"Naw, we'll get a nice, cozy little double-wide trailer. It'll do us fine until the bankruptcy is over. Then we'll find another old house and start over."
"You'll probably find you another wife and start over. Why would she leave a swanky cottage on the beach and return to a house trailer in Clanton?"
"Because I'll be in the house trailer."
"That's not good enough, Jake. You'll be a drunk, bankrupt, disbarred lawyer, living in a house trailer. You will be publicly disgraced. All of your friends, except me and Lucien, will forget about you. She'll never come back. It's over, Jake. As your friend and divorce lawyer, I advise you to file first. Do it now, tomorrow, so she'll never know what hit her."
"Why would I sue her for divorce?"
"Because she's gonna sue you. We'll file first and allege that she deserted you in your hour of need."
"Is that grounds for divorce?"
"No. But we'll also claim that you're crazy, temporary insanity. Just let me handle it. The M'Naghten Rule. I'm the sleazy divorce lawyer, remember."
"How could I forget?"
Jake poured hot beer from his neglected bottle, and
opened another. The rain slackened and the clouds lightened. A cool wind blew up from the lake.
"They'll convict him, won't they, Harry Rex?" he asked, staring at the lake in the distance.
He quit chomping and wiped his mouth. He laid the paper plate on the table, and took a long drink of beer. The wind blew light drops of water onto his face. He wiped it with a sleeve.
"Yeah, Jake. Your man is about to be sent away. I can see it in their eyes. The insanity crap just didn't work. They didn't want to believe Bass to begin with, and after Buckley yanked his pants down, it was all over. Carl Lee didn't help himself any. He seemed rehearsed and too sincere. Like he was begging for sympathy. He was a lousy witness. I watched the jury while he testified. I saw no support for him. They'll convict, Jake. And quickly."
"Thanks for being so blunt."
"I'm your friend, and I think you should start preparing for a conviction and a long appeal."
"You know, Harry Rex, I wish I'd never heard of Carl Lee Hailey."
"I think it's too late, Jake."
Sallie answered the door and told Jake she was sorry about the house. Lucien was upstairs in his study, working and sober. He pointed to a chair and instructed Jake to sit down. Legal pads littered his desk.
"I've spent all afternoon working on a closing argument," he said, waving at the mess before him. "Your only hope of saving Hailey is with a spellbinding performance on final summation. I mean, we're talking about the greatest closing argument in the history of jurisprudence. That's what it'll take."
"And I assume you've created such a masterpiece."' "As a matter of fact, I have. It's much better than anything you could come up with. And I assumed-correctly- that you would spend your Sunday afternoon mourning the loss of your home and drowning your sorrows with Coors. I knew you would have nothing prepared. So I've done it for you."
"I wish I could stay as sober as you, Lucien."
"I was a better lawyer drunk than you are sober."
"At least I'm a lawyer."
Lucien tossed a legal pad at Jake. "There it is. A compilation of my greatest closing arguments. Lucien Wilbanks at his best, all rolled into one for you and your client. I suggest you memorize it and use it word for word. It's that good. Don't try to modify it, or improvise. You'll just screw it up."
"I'll think about it. I've done this before, remember?"
"You'd never know it."
"Dammit, Lucien! Get off my back!"
"Take it easy, Jake. Let's have a drink. Sallie! Sallie!"
Jake threw the masterpiece on the couch and walked to the window overlooking the backyard. Sallie ran up the stairs. Lucien ordered whiskey and beer.
"Were you up all night?" Lucien asked.
"No. I slept from eleven to twelve."
"You look terrible. You need a good night's rest."
"I feel terrible, and sleep will not help. Nothing will help, except the end of this trial. I don't understand, Lucien. I don't understand how everything has gone so wrong. Surely to God we're entitled to a little good luck. The case should not even be tried in Clanton. We were dealt the worst possible jury-a jury that's been tampered with. But I can't prove it. Our star witness was completely destroyed. The defendant made a lousy witness. And the jury does not trust me. I don't know what else could go wrong."
"You can still win the case, Jake. It'll take a miracle, but those things happen sometimes. I've snatched victory from the jaws of defeat many times with an effective closing argument. Zero in on one or two jurors. Play to them. Talk to them. Remember, it just takes one to hang the jury."
"Should I make them cry?"
"If you can. It's not that easy. But I believe in tears in the jury box. It's very effective."
Sallie brought the drinks, and they followed her downstairs to the porch. After dark, she fed them sandwiches and fried potatoes. At ten, Jake excused himself and went to his room. He called Carla and talked for an hour. There was no mention of the house. His stomach cramped when he heard
her voice and realized that one day very soon he would be forced to tell her that the house, her house, no longer existed. He hung up and prayed she didn't read about it in the newspaper.
