A Time to Kill (66 page)

On the front pages of the Memphis, Jackson, and Tupelo papers were identical photos of Carl Lee standing on the small porch over the mob, holding his daughter and waving to his people. There was nothing about Jake’s house. He was relieved, and suddenly hungry.

Dell hugged him like a lost child. She removed her
apron and sat next to him in a corner booth. As the regulars arrived and saw him, they stopped by and patted him on the back. It was good to see him again. They had missed him, and they were for him. He looked gaunt, she said, so he ordered most of the menu.

“Say, Jake, are all those blacks gonna be back today?” asked Bert West.

“Probably,” he said as he stabbed a chunk of pancakes.

“I heard they’s plannin’ to bring more folks this mornin’,” said Andy Rennick. “Ever nigger radio station in north Mississippi is tellin’ folks to come to Clanton.”

Great, thought Jake. He added Tabasco to his scrambled eggs.

“Can the jury hear all that yellin’?” asked Bert.

“Sure they can,” Jake answered. “That’s why they’re doing it. They’re not deaf.”

“That’s gotta scare them.”

Jake certainly hoped so.

“How’s the family?” Dell asked quietly.

“Fine, I guess. I talk to Carla every night.”

“She scared?”

“Terrified.”

“What have they done to you lately?”

“Nothing since Sunday morning.”

“Does Carla know?”

Jake chewed and shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. You poor thing.”

“I’ll be okay. What’s the talk in here?”

“We closed at lunch yesterday. There were so many blacks outside, and we were afraid of a riot. We’ll watch it close this morning, and we may close again. Jake, what if there’s a conviction?”

“It could get hairy.”

He stayed for an hour and answered their questions. Strangers arrived, and Jake excused himself.

There was nothing to do but wait. He sat on the balcony, drank coffee, smoked a cigar, and watched the guardsmen. He thought of the clients he once had; of a quiet little Southern law office with a secretary and clients waiting to see him. Of docket calls and interviews at the jail. Of normal things, like a family, a home, and church on Sunday mornings. He was not meant for the big time.

The first church bus arrived at seven-thirty and was halted by the soldiers. The doors flew open and an endless stream of blacks with lawn chairs and food baskets headed for the front lawn. For an hour Jake blew smoke into the heavy air and watched with great satisfaction as the square filled beyond capacity with noisy yet peaceful protestors. The reverends were out in full force, directing their people and assuring Ozzie and the colonel they were nonviolent folk. Ozzie was convinced. The colonel was nervous. By nine, the streets were crammed with demonstrators. Someone spotted the Greyhound. “Here they come!” Agee screamed into the loudspeaker. The mob pushed to the corner of Jackson and Quincy, where the soldiers, troopers, and deputies formed a mobile barricade around the bus and walked it through the crowd to the rear of the courthouse.

Eula Dell Yates cried openly. Clyde Sisco sat next to the window and held her hand. The others stared in fear as the bus inched around the square. A heavily armed passageway was cleared from the bus to the courthouse, and Ozzie came aboard. The situation was under control, he assured them over the roar. Just follow him and walk as fast as possible.

________

The bailiff locked the door as they gathered around the coffeepot. Eula Dell sat by herself in the corner crying softly and flinching as each “Free Carl Lee!” boomed from below.

“I don’t care what we do,” she said. “I really don’t care, but I just can’t take any more of this. I haven’t seen my family in eight days, and now this madness. I didn’t sleep any last night.” She cried louder. “I think I’m close to a nervous breakdown. Let’s just get outta here.”

Clyde handed her a Kleenex and rubbed her shoulder.

Jo Ann Gates was a soft guilty who was ready to crack. “I didn’t sleep either last night. I can’t take another day like yesterday. I wanna go home to my kids.”

Barry Acker stood by the window and thought of the riot that would follow a guilty verdict. There wouldn’t be a building left downtown, including the courthouse. He doubted if anybody would protect the jurors in the aftermath of a wrong verdict. They probably wouldn’t make it back to the bus. Thankfully, his wife and kids had fled to safety in Arkansas.

“I feel like a hostage,” said Bernice Toole, a firm guilty. “That mob would storm the courthouse in a split second if we convict him. I feel intimidated.”

