it?” Jake asked with a smile.
   “It ain’t bad. Better at home.”
   “We’ll get you out,” Jake promised.
   “How’s the nigger I stabbed?”
   “Not sure. Ozzie said he’s still in the hospital. Moss Thrum says he’s been released. Who knows. I don’t think he’s hurt too bad.”
   “Who was the woman?” Jake asked, unable to remember the details.
   “Willie’s woman.”
   “Willie who?”
   “Willie Hoyt.”
   Jake thought for a second and tried to recall the indictment. “That’s not the man you stabbed.”
   “Naw, he’s Curtis Sprawling.”
   “You mean, y’all were fighting over another man’s woman?”
   “That’s right.”
   “Where was Willie?”
   “He was fightin’ too.”
   “Who was he fighting?”
   “Some other dude.”
   “You mean the four of you were fighting over Willie’s woman?”
   “Yeah, you got it.”
   “What caused the fight?”
   “Her husband was outta town.”
   “She’s married?”
   “That’s right.”
   “What’s her husband’s name?”
   “Johnny Sands. When he’s outta town, there’s normally a fight.”
   “Why is that?”
   ‘“Cause she ain’t got no kids, can’t have any, and she likes to have company. Know what I mean? When he leaves, everybody knows it. If she shows up at a tonk, look out for a fight.”
   What a trial, thought Jake. “But I thought you said she showed up with Willie Hoyt?”
   “That’s right. But that don’t mean nothin’ because everybody at the tonk starts easin’ up on her, buyin’ drinks, wantin’ to dance. You can’t help it.”
   “Some woman, huh?”
   “Oh, Mr. Jake, she looks so good. You oughtta see her.”
   “I will. On the witness stand.”
   Leroy gazed at the wall, smiling, dreaming, lusting after the wife of Johnny Sands. Never mind that he stabbed a man and could get twenty years. He had proven, in hand-to-hand combat, that he was worthy.
   “Listen, Leroy, you haven’t talked to Carl Lee, have you?”
   “Sure. I’m still in his cell. We talk all the time. Ain’t much else to do.”
   “You haven’t told him what we discussed yesterday?”
   “Oh no. I told you I wouldn’t.”
   “Good.”
   “But I’ll tell you this, Mr. Jake, he’s some kinda worried. He ain’t heard from his new lawyer. He’s bad upset. I had to bite my tongue to keep from tellin’ him, but I didn’t. I did tell him you were my lawyer.”
   “That’s okay.”
   “He said you was good ‘bout comin’ by the jail and talkin’ ‘bout the case and all. He said I hired a good lawyer.”
   “Not good enough for him, though.”

   “I think Carl Lee’s confused. He ain’t sure who to trust or anything. He’s a good dude.”
   “Well, don’t be telling him what we discussed, right? It’s confidential.”
   “Right. But somebody needs to.”
   “He didn’t consult with me or anyone else before he fired me and hired his new lawyer. He’s a grown man. He made the decision. It’s his baby.” Jake paused and moved closer to Leroy. He lowered his voice. “And I’ll tell you something else, but you can’t tell it. I checked his court file thirty minutes ago. His new lawyer hasn’t touched the case all week. Not one thing has been filed. Nothing.”
   Leroy frowned and shook his head. “Man oh man.”
   His lawyer continued. “These big shots operate like that. Talk a lot, blow a lot of smoke, fly by the seat of their pants. Take more cases than they can handle, and end up losing more than they win. I know them. I watch them all the time. Most are overrated.”
   “Is that why he ain’t been to see Carl Lee?”
   “Sure. He’s too busy. Plus he’s got plenty of other big cases. He don’t care about Carl Lee.”
   “That’s bad. Carl Lee deserves better.”
   “It was his choice. He’ll have to live with it.”
   “You think he’ll be convicted, Mr. Jake?”
   “No doubt about it. He’s looking at the gas chamber.
   He’s hired a bogus big-shot lawyer who doesn’t have time to work on his case, doesn’t even have the time to talk to him in jail.”
   “Are you sayin’ you could get him off?”
   Jake relaxed and crossed his legs. “No, I never make that promise, and I won’t make it for your trial. A lawyer is stupid if he promises an acquittal. Too many things can go wrong at trial.”
   “Carl Lee said his lawyer promised a not guilty in the newspaper.”
   “He’s a fool.”
   “Where you been?” Carl Lee asked his cellmate as the jailer locked the door.
   “Talkin’ to my lawyer.”
   “Jake?”
   “Yeah.”
   Leroy sat on his bunk directly across the cell from Carl Lee, who was rereading a newspaper. He folded the paper and laid it under his bunk.
   “You look worried,” Carl Lee said. “Bad news about your case?”
   “Naw. Just can’t make my bail. Jake says it’ll be a few days.”
   “Jake talk about me?”
   “Naw. Not much.”
   “Not much? What’d he say?”
   “Just ask how you was.”
   “That all?”
   “Yeah.”
   “He’s not mad at me?”
   “Naw. He might be worried about you, but I don’t think he’s mad.”
   “Why’s he worried about me?”
   “I don’t know,” Leroy answered as he stretched out on his bunk, folding his hands behind his head.
   “Come on, Leroy. You know somethin’ you ain’t tellin’. What’d Jake say about me?”
   “Jake said I can’t tell you what we talk about. He says it’s confidential. You wouldn’t want your lawyer repeatin’ what y’all talk about, would you?”
   “I ain’t seen my lawyer.”
   “You had a good lawyer till you fired him.”
   “I gotta good one now.”
   –”How do you know? You ain’t ever met him. He’s too busy to come talk to you, and if he’s that busy, he ain’t got time to work on your case.”
   “How do you know about him?”
   “I asked Jake.”
   “Yeah. What’d he say?”
   Leroy was silent.
   “I wanna know what he said,” demanded Carl Lee as he sat on the edge of Leroy’s bunk. He glared at his smaller, weaker cellmate. Leroy decided he was frightened and now had a good excuse to tell Carl Lee. Either talk or get slapped.
   “He’s a crook,” Leroy said. “He’s a big-shot crook who’ll sell you out. He don’t care about you or your case. He just wants the publicity. He hasn’t touched your case all week. Jake knows, he checked in the courthouse this afternoon. Not a sign of Mr. Big Shot. He’s too busy to leave Memphis and check on you. He’s got too many other crooked clients in Memphis, includin’ your friend Mr. Bruster.”
   “You’re crazy, Leroy.”
   “Okay, I’m crazy. Wait and see who pleads insaneness. Wait and see how hard he works on your case.”
   “What makes you such an expert?”
   “You asked me and I’m tellin’ you.”
   Carl Lee walked to the door and grabbed the bars, gripping them tightly with his huge hands. The cell had shrunk in three weeks, and the smaller it became the harder it was for him to think, to reason, to plan, to react. He could not concentrate in jail. He knew only what was told to him and had no one to trust. Gwen was irrational. Ozzie was noncommittal. Lester was in Chicago. There was no other person he trusted except Jake, and for some reason he had found a new lawyer. Money, that was the reason. Nineteen hundred dollars cash, paid by the biggest pimp and dope dealer in Memphis, whose lawyer specialized in defending pimps and dope dealers, and all kinds of cutthroats and hoodlums. Did Marsharfsky represent decent people? What would the jury think when they watched Carl Lee sit at the defense table next to Marsharfsky? He was guilty, of course. Why else would he hire a famous, big-city crook like Marsharfsky?
   “You know what them rednecks on the jury’H say when they see Marsharfsky?” Leroy asked.
   “What?”
   “They’re gonna think this poor nigger is guilty, and he’s sold his soul to hire the biggest crook in Memphis to tell us he ain’t guilty.”
   Carl Lee mumbled something through the bars.
   “They’re gonna fry you, Carl Lee.”
   Moss Junior Tatum was on duty at six-thirty Saturday morning when the phone rang in Ozzie’s office. It was the sheriff.
   “What’re you doing awake?” asked Moss.
   “I’m not sure I’m awake,” answered the sheriff. “Listen, Moss, do you remember an old black preacher named Street, Reverend Isaiah Street?”
   “Not really.”
   “Yeah you do. He preached for fifty years at Springdale Church, north of town. First member of the NAACP in Ford County. He taught all the blacks around here how to march and boycott back in the sixties.”
   “Yeah, now I remember. Didn’t the Klan catch him once?”
   “Yeah, they beat him and burned his house, but nothin’ serious. Summer of ‘65.”
   “I thought he died a few years back.”
   “Naw, he’s been half dead for ten years, but he still moves a little. He called me at five-thirty and talked for an hour. Reminded me of all the political favors I owe him.”
   “What’s he want?”
   “He’ll be there at seven to see Carl Lee. Why, I don’t know. But treat him nice. Put them in my office and let them talk. I’ll be in later.”
   ouic, oneriii.
   In his heyday in the sixties, the Reverend Isaiah Street had been the moving force behind civil rights activity in Ford County. He walked with Martin Luther King in Memphis and Montgomery. He organized marches and protests in Clanton and Karaway and other towns in north Mississippi. In the summer of ‘64 he greeted students from the North and coordinated their efforts to register black voters. Some had lived in his home that memorable summer, and they still visited him from time to time. He was no radical. He was quiet, compassionate, intelligent, and had earned the respect of all blacks and most whites. His was a calm, cool voice in the midst of hatred and controversy. He unofficially officiated the great public school desegregation in ‘69, and Ford County saw little trouble.
   A stroke in ‘75 deadened the right side of his body but left his mind untouched. Now, at seventy-eight, he walked by himself, slowly and with a cane. Proud, dignified, erect as possible. He was ushered into the sheriffs office and seated. He,declined coffee, and Moss Junior left to get the defendant.
   “You awake, Carl Lee?” he whispered loudly, not wanting to wake the other prisoners, who would begin screaming for breakfast, medicine, lawyers, bondsmen, and girlfriends.
   Carl Lee sat up immediately. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much.”
