________
The Saab was blocked by a television van. Jake inquired as to who owned it. Most of the reporters had left but a few loitered about, expecting something. It was almost dark.
“Are you with the sheriff’s department?” asked a reporter.
“No, I’m a lawyer,” Jake answered nonchalantly, attempting to seem disinterested.
“Are you Mr. Hailey’s attorney?”
Jake turned and stared at the reporter as the others listened. “Matter of fact, I am.”
“Will you answer some questions?”
“You can ask some. I won’t promise any answers.”
“Will you step over here?”
Jake walked to the microphones and cameras and tried to act annoyed by the inconvenience. Ozzie and the deputies watched from inside. “Jake loves cameras,” he said.
“All lawyers do,” added Moss.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Jake Brigance.”
“You’re Mr. Hailey’s attorney.”
“Correct,” Jake answered coolly.
“Mr. Hailey is the father of the young girl raped by the two men who were killed today?”
“Correct.”
“Who killed the two men?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Mr. Hailey?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“What’s your client been charged with?”
“He’s been arrested for the murders of Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard. He hasn’t formally been charged with anything.”
“Do you expect Mr. Hailey to be indicted for the two murders?”
“No comment.”
“Why no comment?”
“Have you talked with Mr. Hailey?” asked another reporter.
“Yes, just a moment ago.”
“How is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, uh, how is he?”
“You mean, how does he like jail?” Jake asked with a slight grin.
“Uh, yeah.”
“No comment.”
“When will he be in court?”
“Probably tomorrow or Wednesday.”
“Will he plead guilty?”
Jake smiled and replied, “Of course not.”
________
After a cold supper, they sat in the swing on the front porch and watched the lawn sprinkler and talked about the case. The killings were big news across the
country, and Carla recorded as many television reports as possible. Two of the networks covered the story live through their Memphis affiliates, and the Memphis, Jackson, and Tupelo stations replayed footage of Cobb and Willard being led into the courthouse surrounded by deputies, and seconds later, being carried from the courthouse under white sheets. One of the stations played the actual audio of the gunfire over film of the deputies scrambling for cover.
Jake’s interview was too late for the evening news, so he and Carla waited, with the recorder, for the ten o’clock, and there he was, briefcase in hand, looking trim, fit, handsome, and arrogant, and very disgusted with the reporters for the inconvenience. Jake thought he looked great on TV, and he was excited to be there. There had been one other brief appearance, after Lester’s acquittal, and the regulars at the Coffee Shop had kidded him for months.
He felt good. He relished the publicity and anticipated much more. He could not think of another case, another set of facts, another setting which could generate as much publicity as the trial of Carl Lee Hailey. And the acquittal of Carl Lee Hailey, for the murder of the two white men who raped his daughter, before an all-white jury in rural Mississippi—
“What’re you smiling about?” Carla interrupted.
“Nothing.”
“Sure. You’re thinking about the trial, and the cameras, the reporters, the acquittal, and walking out of the courthouse, arm around Carl Lee, reporters chasing you with the cameras rolling, people slapping you on the back, congratulations everywhere. I know exactly what you’re thinking about.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
“To see if you’d admit it.”
“Okay, I admit it. This case could make me famous and make us a million bucks, in the long run.”
“If you win.”
“Yes, if I win.”
“And if you lose?”
“I’ll win.”
“But if you don’t?”
“Think positive.”
The phone rang and Jake spent ten minutes with the editor, owner, and only reporter of
The Clanton Chronicle
. It rang again, and Jake talked with a reporter with the Memphis morning paper. He hung up and called Lester and Gwen, then the foreman at the paper mill.
At eleven-fifteen it rang again, and Jake received his first death threat, anonymous of course. He was called a nigger-loving son of a bitch, one who would not live if the nigger walked.
9
__________
D
ell Perkins served more coffee and grits than usual Tuesday morning after the killings. All the regulars and some extras had gathered early to read the papers and talk about the killings, which had taken place less than three hundred feet from the front door of the Coffee Shop. Claude’s and the Tea Shoppe were also crowded earlier than usual. Jake’s picture made the front page of the Tupelo paper, and the Memphis and Jackson papers had front-page photos of Cobb and Willard, both before the shootings and afterward as the bodies were loaded into the ambulance. There were no pictures of Carl Lee. All three papers ran detailed accounts of the past six days in Clanton.
