Lucien had taught him that fear was good; fear was an ally; that every lawyer was afraid when he stood before a new jury and presented his case. It was okay to be afraid- just don't show it. Jurors would not follow the lawyer with the quickest tongue or prettiest words. They would not follow the sharpest dresser. They would not follow a clown or court jester. They would not follow the lawyer who preached the loudest or fought the hardest. Lucien had convinced him that jurors followed the lawyer who told the truth, regardless of his looks, words, or superficial abilities. A lawyer had to be himself in the courtroom, and if he was afraid, so be it. The jurors were afraid too.

Make friends with fear, Lucien always said, because it will not go away, and it will destroy you if left uncontrolled.

The fear hit deep in his bowels, and he walked carefully downstairs to the rest room.

"How are you, boss?" Ellen asked when.he checked on her.

"Ready, I guess. We'll leave in a minute."

"There are some reporters waiting outside. I told them you had withdrawn from the case and left town."

"At this moment, I wish I had."

"Have you heard of Wendall Solomon?"

"Not right off hand."

"He's with the Southern Prisoner Defense Fund. I worked under him last summer. He's tried over a hundred capital cases all over the South. He gets so nervous before a trial he can neither eat nor sleep. His doctor gives him seda-

tives, but he's still so jumpy no one speaks to him on opening day. And that's after a hundred of these trials."

"How does your father handle it?"

"He has a couple of martinis with a Valium. Then he lies on his desk with the door locked and the lights off until it's time for court. His nerves are ragged and he's ill-tempered. Of course, a lot of that is natural."

"So you know the feeling?"

"I know it well."

"Do I look nervous?"

"You look tired. But you'll do."

Jake checked his watch. "Let's go."

The reporters on the sidewalk pounced on their prey. "No comment" he insisted as he moved slowly across the street toward the courthouse. The barrage continued.

"Is it true you plan to ask for a mistrial?"

"I can't do that until the trial starts."

"Is it true the Klan has threatened you?"

"No comment."

"Is it true you sent your family out of town until after the trial?"

Jake hesitated and glanced at the reporter. "No comment."

"What do you think of the National Guard?"

"I'm proud of them."

"Can your client get a fair trial in Ford County?"

Jake shook his head, then added, "No comment."

A deputy stood guard a few feet from where the bodies had come to rest. He pointed at Ellen. "Who's she, Jake?"

"She's harmless. She's with me."

They ran up the rear stairs. Carl Lee sat alone at the defense table, his back to the packed courtroom. Jean Gil-lespie was busy checking in jurors while deputies roamed the aisles looking for anything suspicious. Jake greeted his client warmly, taking special care to shake his hand, smile broadly at him, and put his hand on his shoulder. Ellen unpacked the briefcases and neatly arranged the files on the table.

Jake whispered to his client and looked around the courtroom. All eyes were on him. The Hailey clan sat handsomely in the front row. Jake smiled at them and nodded at Lester. Tbnya and the boys were decked out in their Sunday

clothes, and they sat between Lester and Gwen like perfect little statues. -The jurors sat across the aisle, and they were carefully studying Hailey's lawyer. Jake thought this would be a good time for the jurors to see the family, so he walked through the swinging gate in the railing and went to speak to the Haileys. He patted Gwen on the shoulder, shook hands with Lester, pinched each of the boys, and, finally, hugged Tonya, the little Hailey girl, the one who had been raped by the two rednecks who got what they deserved. The jurors watched every move of this production, and paid special attention to the little girl.

"Noose wants us in chambers," Musgrove whispered to Jake as he returned to the defense table.

Ichabod, Buckley, and the court reporter were chatting when Jake and Ellen entered chambers. Jake introduced his clerk to His Honor and Buckley and Musgrove, and to Norma Gallo, the court reporter. He explained that Ellen Roark was a third-year law student at Ole Miss who was clerking in his office, and requested that she be allowed to sit near counsel table and participate in the proceedings in chambers. Buckley had no objections. It was common practice, Noose explained, and he welcomed her.

"Preliminary matters, gentlemen?" Noose asked.

"None," said the D.A.

"Several," said Jake as he opened a file. "I want this on the record."

Norma Gallo started writing.

"First of all, I want to renew my motion for a change of venue-"

"We object," interrupted Buckley.

"Shut up, Governor!" Jake yelled. "I'm not through, and don't interrupt me again!"

Buckley and the others were startled by this loss of composure. It's all those margaritas, thought Ellen.

