Читаем A time to kill полностью

Noose seated the courtroom, and for ten minutes offered a rambling apology to the jurors for yesterday's delay. They were the only fourteen in the county who did not know what happened Friday morning, and it might be prejudicial to tell them. Noose droned on about emergencies and how sometimes during trials things conspire to cause delays. When he finally finished, the jurors were completely bewildered and praying that somebody would call a witness.

"You may call your first witness," Noose said in Jake's direction.

"Dr. W.T. Bass," Jake announced as he moved to the podium. Buckley and Musgrove exchanged winks and silly grins.

Bass was seated next to Lucien on the second row in the middle of the family. He stood noisily and made his way to the center aisle, stepping on feet and assaulting people with

his heavy, leather, empty briefcase. Jake heard the commotion behind him and continued smiling at the jury.

"I do, I do," Bass said rapidly at Jean Gillespie during his swearing in.

Mr. Pate led him to the witness stand and delivered the standard orders to speak up and use the microphone. Though mortified and hung over, the expert looked remarkably arrogant and sober. He wore his most expensive dark gray hand-sewn wool suit, a perfectly starched white button-down, and a cute little red paisley bow tie that made him appear rather cerebral. He looked like an expert, in something. He also wore, over Jake's objections, a pair of light gray ostrich skin cowboy boots that he had paid over a thousand for and worn less than a dozen times. Lucien had insisted on the boots eleven years earlier in the first insanity case. Bass wore them, and the very sane defendant went to Parchman. He wore them in the second insanity trial, again at Lucien's behest; again, Parchman. Lucien referred to them as Bass's good luck charm.

Jake wanted no part of the damned boots. But the jury could relate to them, Lucien had argued. Not expensive ostrich skin, Jake countered. They're too dumb to know the difference, replied Lucien. Jake could not be swayed. The rednecks will trust someone with boots, Lucien had explained. Fine, said Jake, let him wear a pair of those camouflage squirrel-hunting boots with a little mud on the heels and soles, some boots they could really identify with. Those wouldn't complement his suit, Bass had inserted.

He crossed his legs, laying the right boot on his left knee, flaunting it. He grinned at it, then grinned at the jury. The ostrich would have been proud.

Jake looked from his notes on the podium and saw the boot, which was plainly visible above the rail of the witness stand. Bass was admiring it, the jurors pondering it. He choked and returned to his notes.

"State your name, please."

"Dr. W.T. Bass," he replied, his attention suddenly diverted from the boot. He looked grimly, importantly at Jake.

"What is your address?"

"Nine-oh-eight West Canterbury, Jackson, Mississippi."

"What is your profession?"

"I am a physician."

"Are you licensed to practice in Mississippi?"

"Yes."

"When were you licensed?"

"February 8, 1963."

"Are you licensed to practice medicine in any other state?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Texas."

"When did you obtain that license?"

"November 3, 1962."

"Where did you go to college?"

"I received my bachelor's degree from Millsaps College in 1956, and received my M.D., or Doctor of Medicine, from the University of Texas Health Science Center in Dallas, Texas, in 1960."

"Is that an accredited medical school?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"By the Council of Medical Education and Hospitals of the American Medical Association, the recognized accrediting agency of our profession, and by the educational authority of the State of Texas."

Bass relaxed a bit, uncrossed and recrossed his legs, and displayed his left boot. He rocked gently and turned the comfortable swivel chair partially toward the jury.

"Where did you intern and for how long?"

"After graduation from medical school, I spent twelve months as an intern at the Rocky Mountain Medical Center in Denver."

"What is your medical specialty?"

"Psychiatry."

"Explain to us what that means."

"Psychiatry is that branch of medicine concerned with the treatment of disorders of the mind. It usually, but not always, deals with mental malfunction, the organic basis of which is unknown."

Jake breathed for the first time since Bass took the stand. His man was sounding good.

"Now, Doctor," he said as he casually walked to within

a foot of the jury box, "describe to the jury the specialized training you received in the field of psychiatry."