Sycamore Row - John Grisham

mother had been blown away by a sawedoff shotgun at her place of employment. From
there, it only got worse.
Though the Parole Board took the issue under advisement, parole for the killer seemed
unlikely. He was led away after the thirty-minute hearing.
Next, a young black kid was brought in and his handcuffs removed. He was placed in
the hot seat, and introduced to the board. He had served six years for carjacking and
had been an exemplary prisoner, finishing high school, racking up college credits, and
staying out of trouble. His parole investigator recommended release, as did his victim.
There was an affidavit signed by the victim in which she urged the Parole Board to show
mercy. She had not been injured during the crime, and over the years had corresponded
with her carjacker.
While her affidavit was being read, Jake noticed others from the Yawkey clan inching
along the walls on the far left. He’d found them to be harsh people, lower class,
rednecks, with a fondness for violence. He had stared them down in open court on two
occasions, and now here they were again. He despised them as much as he feared them.
Dennis Yawkey walked in with a cocky smile and began looking for his people. Jake
had not seen him in twenty-seven months, and he preferred to never see him again. His
investigator clicked off the relevant facts: In 1985, Dennis Yawkey pled guilty in Ford
County to one count of conspiracy to commit arson. It was alleged that Yawkey and
three other men conspired to burn the home of one Jake Brigance, in the town of
Clanton. His three co-conspirators actually carried out the firebombing and were serving
time in the federal prison system. One of them testified on behalf of the government;
thus, the guilty pleas. The investigator had no recommendation as to whether Yawkey
should be paroled, which, according to Floyd Green, meant that a release was unlikely.
Jake and Carla listened and fumed. Yawkey got off light only because Rufus Buckley
botched the prosecution. If Buckley had stayed out of the way and allowed the Feds to
handle it, Yawkey would have been sent away for at least ten years, like his buddies.
Because of Buckley, here they were twenty-seven months later staring at parole for a
little thug who’d been trying to impress the Klan. His sentence was five years. Barely
halfway through, he was trying to get out.
As Jake and Carla walked hand in hand to the cheap lectern sitting on a folding table,
Ozzie Walls and Marshall Prather made a noisy entry into the room. Jake nodded at
them, then turned his attention to the Parole Board. He began by saying, “I know we
only have a few minutes, so I’ll hurry along. I’m Jake Brigance, owner of the house that
no longer exists, and this is my wife, Carla. Both of us would like to say a few words in
opposition to this request for parole.” He stepped aside and Carla assumed the lectern.
She unfolded a sheet of paper and tried to smile at the members of the Parole Board.
She glared at Dennis Yawkey, then cleared her throat. “My name is Carla Brigance.
Some of you might remember the trial of Carl Lee Hailey in Clanton in July of 1985. My
husband defended Carl Lee, a zealous defense that cost us dearly. We received
anonymous phone calls; some were outright threats. Someone burned a cross in our
front yard. There was even an attempt to kill my husband. A man with a bomb was
caught trying to blow up our house while we were asleep—his trial is still pending while