Читаем A time to kill полностью

"My dad's filthy rich, and even though we're Irish Catholic I'm an only child. I've got more money than you do so I'll work for free. No charge. A free law clerk for three weeks. I'll do all the research, typing, answering the phone. I'll even carry your briefcase and make the coffee."

"I was afraid you'd want to be a law partner."

"No. I'm a woman, and I'm in the South. I know my place."

"Why are you so interested in this case?"

"I want to be in the courtroom. I love criminal trials, big trials where there's a life on the line and pressure so thick you can see it in the air. Where the courtroom's packed and security is tight. Where half the people hate the defendant and his lawyers and the other half pray he gets off. I love it. And this is the trial of all trials. I'm not a Southerner and I find this place bewildering most of the time, but I have developed a perverse love for it. It'll never make sense to me, but it is fascinating. The racial implications are enormous. The trial of a black father for killing two white men who raped his daughter-my father said he would take the case for free."

"Tell him to stay in Boston."

"It's a trial lawyer's dream. I just want to be there. I'll stay out of the way, I promise. Just let me work in the background and watch the trial."

"Judge Noose hates women lawyers."

"So does every male lawyer in the South. Besides, I'm not a lawyer, I'm a law student."

"I'll let you explain that to him."

"So I've got the job."

Jake stopped staring at her and breathed deeply. A minor wave of nausea vibrated through his stomach and lungs and took his breath. The jackhammers had returned with a fury and he needed to be near the restroom.

"Yes, you've got the job. I could use some free research. These cases are complicated, as I'm sure you are aware."

She flashed a comely, confident smile. "When do I start?"

"Now."

Jake led her through a quick tour of the office, and assigned her to the war room upstairs. They laid the Hailey file on the conference table and she spent an hour copying it.

At two-thirty Jake awoke from a nap on his couch. He walked downstairs to the conference room. She had removed half the books from the shelves and had them scattered the length of the table with page markers sticking up every fifty or so pages. She was busy taking notes.

"Not a bad library," she said.

"Some of these books haven't been used in twenty years."

"I noticed the dust."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes. I'm starving."

"There's a little cafe around the corner where the specialty is grease and fried corn meal. My system needs a shot of grease."

"Sounds delicious."

They walked around the square to Claude's, where the crowd was thin for a Saturday afternoon. There were no other whites in the place. Claude was absent and the silence was deafening. Jake ordered a cheeseburger, onion rings, and three headache powders.

"Got a headache?" Ellen asked.

"Massive."

"Stress?"

"Hangover."

"Hangover? I thought you were a teetotaler."

"And where'd you hear that?"

"Newsweek. The article said you were a clean-cut family man, workaholic, devout Presbyterian who drank nothing and smoked cheap cigars. Remember? How could you forget, right?"

"You believe everything you read?"

"No."

"Good, because last night I got plastered, and I've puked all morning."

The law clerk was amused. "What do you drink?"

"I don't-remember. At least I didn't until last night.

_ i, ano i nope it's my last. I'd forgotten how terrible these things are."

"Why do lawyers drink so much?"

"They learn how in law school. Does your dad drink?"

"Are you kidding? We're Catholic. He's careful, though."

"Do you drink?"

"Sure, all the time," she said proudly.

"Then you'll make a great lawyer."

Jake carefully mixed the three powders in a glass of ice water and slugged it down. He grimaced and wiped his mouth. She watched intently with an amused smile.

"What'd your wife say?"

"About what?"

"The hangover, from such a devout and religious family man."

"She doesn't know about it. She left me early yesterday morning."

"I'm sorry."

"She went to stay with her parents until the trial is over. We've had anonymous phone calls and death threats for two months now, and early yesterday morning they planted dynamite outside our bedroom window. The cops found it in time and they caught the men, probably the Klan. Enough dynamite to level the house and kill all of us. That was a good excuse to get drunk."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"The job you've just taken could be very dangerous. You should know that at this point."

"I've been threatened before. Last summer in Dothan, Alabama, we defended two black teenagers who had sodomized and strangled an eighty-year-old woman. No lawyer in the state would take the case so they called the Defense League. We rode into town on black horses and the mere sight of us would cause lynch mobs to form instantly on street corners. I've never felt so hated in my life. We hid in a motel in another town and felt safe, until one night two men cornered me in the motel lounge and tried to abduct me."