It was widely accepted around town that Carl Lee had done the killing, but rumors of additional gunmen surfaced and flourished until one table at the Tea Shoppe had a whole band of wild niggers in on the attack. However, the deputies in the Coffee Shop, though not talkative, throttled the gossip and kept it pretty much under control. Deputy Looney was a regular, and there was concern for his wounds, which appeared
to be more serious than originally reported. He remained in the hospital, and he had identified the gunman as Lester Hailey’s brother.
Jake entered at six and sat near the front with some farmers. He nodded at Prather and the other deputy, but they pretended not to see him. They’ll be okay once Looney is released, he thought. There were some remarks about the front-page picture, but no one questioned Jake about his new client or the killings. He detected a certain coolness among some of the regulars. He ate quickly and left.
At nine Ethel called Jake. Bullard was holding.
“Hello, Judge. How are you?”
“Terrible. You represent Carl Lee Hailey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When do you want the preliminary?”
“Why are you asking me, Judge?”
“Good question. Look, the funerals are tomorrow morning sometime, and I think it would be best to wait till they bury those bastards, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Judge, good idea.”
“How ’bout tomorrow afternoon at two?”
“Fine.”
Bullard hesitated. “Jake, would you consider waiving the preliminary and letting me send the case straight to the grand jury?”
“Judge, I never waive a preliminary, you know that.”
“Yeah, I know. Just thought I’d ask a favor. I won’t hear this trial, and I have no desire to get near it. See you tomorrow.”
________
An hour later Ethel squawked through the intercom again: “Mr. Brigance, there are some reporters here to see you.”
Jake was ecstatic. “From where?”
“Memphis and Jackson, I believe.”
“Seat them in the conference room. I’ll be down in a minute.”
He straightened his tie and brushed his hair, and checked the street below for television vans. He decided to make them wait, and after a couple of meaningless phone calls he walked down the stairs, ignored Ethel, and entered the conference room. They asked him to sit at one end of the long table, because of the lighting. He declined, told himself he would control things, and sat at one side with his back to the rows of thick, expensive law books.
The microphones were placed before him and the camera lights adjusted, and finally an attractive lady from Memphis with streaks of bright orange across her forehead and under her eyes cleared her throat and asserted herself. “Mr. Brigance, you represent Carl Lee Hailey?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And he’s been charged with the murders of Billy Ray Cobb and Pete Willard?”
“That’s correct.”
“And Cobb and Willard were charged with raping Mr. Hailey’s daughter?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Does Mr. Hailey deny killing Cobb and Willard?”
“He will plead not guilty to the charges.”
“Will he be charged for the shooting of the deputy, Mr. Looney?”
“Yes. We anticipate a third charge of aggravated assault against the officer.”
“Do you anticipate a defense of insanity?”
“I’m not willing to discuss the defense at this time because he has not been indicted.”
“Are you saying there’s a chance he may not be indicted?”
A fat pitch, one Jake was hoping for. The grand jury would either indict him or not, and the grand jurors would not be selected until Circuit Court convened on Monday, May 27. So the future members of the grand jury were walking the streets of Clanton, tending their shops, working in the factories, cleaning house, reading newspapers, watching TV, and discussing whether or not he should be indicted.
“Yes, I think there’s a chance he may not be indicted. It’s up to the grand jury, or will be after the preliminary hearing.”
“When’s the preliminary hearing?”
“Tomorrow. Two P.M.”
“You’re assuming Judge Bullard will bind him over to the grand jury?”
“That’s a pretty safe assumption,” replied Jake, knowing Bullard would be thrilled with the answer.
“When will the grand jury meet?”
“A new grand jury will be sworn in Monday morning. It could look at the case by Monday afternoon.”
“When do you anticipate a trial?”
“Assuming he’s indicted, the case could be tried in late summer or early fall.”
