jg.atimetokill-第86部分

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　〃Wait　till　you　hear　the　closing　argument。〃
　Jake　avoided　Harry　Rex；　and　drove　to　Karaway。　His　childhood　home　was　an　old　country　house　in　downtown；　surrounded　by　ancient　oaks　and　maples　and　elms　that　kept　it　cool　in　spite　of　the　summer　heat。　In　the　back；　past　the　trees；　was　a　long　open　field　which　ran　for　an　eighth　of　a　mile　and　disappeared　over　a　small　hill。　A　chickenwire　backstop　stood　over　the　weeds　in　one　corner。　Here；　Jake　had　taken　his　first　steps；　rode　his　first　bike；　thrown　his　first　football　and　base…
　ball。　Under　an　oak　beside　the　field；　he　had　buried　three　dogs；　a　raccoon；　a　rabbit；　and　some　ducks。　A　tire　from　a　'54　Buick　swung　not　far　from　the　small　cemetery。
　The　house　had　been　locked　and　deserted　for　two　months。　A　neighborhood　kid　cut　the　grass　and　tended　the　lawn。　Jake　checked　the　house　once　a　week。　His　parents　were　somewhere　in　Canada　in　a　camper…the　summer　ritual。　He　wished　he　were　with　them。
　He　unlocked　the　door　and　walked　upstairs　to　his　room。　It　would　never　change。　The　walls　were　covered　with　team　pictures；　trophies；　baseball　caps；　posters　of　Pete　Rose；　Archie　Manning；　and　Hank　Aaron。　A　row　of　baseball　gloves　hung　above　the　closet　door。　A　cap　and　gown　picture　sat　on　the　dresser。　His　mother　still　cleaned　it　weekly。　She　once　told　him　she　often　went　to　his　room　and　expected　to　find　him　doing　homework　or　sorting　baseball　cards。　She　would　flip　through　his　scrapbooks；　and　get　all　teary　eyed。
　He　thought　of　Hanna's　room；　with　the　stuffed　animals　and　Mother　Goose　wallpaper。　A　thick　knot　formed　in　his　throat。
　He　looked　out　the　window；　past　the　trees；　and　saw　himself　swinging　in　the　tire　near　the　three　white　crosses　where　he　buried　his　dogs。　He　remembered　each　funeral；　and　his　father's　promises　to　get　another　dog。　He　thought　of　Hanna　and　her　dog；　and　his　eyes　watered。
　The　bed　was　much　smaller　now。　He　removed　his　shoes　and　lay　down。　A　football　helmet　hung　from　the　ceiling。　Eighth　grade；　Karaway　Mustangs。　He　scored　seven　touchdowns　in　five　games。　It　was　all　on　film　downstairs　under　the　bookshelves。　The　butterflies　floated　wildly　through　his　stomach。
　He　carefully　placed　his　notes…his　notes；　not　Lucien's…　on　the　dresser。　He　studied　himself　in　the　mirror。
　He　addressed　the　jury。　He　began　by　facing　his　biggest　problem；　Dr。　W。T。　Bass。　He　apologized。　A　lawyer　walks　into　a　courtroom；　faces　a　strange　jury；　and　has　nothing　to　offer　but　his　credibility。　And　if　he　does　anything　to　hurt　his　credibility；　he　has　hurt　his　cause；　his　client。　He　asked　them　tb　believe　that　he　would　never　put　a　convicted　felon　on　the　stand　as　an
　expert　witness　in　any　trial。　He　did　not　know　of　the　conviction；　he　raised　his　hand　and　swore　to　this。　The　world　is　full　of　psychiatrists；　and　he　could　easily　have　found　another　if　he　had　known　Bass　had　a　problem；　but　he　simply　did　not　know。　And　he　was　sorry。
　But　what　about　Bass's　testimony。　Thirty　years　ago　he　had　sex　with　a　girl　under　eighteen　in　Texas。　Does　that　mean　he　is　lying　now　in　this　trial？　Does　that　mean　you　cannot　trust　his　professional　opinion？　Please　be　fair　to　Bass　the　psychiatrist；　forget　Bass　the　person。　Please　be　fair　to　his　patient；　Carl　Lee　Hailey。　He　knew　nothing　of　the　doctor's　past。
　There　was　something　about　Bass　they　might　like　to　know。　Something　that　was　not　mentioned　by　Mr。　Buckley　when　he　was　ripping　the　doctor　to　pieces。　The　girl　he　had　sex　with　was　seventeen。　She　later　became　his　wife；　bore　him　a　son；　and　was　pregnant　when　she　and　the　boy　were　killed　in　a　train…
