A Time to Kill (35 page)

“A first-class defense. Three or four attorneys. A battery of psychiatrists. Half dozen investigators. A jury psychologist, just to name a few. This is not your run-of-the-mill murder case. I want to win. I was led to believe that you folks wanted to win.”

“How much?” asked Agee.

“Fifty thousand, minimum. A hundred thousand would be nice.”

“Look, Mr. Reinfeld, you’re in Mississippi. Our people are poor. They’ve given generously so far, but there’s no way we can raise another thirty thousand here.”

Reinfeld adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and scratched his graying beard. “How much more can you raise?”

“Another five thousand, maybe.”

“That’s not much money.”

“Not to you, but it is to the black folk of Ford County.”

Reinfeld studied the floor and continued stroking his beard. “How much has the Memphis chapter given?”

“Five thousand,” answered someone from Memphis.

“Atlanta?”

“Five thousand.”

“How about the state chapter?”

“Which state?”

“Mississippi.”

“None.”

“None?”

“None.”

“Why not?”

“Ask him,” Agee said, pointing at Reverend Henry Hillman, the state director.

“Uh, we tryin’ to raise some money now,” Hill man said weakly. “But—”

“How much have you raised so far?” asked Agee.

“Well, uh, we got—”

“Nothin’, right? You ain’t raised nothin’, have you, Hillman?” Agee said loudly.

“Come on, Hillman, tell us how much you raised,”

chimed in Reverend Roosevelt, vice-chairman of the council.

Hillman was dumbfounded and speechless. He had been sitting quietly on the front pew minding his own business, half asleep. Suddenly he was under attack.

“The state chapter will contribute.”

“Sure you will, Hillman. You folks at state are constantly badgerin’ us locals to contribute here and donate there for this cause and that cause, and we never see any of the money. You always cryin’ about bein’ so broke, and we’re always sendin’ money to state. But when we need help, state don’t do a thing but show up here and talk.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t start lyin’, Hillman.”

Reinfeld was embarrassed and immediately aware that a nerve had been touched. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s move on,” he said diplomatically.

“Good idea,” Hillman said.

“When can we meet with Mr. Hailey?” Reinfeld asked.

“I’ll arrange a meetin’ for in the mornin’,” Agee said.

“Where can we meet?”

“I suggest we meet in Sheriff Walls’ office in the jail. He’s black, you know, the only black sheriff in Mississippi.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

“I think he’ll let us meet in his office.”

“Good. Who is Mr. Hailey’s attorney?”

“Local boy. Jake Brigance.”

“Make sure he’s invited. We’ll ask him to help us on the case. It’ll ease the pain.”

________

Ethel’s obnoxious, high-pitched, bitchy voice broke the tranquility of the late afternoon and startled her boss. “Mr. Brigance, Sheriff Walls is on line two,” she said through the intercom.

“Okay.”

“Do you need me for anything else, sir?”

“No. See you in the morning.”

Jake punched line two. “Hello, Ozzie. What’s up?”

“Listen Jake, we’ve got a bunch of NAACP big shots in town.”

“What else is new?”

“No, this is different. They wanna meet with Carl Lee in the mornin’.”

“Why?”

“Some guy named Reinfeld.”

“I’ve heard of him. He heads up their capital murder team. Norman Reinfeld.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Well, he’s here, and he wants to talk to Carl Lee.”

“Why are you involved?”

“Reverend Agee called me. He wants a favor, of course. He asked me to call you.”

“The answer is no. Emphatically no.”

Ozzie paused a few seconds. “Jake, they want you to be present.”

“You mean I’m invited?”

“Yes. Agee said Reinfeld insisted on it. He wants you to be here.”

“Where?”

“In my office. Nine A.M.”

Jake breathed deeply and replied slowly. “Okay, I’ll be there. Where’s Carl Lee?”

“In his cell.”

“Get him in your office. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What for?”

“We need to have a prayer meeting.”

________

Reinfeld and Reverends Agee, Roosevelt, and Hill man sat in a perfect row of folding chairs and faced the sheriff, the defendant, and Jake, who puffed a cheap cigar in a determined effort to pollute the small office. He puffed mightily and stared nonchalantly at the floor, trying his best to show nothing but absolute contempt for Reinfeld and the reverends. Reinfeld was no pushover when it came to arrogance, and his disdain for this simple, small-time lawyer was not well hidden because he made no attempt to hide it. He was arrogant and insolent by nature. Jake had to work at it.

