A Time to Kill (23 page)

Carl Lee smiled with admiration.

“You know why they can’t convict me?”

Carl Lee had an idea, but he shook his head anyway.

“Because, Carl Lee, I got the smartest, meanest, crookedest criminal lawyer in these parts. He cheats, he plays dirty, and the cops hate him. But I’m sittin’ here instead of some prison. He’ll do whatever it takes to win a case.”

“Who is he?” Carl Lee asked eagerly.

“You’ve seen him on television walkin’ in and outta court. He’s in the papers all the time. Evertime some big-shot crook gets in trouble, he’s there. He gets the drug dealers, the politicians, me, all the big-time thugs.”

“What’s his name?”

“He handles nothin’ but criminal cases, mainly dope, bribery, extortion, stuff like that. But you know what his favorite is?”

“What?”

“Murder. He loves murder cases. Ain’t never lost one. Gets all the big ones in Memphis. Remember when they caught those two niggers throwin’ a dude off the bridge into the Mississippi. Caught them red-handed. ’Bout five years ago?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Had a big trial for two weeks, and they got off. He was the man. Walked them outta there. Not guilty.”

“I think I remember seein’ him on TV.”

“Sure you did. He’s a bad dude, Carl Lee. I’m tellin’ you the man never loses.”

“What’s his name?”

Cat landed in his chair and stared solemnly into Carl Lee’s face. “Bo Marsharfsky,” he said.

Carl Lee gazed upward as if he remembered the name. “So what?”

Cat laid five fingers with eight carats on Carl Lee’s knee. “So he wants to help you, my man.”

“I already got one lawyer I can’t pay. How I’m gonna pay another?”

“You ain’t gotta pay, Carl Lee. That’s where I come in. He’s on my retainer all the time. I own him. Paid the guy ’bout a hundred thousand last year just to keep me outta trouble. You don’t pay.”

Suddenly, Carl Lee had a keen interest in Bo Marsharfsky. “How does he know ’bout me?”

“Because he reads the paper and watches the tube. You know how lawyers are. I was in his office yesterday and he was studyin’ the paper with your picture on the front. I told him ’bout me and you. He went crazy. Said he had to have your case. I said I would help.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“Right, right. He said he knew just the folks to get you off.”

“Like who?”

“Doctors, psychiatrists, folks like that. He knows them all.”

“They cost money.”

“I’ll pay for it, Carl Lee! Listen to me! I’ll pay for it all. You’ll have the best lawyer and doctors money can buy, and your old pal Cat will pay the tab. Don’t worry ’bout money!”

“But I gotta good lawyer.”

“How old is he?”

“I guess ’bout thirty.”

Cat rolled his eyes in amazement. “He’s a child, Carl Lee. He ain’t been outta school long enough. Marsharfsky’s fifty, and he’s handled more murder cases than your boy’ll ever see. This is your life, Carl Lee. Don’t trust it to no rookie.”

Suddenly, Jake was awful young. But then there was Lester’s trial when Jake had been even younger.

“Look, Carl Lee, I been in many trials, and that crap is complicated and technical. One mistake and your ass is gone. If this kid misses one trick, it might be the difference between life and death. You can’t afford to have no young kid in there hopin’ he don’t mess up. One mistake,” Cat snapped his fingers for special effect, “and you’re in the gas chamber. Marsharfsky don’t make mistakes.”

Carl Lee was on the ropes. “Would he work with my lawyer?” he asked, seeking compromise.

“No! No way. He don’t work with nobody. He don’t need no help. Your boy’d be in the way.”

Carl Lee placed his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet. A thousand bucks for a doctor would be
impossible. He did not understand the need for one since he had not felt insane at the time, but evidently one would be necessary. Everyone seemed to think so. A thousand bucks for a cheap doctor. Cat was offering the best money could buy.

“I hate to do this to my lawyer,” he muttered quietly.

“Don’t be stupid, man,” Cat scolded. “You better be lookin’ out for Carl Lee and to hell with this child. This ain’t no time to worry ’bout hurtin’ feelin’s. He’s a lawyer, forget him. He’ll get over it.”

“But I already paid him—”

“How much?” Cat demanded, snapping his fingers at Tiny.

“Nine hundred bucks.”

