A time to kill

"Good. The court finds there is sufficient evidence that numerous crimes have been committed by these defendants, and the court orders Mr. Cobb and Mr. Willard to be held to await action by the Ford County grand jury, which is scheduled to meet on Monday, May 27. Any questions?"

Tyndale rose slowly. "Yes, Your Honor, we would request the court to set a reasonable bond for these de-"

"Forget it," snapped Bullard. "Bail will be denied as of now. It's my understanding that the girl is in critical condition. If she dies, there will of course be other charges."

"Well, Your Honor, in that case, I would like to request a bail hearing a few days from now, in the hopes that her condition improves."

Bullard studied Tyndale carefully. Good idea, he thought. "Granted. A bail hearing is set for next Monday, May 20, in this courtroom. Until then the defendants will remain in the custody of the Ford County sheriff. Court's adjourned."

Bullard rapped the gavel and disappeared. The deputies swarmed around the defendants, handcuffed them, and they too disappeared from the courtroom, into the holding room, down the back stairs, past the reporters, and into the squad car.

The hearing was typical for Bullard-less than twenty minutes. Justice could be very swift in his courtroom.

Jake talked to the other lawyers and watched the crowd file silently through the enormous wooden doors at the rear of the courtroom. Carl Lee was in no hurry to leave, and motioned for Jake to follow him. They met in the rotunda.

Carl Lee wanted to talk, and he excused himself from the crowd and promised to meet them at the hospital. He and Jake walked down the winding staircase to the first floor.

"I'm truly sorry, Carl Lee," Jake said.

"Yeah, me too."

"How is she?"

"She'll make it."

"How's Gwen?"

"Okay, I guess."

"How about you?"

They walked slowly down the hall toward the rear of the courthouse. "It ain't sunk in yet. I mean, twenty-four hours ago everthing was fine. Now look at us. My little girl's layin' up in the hospital with tubes all over her body. My wife's, crazy and my boys are scared to death, and all I think about is gettin' my hands on those bastards."

"I wish I could do something, Carl Lee."

"All you can do is pray for her, pray for us."

"I know it hurts."

"You gotta little girl, don't you, Jake?"

"Yeah."

Carl Lee said nothing as they walked in silence. Jake changed the subject. "Where's Lester?"

"Chicago."

"What's he doing?"

"Workin' for a steel company. Good job. Got married."

"You're kidding? Lester, married?"

"Yeah, married a white girl."

"White girl! What's he want with a white girl?"

"Aw, you know Lester. Always an uppity nigger. He's on his way home now. Be in late tonight."

"What for?"

They stopped at the rear door. Jake asked again: "What's Lester coming in for?"

"Family business."

"Y'all planning something?"

"Nope. He just wants to see his niece."

"Y'all don't get excited."

"That's easy for you to say, Jake."

"I know."

"What would you plan, Jake?"

What do you mean?"

"You gotta little girl. Suppose she's layin up in the hospital, beat and raped. What would you do?"

Jake looked through the window of the door and could not answer. Carl Lee waited.

"Don't do anything stupid, Carl Lee."

"Answer my question. What would you do?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'd do."

"Lemme ask you this. If it was your little girl, and if it was two niggers, and you could get your hands on them, what would you do?"

"Kill them."

Carl Lee smiled, then laughed. "Sure you would, Jake, sure you would. Then you'd hire some big-shot lawyer to say you's crazy, just like you did in Lester's trial."

"We didn't say Lester was crazy. We just said Bowie needed killing."

"You got him off, didn't you?"

"Sure."

Carl Lee walked to the stairs and looked up. "This how they get to the courtroom?" he asked without looking at Jake.

"Who?"

"Those boys."

"Yeah. Most of the time they take them up those stairs. It's quicker and safer. They can park right outside the door here, and run them up the stairs."

Carl Lee walked to the rear door and looked through the window at the veranda. "How many murder trials you had, Jake?"

"Three. Lester's and two more."

"How many were black?"

"All three."

"How many you win?"

"All three."

"You pretty good on nigger shootin's, ain't you?"

"I guess."

"You ready for another one?"

"Don't do it, Carl Lee. It's not worth it. What if you're convicted and get the gas chamber? What about the kids? Who'll raise them? Those punks aren't worth it."

"You just told me you'd do it."

Jake walked to the door next to Carl Lee. "It's different with me. I could probably get off."

"How?"

"I'm white, and this is a white county. With a little luck I could get an all-white jury, which will naturally be sympathetic. This is not New York or California. A man's supposed to protect his family. A jury would eat it up."

"And me?"

' "Like I said, this ain't New York or California. Some whites would admire you, but most would want to see you hang. It would be much harder to win an acquittal."

"But you could do it, couldn't you, Jake?"