Six months later Jake returned to his office after a long day in court and found Lucien asleep on the Persian rug in the big office. “Lucien! Are you all right?” he asked.
Lucien jumped up and sat in the big leather chair behind the desk. He was sober, tanned, relaxed.
“Jake, my boy, how are you?” he asked warmly.
“Fine, just fine. Where have you been?”
“Cayman Islands.”
“Doing what?”
“Drinking rum, lying on the beach, chasing little native girls.”
“Sounds like fun. Why did you leave?”
“It got boring.”
Jake sat across the desk. “It’s good to see you, Lucien.”
“Good to see you, Jake. How are things around here?”
“Hectic. But okay, I guess.”
“Did you settle Medley?”
“Yeah. They paid eighty thousand.”
“That’s very good. Was he happy?”
“Yes, seemed to be.”
“Did Cruger go to trial?”
Jake looked at the floor. “No, he hired Fredrix. I think it’s set for trial next month.”
“I should’ve talked to him before I left.”
“He’s guilty, isn’t he?”
“Yes, very. It doesn’t matter who represents him. Most defendants are guilty. Remember that.” Lucien walked to the French doors and gazed at the courthouse. “What are your plans, Jake?”
“I’d like to stay here. What are your plans?”
“You’re a good man, Jake, and I want you to stay. Me, I don’t know. I thought about moving to the Caribbean, but I won’t. It’s a nice place to visit, but it gets old. I have no plans really. I may travel. Spend some money. I’m worth a ton, you know.”
Jake agreed. Lucien turned and waved his arms around the room. “I want you to have all this, Jake. I want you to stay here and keep some semblance of a firm going. Move into this office; use this desk that my grandfather brought from Virginia after the Civil War. Keep the files, cases, clients, books, everything.”
“That’s very generous, Lucien.”
“Most of the clients will disappear. No reflection on you—you’ll be a great lawyer someday. But most of my clients have followed me for years.”
Jake didn’t want most of his clients. “How about rent?”
“Pay me what you can afford. Money will be tight at first, but you’ll make it. I don’t need money, but you do.”
“You’re being very kind.”
“I’m really a nice guy.” They both laughed awkwardly.
Jake quit smiling. “What about Ethel?”
“It’s up to you. She’s a good secretary who’s forgotten more law than you’ll ever know. I know you don’t like her, but she would be hard to replace. Fire her if you want to. I don’t care.”
Lucien headed for the door. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be around. I want you to move into this office. It was my father’s and grandfather’s. Put my junk in some boxes, and I’ll pick it up later.”
________
Cobb and Willard awoke with throbbing heads and red, swollen eyes. Ozzie was yelling at them. They were in a small cell by themselves. Through the bars to the right was a cell where the state prisoners were held awaiting the trip to Parchman. A dozen blacks leaned through the bars and glared at the two white boys as they struggled to clear their eyes. To the left was a smaller cell, also full of blacks. Wake up, Ozzie yelled, and stay quiet, or he would integrate his jail.
________
Jake’s quiet time was from seven until Ethel arrived at eight-thirty. He was jealous with this time. He locked the front door, ignored the phone, and refused to make appointments. He meticulously planned his day. By eight-thirty he would have enough work dictated to keep Ethel busy and quiet until noon. By nine he was either in court or seeing clients. He would not take calls until eleven, when he methodically returned the morning’s messages—all of them. He never delayed returning a phone call—another rule. Jake worked systematically and efficiently with little wasted time. These habits he had not learned from Lucien.
At eight-thirty Ethel made her usual noisy entrance downstairs. She made fresh coffee and opened the mail as she had every day for the past forty-one years. She was sixty-four and looked fifty. She was plump, but not fat, well kept, but not attractive. She chomped on a greasy sausage and biscuit brought from home and read Jake’s mail.
Jake heard voices. Ethel was talking to another woman. He checked his appointment book—none until ten.
“Good morning, Mr. Brigance,” Ethel announced through the intercom.
“Morning, Ethel.” She preferred to be called Mrs. Twitty. Lucien and everyone else called her that. But Jake had called her Ethel since he had fired her shortly after the disbarment.
“There’s a lady here to see you.”
“She doesn’t have an appointment.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“Make one for tomorrow morning after ten-thirty. I’m busy now.”
“Yes, sir. But she says it’s urgent.”
“Who is it?” he snapped. It was always urgent when they dropped in unannounced, like dropping by a funeral home or a Laundromat. Probably some urgent question about Uncle Luke’s will or the case set for trial in three months.
“A Mrs. Willard,” Ethel replied.
“First name?”
“Earnestine Willard. You don’t know her, but her son’s in jail.”
Jake saw his appointments on time, but drop-ins were another matter. Ethel either ran them off or made appointments for the next day or so. Mr. Brigance was very busy, she would explain, but he could work you in day after tomorrow. This impressed people.
“Tell her I’m not interested.”
“But she says she must find a lawyer. Her son has to be in court at one this afternoon.”
“Tell her to see Drew Jack Tyndale, the public defender. He’s good and he’s free.”
Ethel relayed the message. “But, Mr. Brigance, she wants to hire you. Someone told her you’re the best criminal lawyer in the county.” The amusement was obvious in Ethel’s voice.
“Tell her that’s true, but I’m not interested.”
________
Ozzie handcuffed Willard and led him down the hall to his office in the front section of the Ford County jail. He removed the handcuffs and seated him in a wooden chair in the center of the cramped room. Ozzie sat in the big chair across the desk and looked down at the defendant.
“Mr. Willard, this here is Lieutenant Griffin with the Mississippi Highway Patrol. Over here is Investigator Rady with my office, and this here is Deputy Looney and Deputy Prather, whom you met last night but I doubt if you remember it. I’m Sheriff Walls.”
Willard jerked his head fearfully to look at each one. He was surrounded. The door was shut. Two tape recorders sat side by side near the edge of the sheriff’s desk.
“We’d like to ask you some questions, okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before I start, I wanna make sure you understand your rights. First of all, you have the right to remain silent. Understand?”