Tiny produced a wad of cash, and Cat peeled off nine one-hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them in Carl Lee’s shirt pocket. “Here’s somethin’ for the kids,” he said as he unraveled a one-thousand-dollar bill and stuffed it with the rest.

Carl Lee’s pulse jumped as he thought of the cash covering his heart. He felt it move in the pocket and press gently against his chest. He wanted to look at the big bill and hold it firmly in his hand. Food, he thought, food for his kids.

“We gotta deal?” Cat asked with a smile.

“You want me to fire my lawyer and hire yours?” he asked carefully.

“Right, right.”

“And you gonna pay for everthing?”

“Right, right.”

“What about this money?”

“It’s yours. Lemme know if you need more.”

“Mighty nice of you, Cat.”

“I’m a very nice man. I’m helpin’ two friends. One
saved my life many years ago, and the other saves my ass ever two years.”

“Why does he want my case so bad?”

“Publicity. You know how lawyers are. Look at how much press this kid’s already made off you. It’s a lawyer’s dream. We gotta deal?”

“Yeah. It’s a deal.”

Cat struck him on the shoulder with an affectionate blow, and walked to the phone on Ozzie’s desk. He punched the numbers. “Collect to 901-566-9800. From Cat Bruster. Person to person to Bo Marsharfsky.”

________

On the twentieth floor in a downtown office building, Bo Marsharfsky hung up the phone and asked his secretary if the press release was prepared. She handed it to him, and he read it carefully.

“This looks fine,” he said. “Get it to both news papers immediately. Tell them to use the file photograph, the new one. See Frank Fields at the
Post
. Tell him I want it on the front page in the morning. He owes me a favor.”

“Yes, sir. What about the TV stations?” she asked.

“Deliver them a copy. I can’t talk now, but I’ll hold a news conference in Clanton next week.”

________

Lucien called at six-thirty Saturday morning. Carla was buried deep under the blankets and did not respond to the phone. Jake rolled toward the wall and grappled with the lamp until he found the receiver. “Hello,” he managed weakly.

“What’re you doing?” Lucien asked.

“I was sleeping until the phone rang.”

“You seen the paper?”

“What time is it?”

“Go get the paper and call me after you read it.”

The phone was dead. Jake stared at the receiver, then placed it on the table. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed the fog from his eyes, and tried to remember the last time Lucien called his house. It must be important.

He made the coffee, turned out the dog, and walked quickly in his gym shorts and sweatshirt to the edge of the street where the three morning papers had fallen within ten inches of each other. He rolled the rubber bands off onto the kitchen table and spread the papers next to his coffee. Nothing in the Jackson paper. Nothing from Tupelo.
The Memphis Post
carried a headline of death in the Middle East, and, then, he saw it. On the bottom half of the front page he saw himself, and under his picture was the caption: “Jake Brigance—Out.” Next was a picture of Carl Lee, and then a splendid picture of a face he had seen before. Under it, the words: “Bo Marsharfsky—In.” The headline announced that the noted Memphis criminal attorney had been hired to represent the “vigilante killer.”

He was stunned, weak, and confused. Surely it was a mistake. He had seen Carl Lee only yesterday. He read the story slowly. There were few details, just a history of Marsharfsky’s greatest verdicts. He promised a news conference in Clanton. He said the case would present new challenges, etc. He had faith in the jurors of Ford County.

Jake slipped silently into starched khakis and a buttondown. His wife was still lost somewhere deep in the bed. He would tell her later. He took the paper and
drove to the office. The Coffee Shop would not be safe. At Ethel’s desk he read the story again and stared at his picture on the front page.

Lucien had a few words of comfort. He knew Marsharfsky, or “The Shark,” as he was known. He was a sleazy crook with polish and finesse. Lucien admired him.

________

Moss Junior led Carl Lee into Ozzie’s office, where Jake waited with a newspaper. The deputy quickly left and closed the door. Carl Lee sat on the small black vinyl couch.

Jake threw the newspaper at him. “Have you seen this?” he demanded.

Carl Lee glared at him and ignored the paper.

“Why, Carl Lee?”

“I don’t have to explain, Jake.”

“Yes, you do. You didn’t have the guts to call me like a man and tell me. You let me read it in the paper. I demand an explanation.”

