Читаем A time to kill полностью

Jake had planned a brief opening, and after Buckley's marathon, he decided to make it even shorter. Most people don't like lawyers to begin with, especially long-winded, tall-talking, wordy lawyers who feel that every insignificant point must be repeated at least three times, and the major ones have to be hammered and drilled by constant repetition into whoever happened to be listening. Jurors especially dislike lawyers who waste time, for two very good reasons. First, they can't tell the lawyers to shut up. They're captives. Outside the courtroom a person can curse a lawyer and shut him up, but in the jury box they become trapped and forbidden to speak. Thus, they must resort to sleeping, snoring, glaring, squirming, checking their watches, or any one of a dozen signals which boring lawyers never recognize. Second, jurors don't like long trials. Cut the crap and get it over with. Give us the facts and we'll give you a verdict.

He explained this to his client during the recess.

"I agree. Keep it short," said Carl Lee.

He did. Fourteen minutes worth of opening statement, and the jury appreciated every word. He began by talking about daughters and how special they are. How they are different from little boys and need special protection. He

told them of his own daughter and trie special oonu mat exists between father and daughter, a bond that could not be explained and should not be tampered with. He admitted admiration for Mr. Buckley and his alleged ability to be so forgiving and compassionate to any drunken pervert who might rape his daughter. He was a big man indeed. But in reality, could they, as jurors, as parents, be so tender and trusting and indulging if their daughter had been raped-by two drunk, stoned, brutal animals who tied her to a tree and-"

"Objection!" shouted Buckley.

"Sustained," Noose shouted back.

He ignored the shouting and continued softly. He asked them to try to imagine, throughout the trial, how they would feel had it been their daughter. He asked them not to convict Carl Lee but to send him home to his family. He didn't mention insanity. They knew it was coming.

He finished shortly after he started, and left the jury with a marked contrast in the two styles.

"Is that all?" Noose asked in amazement.

Jake nodded as he sat by his client.

"Very well. Mr. Buckley, you may call your first witness."

"The State calls Cora Cobb."

The bailiff went to the witness room and fetched Mrs. Cobb, He led her through the door by the jury box, into the courtroom where she was sworn by Jean Gillespie, and then he seated her in the witness chair.

"Speak into the microphone," he instructed.

"You are Cora Cobb?" Buckley asked with full volume as he situated the podium near the railing.

"Yes, sir."

"Where do you live?"

"Route 3, Lake Village, Ford County."

"You are the mother of Billy Ray Cobb, deceased?"

"Yes, sir," she said as her eyes watered. She was a rural woman whose husband had left when the boys were small. They had raised themselves while she worked two shifts at a cheap furniture factory between Karaway and Lake Village. She lost control over them at an early age. She was about

fifty, tried to look forty with hair dye and makeup, but could easily pass for early sixties.

"How old was your son at the time of his death?"

"Twenty-three."

"When did you last see him alive?"

"Just a few seconds before he was kilt."

"Where did you see him?"

"Here in this courtroom."

"Where was he killed?"

"Downstairs."

"Did you hear the shots that killed your son?"

She began to cry. "Yes, sir."

"Where did you last see him?"

"At the funeral home."

"And what was his condition?"

"He was dead."

"Nothing further," Buckley announced.

"Cross-examination, Mr. Brigance?"

She was a harmless witness, called to establish that the victim was indeed dead, and to evoke a little sympathy. Nothing could be gained by cross-examination, and normally she would have been left alone. But Jake saw an opportunity he couldn't pass. He saw a chance to set the tone for the trial, to wake Noose and Buckley and the jury; to just get everyone aroused. She was not really that pitiful; she was faking some. Buckley had probably instructed her to cry if possible.

"Just a few questions," Jake said as he walked behind Buckley and Musgrove to the podium. The D.A. was immediately suspicious.

"Mrs. Cobb, is it true that your son was convicted of selling marijuana?"

"Objection!" Buckley roared, springing to his feet. "The criminal record of the victim is inadmissible!"

"Sustained!"

"Thank you, Your Honor," Jake said properly, as if Noose had done him a favor.

She wiped her eyes and cried harder.

"You say your son was twenty-three when he died?"

"Yes."

"In his twenty-three years, how many other children am he rape?"

"Objection! Objection!" yelled Buckley, waving his arms and looking desperately at Noose, who was yelling, "Sustained! Sustained! You're out of order, Mr. Brigance! You're out of order!"