　〃Objection！〃　Buckley　shouted。　〃Objection；　Your　Honor。　That　evidence　is　not　in　the　record！〃
　〃Sustained。　Mr。　Brigance；　you　are　not　to　refer　to　facts　not　in　evidence。　The　jury　will　disregard　the　last　statements　by　Mr。　Brigance。〃
　Jake　ignored　Noose　and　Buckley　and　stared　painfully　at　the　jury。
　When　the　shouting　died；　he　continued。　What　about　Rodeheaver？　He　wondered　if　the　State's　doctor　had　ever　engaged　in　sex　with　a　girl　under　eighteen。　Seemed　silly　to　think　about　such　things；　didn't　it？　Bass　and　Rodeheaver　in　their　younger　days…it　seemed　so　unimportant　now　in　this　courtroom　almost　thirty　years　later。
　The　State's　doctor　is　a　man　with　an　obvious　bias。　A　highly　trained　specialist　who　treats　thousands　for　all　sorts　of　mental　illnesses；　yet　when　crimes　are　involved　he　cannot　recognize　insanity。　His　testimony　should　be　carefully　weighed。
　They　watched　him；　listened　to　every　word。　He　was　not　a　courtroom　preacher；　like　his　opponent。　He　was　quiet；　sincere。　He　looked　tired；　almost　hurt。
　Lucien　was　sober；　and　he　sat　with　folded　arms　and　watched　the　jurors；　all　except　Sisco。　It　was　not　his　closing；　but　it　was　good。　It　was　ing　from　the　heart。
　Jake　apologized　for　his　inexperience。　He　had　not　been　in　many　trials；　not　nearly　as　many　as　Mr。　Buckley。　And　if　he　seemed　a　little　green；　or　if　he　made　mistakes；　please　don't　hold　it　against　Carl　Lee。　It　wasn't　his　fault。　He　was　just　a　rookie　trying　his　best　against　a　seasoned　adversary　who　tried　murder　cases　every　month。　He　made　a　mistake　with　Bass；　and　he　made　other　mistakes；　and　he　asked　the　jury　to　forgive　him。
　He　had　a　daughter；　the　only　one　he　would　ever　have。　She　was　four；　almost　five；　and　his　world　revolved　around　her。　She　was　special；　she　was　a　little　girl；　and　it　was　up　to　him　to　protect　her。　There　was　a　bond　there；　something　he　could　not　explain。　He　talked　about　little　girls。
　Carl　Lee　had　a　daughter。　Her　name　was　Tonya。　He　pointed　to　her　on　the　front　row　next　to　her　mother　and　brothers。　She's　a　beautiful　little　girl；　ten　years　old。　And　she　can　never　have　children。　She　can　never　have　a　daughter　because…〃
　〃Objection；〃　Buckley　said　without　shouting。
　〃Sustained；〃　Noose　said。
　Jake　ignored　the　motion。　He　talked　about　rape　for　a　while；　and　explained　how　rape　is　much　worse　than　murder。　With　murder；　the　victim　is　gone；　and　not　forced　to　deal　with　what　happened　to　her。　The　family　must　deal　with　it；　but　not　the　victim。　But　rape　is　much　worse。　The　victim　has　a　lifetime　of　coping；　of　trying　to　understand；　of　asking　questions；　and；　the　worst　part；　of　knowing　the　rapist　is　still　alive　and　may　someday　escape　or　be　released。　Every　hour　of　every　day；　the　victim　thinks　of　the　rape　and　asks　herself　a　thousand　questions。　She　relives　it；　step　by　step；　minute　by　minute；　and　it　hurts　just　as　bad。
　Perhaps　the　most　horrible　crime　of　all　is　the　violent　rape　of　a　child。　A　woman　who　is　raped　has　a　pretty　good　idea　why　it　happened。　Some　animal　was　filled　with　hatred；　anger　and　violence。　But　a　child？　A　ten…year…old　child？　Suppose　you're　a　parent。　Imagine　yourself　trying　to　explain　to　your　child　why　she　was　raped。　Imagine　yourself　trying　to　explain　why　she　cannot　bear　children。
　〃Objection。〃
　〃Sustained。　Please　disregard　that　last　statement；　ladies　and　gentlemen。〃