"I apologize, Mr. Brigance," Buckley said calmly. "Please don't refer to me as governor."

"Let me say something at this point," Noose started. "This trial will be a long and arduous ordeal. I can appreciate the pressure you're both under. I've been in your shoes many times myself, and I know what you're going through. You're both excellent lawyers, and I'm thankful that I have

two fine lawyers for a trial of this magnitude. I can also detect a certain amount of ill will between you. That's certainly not uncommon, and I will not ask you to shake hands and be good friends. But I will insist that when you're in my courtroom or in these chambers that you refrain from interrupting each other, and that the shouting be held to a bare minimum. You will refer to each other as Mr. Brigance, and Mr. Buckley, and Mr. Musgrove. Now do each of you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then continue, Mr. Brigance."

"Thank you, Your Honor, I appreciate that. As I was saying, the defendant renews his motion for a change of venue. I want the record to reflect that as we sit here now in chambers, at nine-fifteen, July twenty-second, as we are about to select a jury, the Ford County Courthouse is surrounded by the Mississippi National Guard. On the front lawn a group of Ku Klux Klansmen, in white robes, is at this very moment yelling at a group of black demonstrators, who are, of course, yelling back. The two groups are separated by heavily armed National Guardsmen. As the jurors arrived for court this morning, they witnessed this circus on the courthouse lawn. It will be impossible to select a fair and impartial jury."

Buckley watched with a cocky grin on his huge face, and when Jake finished he said, "May I respond, Your Honor?"

"No," Noose said bluntly. "Motion is overruled. What else do you have?"

"The defense moves to strike this entire panel."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that there has been an overt effort by the Klan to intimidate this panel. We know of at least twenty cross burnings."

"I intend to excuse those twenty, assuming they all showed up," said Noose.

"Fine," Jake replied sarcastically. "What about the threats we don't know about? What about the jurors who've heard of the cross burnings?"

Noose wiped his eyes and said nothing. Buckley had a speech but didn't want to interrupt.

"I've got a list here," Jake said, reaching into a file, "of the twenty jurors who received visits. I've also got copies of the police reports, and an affidavit from Sheriff Walls in which he details the acts of intimidation. I am submitting these to the court in support of my motion to strike this panel. I want this made a part of the record so the Supreme Court can see it in black and white."

"Expecting an appeal, Mr. Brigance?" asked Mr. Buck-ley.

Ellen had just met Rufus Buckley, and now, seconds later, she understood exactly why Jake and Harry Rex hated him.

"No, Governor, I'm not expecting an appeal. I'm trying to insure that my man gets a fair trial from a fair jury. You should understand that."

"I'm not going to strike this panel. That would cost us a week," Noose said.

"What's time when a man's life is at stake? We're talking about justice. The right to a fair trial, remember, a most basic constitutional right. It's a travesty not to strike this panel when you know for a fact that some of these people have been intimidated by a bunch of goons in white robes who want to see my client hanged."

"Your motion is overruled," Noose said flatly. "What else do you have?"

"Nothing, really. I request that when you do excuse the twenty, you so do in such a way that the other jurors don't know the reason."

"I can handle that, Mr. Brigance."

Mr. Pate was sent to find Jean Gillespie. Noose handed her a list of the twenty names. She returned to the courtroom and read the list. They were not needed for jury duty, and were free to go. She returned to chambers.

"How many jurors do we have?" Noose asked her.

"Ninety-four."

"That's enough. I'm sure we can find twelve who are fit to serve."

"You couldn't find two," Jake mumbled to Ellen, loud enough for Noose to hear and Norma Gallo to record. His Honor excused them and they took their places in the courtroom.

Ninety-four names were written on small strips of paper that were placed in a short wooden cylinder. Jean Gillespie spun the cylinder, stopped it, and picked a name at random. She handed it to Noose, who sat above her and everyone else on his throne, or bench, as it was called. The courtroom watched in dead silence as he squinted down that nose and looked at the first name.

"Carlene Malone, juror number one," he shrieked in his loudest voice. The front row had been cleared, and Mrs. Malone took her seat next to the aisle. Each pew would seat ten, and there were ten pews, all to be filled with jurors. The ten pews on the other side of the aisle were packed with family, friends, spectators, but mainly reporters who scribbled down the name of Carlene Malone. Jake wrote her name too. She was white, fat, divorced, lower income. She was a two on the Brigance scale. Zero for one, he thought.