"I don't want to be here all day," Loopus mumbled, as if he had an afternoon golf game. "Call your first witness, Mr. Wilbanks."
"Mr. Walter Pickard."
The name was unknown to me, which was expected, but Baggy had never heard of him either. During the preliminary questions it was established that he had lived in Karaway for over twenty years, went to church every Sunday and the Rotary Club every Thursday. For a living he owned a small furniture factory.
"Must buy lumber from the Padgitts," Baggy whispered.
His wife was a schoolteacher. He had coached Little League baseball and worked with the Boy Scouts. Lucien pressed on and did a masterful job of laying the groundwork that Mr. Pickard knew his community well.
Karaway was a smaller town eighteen miles west of Clanton. Spot had always neglected the place and we sold very few papers there. And even fewer ads. In my youthful eagerness, I was already contemplating the expansion of my empire. A small weekly in Karaway would sell a thousand copies, I thought.
"When did you first hear that Miss Kassellaw had been murdered?" Wilbanks asked.
"Couple of days after it happened," Mr. Pickard said. "News is sometimes slow getting to Karaway."
"Who told you?"
"One of my employees came in with the story. She has a brother who lives around Beech Hill, where it happened."
"Did you hear that someone had been arrested for the murder?" Lucien asked. Ho prowled around the courtroom like a bored cat. Just going through the motions, yet missing nothing.
"Yes, the rumor was that one of the young Padgitts had been arrested."
"Did you later confirm this?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I saw the story in The Ford County Times. There was a large photo of Danny Padgitt on the front page, right next to a large photo of Rhoda Kassellaw."
"Did you read the reports in the Times?"
"I did."
"And did you form an opinion about Mr. Padgitt's guilt or innocence?"
"He looked guilty to me. In the photo he had blood all over his shirt. His face was placed right next to that of the victim's, you know, side by side. The headline was huge and said something like, DANNY PADGITT ARRESTED FOR MURDER. "
"So you assumed he was guilty?"
"It was impossible not to."
"What's been the reaction to the murder in Karaway?"
"Shock and outrage. This is a peaceful county. Serious crimes are rare."
"In your opinion, do folks over there generally believe Danny Padgitt raped and murdered Rhoda Kassellaw?"
"Yes, especially after the way the newspaper has treated the story."
I could feel stares from all directions, but I kept telling myself that we had done nothing wrong. People suspected Danny Padgitt because the rotten sonofabitch had committed the crimes.
"In your opinion, can Mr. Padgitt receive a fair trial in Ford County?"
"No."
"Upon what do you base this opinion?"
"He's already been tried and convicted by the newspaper." "Do you think your opinion is shared by most of your friends and neighbors over in Karaway?"
"I do."
"Thank you."
Mr. Ernie Gaddis was on his feet, holding a legal pad as if it were a weapon. "Say you're in the furniture business, Mr. Pickard?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"You buy lumber locally?"
"We do."
"From whom?"
Pickard readjusted his weight and pondered the question. "Gates Brothers, Henderson, Tiffee, Voyles and Sons, maybe one or two others."
Baggy whispered, "Padgitt owns Voyles."
"You buy any lumber from the Padgitts?" Gaddis asked.
"No sir."
"Now or at any time in the past?"
"No sir."
"Any of these lumberyards owned by the Padgitts?"
"Not to my knowledge."
The truth was that no one really knew what the Padgitts owned. For decades they'd had their tentacles in so many businesses, legitimate or otherwise. Mr. Pickard may not have been well known in Clanton, but, at that moment, he was suspected of having some relationship with the Padgitts. Why would he voluntarily testify on Danny's behalf?
Gaddis shifted gears. "Now, you said that the bloody photograph had much to do with your assumption that the boy is guilty, that right?"
"It made him look very suspicious."
"Did you read the entire story?"
"I believe so."
"Did you read where it says that Mr. Danny Padgitt was involved in an auto accident, that he was injured, and that he was also charged with drunk driving?"
"I believe I read that, yes."
"Would you like for me to show it to you?"
"No, I remember it."
"Good, then why were you so quick to assume the blood came from the victim and not from Mr. Padgitt himself?"
Pickard shifted again and looked frustrated. "I simply said that the photos and the stories, when taken together, make him look guilty."
"You ever serve on a jury, Mr. Pickard?"
"No sir."
"Do you understand what's meant by the presumption of innocence?"
"Yes."
"Do you understand that the State of Mississippi must prove Mr. Padgitt guilty beyond a reasonable doubt?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe everyone accused of a crime is entitled to a fair trial?"
"Yes, of course."
"Good. Let's say you got a summons for jury service in this case. You've read the newspaper reports, listened to all the gossip, all the rumors, all that mess, and you arrive in this very courtroom for the trial. You've already testified that you believe Mr. Padgitt to be guilty. Let's say you're selected for the jury. Let's say that Mr. Wilbanks, a very skilled and experienced lawyer, attacks the State's case and raises serious doubts about our proof. Let's say there's doubt in your mind, Mr. Pickard. Gould you at that point vote not guilty?"
He nodded as he followed along, then said, "Yes, under those circumstances."
"So, regardless of how you now feel about guilt or innocence, you would be willing to listen to the evidence and weigh it fairly before you decide the case?"
The answer was so obvious that Mr. Pickard had no choice but to say, "Yes."
"Of course," Gaddis agreed. "And what about your wife? You mentioned her. She's a schoolteacher, right? She would be as open-minded as you, wouldn't she?"
"I think so. Yes."
"And what about those Rotarians over there in Karaway. Are they as fair as you?"
"I suppose so."
"And your employees, Mr. Pickard. Surely you hire honest, fair-minded people. They'd be able to ignore what they've read and heard and try this boy justly, wouldn't they?"
"I suppose."
"No further questions, Your Honor."
Mr. Pickard hustled off the witness stand and hurried from the courtroom. Lucien Wilbanks stood and said, rather loudly, "Your Honor, the defense calls Mr. Willie Traynor."
A brick to the nose could not have hit Mr. Willie Traynor with more force. I gasped for air and heard Baggy say, too loudly, "Oh shit."
Harry Rex was sitting in the jury box with some other lawyers, taking in the festivities. As I wobbled to my feet, I looked at him desperately for help. He was rising too.
"Your Honor," he said. "I represent Mr. Traynor, and this young man has not been notified that he would be a witness." Go Harry Rex! Do something!