   “You have a visitor. Come on.” Moss quietly unlocked the cell.
   Carl Lee had met the reverend years earlier when he addressed the last senior class at East High, the black school. Desegregation followed, and East became the junior high. He had not seen the reverend since the stroke.
   “Carl Lee, do you know Reverend Isaiah Street?” Moss asked properly.
   “Yes, we met years ago.”
   “Good, I’ll close the door and let y’all talk.”
   “How are you, sir?” Carl Lee asked. They sat next to each other on the couch.
   “Finej my son, and you?”
   “As good as possible.”
   “I’ve been in jail too, you know. Years ago. It’s a terri—ble place, but I guess it’s necessary. How are they treating you?”
   “Fine, just fine. Ozzie lets me do as I please.”
   “Yes, Ozzie. We’re very proud of him, aren’t we?”
   “Yes, sub. He’s a good man.” Carl Lee studied the frail, feeble old man with the cane. His body was weak and tired, but his mind was sharp, his voice strong.
   “We’re proud of you too, Carl Lee. I don’t condone violence, but at times it’s necessary too, I guess. You did a good deed, my son.”
   “Yes, suh,” answered Carl Lee, uncertain of the appropriate response.
   “I guess you wonder why I’m here.”
   Carl Lee nodded. The reverend tapped his cane on the floor.
   “I’m concerned about your acquittal. The black community is concerned. If you were white, you would most likely go to trial, and most likely be acquitted. The rape of a child is a horrible crime, and who’s to blame a father for rectifying the wrong? A white father, that is. A black father evokes the same sympathy among blacks, but there’s one problem: the jury will be white. So a black father and a white father would not have equal chances with the jury. Do you follow me?”
   “I think so.”
   “The jury is all important. Guilt versus innocence. Freedom versus prison. Life versus death. All to be determined by the jury. It’s a fragile system, this trusting of lives to twelve average, ordinary people who do not understand the law and are intimidated by the process.”
   “Yes, suh.”
   “Your acquittal by a white jury for the killings of two white men will do more for the black folk of Mississippi than any event since we integrated the schools. And it’s not just Mississippi; it’s black folk everywhere. Yours is a most famous case, and it’s being watched carefully by many people.”
   “I just did what I had to do.”
   “Precisely. You did what you thought was right. It was right; although it was brutal and ugly, it was right. And most folks, black and white, believe that. But will you be treated as though you were white? That’s the question.”
   “Ana 11 I’m convicted?”

   “Your conviction would be another slap at us; a symbol of deep-seated racism; of old prejudices, old hatreds. It would be a disaster. You must not be convicted.”
   “I’m doin’ all I can do.”
   “Are you? Let’s talk about your attorney, if we may.”
   Carl Lee nodded.
   “Have you met him?”
   “No.” Carl Lee lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. “Have you?”
   “Yes, I have.”
   “You have? When?”
   “In Memphis in 1968. 1 was with Dr. King. Marsharfsky was one of the attorneys representing the garbage workers on strike against the city. He asked Dr. King to leave Memphis, claimed he was agitating the whites and inciting the blacks, and that he was impeding the contract negotiations. He was arrogant and abusive. He cursed Dr. King-in private, of course. We thought he was selling out the workers and getting money under the table from the city. I think we were right.”
   Carl Lee breathed deeply and rubbed his temples.
   “I’ve followed his career,” the reverend continued. “He’s made a name for himself representing gangsters, thieves, and pimps. He gets some of them off, but they’re always guilty. When you see one of his clients, you know he’s guilty. That’s what worries me most about you. I’m afraid you’ll be considered guilty by association.”
   Carl Lee sunk lower, his elbows resting on his knees. “Who told you to come here?” he asked softly.
   “I had a talk with an old friend.”
   “Who?”
   “Just an old friend, my son. He’s concerned about you too. We’re all concerned about you.”
   “He’s the best lawyer in Memphis.”
   “This isn’t Memphis, is it?”
   “He’s an expert on criminal law.”
   “That could be because he’s a criminal.”
   Carl Lee stood abruptly and walked across the room, his back to the reverend.
   “He’s free. He’s not costin’ me a dime.”
   “His fee won’t seem important when you’re on death row, my son.”
   Moments passed and neither spoke. Finally, the reverend lowered his cane and struggled to his feet. “I’ve said enough. I’m leaving. Good luck, Carl Lee.”
   Carl Lee shook his hand. “I do appreciate your concern and I thank you for visitin’.”
   “My point is simply this, my son. Your case will be difficult enough to win. Don’t make it more difficult with a crook like Marsharfsky.”
   Lester left Chicago just before midnight Friday. He headed south alone, as usual. Earlier his wife went north to Green Bay for a weekend with her family. He liked Green Bay much less than she liked Mississippi, and neither cared to visit the other’s family. They were nice people, the Swedes, and they would treat him like family if he allowed it. But they were different, and it wasn’t just their whiteness. He grew up with whites in the South and knew them. He didn’t like them all and didn’t like most of their feelings toward him, but at least he knew them. But the Northern whites, especially the Swedes, were different. Their customs, speech, food, almost everything was foreign to him, and he would never feel comfortable with them.
   There would be a divorce, probably within a year: He was black, and his wife’s older cousin had married a black in the early seventies and received a lot of attention. Lester was a fad, and she was tired of him. Luckily, there were no kids. He suspected someone else. He had someone else too, and Iris had promised to marry him and move to Chicago once she ditched Henry.
   Both sides of Interstate 57 looked the same after midnight-scattered lights from the small, neat farms strewn over the countryside, and occasionally a big town like Champaign or Effingham. The north was where he lived and worked, but it wasn’t home. Home was where Momma was, in Mississippi, although he would never live there again. Too much ignorance and poverty. He didn’t mind the racism; it wasn’t as bad as it once was and he was accustomed to it. It would always be there, but gradually becoming less visible.
   i ne wmtes stui owned and controlled everything, and that in itself was not unbearable. It was not about to change. What he found intolerable was the ignorance and stark poverty of many of the blacks; the dilapidated, shotgun houses, the high infant mortality rate, the hopelessly unemployed, the unwed mothers and their unfed babies. It was depressing to the point of being intolerable, and intolerable to the point he fled Mississippi like thousands of others and migrated north in search of a job, any decent-paying job which could ease the pain of poverty.
   It was both pleasant and depressing to return to Mississippi. Pleasant in that he would see his family; depressing because he would see their poverty. There were bright spots. Carl Lee had a decent job, a clean house, and well-dressed kids. He was an exception, and now it was all in jeopardy because of two drunk, low-bred pieces of white trash. Blacks had an excuse for being worthless, but for whites in a white world, there were no excuses. They were dead, thank God, and he was proud of his big brother.
   Six hours out of Chicago the sun appeared as he crossed the river at Cairo. Two hours later he crossed it again at Memphis. He drove southeast into Mississippi, and an hour later circled the courthouse in Clanton. He’d been awake for twenty hours.
   “Carl Lee, you have a visitor,” Ozzie said through the iron bars in the door.
   “I’m not surprised. Who is it?”
   “Just follow me. I think you better use my office. This could take a while.”
   Jake loitered at his office waiting on the phone to ring. Ten o’clock. Lester should be in town, if he’s coming. Eleven. Jake riffled through some stale files and made notes for Ethel. Noon. He called Carla and lied about meeting a new client at one o’clock, so forget lunch. He would work in the yard later. One o’clock. He found an ancient case from Wyoming where a husband was acquitted after tracking down the man who raped his wife. In 1893. He copied the case, then threw it in the garbage. Two o’clock. Was Lester in town? He could go visit Leroy and snoop around the jail. No, that didn’t feel right. He napped on the couch in the big office.
   At two-fifteen the phone rang. Jake bolted upright and scrambled from the couch. His heart was pounding as he grabbed the phone. “Hello!”
   “Jake, this is Ozzie.”
   “Yeah, Ozzie, what’s up?”
   “Your presence is requested here at the jail.”
   “What?” Jake asked, feigning innocence.
   “You’re needed down here.”
   “By who?”
   “Carl Lee wants to talk to you.”
   “Is Lester there?”
   “Yeah. He wants you too.”
   “Be there in a minute.”
   “They’ve been in there for over four hours,” Ozzie said, pointing to the office door.
   “Doing what?” asked Jake, “Talkin’, cussin’, shoutin’. Things got quiet about thirty minutes ago. Carl Lee came out and asked me to call you.”
   “Thanks. Let’s go in.”
   “No way, man. I ain’t goin’ in there. They didn’t send for me. You’re on your own.”
   Jake knocked on the door.
   “Come in!”
   He opened it slowly, walked inside and closed it. Carl Lee was sitting behind the desk. Lester was lying on the couch. He stood and shook Jake’s hand. “Good to see you, Jake.”
   “Good to see you, Lester. What brings you home?”
   “Family business.”
   Jake looked at Carl Lee, then walked to the desk and shook his hand. The defendant was clearly irritated.
   “Y’all sent for me?”
   “Yeah, Jake, sit down. We need to talk,” said Lester. “Carl Lee’s got somethin’ to tell you.”
   “You tell him,” Carl Lee said.
   Lester sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and irusiraiea. “i ami saym’ anotner word. This is between. you and Jake.” Lester closed his eyes and relaxed on the couch. Jake sat in a padded, folding chair that he leaned against the wall opposite the couch. He watched Lester carefully, but did not look at Carl Lee, who rocked slowly in Ozzie’s swivel chair. Carl Lee said nothing. Lester said nothing. After three minutes of silence, Jake was annoyed.
   “Who sent for me?” he demanded.
   “I did,” answered Carl Lee.
   “Well, what do you want?”
   “I wanna give you my case back.”
   “You assume I want it back.”
   “What!” Lester sat up and looked at Jake.
   “It’s not a gift you give or take away. It’s an agreement between you and your attorney. Don’t act as though you’re doing me a great favor.” Jake’s voice was rising, his anger apparent.
   “Do you want the case?” asked Carl Lee.
