A time to kill

"Nope, it won't work. There is no statutory provision giving you the authority to allow deliberations outside the courthouse." Jake reached in his pocket and found several folded papers. He threw them on the desk. "State versus Dubose, 1963 case from Linwood County. The air conditioning in the Linwood County Courthouse quit during a heat wave. The circuit judge allowed the jury to deliberate in a local library. The defense objected. Jury convicted. On appeal, the Supreme Court ruled the judge's decision was improper and an abuse of discretion. The court went on to hold that the jury deliberations must take place in the jury room in the courthouse where the defendant is being tried. You can't move them."

Noose studied the case and handed it to Musgrove.

"Get the courtroom ready," he said to Mr. Pate.

With the exception of the reporters, the courtroom was solid black. The jurors looked haggard and strained.

"I take it you do not have a verdict," Noose said.

"No, sir," replied the foreman.

"Let me ask you this. Without indicating any numerical division, have you reached a point where you can go no further?"

"We've talked about that, Your Honor. And we'd like to leave, get a good night's rest, and try again tomorrow. We're not ready to quit."

"That's good to hear. I apologize for the distractions, but, again, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry. You'll just have to do your best. Anything further?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. We'll stand adjourned until nine A.M. tomorrow."

Carl Lee pulled Jake's shoulder. "What does all this mean?"

"It means they're deadlocked. It could be six to six, or eleven to one against you, or eleven to one for acquittal. So , don't get excited."

Barry Acker cornered the bailiff and handed him a folded sheet of paper. It read:

Luann:

Pack the kids and go to your mother's. Don't tell anyone. Stay there until this thing is over. Just do as I say. Things are dangerous.

Barry

"Can you get this to my wife today? Our number is 881-0774."

"Sure," said the bailiff.

Tim Nunley, mechanic down at the Chevrolet place, former client of Jake Brigance, and Coffee Shop regular, sat on a couch in the cabin deep in the woods and drank a beer. He listened to his Klan brothers as they got drunk and cursed niggers. Occasionally, he cursed them too. He had noticed whispering for the past two nights now, and felt something was up. He listened carefully.

He stood to get another beer. Suddenly, they jumped him. Three of his comrades pinned him against the wall and pounded him with fists and feet. He was beaten badly, then gagged, bound, and dragged outside, across the gravel road, and into the field where he had been inducted as a member. A cross was lit as he was tied to a pole and stripped. A bullwhip lashed him until his shoulders, back, and legs were solid crimson.

Two dozen of his ex-brethren watched in mute horror as the pole and limp body were soaked with kerosene. The leader, the one with the bullwhip, stood next to him for an eternity. He pronounced the death sentence, then threw a match.

Mickey Mouse had been silenced.

They packed their robes and belongings, and left for home. Most would never return to Ford County.

Wednesday. For the first time in weeks Jake slept more than eight hours. He had fallen asleep on the couch in his office, and he awoke at five to the sounds of the military preparing for the worst. He was rested, but the nervous throbbing returned with the thought that this day would probably be the big day. He showered and shaved downstairs, and ripped open a new pack of Fruit of the Loom he had purchased at the drug store. He dressed himself in Stan Atcavage's finest navy all-season suit, which was an inch too short and a bit loose, but not a bad fit under the circumstances. He thought of the rubble on Adams Street, then Carla, and the knot in his stomach began to churn. He ran for the newspapers.

On the front pages of the Memphis, Jackson, and Tu-pelo 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.