A time to kill

that firm, but I'm jealous to an extent. I wish I had some of their clients, some of their retainers, some of their security. They know that every month they'll get a nice check, it's guaranteed almost, and every Christmas they'll get a big bonus. They represent old money, steady money. That would be enjoyable for a change. Me, I represent drunks, thugs, wife beaters, husband beaters, injured people, most of whom have little or no money. And I never know from one month to the next how many of these people will show up at my office."

"Look, Jake," Atcavage interrupted. "I would really like to finish this discussion, but Claude just looked at his watch and then looked at us. I think our twenty minutes are up."

Jake's check was seventy-one cents more than At-cavage's, and since both orders were identical, Claude was interrogated. No problem, he explained, Jake got an extra rib.

McKittrick was personable and precise, thorough and pushy. He had arrived in Clanton on Wednesday to investigate and write about what was billed as the most famous murder in the country, at the moment. He talked to Ozzie and Moss Junior, and they suggested he talk to Jake. He talked to Bullard, through the door, and the judge suggested he talk to Jake. He interviewed Gwen and Lester, but was not permitted to meet the girl. He visited with the regulars at the Coffee Shop and the Tea Shoppe, and he visited with the regulars at Huey's and Ann's Lounge. He talked to Willard's ex-wife and mother, but Mrs. Cobb was through with reporters. One of Cobb's brothers offered to talk for a fee. McKittrick declined. He drove to the paper mill and talked to the co-workers, and he drove to Smithfield to interview the D.A. He would be in town for a few more days, then return for the trial.

He was from Texas, and retained, when convenient, a slight drawl, which impressed the locals and opened them up. He even said "you all" and "y'all" occasionally, and this distinguished him from most of the other reporters who

clung to their crisp, precise, modern American pronunciation.

"What's that?" McKittrick pointed to the center of Jake's desk.

"That's a tape recorder," Jake answered.

McKittrick sat his own recorder on the desk and looked at Jake's. "May I ask why?"

"You may. It's my office, my interview, and if I want to record it, I will."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"I'm trying to prevent it. I hate to be misquoted."

"I'm not known for misquoting."

"Good. Then you won't mind if both of us record ever-thing."

"You don't trust me, do you, Mr. Brigance?"

"Hell no. And my name is Jake."

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Because you're a reporter, you're from a New York paper, you're looking for a sensational story, and if you're true to form, you'll write some well-informed, moralistic piece of trash depicting us all as racist, ignorant rednecks."

"You're wrong. First of all, I'm from Texas."

"Your paper is from New York."

"But I consider myself a Southerner."

"How long have you been gone?"

"About twenty years."

Jake smiled and shook his head, as if to say: That's too long.

"And I don't work for a sensational newspaper."

"We'll see. The trial is several months away. We'll have time to read your stories."

"Fair enough."

Jake punched the play button on his tape recorder, and McKittrick did likewise.

"Can Carl Lee Hailey receive a fair trial in Ford County?"

"Why couldn't he?" Jake asked.

"Well, he's black. He killed two white men, and he will be tried by a white jury."

"You mean he will be tried by a bunch of white racists."

"No, that's not what I said, nor what I implied. Why do

you automatically assume I think you are all a bunch of racists?"

"Because you do. We're stereotyped, and you know it."

McKittrick shrugged and wrote something on his steno pad. "Will you answer the question?"

"Yes. He can receive a fair trial in Ford County, if he's tried here."

"Do you want it tried here?"

"I'm sure we'll try to move it."

"To where?"

"We won't suggest a place. That's up to the judge."

"Where did he get the M-16?"

Jake chuckled and stared at the tape recorder. "I do not know."

"Would he be indicted if he were white?"

"He's black, and he has not been indicted."

"But if he were white, would there be an indictment?"

"Yes, in my opinion."

"Would he be convicted?"

"Would you like a cigar?" Jake opened a desk drawer and found a Roi-Tan. He unwrapped it; then lit it with a butane lighter.

"No thanks."

"No, he would not be convicted if he were white. In my opinion. Not in Mississippi, not in Texas, not in Wyoming. I'm not sure about New York."

"Why not?"

"Do you have a daughter?"

"No."

"Then you wouldn't understand."

"I think I do. Will Mr. Hailey be convicted?"

"Probably."

"So the system does not work as fairly for blacks?"

"Have you talked with Raymond Hughes?"

"No. Who is he?"