   “Are you trying to rehire me, Carl Lee?”
   “That’s right.”

   “Why do you want to rehire me?”
   “ ‘Cause Lester wants me to.”
   “Fine, then I don’t want your case.” Jake stood and started for the door. “If Lester wants me and you want Mar-sharfsky, then stick with Marsharfsky. If you can’t think for yourself, you need Marsharfsky.”
   “Wait, Jake. Be cool, man,” Lester said as he met Jake at the door. “Sit down, sit down. I don’t blame you for bein’ mad at Carl Lee for firm’ you. He was wrong. Right, Carl Lee?”
   Carl Lee picked at his fingernails.
   “Sit down, Jake, sit down and let’s talk,” Lester pleaded as he led him back to the folding chair. “Good. Now, let’s discuss this situation. Carl Lee, do you want Jake to be your lawyer?”
   Carl Lee nodded. “Yeah.”
   “Good. Now, Jake—”
   “Explain why.” Jake asked Carl Lee.
   “What?”
   “Explain why you want me to handle your case. Explain why you’re firing Marsharfsky.”
   “I don’t have to explain.”
   “Yes! Yes, you do. You at least owe me an explanation. You fired me a week ago and didn’t have the guts to call me. I read it in the newspaper. Then I read about your new high-priced lawyer who evidently can’t find his way to Clanton. Now you call me and expect me to drop everything because you might change your mind again. Explain, please.”
   “Explain, Carl Lee. Talk to Jake,” Lester said.
   Carl Lee leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. He buried his face in his hands and spoke between his palms. “I’m just confused. This place is drivin’ me crazy. My nerves are shot. I’m worried about my little girl. I’m worried about my family. I’m worried about my own skin. Everbody’s tellin’ me to do somethin’ different. I ain’t ever been in a situation like this and I don’t know what to do. All I can do is trust people. I trust Lester, and I trust you, Jake. That’s all I can do.”
   “You trust my advice?” asked Jake.
   “I always have.”
   “And you trust me to handle your case?”
   “Yeah, Jake, I want you to handle it.”
   “Good enough.”
   Jake relaxed, and Lester eased into the couch. “You’ll need to notify Marsharfsky. Until you do, I can’t work on your case.”
   “We’ll do that this afternoon,” Lester said.
   “Good. Once you talk to him, give me a call. There’s a lot of work to do, and the time will disappear.”
   “What about the money?” asked Lester.
   “Same fee. Same arrangements. Is that satisfactory?”
   “Okay with me,” replied Carl Lee. “I’ll pay you any way I can.”
   “We’ll discuss that later.”
   “What about the doctors?” asked Carl Lee.
   “We’ll make some arrangements. I don’t know. It’ll work out.”
   The defendant smiled. Lester snored loudly and Carl Lee laughed at his brother. “I figured you called him, but he swears you didn’t.”
   Jake smiled awkwardly but said nothing. Lester was a nar, alaieni wmcn naa proved extremely beneficial during his murder trial.
   “I’m,sorry, Jake. I was wrong.”
   “No apologies. There’s too much work to spend time apologizing.”
   Next to the parking lot outside the jail, a reporter stood under a shade tree waiting for something to happen.
   “Excuse me, sir, aren’t you Mr. Brigance?”
   “Who wants to know?”
   “I’m Richard Flay, with The Jackson Daily. You’re Jake Brigance.”
   “Yes.”
   “Mr. Hailey’s ex-lawyer.”
   “No. Mr. Hailey’s lawyer.”
   “I thought he had retained Bo Marsharfsky. In” fact, that’s why I’m here. I heard a rumor Marsharfsky would be here this-afternoon.”
   “If you see him, tell him he’s too late.”
   Lester slept hard on the couch in Ozzie’s office. The dispatcher woke him at 4:00 A. M. Sunday, and after filling a tall Styrofoam cup with black coffee, he left for Chicaga. Late Saturday night he and Carl Lee had called Cat in his office above the club and informed him of Carl Lee’s conversion. Cat was indifferent and busy. He said he would call Marsharfsky. There was no mention of the money.
   Not long after Lester disappeared, Jake staggered down his driveway in his bathrobe to get the Sunday papers. Clanton was an hour southeast of Memphis, three hours north of Jackson, and forty-five minutes from Tupelo. All three cities had daily papers with fat Sunday editions that were available in Clanton. Jake had long subscribed to all three, and was now glad he did so Carla would have plenty of material for her scrapbook. He spread the papers and began the task of plowing through five inches of print.
   Nothing in the Jackson paper. He hoped Richard Flay had reported something. He should have spent more time with him outside the jail. Nothing from Memphis. Nothing from Tupelo. Jake was not surprised, just hopeful that somehow the story had been discovered. But it happened too late yesterday. Maybe Monday. He was tired of hiding; tired of feeling embarrassed. Until it was in the papers and read by the boys at the Coffee Shop, and the people at church, and the other lawyers, including Buckley and Sullivan and Lot-terhouse, until everybody knew it was his case again, he would stay quiet and out of view. How should he tell Sullivan? Carl Lee would call Marsharfsky, or the pimp, probably the pimp, who would then call Marsharfsky with the news. What kind of press release would Marsharfsky write for that? Then the great lawyer would call Walter Sullivan with the wonderful news. That should happen Monday morning, if not sooner. Word would spread quickly throughout the Sullivan firm, and the senior partners, junior partners, and little associates would all gather in the long, mahogany-laced conference room and curse Brigance and his low ethics and tactics. The associates would try to impress their bosses by spouting rules and code numbers of ethics Brigance probably violated. Jake hated them, every one of them. He would send Sullivan a short, curt letter with a copy to Lotterhouse. He wouldn’t call or write Buckley. He would be in shock after he saw the paper. A letter to Judge Noose with a copy to tsucKiey would worn nne. He wouia noi nonor mm with a personal letter.
   Jake had a thought, then hesitated, then dialed Lucien’s number. It was a few minutes after seven. The nurse/maid/ bartender answered the phone.
   “Sallie?”
   “Yes.”
   “This is Jake. Is Lucien awake?”
   “Just a moment.” She rolled over and handed the phone to Lucien.
   “Hello.”
   “Lucien, it’s Jake.”
   “Yeah, whatta you want?”
   “Good news. Carl Lee Hailey rehired me yesterday. The case is mine again.”
   “Which case?”
   ‘The Hailey case!”
   “Oh, the vigilante. He’s yours?”
   “As of yesterday. We’ve got work to do.”
   “When’s the trial? July sometime?”
   “Twenty-second.”
   “That’s pretty close. What’s priority?”
   “A psychiatrist. A cheap one who’ll say anything.”
   “I know just the man,” said Lucien.
   “Good. Get busy. I’ll call in a couple of days.”
   Carla awoke, at a decent hour and found her husband in the kitchen with newspapers strewn over and under the breakfast table. She made fresh coffee and, without a word, sat across the table. He smiled at her and continued reading.
   “What time did you get up?” she asked.
   “Five-thirty.”
   “Why so early? It’s Sunday.”
   “I couldn’t sleep.”
   “Too excited?”
   Jake lowered the paper. “As a matter of fact, I am excited. Very excited. It’s too bad the excitement will not be shared.”
   “I’m sorry about last night.”
   “You don’t have to apologize. I know how you feel. Your problem is that you only look at the negative, never the positive. You have no idea what this case can do for us.”
   “Jake, this case scares me. The phone calls, the threats, the burning cross. If the case means a million dollars, is it worth it if something happens?”
   “Nothing will happen. We’ll get some more threats and they’ll stare at us at church and around town, but nothing serious.”
   “But you can’t be sure.”
   “We went through this last night and I don’t care to rehash it this morning. I do have an idea, though.”
   “I can’t wait to hear it.”
   “You and Hanna fly to North Carolina and stay with your parents until after the trial. They’d love to have you, and we wouldn’t worry about the Klan or whoever likes to burn crosses. “7 “But the trial is six weeks away! You want us to stay in Wilmington for six weeks?”
   “Yes.”
   “I love my parents, but that’s ridiculous.”
   “You don’t see enough of them, and they don’t see enough of Hanna.”
   “And we don’t see enough of you. I’m not leaving for six weeks.”
   “There’s a ton of preparation. I’ll eat and sleep this case until the trial is over. I’ll work nights, weekends—”
   “What else is new?”
   “I’ll ignore y’all and think of nothing but this case.”
   “We’re used to that.”
   Jake smiled at her. “You’re saying you can handle it?”
   “I can handle you. It’s those crazies out there that scare me.”
   “When the crazies get serious, I’ll back off. I will run from this case if my family is in danger.”
   “You promise?”
   “Of course I promise. Let’s send Hanna.”
   “If we’re not in danger, why do you want to send anybody?”
   “Just for safety. She’d have a great time spending the summer with her grandparents. They’d love it.”
   “She wouldn’t last a week without me.”
   “And you wouldn’t last a week without her.”
   That s true. It s out of the question. I don t worry about her as long as I can hold her and squeeze her.”
   The coffee was ready and Carla filled their cups. “Anything in the paper?”
   “No. I thought the Jackson paper might run something, but it happened too late, I guess.”
   “I guess your timing is a little rusty after a week’s layoff.”
   “Just wait till in the morning.”
   “How do you know?”
   “I promise.”
   She shook her head and searched for the fashion and food sections. “Are you going to church?”
   “No.”
   “Why not? You’ve got the case. You’re a star again.”
   “Yeah, but no one knows it yet.”
   “I see. Next Sunday.”
   “Of course.”