Clyde handed her a box of Kleenexes.

“I don’t care what we do,” Eula Dell whined in desperation. “Let’s just get outta here. I honestly don’t care if we convict him or cut him loose, let’s just do something. My nerves can’t take it.”

Wanda Womack stood at the end of the table and nervously cleared her throat. She asked for attention.

“I have a proposal,” she said slowly, “that just might settle this thing.”

The crying stopped, and Barry Acker returned to his seat. She had their complete attention.

“I thought of something last night when I couldn’t sleep, and I want you to consider it. It may be painful. It may cause you to search your heart and take a long look at your soul. But I’ll ask you to do it anyway. And if each of you will be honest with yourself, I think we can wrap this up before noon.”

The only sounds came from the street below.

“Right now we are evenly divided, give or take a vote. We could tell Judge Noose that we are hopelessly deadlocked. He would declare a mistrial, and we would go home. Then in a few months this entire spectacle would be repeated. Mr. Hailey would be tried again in this same courtroom, with the same judge, but with a different jury, a jury drawn from this county, a jury of our friends, husbands, wives, and parents. The same kind of people who are now in this room. That jury will be confronted with the same issues before us now, and those people will not be any smarter than we are.

“The time to decide this case is now. It would be morally wrong to shirk our responsibilities and pass the buck to the next jury. Can we all agree on that?”

They silently agreed.

“Good. This is what I want you to do. I want you to pretend with me for a moment. I want you to use your imaginations. I want you to close your eyes and listen to nothing but my voice.”

They obediently closed their eyes. Anything was worth a try.

________

Jake lay on the couch in his office and listened to Lucien tell stories about his prestigious father and grandfather, and their prestigious law firm, and all the people they screwed out of money and land.

“My inheritance was built by my promiscuous ancestors!” he yelled. “They screwed everybody they could!”

Harry Rex laughed uncontrollably. Jake had heard the stories before, but they were always funny, and different.

“What about Ethel’s retarded son?” Jake asked.

“Don’t talk that way about my brother,” Lucien protested. “He’s the brightest one in the family. Sure he’s my brother. Dad hired her when she was seventeen, and believe it or not, she looked good back then. Ethel Twitty was the hottest thing in Ford County. My dad couldn’t keep his hands off her. Sickening to think about now, but it’s true.”

“It’s disgusting,” Jake said.

“She had a houseful of kids, and two of them looked just like me, especially the dunce. It was very embarrassing back then.”

“What about your mother?” asked Harry Rex.

“She was one of those dignified old Southern ladies whose main concern was who had blue blood and who didn’t. There’s not much blue blood around here, so she spent most of her time in Memphis trying to impress and be accepted by the cotton families. I spent a good part of my childhood at the Peabody Hotel all starched out with a little red bow tie, trying to act polished around the rich kids from Memphis. I hated it, and I didn’t care much for my mother either. She knew about Ethel, but she accepted it. She told the old man to be discreet and not embarrass the family. He was
discreet, and I wound up with a retarded half-brother.”

“When did she die?”

“Six months before my father was killed in the plane crash.”

“How’d she die?” asked Harry Rex.

“Gonorrhea. Caught it from the yard boy.”

“Lucien! Seriously?”

“Cancer. Carried it for three years, but she was dignified to the very end.”

“Where’d you go wrong?” Jake asked.

“I think it started in the first grade. My uncle owned the big plantation south of town, and he owned several black families. This was in the Depression, right? I spent most of my childhood there because my father was too busy right here in this office and my mother was too busy with her hot-tea-drinkers clubs. All of my playmates were black. I’d been raised by black servants. My best friend was Willie Ray Wilbanks. No kidding. My great-grandfather purchased his great-grandfather. And when the slaves were freed, most of them just kept the family name. What were they supposed to do? That’s why you’ve got so many black Wilbankses around here. We owned all the slaves in Ford County, and most of them became Wilbankses.”

“You’re probably kin to some,” Jake said.

“Given the proclivities of my forefathers, I’m probably kin to all of them.”

The phone rang. They froze and stared at it. Jake sat up and held his breath. Harry Rex picked up the receiver, then hung up. “Wrong number,” he said.