Clanton returned to normal Monday morning as the barricades were put in place around the square and the ranks of the soldiers swelled to preserve the public peace. They loitered about in loose formation, watching as the Kluxers returned to their appointed ground on one side, and the black protestors on the other. The day of rest brought renewed energy to both groups, and by eight-thirty they were in full chorus. The collapse of Dr. Bass had been big news, and the Kluxers smelled victory. Plus they had scored a direct hit on Adams Street. They appeared to be louder than normal.
At nine, Noose summoned the attorneys to chambers. "Just wanted to make sure you were all alive and well." He grinned at Jake.
"Why don't you kiss my ass, Judge?" Jake said under his breath, but loud enough to be heard. The prosecutors froze. Mr. Pate cleared his throat.
Noose cocked his head sideways as if hard of hearing. "What did you say, Mr. Brigance?"
"I said, 'Why don't we get started, Judge?'"
"Yes, that's what I thought you said. How's your clerk, Ms. Roark?"
"She'll be fine."
"Was it the Klan?"
"Yes, Judge. The same Klan that tried to kill me. Same Klan that lit up the county with crosses and who knows what else for our jury panel. Same Klan that's probably intimidated most of those jurors sitting out there. Yes, sir, it's the same Klan."
Noose ripped off his glasses. "Can you substantiate that?"
"You mean, do I have written, signed, notarized confessions from the Klansmen? No, sir. They're most uncooperative."
"If you can't prove it, Mr. Brigance, then leave it alone."
"Yes, Your Honor."
Jake left chambers and slammed the door. Seconds later Mr. Pate called the place to order and everyone rose. Noose welcomed his jury back and promised the ordeal was almost over. No one smiled at him. It had been a lonely weekend at the Temple Inn.
"Does the State have any rebuttal?" he asked Buckley.
"One witness, Your Honor."
Dr. Rodeheaver was fetched from the witness room. He carefully situated himself in the witness chair and nodded warmly at the jury. He looked like a psychiatrist. Dark suit, no boots.
Buckley assumed the podium and smiled at the jury. "You are Dr. Wilbert Rodeheaver?" he thundered, looking at the jury as if to say, "Now you'll meet a real psychiatrist."
"Yes, sir."
Buckley asked questions, a million questions, about his educational and professional background. Rodeheaver was confident, relaxed, prepared, and accustomed to the witness chair. He talked at great length about his broad educational training, his vast experience as a practicing physician, and more recently, the enormous magnitude of his job as head of staff at the state mental hospital. Buckley asked him if he had written any articles in his field. He said yes, and for thirty minutes they discussed the writings of this very learned man. He had received research grants from the federal government and from various states. He was a member of all the organizations Bass belonged to, and a few more. He had been certified by every association remotely touching the study of the human mind. He was polished, and sober.
Buckley tendered him as an expert, and Jake had no questions.
Buckley continued. "Dr. Rodeheaver, when did you first examine Carl Lee Hailey?"
The expert checked his notes. "June 19."
"Where did the examination take place?"
"In my office at Whitfield."
"How long did you examine him?"
"Couple of hours."
"What was the' purpose of this examination?"
"To try and determine his mental condition at that time and also at the time he killed Mr. Cobb and Mr. Willard."
"Did you obtain his medical history?"
"Most of the information was taken by an associate at the hospital. I reviewed it with Mr. Hailey."
"What did the history reveal?"
"Nothing remarkable. He talked a lot about Vietnam, but nothing remarkable."
"Did he talk freely about Vietnam?"
"Oh yes. He wanted to talk about it. It was almost like he had been told to discuss it as much as possible."
"What else did you discuss at the first examination?"
"We covered a wide variety of topics. His childhood, family, education, various jobs, just about everything."
"Did he discuss the rape of his daughter?"
"Yes, in great detail. It was painful for him to talk about it, the sam as it would have been for me had it been my daughter."
"Did he discuss with you the events leading up to the shootings of Cobb and Willard?"
"Yes, we talked about that for quite a while. I tried to ascertain the degree of knowledge and understanding he had about those events."
"What did he tell you?"
"Initially, not much. But with time, he opened up and explained how he inspected "the courthouse three days before the shooting and picked a good place to attack."
"What about the shootings?"
"He never told me much about the actual killings. Said he didn't remember much, but I suspect otherwise."
Jake sprang to his feet. "Objection! The witness can only testify as to what he actually knows. He cannot speculate."
"Sustained. Please continue, Mr. Buckley."
"What else did you observe concerning his mood, attitude, and manner of speech?"
Rodeheaver crossed his legs and rocked gently. He lowered his eyebrows in deep thought. "Initially, he was distrustful of me and had difficulty looking me in the eye. He gave short answers to my questions. He was very resentful of the fact that he was guarded and sometimes handcuffed while at our facility. He questioned the padded walls. But after a while, he opened up and talked freely about most
everything. He flatly refused to answer a few questions, but other than that I would say he was fairly cooperative."