“You wanted too much money, Jake. You’re always gripin’ over the money. Here I am sittin’ in jail and you’re bitchin’ ’bout somethin’ I can’t help.”

“Money. You can’t afford to pay me. How can you afford Marsharfsky?”

“I ain’t gotta pay him.”

“What!”

“You heard me. I ain’t payin’ him.”

“I guess he works for free.”

“Nope. Somebody else is payin’.”

“Who!” Jake shouted.

“I ain’t tellin’. It ain’t none of your business, Jake.”

“You’ve hired the biggest criminal lawyer in Memphis, and someone else is payin’ his bill?”

“Yep.”

The NAACP, thought Jake. No, they wouldn’t hire Marsharfsky. They’ve got their own lawyers. Besides, he was too expensive for them. Who else?

Carl Lee took the newspaper and folded it neatly. He was ashamed, and felt bad, but the decision had been made. He had asked Ozzie to call Jake and convey the news, but the sheriff wanted no part of it. He should have called, but he was not going to apologize. He studied his picture on the front page. He liked the part about the vigilante business.

“And you’re not going to tell me who?” Jake said, somewhat quieter.

“Naw, Jake. I ain’t tellin’.”

“Did you discuss it with Lester?”

The glare returned to his eyes. “Nope. He ain’t on trial, and it ain’t none of his business.”

“Where is he?”

“Chicago. Left yesterday. And don’t you go call him. I’ve made up my mind, Jake.”

We’ll see, Jake said to himself. Lester would find out shortly.

Jake opened the door. “That’s it. I’m fired. Just like that.”

Carl Lee stared at his picture and said nothing.

________

Carla was eating breakfast and waiting. A reporter from Jackson had called looking for Jake, and had told her about Marsharfsky.

There were no words, just motions. He filled a cup with coffee and went to the back porch. He sipped from the steaming cup and surveyed the unkempt hedges that lined the boundary of his long and narrow backyard. A brilliant sun baked the rich green
Bermuda and dried the dew, creating a sticky haze that drifted upward and hung to his shirt. The hedges and grass were waiting on their weekly grooming. He kicked off his loafers—no socks—and walked through the soggy turf to inspect a broken birdbath near a scrawny crepe myrtle, the only tree of any significance.

She followed the wet footprints and stood behind him. He took her hand and smiled. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

He shook his head and said nothing.

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

He nodded and stared at the birdbath.

“There will be other cases,” she said without confidence.

“I know.” He thought of Buckley, and could hear the laughter. He thought of the guys at the Coffee Shop, and vowed not to return. He thought of the cameras and reporters, and a dull pain moved through his stomach. He thought of Lester, his only hope of retrieving the case.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked.

“No. I’m not hungry. Thanks.”

“Look on the bright side,” she said. “We won’t be afraid to answer the phone.”

“I think I’ll cut the grass,” he said.

17

__________

T
he Council of Ministers was a group of black preachers that had been formed to coordinate political activities in the black communities of Ford County. It met infrequently during the off years, but during election years it met weekly, on Sunday afternoons, to interview candidates and discuss issues, and, more importantly, to determine the benevolence of each office seeker. Deals were cut, strategies developed, money exchanged. The council had proven it could deliver the black vote. Gifts and offerings to black churches rose dramatically during elections.

The Reverend Ollie Agee called a special meeting of the council for Sunday afternoon at his church. He wrapped up his sermon early, and by 4:00 P.M. his flock had scattered when the Cadillacs and Lincolns began filling his parking lot. The meetings were secret, with only ministers who were council members invited. There were twenty-three black churches in Ford County, and twenty-two members were present when Reverend Agee called the meeting to order. The meeting would be brief, since some of the ministers,
especially from the Church of Christ, would begin their evening services shortly.

The purpose of the meeting, he explained, was to organize moral, political, and financial support of Carl Lee Hailey, a member in good standing of his church. A legal defense fund must be established to assure the best legal representation. Another fund must be established to provide support for his family. He, Reverend Agee, would chair the fund-raising efforts, with each minister responsible for his own congregation, as usual. A special offering would be taken during the morning and evening services, starting next Sunday. Agee would use his discretion in disbursing the money to the family. Half of the proceeds would go to the defense fund. Time was important. The trial was next month. The money had to be raised quickly while the issue was hot, and the people were in a giving mood.