“Who called this meeting?” Jake asked impatiently, after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Uh, well, I guess we did,” answered Agee as he searched Reinfeld for guidance.

“Well, get on with it. What do you want?”

“Take it easy now, Jake,” Ozzie said. “Reverend Agee asked me to arrange the meeting so Carl Lee could meet Mr. Reinfeld here.”

“Fine. They’ve met. Now what, Mr. Reinfeld?”

“I’m here to offer my services, and the services of my staff and the entire NAACP to Mr. Hailey,” said Reinfeld.

“What type of services?” asked Jake.

“Legal, of course.”

“Carl Lee, did you ask Mr. Reinfeld to come here?” asked Jake.

“Nope.”

“Sounds like solicitation to me, Mr. Reinfeld.”

“Skip the lecture, Mr. Brigance. You know what I do, and you know why I’m here.”

“So you chase all your cases?”

“We don’t chase anything. We’re called in by local NAACP members and other civil rights activists. We handle only capital murder cases, and we’re very good at what we do.”

“I suppose you’re the only attorney competent to handle a case of this magnitude?”

“I’ve handled my share.”

“And lost your share.”

“Most of my cases are supposed to be lost.”

“I see. Is that your position on this case? Do you expect to lose it?”

Reinfeld picked at his beard and glared at Jake. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, Mr. Brigance.”

“I know. You came here to offer your formidable legal skills to a defendant who’s never heard of you and happens to be satisfied with his attorney. You came here to take my client. I know exactly why you’re here.”

“I’m here because the NAACP invited me. Nothing more or less.”

“I see. Do you get all your cases from the NAACP?”

“I work for the NAACP, Mr. Brigance. I’m in charge of its capital murder defense team. I go where the NAACP sends me.”

“How many clients do you have?”

“Several dozen. Why is that important?”

“Did they all have attorneys before you pushed yourself into their cases?”

“Some did, some didn’t. We always try to work with the local attorney.”

Jake smiled. “That’s marvelous. You’re offering me a chance to carry your briefcase and chauffeur you around Clanton. I might even get to fetch you a sandwich during the noon recess. What a thrill.”

Carl Lee sat frozen with arms crossed and his eyes fixed on a spot in the rug. The reverends watched him closely, waiting for him to say something to his lawyer, to tell him to shut up, that he was fired and the NAACP lawyers would handle the case. They watched and waited, but Carl Lee just sat calmly and listened.

“We have a lot to offer, Mr. Hailey,” Reinfeld said. It was best to stay calm until the defendant decided who would represent him. A tantrum might ruin things.

“Such as?” Jake asked.

“Staff, resources, expertise, experienced trial lawyers who do nothing but capital defense. Plus we have a number of highly competent doctors we use in these cases. You name it, we have it.”

“How much money do you have to spend?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Is that so? Is it Mr. Hailey’s business? After all, it’s his case. Perhaps Mr. Hailey would like to know how much you have to spend in his defense. Would you, Mr. Hailey?”

“Yep.”

“All right, Mr. Reinfeld, how much do you have to spend?”

Reinfeld squirmed and looked hard at the reverends, who looked hard at Carl Lee.

“Approximately twenty thousand, so far,” Reinfeld admitted sheepishly.

Jake laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Twenty thousand! Y’all are really serious about this, aren’t you? Twenty thousand! I thought you guys
played in the big leagues. You raised a hundred and fifty thousand for the cop killer in Birmingham last year. And he was convicted, by the way. You spent a hundred thousand for the whore in Shreveport who killed her customer. And she, too, was convicted, I might add. And you think this case is worth only twenty thousand.”

“How much do you have to spend?” asked Reinfeld.

“If you can explain to me how that’s any of your business, I’ll be glad to discuss it with you.”

Reinfeld started to speak, then leaned forward and rubbed his temples. “Why don’t you talk to him, Reverend Agee.”

The reverends stared at Carl Lee. They wished they were alone with him, with no white folks around. They could talk to him like he was a nigger. They could explain things to him; tell him to fire this young white boy and get him some real lawyers. NAACP lawyers. Lawyers who knew how to fight for blacks. But they were not alone with him, and they couldn’t curse him. They had to show respect for the white folks present. Agee spoke first.

