A Time to Kill (5 page)

At three minutes before seven, he unlocked his office and turned on the lights.

________

Carl Lee had difficulty sleeping on the couch in the waiting room. Tonya was serious but stable. They had seen her at midnight, after the doctor warned that she
looked bad. She did. Gwen had kissed the little bandaged face while Carl Lee stood at the foot of the bed, subdued, motionless, unable to do anything but stare blankly at the small figure surrounded by machines, tubes, and nurses. Gwen was later sedated and taken to her mother’s house in Clanton. The boys went home with Gwen’s brother.

The crowd had dispersed around one, leaving Carl Lee alone on the couch. Ozzie brought coffee and doughnuts at two, and told Carl Lee all he knew about Cobb and Willard.

________

Jake’s office was a two-story building in a row of two-story buildings overlooking the courthouse on the north side of the square, just down from the Coffee Shop. The building was built by the Wilbanks family back in the 1890s, back when they owned Ford County. And there had been a Wilbanks practicing law in the building from the day it was built until 1979, the year of the disbarment. Next door to the east was an insurance agent Jake had sued for botching a claim for Tim Nunley, the mechanic down at the Chevrolet place. To the west was the bank with the mortgage on the Saab. All the buildings around the square were two-story brick except the banks. The one next door had also been built by the Wilbankses and had just two floors, but the one on the southeast corner of the square had three floors, and the newest one, on the southwest corner, had four floors.

Jake practiced alone, and had since 1979, the year of the disbarment. He liked it that way, especially since there was no other lawyer in Clanton competent enough to practice with him. There were several good lawyers in town, but most were with the Sullivan firm
over in the bank building with four floors. Jake detested the Sullivan firm. Every lawyer detested the Sullivan firm except those in it. There were eight in all, eight of the most pompous and arrogant jerks Jake had ever met. Two had Harvard degrees. They had the big farmers, the banks, the insurance companies, the railroads, everybody with money. The other fourteen lawyers in the county picked up the scraps and represented people—living, breathing human souls, most of whom had very little money. These were the “street lawyers”—those in the trenches helping people in trouble. Jake was proud to be a street lawyer.

His offices were huge. He used only five of the ten rooms in the building. Downstairs there was a reception room, a large conference room, a kitchen, and a smaller storage and junk room. Upstairs, Jake had his vast office and another smaller office he referred to as the war room. It had no windows, no telephones, no distractions. Three offices sat empty upstairs and two downstairs. In years past these had been occupied by the prestigious Wilbanks firm, long before the disbarment. Jake’s office upstairs,
the
office, was immense; thirty by thirty with a ten-foot hardwood ceiling, hardwood floors, huge fireplace, and three desks—his work desk, a small conference desk in one corner, and a roll-top desk in another corner under the portrait of William Faulkner. The antique oak furniture had been there for almost a century, as had the books and shelves that covered one wall. The view of the square and courthouse was impressive, and could be enhanced by opening the French doors and walking onto a small balcony over hanging the sidewalk next to Washington Street. Jake had, without a doubt, the finest office in Clanton. Even his bitter enemies in the Sullivan firm would concede that much.

For all the opulence and square footage, Jake paid the sum of four hundred dollars a month to his landlord and former boss, Lucien Wilbanks, who had been disbarred in 1979.

For decades the Wilbanks family ruled Ford County. They were proud, wealthy people, prominent in farming, banking, politics, and especially law. All the Wilbanks men were lawyers, and were educated at Ivy League schools. They founded banks, churches, schools, and several served in public office. The firm of Wilbanks & Wilbanks had been the most powerful and prestigious in north Mississippi for many years.

Then came Lucien. He was the only male Wilbanks of his generation. There was a sister and some nieces, but they were expected only to marry well. Great things were expected of Lucien as a child, but by the third grade it was evident he would be a different Wilbanks. He inherited the law firm in 1965 when his father and uncle were killed in a plane crash. Although he was forty, he had just recently, several months prior to their deaths, completed his study of the law by correspondence courses. Some how he passed the bar exam. He took control of the firm and clients began disappearing. Big clients, like insurance companies, banks, and farmers, all left and went to the newly established Sullivan firm. Sullivan had been a junior partner in the Wilbanks firm until Lucien fired him and evicted him, after which he left with the other junior partners and most of the clients. Then Lucien fired everyone else—associates, secretaries, clerks—everyone but Ethel Twitty, his late father’s favorite secretary.