   At Mount Hebron, Mount Zion, Mount Pleasant, and at Brown’s Chapel, Green’s Chapel, and Norris Road, Section Line Road, Bethel Road, and at God’s Temple, Christ’s Temple, and Saints’ Temple, the buckets and baskets and plates were passed and re-passed and left at the altars and front doors to collect the money for Carl Lee Hailey and his family. The large, family-size Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets were used in many of the churches. The bigger the bucket, or basket, the smaller the individual offerings appeared as they fell to the bottom, thus allowing the minister just cause to order another passing through the flock. It was a special offering, separate from the regular giving, and was preceded in virtually every church with a heart-wrenching account of what happened to the precious little Hailey girl, and what would happen to her daddy and family if the buckets were not filled. In many instances the sacred name of the NAACP was invoked and the effect was a loosening of the wallets and purses.
   It worked. The buckets were emptied, the money counted, and the ritual repeated during the evening services. Late Sunday night the morning offerings and evening offer—ings were combined and counted by each minister, who would then deliver a great percentage of the total to the Reverend Agee sometime Monday. He would keep the money somewhere in his church, and a great percentage of it would be spent for the benefit of the Hailey family.
   From two to five each Sunday afternoon, the prisoners in the Ford County jail were turned out into a large fenced yard across the small back street behind the jail. A limit of three friends and/or relatives for each prisoner was allowed inside for no more than an hour. There were a couple of shade trees, some broken picnic tables, and a well-maintained basketball hoop. Deputies and dogs watched carefully from the other side of the fence.
   A routine was established. Gwen and the kids would leave church after the benediction around three, and drive to the jail. Ozzie allowed Carl Lee early entrance to the recreation area so he could assume the best picnic table, the one with four legs and a shade tree. He would sit there by himself, speaking to no one, and watch the basketball skirmish until his family arrived. It wasn’t basketball, but a hybrid of rugby, wrestling, judo, and basketball. No one dared officiate. No blood, no foul. And, surprisingly, no fights. A fight meant quick admittance to solitary and no recreation for a month.
   There were a few visitors, some girlfriends and wives, and they would sit in the grass by the fence with their men and quietly watch the mayhem under the basketball hoop. One couple asked Carl Lee if they could use his table for lunch. He shook his head, and they ate in the grass.
   Gwen and the kids arrived before three. Deputy Hastings, her cousin, unlocked the gate and the children ran to meet their daddy. Gwen spread the food. Carl Lee was aware of the stares from the less fortunate, and he enjoyed the envy. Had he been white, or smaller and weaker, or perhaps charged with a lesser crime, he would have been asked to share his food. But he was Carl Lee Hailey, and no one stared too long. The-game returned to its fury and violence, and the family ate in peace. Tonya always sat next to her daddy.
   “They started an offerin’ for us this mornin’,” Gwen said after lunch.
   “Who did?”
   “The church. Reverend Agee said all the black churches in the county are gonna take up money ever Sunday for us and for the lawyer fees.”
   “How much?”
   “Don’t know. He said they gonna pass the bucket ever Sunday until the trial.”
   “That’s mighty nice. What’d he say ‘bout me?”
   “Just talked about your case and all. Said how expensive it would be, and how we’d need help from the churches. Talked about Christian givin’ and all that. Said you’re a real hero to your people.”
   What a pleasant surprise, thought Carl Lee. He expected some help from his church, but nothing financial. “How many churches?”
   “All the black ones in the county.”
   “When do we get the money?”
   “He didn’t say.”
   After he got his cut, thought Carl Lee. “Boys, y’all take your sister and go play over there by the fence. Me and Momma needs to talk. Be careful now.”
   Carl Lee, Jr., and Robert took their little sister by the hand and did exactly as ordered.
   “What does the doctor say?” Carl Lee asked as he watched the children walk away.
   “She’s doin’ good. Her jaw’s healin’ good. He might take the wire off in a month. She can’t run and jump and play yet, but it won’t be long. Still some soreness.”
   “What about the, uh, the other?”
   Gwen shook her head and covered her eyes. She began crying and wiping her eyes. She spoke and her voice cracked. “She’ll never have kids. He told me…” She stopped, wiped her face and tried to continue. She began sobbing loudly, and buried her face in a paper towel.
   Carl Lee felt sick. He placed his forehead in his palms. He ground his teeth together as his eyes watered. “What’d he say?”
   Gwen raised her head and spoke haltingly, righting back tears. “He told me Tuesday there was too much dam—age…” She wiped her wet face with her fingers. “But he wants to send her to a specialist in Memphis.”
   “He’s not sure?”
   She shook her head. “Ninety percent sure. But he thinks she should be examined by another doctor in Memphis. We’re supposed to take her in a month.”
   Gwen tore off another paper towel and wiped her face. She handed one to her husband, who quickly dabbed his eyes.
   Next to the fence, Tonya sat listening to her brothers argue about which one would be a deputy and which one would be in jail. She watched her parents talk and shake their heads and cry. She knew something was wrong with her. She rubbed her eyes and started crying too.
   “The nightmares are gettin’ worse,” Gwen said, interrupting the silence. “I have to sleep with her ever night. She dreams about men comin’ to get her, men hidin’ in the closets, chasin’ her through the woods. She wakes up screamin’ and sweatin’. The doctor says she needs to see a psychiatrist. Says it’ll get worse before it gets better.”
   “How much will it cost?”
   “I don’t know. I haven’t called yet.”
   “Better call. Where is this psychiatrist?”
   “Memphis.”
   “Figures.”
   “How are the boys treatin’ her?”
   “They’ve been great. They treat her special. But the nightmares keep them scared. When she wakes up screamin’ she wakes everybody. The boys run to her bed and try to help, but it scares them. Last night she wouldn’t go back to sleep unless the boys slept on the floor next to her. We all laid there wide awake with the lights on.”
   “The boys’ll be all right.”
   “They miss their daddy.”
   Carl Lee managed a forced smile. “It won’t be much longer.”
   “You really think so?”
   “I don’t know what to think anymore. But I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life in jail. I hired Jake back.”
   “When?”
   “Yesterday. That Memphis lawyer never showed up, never even called. I fired him and hired Jake again.”
   “But you said Jake is too young.”
   “I was wrong. He is young, but he’s good. Ask Lester.”
   “It’s your trial.”
   Carl Lee walked slowly around the yard, never leaving the fence. He thought of the two boys, somewhere out there, dead and buried, their flesh rotting by now, their souls burning in hell. Before they died, they met his little girl, only briefly, and within two hours wrecked her little body and ruined her mind. So brutal was their attack that she could never have children; so violent the encounter that she now saw them hiding for her, waiting in closets. Could she ever forget about it, block it out, erase it from her mind so her life would be normal? Maybe a psychiatrist could do that. Would other children allow her to be normal?
   She was just a little nigger, they probably thought. Somebody’s little nigger kid. Illegitimate, of course, like all of them. Rape would be nothing new.
   He remembered them in court. One proud, the other scared. He remembered them coming down the stairs as he awaited the execution. Then, the looks of horror as he stepped forward with the M-16. The sound of the gunfire, the cries for help, the screams as they fell backward together, one on top of the other, handcuffed, screaming and twisting, going nowhere. He remembered smiling, even laughing, as he watched them struggle with their heads half blown away, and when their bodies were still, he ran.
   He smiled again. He was proud of it. The first gook he killed in Vietnam had bothered him more.
   The letter to Walter Sullivan was to the point: Dear J. Walter: By now it’s safe to assume Mr. Marsharfsky has informed you that his employment by Carl Lee Hailey has been terminated. Your services as local counsel will, of course, no longer be needed. Have a nice day.
   Sincerely, Jake A copy was sent to L. Winston Lotterhouse. The letter to Noose was just as short: Dear Judge Noose: Please be advised that I have been retained by Carl Lee Hailey. We are preparing for trial on July 22. Please show me as counsel of record.
   Sincerely, Jake A copy was sent to Buckley.
   Marsharfsky called at nine-thirty Monday. Jake watched the hold button blink for two minutes before he lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
   “How’d you do it?”
   “Who is this?”
   “Your secretary didn’t tell you? This is Bo Marsharfsky, and I want to know how you did it.”
   “Did what?”
   “Hustled my case.”
   Stay cool, thought Jake. He’s an agitator. “As I recall, it was hustled from me,” replied Jake.
   “I never met him before he hired me.”
   “You didn’t have to. You sent your pimp, remember?”
   “Are you accusing me of chasing cases?”
   “Yes.”
   Marsharfsky paused and Jake braced for the obscenities.
   “You know something, Mr. Brigance, you’re right. I chase cases everyday. I’m a pro at hustling cases. That’s how I make so much money. If there’s a big criminal case, I intend to get it. And I’ll use whatever method I find necessary.”
   “Funny, that wasn’t mentioned in the paper.”
   “And if I want the Hailey case, I’ll get it.”
   “Come on down.” Jake hung up and laughed for ten minutes. He lit a cheap cigar, and began working on his motion for a change of venue.
   Two days later Lucien called and instructed Ethel to instruct Jake to come see him. It was important. He had a visitor Jake needed to meet.
   The visitor was Dr. W. T. Bass, a retired psychiatrist from Jackson. He had known Lucien for years, and they had collaborated on a couple of insane criminals during their friendship. Both of the criminals were still in Parchman. His retirement had been one year before the disbarment and had been precipitated by the same thing that contributed heavily to the disbarment, to wit, a strong affection for Jack Daniel’s. He visited Lucien occasionally in Clanton, and Lucien visited him more frequently in Jackson, and they enjoyed their visits because they enjoyed staying drunk together. They sat on the big porch and waited on Jake.
   “Just say he was insane,” instructed Lucien.
   “Was he?” asked the doctor.
   “That’s not important.”
   “What is important?”
   “It’s important to give the jury an excuse to acquit the man. They won’t care if he’s crazy or not. But they’ll need some reason to acquit him.”
   “It would be nice to examine him.”
   “You can. You can talk to him all you want. He’s at the jail just waiting on someone to talk to.”
   “I’ll need to meet with him several times.”
   “I know that.”

   “What if I don’t think he was insane at the time of the shooting?”
   “Then you won’t get to testify at trial, and you won’t get your name and picture in the paper, and you won’t be interviewed on TV.”