“Look here, Carl Lee, we tryin’ to help you. We brought in Mr. Reinfeld here, and he’s got all his lawyers and everbody at your disposal, to help you now. We ain’t got nothin’ against Jake here; he’s a fine young lawyer. But he can work with Mr. Reinfeld. We don’t want you to fire Jake; we just want you to hire Mr. Reinfeld too. They can all work together.”

“Forget that,” said Jake.

Agee paused and looked helplessly at Jake.

“Come on, Jake. We ain’t got nothin’ against you. It’s a big chance for you. You can work with
some real big lawyers. Get some real good experience. We—”

“Let me make it real clear, Reverend. If Carl Lee wants your lawyers, fine. But I’m not playing gofer for anyone. I’m either in or out. Nothing in between. My case or your case. The courtroom is not big enough for me, Reinfeld, and Rufus Buckley.”

Reinfeld rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling, shaking his head slowly and grinning with an arrogant little smirk.

“You sayin’ it’s up to Carl Lee?” asked Reverend Agee.

“Of course it’s up to him. He’s hired me. He can fire me. He’s already done it once. I’m not the one facing the gas chamber.”

“How ’bout it, Carl Lee?” asked Agee.

Carl Lee uncrossed his arms and stared at Agee. “This twenty thousand, what’s it for?”

“Really, it’s more like thirty thousand,” answered Reinfeld. “The local folks have pledged another ten thousand. The money will be used for your defense. None of it’s attorney fees. We’ll need two or three investigators. Two, maybe three, psychiatric experts. We often use a jury psychologist to assist us in selecting the jury. Our defenses are very expensive.”

“Uh huh. How much money has been raised by local people?” asked Carl Lee.

“About six thousand,” answered Reinfeld.

“Who collected this money?”

Reinfeld looked at Agee. “The churches,” answered the reverend.

“Who collected the money from the churches?” asked Carl Lee.

“We did,” answered Agee.

“You mean, you did,” said Carl Lee.

“Well, uh, right. I mean, each church gave the money to me, and I deposited it in a special bank account.”

“Yeah, and you deposited every nickel you received?”

“Of course I did.”

“Of course. Let me ask you this. How much of the money have you offered to my wife and kids?”

Agee looked a bit pale, or as pale as possible, and quickly searched the faces of the other reverends, who, at the moment, were preoccupied with a stink bug on the carpet. They offered no help. Each knew Agee had been taking his cut, and each knew the family had received nothing. Agee had profited more than the family. They knew it, and Carl Lee knew it.

“How much, Reverend?” repeated Carl Lee.

“Well, we thought the money—”

“How much, Reverend?”

“The money is gonna be spent on lawyer fees and stuff like that.”

“That ain’t what you told your church, is it? You said it was for the support of the family. You almost cried when you talked about how my family might starve to death if the folks didn’t donate all they could. Didn’t you, Reverend?”

“The money’s for you, Carl Lee. You and your family. Right now we think it could be better spent on your defense.”

“And what if I don’t want your lawyers? What happens to the twenty thousand?”

Jake chuckled. “Good question. What happens to the money if Mr. Hailey doesn’t hire you, Mr. Reinfeld?”

“It’s not my money,” answered Reinfeld.

“Reverend Agee?” asked Jake.

The reverend had had enough. He grew defiant and belligerent. He pointed at Carl Lee. “Listen here, Carl Lee. We busted our butts to raise this money. Six thousand bucks from the poor people of this county, people who didn’t have it to give. We worked hard for this money, and it was given by poor people, your people, people on food stamps and welfare and Medicaid, people who couldn’t afford to donate a dime. But they gave for one reason, and only one reason: they believe in you and what you did, and they want you to walk outta that courtroom a free man. Don’t say you don’t want the money.”

“Don’t preach to me,” Carl Lee replied softly. “You say the poor folks of this county gave six thousand?”

“Right?”

“Where’d the rest of the money come from?”

“NAACP. Five thousand from Atlanta, five from Memphis, and five from national. And it’s strictly for your defense fees.”

“If I use Mr. Reinfeld here?”

“Right.”

“And if I don’t use him, the fifteen thousand disappears?”