Ethel and John Wilbanks had been very close through the years. In fact she had a younger son who greatly resembled Lucien. The poor fellow spent most
of his time in and out of various nut houses. Lucien jokingly referred to him as his retarded brother. After the plane crash, the retarded brother appeared in Clanton and started telling folks he was the illegitimate son of John Wilbanks. Ethel was humiliated, but couldn’t control him. Clanton seethed with scandal. A lawsuit was filed by the Sullivan firm as counsel for the retarded brother seeking a portion of the estate. Lucien was furious. A trial ensued, and Lucien vigorously defended his honor and pride and family name. He also vigorously defended his father’s estate, all of which had been left to Lucien and his sister. At trial the jury noted the striking resemblance between Lucien and Ethel’s son, who was several years younger. The retarded brother was strategically seated as close as possible to Lucien. The Sullivan lawyers instructed him to walk, talk, sit, and do everything just like Lucien. They even dressed him like Lucien. Ethel and her husband denied the boy was any kin to the Wilbanks, but the jury felt otherwise. He was found to be an heir of John Wilbanks, and was awarded one third of the estate. Lucien cursed the jury, slapped the poor boy, and was carried screaming from the courtroom and taken to jail. The jury’s decision was reversed and dismissed on appeal, but Lucien feared more litigation if Ethel ever changed her story. Thus, Ethel Twitty remained with the Wilbanks firm.

Lucien was satisfied when the firm disintegrated. He never intended to practice law like his ancestors. He wanted to be a criminal lawyer, and the old firm’s clientele had become strictly corporate. He wanted the rapes, the murders, the child abuses, the ugly cases no one else wanted. He wanted to be a civil rights lawyer and litigate civil liberties. But most of all, Lucien wanted to be a radical, a flaming radical of a lawyer
with unpopular cases and causes, and lots of attention.

He grew a beard, divorced his wife, renounced his church, sold his share of the country club, joined the NAACP and ACLU, resigned from the bank board, and in general became the scourge of Clanton. He sued the schools because of segregation, the governor because of the prison, the city because it refused to pave streets in the black section, the bank because there were no black tellers, the state because of capital punishment, and the factories because they would not recognize organized labor. He fought and won many criminal cases, and not just in Ford County. His reputation spread, and a large following developed among blacks, poor whites, and the few unions in north Mississippi. He stumbled into some lucrative personal injury and wrongful death cases. There were some nice settlements. The firm, he and Ethel, was more profitable than ever. Lucien did not need the money. He had been born with it and never thought about it. Ethel did the counting.

The law became his life. With no family, he became a workaholic. Fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, Lucien practiced law with a passion. He had no other interests, except alcohol. In the late sixties he noticed an affinity for Jack Daniel’s. By the early seventies he was a drunk, and when he hired Jake in 1978 he was a full-fledged alcoholic. But he never let booze interfere with his work; he learned to drink and work at the same time. Lucien was always half drunk, and he was a dangerous lawyer in that condition. Bold and abrasive by nature, he was downright frightening when he was drinking. At trial he would embarrass the opposing attorneys, insult the judge, abuse the witnesses, then apologize to the jury. He respected no one
and could not be intimidated. He was feared because he would say and do anything. People walked lightly around Lucien. He knew it and loved it. He became more and more eccentric. The more he drank, the crazier he acted, then people talked about him even more, so he drank even more.

Between 1966 and 1978 Lucien hired and disposed of eleven associates. He hired blacks, Jews, Hispanics, women, and not one kept the pace he demanded. He was a tyrant around the office, constantly cursing and berating the young lawyers. Some quit the first month. One lasted two years. It was difficult to accept Lucien’s craziness. He had the money to be eccentric—his associates did not.

He hired Jake in 1978 fresh from law school. Jake was from Karaway, a small town of twenty-five hundred, eighteen miles west of Clanton. He was clean-cut, conservative, a devout Presbyterian with a pretty wife who wanted babies. Lucien hired him to see if he could corrupt him. Jake took the job with strong reservations because he had no other offers close to home.

