A time to kill

"And the way you understand the law, that would be constitutional?"

"Maybe not, but it'd stop a lot of child pornography and terrorism. Jake, are you gonna eat this sandwich?"

"No."

Harry Rex unwrapped a ham and cheese. "Stay away from number one, Carlene Malone. She's one of those Malones from Lake Village. White trash and mean as hell."

"I'd like to stay away from this entire panel," Jake said, still staring at the table.

"We got a terrible draw."

"Whatta you think, Row Ark?" Jake asked.

Harry Rex swallowed quickly. "I think we oughtta plead

him guilty and get the hell outta there. Run like a scalded dog."

Ellen stared at the cards. "It could be worse."

Harry Rex forced a loud laugh. "Worse! The only way it could be worse would be if the first thirty were sitting there wearing white robes with pointed hats and little masks."

"Harry Rex, would you shut up," Jake said.

"Just trying to help. Do you want your french fries?"

"No. Why don't you put all of them in your mouth and chew on them for a long time?"

"I think you're wrong about some of these women," Ellen said. "I'm inclined to agree with Lucien. Women, as a very general rule, will have more sympathy. We're the ones who get raped, remember?"

"I have no response to that," Harry Rex said.

"Thanks," replied Jake. "Which one of these girls is your former client who'll supposedly do anything for you if you'll simply wink at her?"

Ellen snickered. "Must be number twenty-nine. She's five feet tall and weighs four hundred pounds."

Harry Rex wiped his mouth with a sheet of paper. "Very funny. Number seventy-four. She's too far back. Forget her."

Noose rapped his gavel at two and the courtroom came to order.

"The State may examine the panel," he said.

The magnificent district attorney rose slowly and walked importantly to the bar, where he stood and gazed pensively at the spectators and jurors. He realized the artists were sketching him, and he seemed to pose for just a moment. He smiled sincerely at the jurors, then introduced himself. He explained that he was the people's lawyer; his client, the State of Mississippi. He had served as their prosecutor for nine years now, and it was an honor for which he would always be grateful to the fine folks of Ford County. He pointed at them and told them that they, the very ones sitting there, were the folks who had elected him to represent them. He thanked them, and hoped he did not let them down.

Yes, he was nervous and frightened. He had prosecuted

thousands of criminals, but he was always scared with each trial. Yes! He was scared, and not ashamed to admit it. Scared because of the awesome responsibility the people had bestowed upon him as the man responsible for sending criminals to jail and protecting the people. Scared because he might fail to adequately represent his client, the people of this great state.

Jake had heard all this crap many times before. He had it memorized. Buckley the good guy, the state's lawyer, united with the people to seek justice, to save society. He was a smooth, gifted orator who one moment could chat softly with a jury, much like a grandfather giving advice to his grandchildren. The next moment he would launch into a tirade and deliver a sermon that any black preacher would envy. A split second later, in a fluid burst of eloquence, he could convince a jury that the stability of our society, yes, even the future of the human race, depended upon a guilty verdict. He was at his best in big trials, and this was his biggest. He spoke without notes, and held the courtroom captivated as he portrayed himself as the underdog, the friend and partner of the jury, who, together with him, would find the truth, and punish this man for his monstrous deed.

After ten minutes, Jake had enough. He stood with a frustrated look. "Your Honor, I object to this. Mr. Buckley is not selecting a jury. I'm not sure what he's doing, but he's not interrogating the panel."

"Sustained!" Noose yelled into the mike. "If you don't have any questions for the panel, Mr. Buckley, then please sit down."

"I apologize, Your Honor," Buckley said awkwardly, pretending to be hurt. Jake had drawn first blood.

Buckley picked up a legal pad and launched into a list of a thousand questions. He asked if anyone on the panel had ever served on a jury before. Several hands went up. Civil or criminal? Did you vote to acquit or convict? How long ago? Was the defendant black or white? Victim, black or white? Had anyone been the victim of a violent crime? Two hands. When? Where? Was the assailant caught? Convicted? Black or white? Jake, Harry Rex, and Ellen took pages of notes. Any member of your family been the victim

of a violent crime? Several more hands. When? Where? What happened to the criminal? Any member of your family ever been charged with a crime? Indicted? Put on trial? Convicted? Any friends or family members employed in law enforcement? Who? Where?