"When and where did you examine him again?"
"The next day, same place."
"What was his mood and attitude?"
"About the same as the day before. Cool at first, but he opened up eventually. He discussed basically the same topics as the day before."
"How long did this examination last?"
"Approximately four hours."
Buckley reviewed something on a legal pad, then whispered to Musgrove. "Now, Dr. Rodeheaver, as a result of your examinations of Mr. Hailey on June 19 and 20, were you able to arrive at a medical diagnosis of the defendant's psychiatric condition on those dates?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what is that diagnosis?"
"On June 19 and 20, Mr. Hailey appeared to be of sound mind. Perfectly normal, I would say."
"Thank you. Based on your examinations, were you able to arrive at a diagnosis of Mr. Hailey's mental condition on the day he shot Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard?"
"Yes."
"And what is that diagnosis?"
"At that time his mental condition was sound, no defects of any nature."
"Upon what factors do you base this?"
Rodeheaver turned to the jury and became a professor. "You must look at the level of premeditation involved in this crime. Motive is an element of premeditation. He certainly had a motive for doing what he did, and his mental condition at that time did not prevent him from entertaining the requisite premeditation. Frankly, Mr. Hailey carefully planned what he did."
"Doctor, you are familiar with the M'Naghten Rule as a test for criminal responsibility?"
"Certainly."
"And you are aware that another psychiatrist, a Dr. W.T. Bass, has told this jury that Mr. Hailey was incapable of knowing the difference between right and wrong, and,
further, that he was unable to understand and appreciate the nature and quality of his actions."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"Do you agree with that testimony?"
"No. I find it preposterous, and I am personally offended by it. Mr. Hailey himself has testified he planned the murders. He's admitted, in effect, that his mental condition at the time did not prevent him from possessing the ability to plan. That's called premeditation in every legal and medical book. I've never heard of someone planning a murder, admitting he planned it, then claiming he did not know what he was doing. It's absurd."
At that moment, Jake felt it was absurd too, and as it echoed around the courtroom it sounded mighty absurd. Rodeheaver sounded good and infinitely credible. Jake thought of Bass and cursed to himself.
Lucien sat with the blacks and agreed with every word of Rodeheaver's testimony. When compared to Bass, the State's doctor was terribly believable. Lucien ignored the jury box. From time to time he would cut his eyes without moving his head and catch Clyde Sisco blatantly and openly staring directly at him. But Lucien would not allow their eyes to meet. The messenger had not called Monday morning as instructed. An affirmative nod or wink from Lucien would consummate the deal, with payment to be arranged later, after the verdict. Sisco knew the rules, and he watched for an answer. There was none. Lucien wanted to discuss it with Jake.
"Now, Doctor, based upon these factors and your diagnosis of his mental condition as of May 20, do you have an opinion, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, as to whether Mr. Hailey was capable of knowing the difference between right and wrong when he shot Billy Ray Cobb, Pete Willard, and Deputy DeWayne Looney?"
"I have."
"And what is that opinion?"
"His mental condition was sound, and he was very capable of distinguishing right from wrong."
"And do you have an opinion, based upon the same factors, as to whether Mr. Hailey was able to understand and appreciate the nature and quality of his actions?"
"I have."
"And what is that opinion?"
"That he fully appreciated what he was doing."
Buckley snatched his legal pad and bowed politely. "Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions."
"Any cross-examination, Mr. Brigance?" Noose asked.
"Just a few questions."
"I thought so. Let's take a fifteen-minute recess."
Jake ignored Carl Lee, and moved quickly out of the courtroom, up the stairs, and into the law library on the third floor. Harry Rex was waiting, and smiling.
"Relax, Jake. I've called every newspaper in North Carolina, and there's no story about the house. There's nothing about Row Ark. The Raleigh morning paper ran a story about the trial, but it was in real general terms. Nothing else. Carla doesn't know about it, Jake. As far as she knows, her pretty little landmark is still standing. Isn't that great?"
"Wonderful. Just wonderful. Thanks, Harry Rex."
"Don't mention it. Look, Jake, I sorta hate to bring this up."
"I can't wait."
"You know I hate Buckley. Hate him worse than you do. But me and Musgrove get along okay. I can talk to Mus-grove. I was thinking last night that it might be a good idea to approach them-me through Musgrove-and explore the possibilities of a plea bargain."
"No!"
"Listen, Jake. What harm will it do? None! If you can plead him guilty to murder with no gas chamber, then you know you have saved his life."
"No!"
"Look, Jake. Your man is about forty-eight hours away from a death penalty conviction. If you don't believe that, then you're blind, Jake. My blind friend."
"Why should Buckley cut a deal? He's got us on the ropes."
"Maybe he won't. But let me at least find out."
"No, Harry Rex. Forget it."