A year later Lucien was disbarred. It was a tragedy for those very few who liked him. The small union at the shoe factory north of town had called a strike. It was a union Lucien had organized and represented. The factory began hiring new workers to replace the strikers, and violence followed. Lucien appeared on the picket line to rally his people. He was drunker than normal. A group of scabs attempted to cross the line and a brawl erupted. Lucien led the charge, was arrested and jailed. He was convicted in city court of assault and battery and dis orderly conduct. He appealed and lost, appealed and lost.

The State Bar Association had grown weary of Lucien over the years. No other attorney in the state had
received as many complaints as had Lucien Wil banks. Private reprimands, public reprimands, and suspensions had all been used, all to no avail. The Complaints Tribunal and Disciplinary Committee moved swiftly. He was disbarred for outrageous conduct unbecoming a member of the bar. He appealed and lost, appealed and lost.

He was devastated. Jake was in Lucien’s office, the big office upstairs, when word came from Jackson that the Supreme Court had upheld the disbarment. Lucien hung up the phone and walked to the doors overlooking the square. Jake watched him closely, waiting for the tirade. But Lucien said nothing. He walked slowly down the stairs, stopped and stared at Ethel, who was crying, and then looked at Jake. He opened the door and said, “Take care of this place. I’ll see you later.”

They ran to the front window and watched him speed away from the square in his ragged old Porsche. For several months there was no word from him. Jake labored diligently on Lucien’s cases while Ethel kept the office from chaos. Some of the cases were settled, some left for other lawyers, some went to trial.

Six months later Jake returned to his office after a long day in court and found Lucien asleep on the Persian rug in the big office. “Lucien! Are you all right?” he asked.

Lucien jumped up and sat in the big leather chair behind the desk. He was sober, tanned, relaxed.

“Jake, my boy, how are you?” he asked warmly.

“Fine, just fine. Where have you been?”

“Cayman Islands.”

“Doing what?”

“Drinking rum, lying on the beach, chasing little native girls.”

“Sounds like fun. Why did you leave?”

“It got boring.”

Jake sat across the desk. “It’s good to see you, Lucien.”

“Good to see you, Jake. How are things around here?”

“Hectic. But okay, I guess.”

“Did you settle Medley?”

“Yeah. They paid eighty thousand.”

“That’s very good. Was he happy?”

“Yes, seemed to be.”

“Did Cruger go to trial?”

Jake looked at the floor. “No, he hired Fredrix. I think it’s set for trial next month.”

“I should’ve talked to him before I left.”

“He’s guilty, isn’t he?”

“Yes, very. It doesn’t matter who represents him. Most defendants are guilty. Remember that.” Lucien walked to the French doors and gazed at the courthouse. “What are your plans, Jake?”

“I’d like to stay here. What are your plans?”

“You’re a good man, Jake, and I want you to stay. Me, I don’t know. I thought about moving to the Caribbean, but I won’t. It’s a nice place to visit, but it gets old. I have no plans really. I may travel. Spend some money. I’m worth a ton, you know.”

Jake agreed. Lucien turned and waved his arms around the room. “I want you to have all this, Jake. I want you to stay here and keep some semblance of a firm going. Move into this office; use this desk that my grandfather brought from Virginia after the Civil War. Keep the files, cases, clients, books, everything.”

“That’s very generous, Lucien.”

“Most of the clients will disappear. No reflection
on you—you’ll be a great lawyer someday. But most of my clients have followed me for years.”

Jake didn’t want most of his clients. “How about rent?”

“Pay me what you can afford. Money will be tight at first, but you’ll make it. I don’t need money, but you do.”

“You’re being very kind.”

“I’m really a nice guy.” They both laughed awkwardly.

Jake quit smiling. “What about Ethel?”

“It’s up to you. She’s a good secretary who’s forgotten more law than you’ll ever know. I know you don’t like her, but she would be hard to replace. Fire her if you want to. I don’t care.”

Lucien headed for the door. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be around. I want you to move into this office. It was my father’s and grandfather’s. Put my junk in some boxes, and I’ll pick it up later.”