   Lucien paused long enough to take a long drink. “Just do as I say. Interview him, take a bunch of notes. Ask stupid questions. You know what to do. Then say he was crazy.”
   “I’m not so sure about this. It hasn’t worked too well in the past.”
   “Look, you’re a doctor, aren’t you? Then act proud, vain, arrogant. Act like a doctor’s supposed to act. Give your opinion and dare anyone to question it.”
   “I don’t know. It hasn’t worked too well in the past.”
   “Just do as I say.”
   “I’ve done that before, and they’re both at Parchman.”
   “They were hopeless. Hailey’s different.”
   “Does he have a chance?”
   “Slim.”
   “I thought you said he was different.”
   “He’s a decent man with a good reason for killing.”
   “Then why are his chances slim?”
   “The law says his reason is not good enough.”
   “That’s par for the law.”
   “Plus he’s black, and this is a white county. I have no confidence in these bigots around here.”
   “And if he were white?”
   “If he were white and he killed two blacks who raped his daughter, the jury would give him the courthouse.”
   Bass finished one glass and poured another. A fifth and a bucket of ice sat on the wicker table between the two.
   “What about his lawyer?” he asked.
   “He should be here in a minute.”
   “He used to work for you?” “Yeah, but I don’t think you met him. He was in the firm about two years before I left. He’s young, early thirties. Clean, aggressive, works hard.”
   “And he used to work for you?”
   “That’s what I said. He’s got trial experience for his age. This is not his first murder case, but, if I’m not mistaken, it’s his first insanity case.”
   “That’s nice to hear. I don’t want someone asking a lot of questions.”
   “I like your confidence. Wait till you meet the D. A.”
   “I just don’t feel good about this. We tried it twice, and it didn’t work.”
   Lucien shook his head in bewilderment. “You’ve got to be the humblest doctor I’ve known.”
   “And the poorest.”
   “You’re supposed to be pompous and arrogant. You’re the expert. Act like one. Who’s gonna question your professional opinion in Clanton, Mississippi?”
   “The State will have experts.”
   “They will have one psychiatrist from Whitfield. He’ll examine the defendant for a few hours, and then drive up for trial and testify that the defendant is the sanest man he’s ever met. He’s never seen a legally insane defendant. To him no one is insane. Everybody’s blessed with perfect mental health. Whitfield is full of sane people, except when it applies for government money, then half the state’s crazy. He’d get fired if he started saying defendants are legally insane. So that’s who you’re up against.”
   “And the jury will automatically believe me?”
   “You act as though you’ve never been through one of these before.”
   “Twice, remember. One rapist, one murderer. Neither was insane, in spite of what I said. Both are now locked away where they belong.”
   Lucien took a long drink and studied the light brown liquid and the floating ice cubes. “You said you would help me. God knows you owe me the favor. How many divorces did I handle for you?”
   “Three. And I got cleaned out every time.”
   “You deserved it every time. It was either give in or go to trial and have your habits discussed in open court.”
   “I remember.”
   “How many clients, or patients, have I sent you over the years?”
   “Not enough to pay my alimony.”
   “Remember the malpractice case by the lady whose treatment consisted primarily of weekly sessions on your couch with the foldaway bed? Your malpractice carrier refused to defend, so you called your dear friend Lucien who settled it for peanuts and kept it out of court.”
   “There were no witnesses.”
   “Just the lady herself. And the court files showing where your wives had sued for divorce on the grounds of adultery.”
   “They couldn’t prove it.”
   “They didn’t get a chance. We didn’t want them to try, remember?”
   “All right, enough, enough. I said I would help. What about my credentials?”
   “Are you a compulsive worrier?”
   “No. I just get nervous when I think of courtrooms.”
   “Your credentials are fine. You’ve been qualified before as an expert witness. Don’t worry so much.”
   “What about this?” He waved his drink at Lucien.
   “You shouldn’t drink so much,” he said piously.
   The doctor dropped his drink and exploded in laughter. He rofled out of his chair and crawled to the edge of the porch, holding his stomach and shaking in laughter.
   “You’re drunk,” Lucien said as he left for another bottle.
   When Jake arrived an hour later, Lucien was rocking slowly in his huge wicker rocker. The doctor was asleep in the swing at the far end of the porch. He was barefoot, and his toes had disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the porch. Jake walked up the steps and startled Lucien.
   “Jake, my boy, how are you?” he slurred.
   “Fine, Lucien. I see you’re doing quite well.” He looked at the empty bottle and one not quite empty.
   “I wanted you to meet that man,” he said, trying to sit up straight.
   “Who is he?”
   “He’s our psychiatrist. Dr. W. T. Bass, from Jackson. Good friend of mine. He’ll help us with Hailey.”
   “Is he good?”
   “The best. We’ve worked together on several insanity cases.”
   Jake took a few steps in the direction of the swing and stopped. The doctor was lying on his back with his shirt unbuttoned and his mouth wide open. He snored heavily, with an unusual guttural gurgling sound. A horsefly the size of a small sparrow buzzed around his nose and retreated to the top of the swing with each thunderous exhalation. A rancid vapor emanated with the snoring and hung like an invisible fog over the end of the porch.
   “He’s a doctor?” Jake asked as he sat next to Lucien.
   “Psychiatry,” Lucien said proudly.
   “Did he help you with those?” Jake nodded at the bottles.
   “I helped him. He drinks like a fish, but he’s always sober at trial.”
   “That’s comforting.”
   “You’ll like him. He’s cheap. Owes me a favor. Won’t cost a dime.”
   “I like him already.”
   Lucien’s face was as red as his eyes. “Wanna drink?”
   “No. It’s three-thirty in the afternoon.”
   “Really! What day is it?”
   “Wednesday, June 12. How long have y’all been drinking?”
   “ ‘Bout thirty years.” Lucien laughed and rattled his ice cubes.
   “I mean today.”
   “We drank our breakfast. What difference does it make?”
   “Does he work?”
   “Naw, he’s retired.”
   “Was his retirement voluntary?”
   “You mean, was he disbarred, so to speak?”
   “That’s right, so to speak.”
   “No. He still has his license, and his credentials are impeccable.”
   “He looks impeccable.”
   “Booze got him a few years ago. Booze and alimony. I handled three of his divorces. He reached the point where all of his income went for alimony and child support, so he quit working.”
   “How does he manage?”
   “We, uh, I mean, he stashed some away. Hid it from his wives and their hungry lawyers. He’s really quite comfortable.”
   “He looks comfortable.”
   “Plus he peddles a little dope, but only to a rich clientele. Not really dope, but narcotics which he can legally prescribe. It’s not really illegal; just a little unethical.”
   “What’s he doing here?”
   “He visits occasionally. He lives in Jackson but hates it. I called him Sunday after I talked to you. He wants to meet Hailey as soon as possible, tomorrow if he can.”
   The doctor grunted and rolled to his side, causing the swing to move suddenly. It swung a few times, and he moved again, still snoring. He stretched his right leg, and his foot caught a thick branch in the shrubbery. The swing jerked sideways and threw the good doctor onto the porch. His head crashed onto the wooden floor while his right foot remained lodged through the end of the swing. He grimaced and coughed, then began snoring again. Jake instinctively started toward him, but stopped when it was apparent he was unharmed and still asleep.
   “Leave him alone!” ordered Lucien between laughs.
   Lucien slid an ice cube down the porch and just missed the doctor’s head. The second cube landed perfectly on the tip of his nose. “Perfect shot!” Lucien roared. “Wake up, you drunk!”

   Jake walked down the steps toward his car, listening to his former boss laugh and curse and throw ice cubes at Dr. W. T. Bass, psychiatrist, witness for the defense.
   Deputy DeWayne Looney left the hospital on crutches, and drove his wife and three children to the jail, where the sheriff, the other deputies, the reserves, and a few friends waited with a cake and small gifts. He would be a dispatcher now, and would retain his badge and uniform and full salary.
   The fellowship hall of the Springdale Church had been thoroughly cleaned and shined, and the folding tables and chairs dusted and placed in perfect rows around the room. It was the largest black church in the county and it was in Clanton, so the Reverend Agee deemed it necessary to meet there. The purpose of the press conference was to get vocal, to show support of the local boy who made good, and to announce the establishment of the Carl Lee Hailey Legal Defense Fund. The national director of the NAACP was present with a five-thousand-dollar check and a promise of serious money later. The executive director of the Memphis branch brought five thousand and grandly laid it on the table. They sat with Agee behind the two folding tables in the front of the room with every member of the council seated behind them and two hundred black church members in the crowded audience. Gwen sat next to Agee. A few reporters and cameras, much fewer than expected, grouped in the center of the room and filmed away.
   Agee spoke first and was inspired by the cameras. He talked of the Haileys and their goodness and innocence, and of baptizing Tonya when she was only eight. He talked of a family wrecked by racism and hatred. There were sniffles in the audience. Then he got mean. He tore into the judicial system and its desire to prosecute a good and decent man who had done no wrong; a man, who, if white, would not be on trial; a man who was on trial only because he was black and that was what was so wrong with the prosecution and persecution of Carl Lee Hailey. He found his rhythm and the crowd joined in, and the press conference took on the fervor of a tent revival. He lasted for forty-five minutes.
   He was a hard act to follow. But the national director did not hesitate. He delivered a thirty-minute oratorical condemnation of racism. He seized the moment and spouted national statistics on crime and arrests and convictions and inmate population and summed it all up by declaring that the criminal justice system was controlled by white people who unfairly persecuted black people. Then in a bewildering flurry of rationale he brought the national statistics to Ford County and pronounced the system unfit to deal with Carl Lee Hailey. The lights from the TV cameras produced a line of sweat above his eyebrows and he warmed to the task. He got angrier than Reverend Agee and pounded the podium and made the cluster of microphones jump and shake. He exhorted the blacks of Ford County and of Mississippi to give until it hurt. He promised demonstrations and marches. The trial would be a battle cry for black and oppressed folk everywhere.