They studied each other, then smiled.

“Anyway, back to the first grade,” Jake said.

“Okay. When it came time to start school, Willie Ray and the rest of my little buddies got on the bus headed for the black school. I jumped on the bus too, and the driver very carefully took my hand and made me get off. I cried and screamed, and my uncle took me home and told my mother, ‘Lucien got on the nigger school bus.’ She was horrified, and beat my little ass. The old man beat me too, but years later admitted it was funny. So I went to the white school where I was always the little rich kid. Everybody hated the little rich kid, especially in a poor town like Clanton. Not that I was lovable to begin with, but everyone got a kick out of hating me just because we had money. That’s why I’ve never thought much of money. That’s where the nonconformity started. In the first grade. I decided not to be like my mother because she frowned all the time and looked down on the world. And my old man was always too busy to enjoy himself. I said piss on it. I’m gonna have some fun.”

Jake stretched and closed his eyes.

“Nervous?” Lucien asked.

“I just want it to be over.”

The phone rang again, and Lucien grabbed it. He listened, then hung up.

“What is it?” Harry Rex demanded.

Jake sat up and glared at Lucien. The moment had arrived.

“Jean Gillespie. The jury is ready.”

“Oh my God,” Jake said as he rubbed his temples.

“Listen to me, Jake,” Lucien lectured. “Millions of people will see what is about to happen. Keep your cool. Be careful what you say.”

“What about me?” Harry Rex moaned. “I need to go vomit.”

“That’s strange advice coming from you, Lucien,” Jake said as he buttoned Stan’s coat.

“I’ve learned a lot. Show your class. If you win, watch what you say to the press. Be sure and thank the jury. If you lose—”

“If you lose,” Harry Rex said, “run like hell, because those niggers will storm the courthouse.”

“I feel weak,” Jake admitted.

________

Agee took the platform on the front steps and announced the jury was ready. He asked for quiet, and instantly the mob grew still. They moved toward the front columns. Agee asked them to fall to their knees and pray. They knelt obediently and prayed earnestly. Every man, woman, and child on the front lawn bowed before God and begged him to let their man go.

The soldiers stood bunched together and also prayed for an acquittal.

Ozzie and Moss Junior seated the courtroom and lined deputies and reserves around the walls and down the aisle. Jake entered from the holding room and stared at Carl Lee at the defense table. He glanced at the spectators. Many were praying. Many were biting their fingers. Gwen was wiping tears. Lester looked fearfully at Jake. The children were confused and scared.

Noose assumed the bench and an electrified silence engulfed the courtroom. There was no sound from the outside. Twenty thousand blacks knelt on the ground like Muslims. Perfect stillness inside the courtroom and out.

“I have been advised that the jury has reached a verdict, is that correct, Mr. Bailiff? Very well. We will
soon seat the jury, but before we do so I have some instructions. I will not tolerate any outbursts or displays of emotion. I will direct the sheriff to remove any person who creates a disturbance. If need be, I will clear the courtroom. Mr. Bailiff, will you seat the jury.”

The door opened, and it seemed like an hour before Eula Dell Yates appeared first with tears in her eyes. Jake dropped his head. Carl Lee stared gamely at the portrait of Robert E. Lee above Noose. They awkwardly filled the jury box. They seemed jittery, tense, scared. Most had been crying. Jake felt sick. Barry Acker held a piece of paper that attracted the attention of everyone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, sir, we have,” answered the foreman in a high-pitched, nervous voice.

“Hand it to the clerk, please.”

Jean Gillespie took it and handed it to His Honor, who studied it forever. “It is technically in order,” he finally said.

Eula Dell was flooding, and her sniffles were the only sounds in the courtroom. Jo Ann Gates and Bernice Toole patted their eyes with handkerchiefs. The crying could mean only one thing. Jake had vowed to ignore the jury before the verdict was read, but it was impossible. In his first criminal trial, the jurors had smiled as they took their seats. At that moment, Jake had become confident of an acquittal. Seconds later he learned that the smiles were because a criminal was about to be removed from the streets. Since that trial, he had vowed never to look at the jurors. But he always did. It would be nice to see a wink or a thumbs up, but that never happened.