A time to kill

of M'Naghten in fewer words. Her research was painstaking and detailed. She had started with the original M'Naghten case in England in the 1800's and worked through a hundred and fifty years of insanity law in Mississippi. She discarded insignificant or confusing cases, and explained in wonderful simplicity the complicated, major cases. The brief concluded with a summary of current law, and applied it to the trial of Carl Lee Hailey.

In a smaller brief, only fourteen pages, she had reached the unmistakable conclusion that the jury would see the sickening pictures of Cobb and Willard with their brains splattered about the stairway. Mississippi admitted such inflammatory evidence, and she had found no way around it.

She had typed thirty-one pages of research on the defense of justifiable homicide, something Jake had considered briefly after the killings. She reached the same conclusion Jake had reached-it wouldn't work. She had found an old Mississippi case where a man had caught and killed an escaped convict who was armed. He had been acquitted, but the differences in that case and Carl Lee's case were enormous. Jake had not asked for the brief, and was irritated that so much energy had been spent on it. He said nothing, however, since she had produced everything he had asked for.

The most pleasant surprise had been her work with Dr. W.T. Bass. She had met with him twice during the week, and they had covered M'Naghten in great detail. She prepared a twenty-five-page script of the questions to be asked by Jake and the answers to be given by Bass. It was a skillfully crafted dialogue, and he marveled at her seasoning. When he was her age, he was an average student more concerned with romance than research. She, on the other hand, as a third-year law student was writing briefs that read like treatises.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"As expected. He did not budge. The trial will start here Monday with the same panel, minus the twenty who received their subtle warnings."

"He's crazy."

"What're you working on?"

"I'm finishing the brief to support our position that the

details of the rape should be discussed before the jury. It looks good, at this point."

"When will you finish it?"

"Is there some hurry?"

"By Sunday, if possible. I've got another chore, something a little different."

She slid her legal pad away and listened.

"The State's psychiatrist will be Dr. Wilbert Rode-heaver, head of staff at Whitfield. He's been there forever, and has testifed in hundreds of cases. I want you to dig a little and see how often his name appears in court decisions."

"Fve already run across his name."

"Good. As you know, the only cases we read about from the Supreme Court are the ones where the defendant at trial was convicted and has appealed. The acquittals are not reported. I'm more interested in these."

"Where are you coming from?"

"I have a hunch Rodeheaver is very reluctant to give an opinion that a defendant was legally insane. There's a chance he's never done it. Even in cases where the defendant was clearly crazy and did not know what he was doing. I'd like to ask Rodeheaver, on cross-examination, about some of the cases in which he's said there's nothing wrong with an obviously sick man, and the jury acquitted him."

"Those cases will be very hard to find."

"I know, but you can do it, Row Ark. I've watched you work for a week now, and I know you can do it."

"I'm flattered, boss."

"You may have to make phone calls to attorneys around the state who've crossed Rodeheaver before. It'll be hard, Row Ark, but get it done."

"Yes, boss. I'm sure you wanted it yesterday."

"Not really. I doubt if we'll get to Rodeheaver next week, so you have some time."

"I don't know how to act. You mean it's not urgent?"

"No, but that rape brief is."

"Yes, boss."

"Have you had lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Good. Don't make any plans for dinner."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I've got an idea."

"Sort of like a date?"

"No, sort of like a business lunch with two professionals."

Jake packed two briefcases and left. "I'll be at Lu-cien's," he told her, "but don't call unless it's a dire emergency. Don't tell anyone where I am."

"What are you working on?"

"The jury."

Lucien had passed out drunk in the swing on the porch, and Sallie was not around. Jake helped himself to the spacious study upstairs. Lucien had more law books in his home than most lawyers had in their offices. He unpacked his mess in a chair, and on the desk he placed an alphabetical list of the jurors, a stack of three-by-five notecards, and several Magic Markers.