   He answered questions. How much money would be raised? At least fifty thousand, they hoped. It would be expensive to defend Carl Lee Hailey and fifty thousand may not be enough, but they would raise whatever it took. But time was running short. Where would the money go? Legal fees and litigation expenses. A battery of lawyers and doctors would be needed. Would NAACP lawyers be used? Of course. The legal staff in Washington was already at work on the case. The capital defense unit would handle all aspects of the trial. Carl Lee Hailey had become their top priority and all available resources would be devoted to his defense.
   When he finished, Reverend Agee retook the podium and nodded at a piano player in the corner. The music started. They all stood, hand in hand, and sang a stirring rendition of “We Shall Overcome.”
   Jake read about the defense fund in Tuesday’s paper. He had heard rumors of the special offering being administered by the council, but was told the money was for the support of the family. Fifty thousand for legal fees! He was angry, but interested. Would he be fired again? Suppose Carl Lee refused to hire the NAACP lawyers, what would happen to the money? The trial was five weeks away, plenty of time for the capital defense team to descend on Clanton. He had read about these guys; a team of six capital murder specialists who toured the South defending blacks accused of heinous and notorious crimes. “The Death Squad” was their nickname. They were very bright, very talented, very educated lawyers dedicated to rescuing black murderers from the vari—ous gas chambers and electric chairs around the South. They handled nothing. but capital murder cases and were very, very good at their work. The NAACP ran their interference, raising money, organizing local blacks, and generating publicity. Racism was their best, and sometimes only, defense and though they lost much more than they won, their record was not bad. The cases they handled were supposed to be lost, all of them. Their goal was to martyr the defendant before the trial and hopefully hang the jury. Now they were coming to Clanton.
   A week earlier Buckley had filed the proper motions to have Carl Lee examined by the State’s doctors. Jake requested the doctors be required to conduct their examinations in Clantqn, preferably in Jake’s office. Noose declined, and ordered the sheriff to transport Carl Lee to the Mississippi State Mental Hospital at Whitfield. Jake requested that he be allowed to accompany his client and be present during the examinations. Again, Noose declined.
   Early Wednesday morning, Jake and Ozzie sipped coffee in the sheriffs office and waited for Carl Lee to shower and change clothes. Whitfield was three hours away, and he was to check ia at nine. Jake had final instructions for his client.
   “How long will y’all be there?” Jake asked Ozzie.
   “You’re the lawyer. How long will it take?”
   “Three or four days. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
   “Sure, we’ve had to transport plenty of crazy people. But nothin’ like this. Where do they keep him?”
   “They’ve got all kinds of cells.”
   Deputy Hastings casually entered the office, sleepy-eyed and crunching on a stale doughnut. “How many cars we takin’?”
   “Two,” answered Ozzie. “I’ll drive mine and you drive yours. I’ll take Pirtle and Carl Lee, you take Riley and Nes-bit.”
   “Guns?”
   “Three shotguns in each car. Plenty of shells. Everbody wears a vest, including Carl Lee. Get the cars ready. I’d like to leave by five-thirty.”
   Hastings mumbled something and disappeared.
   “Are you expecting trouble?” Jake asked.
   “We’ve had some phone calls. Two in particular mentioned the trip to Whitfield. Lot of highway between here and there.”
   “How are you going?”
   “Most folks take 22 to the interstate, wouldn’t. you say? It might be safer to take some smaller highways. We’ll probably run 14 south to 89.”
   “That would be unexpected.”
   “Good. I’m glad you approve.”
   “He’s my client, you know.”
   “For right now, anyway.”
   Carl Lee quickly devoured the eggs and biscuits as Jake briefed him on what to expect during the stay at Whitfield.
   “I know, Jake. You want me to act crazy, right?” Carl Lee said with a laugh. Ozzie thought it was funny too.
   “This is serious, Carl Lee. Listen to me.”
   “Why? You said yourself it won’t matter what I say or do down there. They won’t say I was insane when I shot them. Them doctors work for the State, right? The State’s prosecutin’ me, right? What difference does it make what I say or do? They’ve already made up their minds. Ain’t that right, Ozzie?”
   “I’m not gettin’ involved. I work for the State.”
   “You work for the County,” said Jake.
   “Name, rank, and serial number. That’s all they’re get-tin’ outta me,” Carl Lee said as he emptied a small paper sack.
   “Very funny,” said Jake.
   “He’s crackin’ up, Jake,” Ozzie said.
   Carl Lee stuck two straws up his nose and began tiptoeing around the office, staring at the ceiling and then grabbing at something above his head. He put it in the sack. He lunged at another one and put it in the sack. Hastings returned and stopped in the door. Carl Lee grinned at him with wild eyes, then grabbed at another one toward the ceiling.
   “What the hell he’s doin’?” Hastings asked.
   “Catchin’ butterflies,” Carl Lee said.
   Jake grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. “I think you should leave him at Whitfield.” He slammed the door and left the jail.
   Noose had scheduled the venue hearing for Monday, June 24, in Clanton. The hearing would be long and well publicized. Jake had requested the change of venue, and he had the burden of proving Carl Lee could not receive a fair and impartial trial in Ford County. He needed witnesses. Persons with credibility in the community who were willing to testify that a fair trial was not possible. Atcavage said he might do it as a favor, but the bank might not want him involved. Harry Rex had eagerly volunteered. Reverend Agee said he would be glad to testify, but that was before the NAACP announced its lawyers would be handling the case. Lucien had no credibility, and Jake did not seriously consider asking him.
   Buckley, on the other hand, would line up a dozen credible witnesses-elected officials, lawyers, businessmen, maybe other sheriffs-all of whom would testify that they had vaguely heard of Carl Lee Hailey and he could most certainly receive a fair trial in Clanton..
   Jake personally preferred the trial to be in Clanton, in his courthouse across the street from his office, in front of his people. Trials were pressure-filled, tedious, sleepless ordeals. It would be nice to have this one in a friendly arena, three minutes from his driveway. When the trial recessed, he could spend the free moments in his office doing research, preparing witnesses or relaxing. He could eat at the Coffee Shop or Claude’s, or even run home for a quick lunch. His client could remain in the Ford County jail, near his family.
   And, of course, his media exposure would be much greater. The reporters would gather in front of his office each morning of the trial and follow him as he walked slowly toward the courthouse. That thought was exciting.
   Did it matter where they tried Carl Lee Hailey? Lucien was correct: the publicity had reached every resident of every county in Mississippi. So why change venue? His guilt or innocence had already been prejudged by every prospective juror in the state.
   Sure it mattered. Some prospective jurors were white and some were black. Percentage-wise, there would be more white ones in Ford County than the surrounding counties. Jake loved black jurors, especially in criminal cases and especially when the criminal was black. They were not as anxious to convict. They were open minded. He preferred them in civil cases, too. They felt for the underdog against the big corporation or insurance company, and they were more liberal with other people’s money. As a rule, he picked all the black jurors he could find, but they were scarce in Ford County.
   It was imperative the case be tried in another county, a blacker county. One black could hang the jury. A majority could force, maybe, an acquittal. Two weeks in a motel and strange courthouse was not appealing, but the small discomforts were greatly outweighed by the need to have black faces in the jury box.
   The venue question had been thoroughly researched by Lucien. As instructed, Jake arrived promptly, although reluctantly, at 8:00 A. M. Sallie served breakfast on the porch. Jake drank coffee and orange juice; Lucien, bourbon and water. For three hours they covered every aspect of a change of venue. Lucien had copies of every Supreme Court case for the past eighty years, and lectured like a professor. The pupil took notes, argued once or twice, but mainly listened.
   Whitfield was located a few miles from Jackson in a rural part of Rankin County. Two guards waited by the front gate and argued with reporters. Carl Lee was scheduled to arrive at nine, that was all the guards knew. At eight-thirty two patrol cars with Ford County insignia rolled to a stop at the gate. The reporters and their cameramen ran to the driver of the first car. Ozzie’s window was down.
   “Where’s Carl Lee Hailey?” a reporter shouted in a panic.
   “He’s in the other car,” Ozzie drawled, winking at Carl Lee in the back seat.
   “He’s in the second car!” someone shouted, and they ran to Hastings’ car.
   “Where’s Hailey?” they demanded.
   Pirtle, in the front seat, pointed to Hastings, the driver. “That’s him.”
   “Are you Carl Lee Hailey?” a reporter screamed at Hastings.
   “Yep.”
   “Why are you driving?”

   “What’s with the uniform?”
   “They made me a deputy,” answered Hastings with a straight face. The gate opened, and the two cars sped through.
   Carl Lee was processed in the main building and led, along with Ozzie and the deputies, to another building where he was checked into his cell, or room, as it was called. The door was locked behind him. Ozzie and his men were excused and returned to Clanton.
   After lunch, an assistant of some sort with a clipboard and white jacket arrived and began asking questions. Starting with birth, he asked Carl Lee about every significant event and person in his life. It lasted two hours. At 4:00 P. M., two security guards handcuffed Carl Lee and rode him in a golf cart to a modern brick building a half mile from his room. He was led to the office of Dr. Wilbert Rodeheaver, head of staff. The guards waited in the hall by the door.
   It had been five weeks since the shootings of Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard. The trial was four weeks away. The three motels in Clanton were booked solid for the week of the trial and, the week before. The Best Western was the largest and nicest, and had attracted the Memphis and Jackson press. The Clanton Court had the best bar and restaurant, and was booked by reporters from Atlanta, Washington, and New York. At the less than elegant East Side Motel the rates had curiously doubled for the month of July but it had nonetheless sold out.
   The town had been friendly at first to these outsiders, most of whom were rude and spoke with different accents. But some of the descriptions of Clanton and its people had been less than flattering, and most of the locals now honored a secret code of silence. A noisy cafe would become instantly silent when a stranger walked in and took a seat. Merchants around the square offered little assistance to anyone they did not recognize. The employees in the courthouse had become deaf to questions asked a thousand times by nosy intruders. Even the Memphis and Jackson reporters had to struggle to extract anything new from the locals. The people were tired of being described as backward, redneck, and racist. They ignored the outsiders whom they could not trust and went about their business.
