The Last Juror by John Grisham Read Free Book Online

and I were sitting in the second row when the crowd began to assemble.
    Danny Padgitt’s principal lawyer was a character named Lucien Wilbanks, a man I would quickly learn to hate. He was what was left of a once prominent clan of lawyers and bankers and such. The Wilbanks family had worked long and hard to build Clanton, then Lucien came along and had pretty much ruined a fine family name. He fancied himself as a radical lawyer, which, for that part of the world in 1970, was quite rare. He wore a beard, swore like a sailor, drank heavily, and preferred clients who were rapists and murderers and child molesters. He was the only white member of the NAACP in Ford County, which alone was enough to get you shot there. He didn’t care.
    Lucien Wilbanks was abrasive and fearless and downright mean, and he waited until everyone was settled in the courtroom—just before Judge Loopus entered—to walk slowly over to me. He was holding a copy of the latest Times, which he began waving as he started swearing. “You little son of a bitch!” he said,quite loudly, and the courtroom became perfectly still. “Who in hell do you think you are?”
    I was too mortified to attempt an answer. I felt Baggy inch away. Every single person in the courtroom was staring at me, and I knew I had to say something. “Just telling the truth,” I managed to say with as much conviction as I could muster.
    “It’s yellow journalism!” he roared. “Sensational tabloid garbage!” The paper was just a few inches from my nose.
    “Thank you,” I said, like a real wise guy. There were at least five deputies in the courtroom, none of whom were showing any interest in breaking this up.
    “We’ll file suit tomorrow!” he said, his eyes glowing. “A million dollars in damages!”
    “I got lawyers,” I said, suddenly terrified that I was about to be as bankrupt as the Caudle family. Lucien tossed the paper into my lap, then turned and went back to his table. I was finally able to exhale; my heart was pounding. I could feel my cheeks burning from embarrassment and fear.
    But I managed to keep a stupid grin on my face. I couldn’t show the locals that I, the editor/publisher of their paper, was afraid of anything. But a million dollars in damages! I immediately thought of my grandmother in Memphis. That would be a difficult conversation.
    There was a commotion up behind the bench and a bailiff opened a door. “Everyone rise,” he announced. Judge Loopus crept through it and shuffled to his seat, his faded black robe trailing behind him. Once situated,he surveyed the crowd, and said, “Good morning. A rather nice turnout for a bail hearing.” Such routine matters generally attracted no one, except for the accused, his lawyer, and perhaps his mother. There were three hundred people watching this one.
    It wasn’t just a bail hearing. It was round one of a rape/murder trial, and few people in Clanton wanted to miss it. As I was keenly aware, most folks would not be able to attend the proceedings. They would rely on the Times, and I was determined to give them the details.
    Every time I looked at Lucien Wilbanks, I thought about the lawsuit for a million dollars. Surely he wasn’t going to sue my paper, was he? For what? There had been no libel, no defamation.
    Judge Loopus nodded at another bailiff and a side door opened. Danny Padgitt was escorted in, his hands cuffed at his waist. He was wearing a neatly pressed white shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. His face was clean shaven and free of any apparent injuries. He was twenty-four, a year older than me, but he looked much younger. He was clean cut, handsome, and I couldn’t help but think he ought to be in college somewhere. He managed a slow strut, then the sneer as the bailiff removed the handcuffs. He looked around at the crowd, and for a moment seemed to enjoy the attention. He showed all the confidence of someone whose family had unlimited cash, which it would use to get him out of his little