Читаем A time to kill полностью

Gwen shook her head and covered her eyes. She began crying and wiping her eyes. She spoke and her voice cracked. "She'll never have kids. He told me . . ." She stopped, wiped her face and tried to continue. She began sobbing loudly, and buried her face in a paper towel.

Carl Lee felt sick. He placed his forehead in his palms. He ground his teeth together as his eyes watered. "What'd he say?"

Gwen raised her head and spoke haltingly, righting back tears. "He told me Tuesday there was too much dam-

age . . ." She wiped her wet face with her fingers. "But he wants to send her to a specialist in Memphis."

"He's not sure?"

She shook her head. "Ninety percent sure. But he thinks she should be examined by another doctor in Memphis. We're supposed to take her in a month."

Gwen tore off another paper towel and wiped her face. She handed one to her husband, who quickly dabbed his eyes.

Next to the fence, Tonya sat listening to her brothers argue about which one would be a deputy and which one would be in jail. She watched her parents talk and shake their heads and cry. She knew something was wrong with her. She rubbed her eyes and started crying too.

"The nightmares are gettin' worse," Gwen said, interrupting the silence. "I have to sleep with her ever night. She dreams about men comin' to get her, men hidin' in the closets, chasin' her through the woods. She wakes up screamin' and sweatin'. The doctor says she needs to see a psychiatrist. Says it'll get worse before it gets better."

"How much will it cost?"

"I don't know. I haven't called yet."

"Better call. Where is this psychiatrist?"

"Memphis."

"Figures."

"How are the boys treatin' her?"

"They've been great. They treat her special. But the nightmares keep them scared. When she wakes up screamin' she wakes everybody. The boys run to her bed and try to help, but it scares them. Last night she wouldn't go back to sleep unless the boys slept on the floor next to her. We all laid there wide awake with the lights on."

"The boys'll be all right."

"They miss their daddy."

Carl Lee managed a forced smile. "It won't be much longer."

"You really think so?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. But I don't plan to spend the rest of my life in jail. I hired Jake back."

"When?"

"Yesterday. That Memphis lawyer never showed up, never even called. I fired him and hired Jake again."

"But you said Jake is too young."

"I was wrong. He is young, but he's good. Ask Lester."

"It's your trial."

Carl Lee walked slowly around the yard, never leaving the fence. He thought of the two boys, somewhere out there, dead and buried, their flesh rotting by now, their souls burning in hell. Before they died, they met his little girl, only briefly, and within two hours wrecked her little body and ruined her mind. So brutal was their attack that she could never have children; so violent the encounter that she now saw them hiding for her, waiting in closets. Could she ever forget about it, block it out, erase it from her mind so her life would be normal? Maybe a psychiatrist could do that. Would other children allow her to be normal?

She was just a little nigger, they probably thought. Somebody's little nigger kid. Illegitimate, of course, like all of them. Rape would be nothing new.

He remembered them in court. One proud, the other scared. He remembered them coming down the stairs as he awaited the execution. Then, the looks of horror as he stepped forward with the M-16. The sound of the gunfire, the cries for help, the screams as they fell backward together, one on top of the other, handcuffed, screaming and twisting, going nowhere. He remembered smiling, even laughing, as he watched them struggle with their heads half blown away, and when their bodies were still, he ran.

He smiled again. He was proud of it. The first gook he killed in Vietnam had bothered him more.

The letter to Walter Sullivan was to the point:

Dear J. Walter:

By now it's safe to assume Mr. Marsharfsky has informed you that his employment by Carl Lee Hailey has been terminated. Your services as local counsel will, of course, no longer be needed. Have a nice day.

Sincerely, Jake

A copy was sent to L. Winston Lotterhouse. The letter to Noose was just as short:

Dear Judge Noose:

Please be advised that I have been retained by Carl Lee Hailey. We are preparing for trial on July 22. Please show me as counsel of record.

Sincerely, Jake

A copy was sent to Buckley.

Marsharfsky called at nine-thirty Monday. Jake watched the hold button blink for two minutes before he lifted the receiver. "Hello."

"How'd you do it?"

"Who is this?"

"Your secretary didn't tell you? This is Bo Marsharfsky, and I want to know how you did it."

"Did what?"

"Hustled my case."

Stay cool, thought Jake. He's an agitator. "As I recall, it was hustled from me," replied Jake.

"I never met him before he hired me."

"You didn't have to. You sent your pimp, remember?"

"Are you accusing me of chasing cases?"

"Yes."

Marsharfsky paused and Jake braced for the obscenities.