   The bar at the Clanton Court became the watering hole for the reporters. It was the one place in town they could go to find a friendly face and good conversation. They sat in the booths under the big-screen TV and gossiped about the small town and the upcoming trial. They compared notes and stories and leads and rumors, and drank until they were drunk because there was nothing else to do in Clanton after dark.
   The motels filled Sunday night, June 23, the night before the venue hearing. Early Monday morning they gathered in the restaurant at the Best Western to drink coffee and speculate. The hearing was the first major skirmish, and could likely be the only courtroom action until the trial. A rumor surfaced that Noose was ill and did not want to hear the case, and that he would ask the Supreme Court to appoint another judge. Just a rumor, with no source and nothing more definite, said a reporter from Jackson. At eight they packed their cameras and microphones and left for the square. One group set up outside the jail, another at the rear of the courthouse, but most headed for the courtroom. By eight-thirty it was filled.
   From the balcony of his office, Jake watched the activity around the courthouse. His heart beat faster than normal, and his stomach tingled. He smiled. He was ready for Buck-ley, ready for the cameras.
   Noose looked down past the end of his nose, over his reading glasses, and around the packed courtroom. Everyone was in place.
   “The court has before it,” he began, “the defendant’s motion for a change of venue. The trial in this matter has been set for Monday, July 22. That’s four weeks from today, according to my calendar I have set a deadline for filing motions and disposing of same, and I believe those are the only two deadlines between now and trial.”
   “That’s correct, Your Honor,” thundered Buckley, half standing behind his table. Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head.
   “Thank you, Mr. Buckley,” Noose said dryly. “The defendant has filed the proper notice that he intends to use an insanity defense. Has he been examined at Whitfield?”
   “Yes sir, Your Honor, last week,” Jake answered.
   “Will he employ his own psychiatrist?”
   “Of course, Your Honor.”
   “Has he been examined by his own?”
   “Yes, sir.”
   “Good. So that’s out of the way. What other motions do you anticipate filing?”
   “Your Honor, we expect to file a motion requesting the clerk to summons more than the usual number of prospective jurors—”
   “The state will oppose that motion,” Buckley yelled as he jumped to his feet.
   “Sit down, Mr. Buckley!” Noose said sternly, ripping off his glasses and glaring at the D. A. “Please don’t yell at me again. Of course you will oppose it. You will oppose any motion filed by the defense. That’s your job. Don’t interrupt again. You’ll have ample opportunity after we adjourn to perform for the media.”
   Buckley slumped in his chair and hid his red face. Noose had never screamed at him before.
   “Continue, Mr. Brigance.”
   Jake was startled by Ichabod’s meanness. He looked tired and ill. Perhaps it was the pressure.
   “We may have some written objections to anticipated evidence.”
   “Motions in limineT’ “Yes, sir.”
   “We’ll hear those at trial. Anything else?”
   “Not at this time.”
   “Now, Mr. Buckley, will the State file any motions?”
   “I can’t think of any,” Buckley answered meekly.
   “Good. I want to make sure there are no surprises between now and trial. I will be here one week before trial to hear and decide any pretrial matters. I expect any motions to be filed promptly, so that we can tie up any loose ends well before the twenty-second.”
   Noose flipped through his file and studied Jake’s motion for a change of venue. Jake whispered to Carl Lee, whose presence was not required for the hearing, but he insisted. Gwen and the three boys sat in the first row behind their daddy. Tonya was not in the courtroom.
   “Mr. Brigance, your motion appears to be in order. How many witnesses?”
   “Three, Your Honor.”
   “Mr. Buckley, how many will you call?”
   “We have twenty-one,” Buckley said proudly.
   “Twenty-one!” yelled the judge.
   Buckley cowered and glanced at Musgrove. “B-but, we probably won’t need them all. In fact, I know we won’t call all of them.”
   “Pick your best five, Mr. Buckley. I don’t plan to be here all day.”
   “Yes, Your Honor.”
   “Mr. Brigance, you’ve asked for a change of venue. It’s your motion. You may proceed.”
   Jake stood and walked slowly across the courtroom, behind Buckley, to the wooden podium in front of the jury box. “May it please the court, Your Honor, Mr. Hailey has requested that his trial be moved from Ford County. The reason is obvious: the publicity in this case will prevent a fair trial. The good people of this county have prejudged the guilt or innocence of Carl Lee Hailey. He is charged with killing two men, both of whom were born here and left families here. Their lives were not famous, but their deaths certainly have been. Mr. Hailey was known by few outside his community until now. Now everyone in this county knows who he is, knows about his family and his daughter and what happened to her, and knows most of the details of his alleged crimes. It will be impossible to find twelve people in Ford County who have not already prejudged this case. This trial should be held in another part of the state where the people are not so familiar with the facts.”
   “Where would you suggest?” interrupted the judge.
   “I wouldn’t recommend a specific county, but it should be as far away as possible. Perhaps the Gulf Coast.”
   “Why?”
   “Obvious reasons, Your Honor. It’s four hundred miles away, and I’m sure the people down there do not know as much as the people around here.”
   “And you think the people in south Mississippi haven’t heard about it?”
   “I’m sure they have. But they are much further away.”
   “But they have televisions and newspapers, don’t they, Mr. Brigance?”
   “I’m sure they do.”
   “Do you believe you could go to any county in this state and find twelve people who haven’t heard the details of this case?”
   Jake looked at his legal pad. He could hear the artists sketching on their pads behind him. He could see Buckley grinning out ot the corner of his eye. “It would be difficult,” he said quietly.
   “Call your first witness.”
   Harry Rex Vonner was sworn in and took his seat on the witness stand. The wooden swivel chair popped and creaked under the heavy load. He blew into the microphone and a loud hiss echoed around the courtroom. He smiled at Jake and nodded.
   “Would you state your name?”
   “Harry Rex Vonner.”
   “And your address?”
   “Eighty-four ninety-three Cedarbrush, Clanton, Mississippi.”
   “How long have you lived in Clanton?”
   “All my life. Forty-six years.”
   “Your occupation?”
   “I’m a lawyer. I’ve had my license for twenty-two years.”
   “Have you ever met Carl Lee Hailey?”
   “Once.”
   “What do you know about him?”
   “He supposedly shot two men, Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard, and he wounded a deputy, DeWayne Looney.”
   “Did you Know either of those boys?”
   “Not personally. I knew of Billy Ray Cobb.”
   “How did you learn of the shootings?”
   “Well, it happened on a Monday, I believe. I was in the courthouse, on the first floor, checking title on some land in the clerk’s office, when I heard the gunshots. I ran out into the hall and bedlam had broken loose. I asked a deputy and he told me that the boys had been killed near the back door of the courthouse. I hung around here for a while, and pretty soon there was a rumor that the killer was the father of the little girl who got raped.”
   “What was your initial reaction?”
   “I was shocked, like most people. But I was shocked when I first heard of the rape too.”
   “When did you learn that Mr, Hailey had been arrested?”
   “Later that night. It was all over the television.”
   “What did you see on TV?”
   “Well, I watched as much of it as I could. There were news reports from the local stations in Memphis and Tupelo. We’ve got the cable, you know, so I watched the news out of New York, Chicago, and Atlanta. Just about every channel had something about the shootings and the arrest. There was footage from the courthouse and jail. It was a big deal. Biggest thing that ever happened in Clanton, Mississippi.”

   “How did you react when you learned that the girl’s father had supposedly done the shooting?”
   “It was no big surprise to me. I mean, we all sort of figured it was him. I admired him. I’ve got kids, and I sympathize with what he did. I still admire him.”
   “How much do you know about the rape?”
   Buckley leapt to his feet. “Objection! The rape is irrelevant!”
   Noose ripped off his glasses again and stared angrily at the D. A. Seconds passed and Buckley glanced at the table. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, then sat down. Noose leaned forward and glared down from the bench.
   “Mr. Buckley, don’t yell at me. If you do it again, so help me God, I will hold you in contempt. You may be correct, the rape may be irrelevant. But this is not the trial, is it? This is simply a hearing, isn’t it? We don’t have a jury in the box, do we? You’re overruled and out of order. Now stay in your seat. I know it’s hard with this sort of audience, but I instruct you to stay in your seat unless you have something truly worthy to say. At that point, you may stand and politely and quietly tell me what’s on your mind.”
   “Thank you, Your Honor,” Jake said as he smiled at Buckley. “Now, Mr. Vonner, as I was saying, how much do you know about the rape?”
   “Just what I’ve heard.”
   “And what’s that?”
   Buckley stood and bowed like a Japanese sumo wrestler. “If Your Honor please,” he said softly and sweetly, “I would like to object at this point, if it pleases the court. The witness may testify to only what he knows from first-hand knowledge, not from what he’s heard from other people.”
   Noose answered just as sweetly. “Thank you, Mr. Buck—ley. Your objection is noted, and you are overruled. Please continue, Mr. Brigance.”
   “Thank you, Your Honor.”
   “What have you heard about the rape?”
   “Cobb and Willard grabbed the little Hailey girl and took her out in the woods somewhere. They were drunk, they tied her to a tree, raped her repeatedly and tried to hang her. They even urinated on her.”
   “They what!” asked Noose.
   “They pissed on her, Judge.”
   The courtroom buzzed at this revelation. Jake had never heard it, Buckley hadn’t heard it, and evidently no one knew it but Harry Rex. Noose shook his head and lightly rapped his gavel.
   Jake scribbled something on his legal pad and marveled at his friend’s esoteric knowledge. “Where did you learn about the rape?”
   “All over town. It’s common knowledge. The cops were giving the details the next morning at the Coffee Shop. Everybody knows it.”
   “Is it common knowledge throughout the county?”
   “Yes. I haven’t talked to anybody in a month who did not know the details of the rape.”