　Jake　never　missed　a　beat。　Suppose；　he　said；　your　ten…year…old　daughter　is　raped；　and　you're　a　Vietnam　vet；　very　familiar　with　an　M…16；　and　you　get　your　hands　on　one　while　your　daughter　is　lying　in　the　hospital　fighting　for　her　life。　Suppose　the　rapist　is　caught；　and　six　days　later　you　manage　to　maneuver　to　within　five　feet　of　him　as　he　leaves　court。　And　you've　got　the　M…16。
　What　do　you　do？
　Mr。　Buckley　has　told　you　what　he　would　do。　He　would　mourn　for　his　daughter；　turn　the　other　cheek；　and　hope　the　judicial　system　worked。　He　would　hope　the　rapist　would　receive　justice；　be　sent　to　Parchman；　and　hopefully　never　paroled。　That's　what　he　would　do；　and　they　should　admire　him　for　being　such　a　kind；　passionate；　and　forgiving　soul。　But　what　would　a　reasonable　father　do？
　What　would　Jake　do？　If　he　had　the　M…16？　Blow　the　bastard's　head　off！
　It　was　simple。　It　was　justice。
　Jake　paused　for　a　drink　of　water；　then　shifted　gears。　The　pained　and　humble　look　was　replaced　with　an　air　of　indignation。　Let's　talk　about　Cobb　and　Willard。　They　started　this　mess。　It　was　their　lives　the　State　was　attempting　to　justify。　Who　would　miss　them　except　their　mothers？　Child　rapists。　Drug　pushers。　Would　society　miss　such　productive　citizens？　Wasn't　Ford　County　safer　without　them？　Were　not　the　other　children　in　the　county　better　off　now　that　two　rapists　and　pushers　had　been　removed？　All　parents　should　feel　safer。　Carl　Lee　deserves　a　medal；　or　at　least　a　round　of　applause。　He　was　a　hero。　That's　what　Looney　said。　Give　the　man　a　trophy。　Send　him　home　to　his　family。
　He　talked　about　Looney。　He　had　a　daughter。　He　also　had　one　leg；　thanks　to　Carl　Lee　Hailey。　If　anyone　had　a　right　to　be　bitter；　to　want　blood；　it　was　DeWayne　Looney。　And　he　said　Carl　Lee　should　be　sent　home　to　his　family。
　He　urged　them　to　forgive　as　Looney　had　forgiven。　He　asked　them　to　follow　Looney's　wishes。
　He　became　much　quieter；　and　said　he　was　almost　through。　He　wanted　to　leave　them　with　one　thought。　Picture　this　if　they　could。　When　she　was　lying　there；　beaten；　bloodied；　legs　spread　and　tied　to　trees；　she　looked　into　the　woods　around　her。　Semiconscious　and　hallucinating；　she　saw　some…
　one　running　toward　her。　It　was　her　daddy；　running　desperately　to　save　her。　In　her　dreams　she　saw　him　when　she　needed　him　the　most。　She　cried　out　for　him；　and　he　disappeared。　He　was　taken　away。
　She　needs　him　now；　as　much　as　she　needed　him　then。　Please　don't　take　him　away。　She　waits　on　the　front　row　for　her　daddy。
　Let　him　go　home　to　his　family。
　The　courtroom　was　silent　as　Jake　sat　next　to　his　client。　He　glanced　at　the　jury；　and　saw　Wanda　Womack　brush　away　a　tear　with　her　finger。　For　the　first　time　in　two　days　he　felt　a　flicker　of　hope。
　At　four；　Noose　bid　farewell　to　his　jury。　He　told　them　to　elect　a　foreman；　get　organized；　and　get　busy。　He　told　them　they　could　deliberate　until　six；　maybe　seven；　and　if　no　verdict　was　reached　he　would　recess　until　nine　Tuesday　morning。　They　stood　and　filed　slowly　from　the　courtroom。　Once　out　of　sight；　Noose　recessed　until　six　and　instructed　the　attorneys　to　remain　close　to　the　courtroom　or　leave　a　number　with　the　clerk。
　The　spectators　held　their　seats　and　chatted　quietly。　Carl　Lee　was　allowed　to　sit　on　the　front　row　with　his　family。　Buckley　and　Musgrove　waited　in　chambers　with　Noose。　Harry　Rex；　Lucien；　and　Jake　left　for　the　office　and　a　liquid　supper。　No　one　expected　a　quick　verdict。
　The　bailiff　locked　them　in　the　jury　room　and　instructed　the　two　alternates　to　take　a　seat　in　the　narrow　hallway。　Inside；　Barry　Acker　was　elec