“Which court?”
“Circuit Court of Ford County.”
“Who would be the judge?”
“Honorable Omar Noose.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Chester, Mississippi. Van Buren County.”
“You mean the case will be tried here in Clanton?”
“Yes, unless venue is changed.”
“Will you request a change of venue?”
“Very good question, and one I’m not prepared to
answer at this time. It’s a bit premature to talk defense strategy.”
“Why would you want a change of venue?”
To find a blacker county, Jake thought. He answered thoughtfully, “The usual reasons. Pretrial publicity, etc.”
“Who makes the decision to change venue?”
“Judge Noose. The decision is within his sole discretion.”
“Has bond been set?”
“No, and it probably won’t be until after the indictments come down. He’s entitled to a reasonable bond now, but as a matter of practice in this county bonds are not set in capital murder cases until after the indictment and arraignment in Circuit Court. At that point the bond will be set by Judge Noose.”
“What can you tell us about Mr. Hailey?”
Jake relaxed and reflected a minute while the cameras continued. Another fat pitch, with a golden chance to plant some seeds. “He’s thirty-seven years old. Married to the same woman for twenty years. Four kids—three boys and a girl. Nice guy with a clean record. Never been in trouble before. Decorated in Vietnam. Works fifty hours a week at the paper mill in Coleman. Pays his bills and owns a little land. Goes to church every Sunday with his family. Minds his own business and expects to be left alone.”
“Will you allow us to talk to him?”
“Of course not.”
“Wasn’t his brother tried for murder several years ago?”
“He was, and he was acquitted.”
“You were his attorney?”
“Yes, I was.”
“You’ve handled several murder trials in Ford County, haven’t you?”
“Three.”
“How many acquittals?”
“All of them,” he answered slowly.
“Doesn’t the jury have several options in Mississippi?” asked the lady from Memphis.
“That’s right. With a capital murder indictment, the jury at trial can find the defendant guilty of man slaughter, which carries twenty years, or capital murder, which carries life or death as determined by the jury. And the jury can find the defendant not guilty.” Jake smiled at the cameras. “Again, you’re assuming he’ll be indicted.”
“How’s the Hailey girl?”
“She’s at home. Went home Sunday. She’s expected to be fine.”
The reporters looked at each other and searched for other questions. Jake knew this was the dangerous part, when they ran out of things to ask and began serving up screwball questions.
He stood and buttoned his coat. “Look, I appreciate you folks stopping by. I’m usually available, just give a little more notice and I’ll be glad to talk to you anytime.”
They thanked him and left.
________
At ten Wednesday morning, in a no-frills double service at the funeral home, the rednecks buried their dead. The minister, a freshly ordained Pentecostal, struggled desperately for comforting and reassuring thoughts to lay upon the small crowd and over the two closed caskets. The service was brief with few tears.
The pickups and dirty Chevrolets moved slowly behind the single hearse as the procession left town and crawled into the country. They parked behind a small red brick church. The bodies were laid to rest one at a time at opposite ends of the tiny, overgrown cemetery. After a few additional words of inspiration, the crowd dispersed.
Cobb’s parents had divorced when he was small, and his father drove from Birmingham for the funeral. After the burial he disappeared. Mrs. Cobb lived in a small, clean white frame house near the settlement of Lake Village, ten miles south of Clanton. Her other two sons and their cousins and friends gathered under an oak tree in the backyard while the women made a fuss over Mrs. Cobb. The men talked about niggers in general, and chewed Red Man and sipped whiskey, and reminisced about the other days when niggers knew their place. Now they were just pampered and protected by the government and courts. And there was nothing white people could do. One cousin knew a friend or someone who used to be active in the Klan, and he might give him a call. Cobb’s grandfather had been in the Klan long before his death, the cousin explained, and when he and Billy Ray were kids the old man would tell stories about hanging niggers in Ford and Tyler counties. What they should do was the same thing the nigger had done, but there were no volunteers. Maybe the Klan would be interested. There was a chapter farther down south near Jackson, near Nettles County, and the cousin was authorized to contact them.