A time to kill

He unzipped the navy linen skirt on the right side. She tried to kick, but the heavy rope around her ankles held her feet to the pole. He placed the tip of the knife at the bottom of the zipper, and cut downward through the hem. He

grabbed around the waist and pulled it off like a magician. The Kluxers stepped forward.

He slapped her on the butt, and said, "Nice, very nice." He stepped back to admire his handiwork. She grunted and twisted but could not resist. The slip fell to mid-thigh. With great ceremony, he cut the straps, then sliced it neatly down the back. He yanked it off and threw it at the foot of the burning cross. He cut the bra straps and removed it. She jerked and the moans became louder. The silent semicircle inched forward and stopped ten feet away.

The fire was hot now. Her bare back and legs were covered with sweat. The light red hair was drenched around her neck and shoulders. He reached under his robe again and brought out a bullwhip. He popped it loudly near her and she flinched. He marched backward, carefully measur ing the distance to the pole.

He cocked the bullwhip and aimed at the bare back. The tallest one stepped forward with his back to her. He shook his head. Nothing was said, but the whip disappeared.

He walked to her and grabbed her head. With his knife, he cut her hair. He grabbed handfuls and hacked away until her scalp was gapped and ugly. It piled gently around her feet. She moaned and did not move.

They headed for their cars. A gallon of gasoline was splashed inside the BMW with Massachusetts tags and somebody threw a match.

When he was certain they were gone, Mickey Mouse slid from the bushes. He untied her and carried her to a small clearing away from the pasture. He gathered the remains of her clothing and tried to cover her. When her car finished burning beside the dirt road, he left her. He drove to Oxford, to a pay phone, and called the Lafayette County sheriff.

Saturday court was unusual but not unheard of, especially in capital cases where the jury was locked up. The participants didn't mind because Saturday brought the end one day nearer.

The locals didn't mind either. It was their day off, and for most Ford Countians it was their only chance to watch the trial, or if they couldn't get a seat, at least hang around the square and see it all first-hand. Who knows, there may even be some more shooting.

By seven, the cafes downtown were at full capacity serving nonregulars. For every customer who was awarded a seat, two were turned away and left to loiter around the square and the courthouse and wait for a seat in the courtroom. Most of them paused for a moment in front of the lawyer's office, hoping to catch a glimpse of the one they tried to kill. The braggarts told of being clients of this famous man.

Upward, a few feet, the target sat at his desk and sipped a bloody concoction left from yesterday's party. He smoked a Roi-Tan, ate headache powders, and rubbed the cobwebs from his brain. Forget about the soldier, he had told himself for the past three hours. Forget about the Klan, the threats, forget everything but the trial, and specifically Dr. W.T. Bass. He uttered a short prayer, something about Bass being sober on the witness stand. The expert and Lucieh had stayed through the afternoon, drinking and arguing, accusing each other of being a drunk and receiving a dishonorable discharge from their respective professions. Violence flared briefly at Ethel's desk when they were leaving. Nesbit intervened and escorted them to the patrol car for the ride home. The reporters burned with curiosity as the two blind drunks were led from Jake's office by the deputy and put in the car, where they continued to rage and cuss at each other, Lucien in the back seat, Bass in the front.

He reviewed Ellen's masterpiece on the insanity defense. Her outline of questions for Bass needed only minor changes. He studied his expert's resume, and though unim-

pressive, it would suffice for Ford County. The nearest psychiatrist was eighty miles away.

Judge Noose glanced at the D.A. and looked sympathetically at Jake, who sat next to the door and watched the faded portrait of some dead judge hanging over Buckley's shoulder.

"How do you feel this morning, Jake?" Noose asked warmly.

"I'm fine."

"How's the soldier?" asked Buckley.

"Paralyzed."

Noose, Buckley, Musgrove, and Mr. Pate looked at the same spot on the carpet and grimly shook their heads in a quiet moment of respect.

"Where's your law clerk?" Noose asked, looking at the clock on the wall.

Jake looked at his watch. "I don't know. I expected her by now."

"Are you ready?"

"Sure."

"Is the courtroom ready, Mr. Pate?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Let's proceed."