   “Tell us what you know about the shootings.”
   “Well, like I said, it was a Monday, afternoon. The boys were here in this courtroom for a bail hearing, I believe, and when they left the courtroom they were handcuffed and led by the deputies down the back stairs. When they got down the stairs, Mr. Hailey jumped out of a closet with an M-16. They were killed and DeWayne Looney was shot. Part of his leg was amputated.”
   “Exactly where did this take place?”
   “Right below us here, at the rear entrance of the courthouse. Mr. Hailey was hiding in a janitor’s closet and just stepped out and opened fire.”
   “Do you believe this to be true?”
   “I know it’s true.”
   “Where did you learn all this?”
   “Here and there. Around town. In the newspapers. Everybody knows about it.”
   “Where have you heard it discussed?”
   “Everywhere. In bars, in churches, at the bank, at the cleaners, at the Tea Shoppe, at the cafes around town, at the liquor store. Everywhere.”
   “Have you talked to anyone who believes Mr. Hailey did not kill Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard?”
   “No. You won’t find a single person in this county who believes he didn’t do it.”
   “Have most folks around here made up their minds about his guilt or innocence?”
   “Every single one of them. There are no fence strad-dlers on this one. It’s a hot topic, and everyone has an opinion.”
   “In your opinion, could Mr. Hailey receive a fair trial in Ford County?”
   “No, sir. You couldn’t find three people in this county of thirty thousand who have not already made up their minds, one way or the other. Mr. Hailey has been judged already. There’s just no way to find an impartial jury.”
   “Thank you, Mr. Vonner. No further questions, Your Honor.” Buckley patted his pompadour and ran his fingers over his ears to make sure every hair was in place. He walked purposefully to the podium.
   “Mr. Vonner,” he, bellowed magnificently, “have you already prejudged Carl Lee Hailey?”
   “Damn right I have.”
   “Your language, please,” said Noose.
   “And what would your judgment be?”
   “Mr. Buckley, let me explain it this way. And I’ll do so very carefully and slowly so that even you will understand it. If I was the sheriff, I would not have arrested him. If I was on the grand jury, I would not have indicted him. If I was the judge, I would not try him. If I was the D. A., I would not prosecute him. If I was on the trial jury, I would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, and I would send him home to his family. And, Mr. Buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, I hope I have the guts to do what he did.”
   “I see. You think people should carry guns and settle their disputes in shootouts?”
   “I think children have a right not to be raped, and their parents have the right to protect them. I think little girls are special, and if mine was tied to a tree and gang raped by two dopeheads I’m sure it would make me crazy. I think good and decent fathers should have a constitutional right to execute any pervert who touches their children. And I think you’re a lying coward when you claim you would not want to kill the man who raped your daughter.”
   “Mr. Vonner, please!” Noose said.
   Buckley struggled, but kept his cool. “You obviously feel very strongly about this case, don’t you?”
   “You’re very perceptive.”
   “And you want to see him acquitted, don’t you?”
   “I would pay money, if I had any.”
   “And you think he stands a better chance of acquittal in another county, don’t you?”
   “I think he’s entitled to a jury made up of people who don’t know everything about the case before the trial starts.”
   “You would acquit him, wouldn’t you?”
   “That’s what I said.”
   “And you’ve no doubt talked to other people who would acquit him?”
   “I have talked to many.”
   “Are there folks in Ford County who would vote to convict him?”
   “Of course. Plenty of them. He’s black, isn’t he?”
   “In all your discussions around the county, have you detected a clear majority one way or the other?”
   “Not really.”
   Buckley looked at his legal pad and made a note. “Mr. Vonner, is Jake Brigance a close friend of yours?”
   Harry Rex smiled and rolled his eyes at Noose. “I’m a lawyer, Mr. Buckley, my friends are few and far between. But he is one of them. Yes, sir.”
   “And he asked you to come testify?”
   “No. I just happened to stumble through the courtroom a few moments ago and landed here in this chair. I had no idea you guys were having a hearing this morning.”
   Buckley threw his legal pad on the table and sat down. Harry Rex was excused.
   “Call your next witness,” Noose ordered.
   “Reverend Ollie Agee,” Jake said.
   The reverend was led from the witness room and seated in the witness stand. Jake had met him at his church the day before with a list of questions. He wanted to testify. They did not discuss the NAACP lawyers.
   The reverend was an excellent witness. His deep, graveled voice needed no microphone as it carried around the courtroom. Yes, he knew the details of the rape and the shooting. They were members of his church. He had known them for years, they were family almost, and he had held their hands and suffered with them after the rape. Yes, he had talked to countless people since it happened and everyone had an opinion on guilt or innocence. He and twenty-two other black ministers were members of the council and they had all talked about the Hailey case. And, no, there were no unmade minds in Ford County. A fair trial was not possible in Ford County, in his opinion.
   Buckley asked one question. “Reverend Agee, have you talked to any black who would vote to convict Carl Lee Hailey?”
   “No, suh, I have not.”
   The reverend was excused. He took a seat in the courtroom between two of his brethren on the council.
   “Call your next witness,” Noose said.
   Jake smiled at the D. A., and announced, “Sheriff Ozzie Walls.”
   Buckley and Musgrove immediately locked heads and whispered. Ozzie was on their side, the side of law and order, the prosecution’s side. It was not his job to help the defense. Proves you can’t trust a nigger, thought Buckley. They take up for each other when they know they’re guilty.
   Jake led Ozzie through a discussion of the rape and the backgrounds of Cobb and Willard. It was boring and repetitious, and Buckley wanted to object. But he’d been embarrassed enough for one day. Jake sensed that Buckley would remain in his seat so he dwelt on the rape and the gory details. Finally, Noose had enough.
   “Move on please, Mr. Brigance.”
   “Yes, Your Honor. Sheriff Walls, did you arrest Carl Lee Hailey?”
   “I did.”
   “Do you believe he killed Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard?”
   “I do.”
   “Have you met anybody in this county who believes he did not shoot them?”
   “No, sir.”
   “Is it widely believed in this county that Mr. Hailey killed them?”
   “Yes. Everbody believes it. At least everbody I’ve talked to.”
   “Sheriff, do you circulate in this county?”
   “Yes, sir. It’s my job to know what’s goin’ on.”
   “And you talk to a lot of people?”
   “More than I would like.”
   “Have you run across anyone who hasn’t heard of Carl Lee Hailey?”
   Ozzie paused and answered slowly. “A person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know of Carl Lee Hailey.”
   “Have you met anyone without an opinion on his guilt or innocence?”
   “There’s no such person in this county.”
   “Can he get a fair trial here?”
   “I don’t know about that. I do know you can’t find twelve people who don’t know all about the rape and the shootin’.”
   “No further questions,” Jake said to Noose.
   “Is he your last witness?”
   “Yes, sir.”
   “Any cross-examination, Mr. Buckley?”
   Buckley remained in his seat and shook his head.
   “Good,” said His Honor. “Let’s take a short recess. I would like to see the attorneys in chambers.”
   The courtroom erupted in conversation as the attorneys followed Noose and Mr. Pate through the door beside the bench. Noose closed the door to his chambers and removed his robe. Mr. Pate brought him a cup of black coffee.
   “Gentlemen, I am considering imposing a gag order from now until the trial is over. I am disturbed by the publicity, and I don’t want this case tried by the press. Any comments?”
   Buckley looked pale and shaken. He opened his mouth, but nothing happened.
   “Good idea, Your Honor,” Jake said painfully. “1 had considered requesting such an order.”
   “Yes, I’m sure you have. I’ve noticed how you run from publicity. What about you, Mr. Buckley?”
   “Uh, who would it apply to?”
   “You, Mr. Buckley. You, and Mr. Brigance, would be ordered not to discuss any aspect of the case or the trial with the press. It would apply to everyone, at least everyone under the control of this court. The attorneys, the clerks, the court officials, the sheriff.”
   “But why?” asked Buckley.
   “I don’t like the idea of the two of you trying this case through the media. I’m not blind. You’ve both fought for the spotlight, and I can only imagine what the trial will be like. A circus, that’s what it will be. Not a trial, but a three-ring circus.” Noose walked to the window and mumbled something to himself. He paused for a moment, then continued mumbling. The attorneys looked at each other, then at the awkward frame standing in the window.
   “I’m imposing a gag order, effective immediately, from now until the trial is over. Violation of the order will result in contempt of court proceedings. You are not to discuss any aspect of this case with any member of the press. Any questions?”
   “No, sir,” Jake said quickly.
   Buckley looked at Musgrove and shook his head.
   “Now, back to this hearing. Mr. Buckley, you said you have over twenty witnesses. How many do you really need?”
   “Five or six.”
   “That’s much better. Who are they?”
   “Floyd Loyd.”
   “Who’s he?”
   “Supervisor, First District, Ford County.”
   “What’s his testimony?”
   “He’s lived here for fifty years, been in office ten years or so. In his opinion a fair trial is possible in this county.”
   “I suppose he’s never heard of this case?” Noose said sarcastically.
   “I’m not sure.”
   “Who else?”
   “Nathan Baker. Justice of the Peace, Third District, Ford County.”
   “Same testimony?”
   “Well, basically, yes.”
   “Who else?”
   “Edgar Lee Baldwin, former supervisor, Ford County.”
   “He was indicted a few years back, wasn’t he?” Jake asked.
   Buckley’s face turned redder than Jake had ever seen it. His huge mouth dropped open and his eyes glazed over.
   “He was not convicted,” shot Musgrove.
   “I didn’t say he was. I simply said he was indicted. FBI, wasn’t it?”
   “Enough, enough,” said Noose. “What will Mr. Baldwin tell us?”
   “He’s lived here all his life. He knows the people of Ford County, and thinks Mr. Hailey can receive a fair trial here,” Musgrove answered. Buckley remained speechless as he stared at Jake.
   “Who else?”
   “Sheriff Harry Bryant, Tyler County.”
   “Sheriff Bryant? What’ll he say?”