The Last Juror by John Grisham

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Categories	Thrillers & Suspense
Author	John Grisham
Publisher	Anchor (April 25, 2006)
Language	English
Paperback	416 pages
Item Weight	10.7 ounces
Dimensions	5.2 x 0.85 x 8 inches

I. Book introduction

The Last Juror is a 2004 legal thriller novel by John Grisham, first published by Doubleday on February 3, 2004.

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER • In 1970, Willie Traynor comes to Clanton, Mississippi, in a Triumph Spitfire and a fog of vague ambitions. Within a year, the twenty-three-year-old finds himself the owner of Ford County’s only newspaper, famous for its well-crafted obituaries. While the rest of America is in the grips of turmoil, Clanton lives on the edge of another age—until the brutal murder of a young mother rocks the town and thrusts Willie into the center of a storm.

Daring to report the true horrors of the crime, Willie makes as many friends as enemies in Clanton, and over the next decade he sometimes wonders how he got there in the first place. But he can never escape the crime that shattered his innocence or the criminal whose evil left an indelible stain. Because as the ghosts of the South’s past gather around Willie, as tension swirls around Clanton, men and women who served on a jury nine years ago are starting to die one by one—as a killer exacts the ultimate revenge.

Plot introduction

The story is set in the fictional town of Clanton, Mississippi from 1970 to 1979. Clanton is also the venue for John Grisham’s first novel A Time to Kill which was published in 1989. Some of the characters appear in both novels with the same occupation and characteristics. Although A Time to Kill was published 15 years before The Last Juror, it took place in 1985 (on the first page of Chapter 3, it notes the date as Wednesday, May 15), which is a year after Grisham formed the idea for A Time to Kill, his first novel, and began writing it. Therefore, the characters who appear in both novels, such as Lucien Wilbanks and Harry Rex Vonner, have matured in A Time to Kill. Harry Rex Vonner also appears in the novel The Summons, published in 2002, as an adviser of the protagonist Ray Atlee.

Some references in the book are clearly hinting at things known to readers of A Time to Kill. For example, in 1970 most blacks in Ford County don’t take part in elections – taking for granted that since whites are the great majority in the county, no black candidate would have chance of being elected to local office. However, as A Time to Kill makes clear, a decade later a black Sheriff would be duly elected, with the overwhelming support of blacks and whites alike.

The novel is divided into three parts. The first covers the trial of Danny Padgitt, the second focuses on Willie adjusting to life in Clanton, and the third includes the main events, the murder of the jurors.

Plot

In 1970, a 23-year-old college dropout named Willie Traynor realizes that his dreams of becoming a Pulitzer-winning journalist will never come true. He moves to Clanton, Mississippi for an internship at the local newspaper, The Ford County Times. However, the aging editor, Wilson Caudle, drives the newspaper into bankruptcy through years of neglect and mismanagement. Willie spontaneously decides to buy the paper for $50,000, using money borrowed from his wealthy grandmother, and becomes the editor and owner of the Times.

Soon afterwards, Danny Padgitt, a member of a notorious local family, brutally rapes and murders a young widow, Rhoda Kassellaw. When Traynor publishes a front-page photo of the blood-spattered Padgitt being led into jail, readership increases. However, Willie is accused of yellow journalism and pre-judging Padgitt. Later, Willie runs a human interest story about Callie Ruffin, a local black woman whose seven children (among eight) all gained doctorates and teaching positions in various universities. In the process of researching the story, Willie becomes a close friend of Callie and her family.

In the process of jury selection for Padgitt’s trial, Callie becomes the first black person to serve on a Ford County jury. Though far from enthusiastic about the prospect of having to pass a death sentence, Callie – who had been active of the Civil Rights Movement – does not shirk her civic duty. In court, Padgitt openly threatens to kill each of the jurors if he’s convicted. But though the jury convicts Padgitt, they are divided on whether to sentence him to death row, so he is sentenced to life imprisonment at the Mississippi State Penitentiary. Unconfirmed rumors persist that Hank Hooten, the deputy prosecutor in the case, had been the lover of the victim – which, if true, would constitute a conflict of interest.

In the ensuing years, as the Times becomes highly successful and steadily increases circulation, Willie keeps an eye on Padgitt. He campaigns against the extremely favorable conditions which his family procured for him in prison. However, Padgitt is paroled after nine years. Immediately after his return to Clanton, two of the former jurors are killed by a sniper rifle and fear spreads through the county. Callie’s children and neighbors organize to guard her day and night. The Padgitt family offers alibis as to Danny’s whereabouts during the murders. This is taken with great skepticism, but with no tangible proof to the contrary, the authorities hesitate to take action.

Callie reveals that the victims were jurors who voted against sentencing Padgitt to death. A third juror – who also opposed a death sentence – narrowly escapes a bomb sent through the mail. The resulting public uproar forces the authorities’ hands, and a warrant is issued for Padgitt’s arrest. Against expectations, Padgitt surrenders to police. During his bail hearing, however, Padgitt is shot and killed by Hooten, who is hiding in the ceiling. Hooten barricades himself in the courthouse tower and, after a short standoff, commits suicide. It is revealed that Padgitt – though guilty of his original crime – was innocent of the murders. Willie discovers that Hooten has indeed been involved with Rhoda Kassellaw, and sought revenge against Padgitt and the three jurors who voted against his death sentence.

A big newspaper chain, extending operations throughout the South, becomes interested in purchasing the Times. Willie sells the paper for $1.5 million, but his satisfaction is marred when Callie dies of a heart attack. The book ends with Willie writing her obituary.

Editorial Reviews

• “Never let it be said this man doesn’t know how to spin a good yarn.” —Entertainment Weekly
• “John Grisham is about as good a storyteller as we’ve got in the United States these days.” —New York Times Book Review
• “John Grisham may well be the best American storyteller writing today.” —Philadelphia Inquirer

About John Grisham

John Grisham (born February 8, 1955 in Jonesboro, Arkansas) is an American novelist, lawyer and former member of the 7th district of the Mississippi House of Representatives, known for his popular legal thrillers. According to the American Academy of Achievement, Grisham has written 28 consecutive number-one fiction bestsellers, and his books have sold 300 million copies worldwide. Along with Tom Clancy and J. K. Rowling, Grisham is one of only three authors to have sold two million copies on a first printing.

Grisham graduated from Mississippi State University and earned a Juris Doctor from the University of Mississippi School of Law in 1981. He practised criminal law for about a decade and served in the Mississippi House of Representatives from 1983 to 1990.

Grisham’s first novel, A Time to Kill, was published in June 1989, four years after he began writing it. Grisham’s first bestseller, The Firm, sold more than seven million copies. The book was adapted into a 1993 feature film of the same name, starring Tom Cruise, and a 2012 TV series which continues the story ten years after the events of the film and novel. Seven of his other novels have also been adapted into films:

• The Chamber,
• The Client,
• A Painted House,
• The Pelican Brief,
• The Rainmaker,
• The Runaway Jury, and Skipping Christmas.

Grisham is a two-time winner of the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction and was honored with the Library of Congress Creative Achievement Award for Fiction.

When he’s not writing, Grisham serves on the board of directors of the Innocence Project and of Centurion Ministries, two national organizations dedicated to exonerating those who have been wrongfully convicted. Much of his fiction explores deep-seated problems in our criminal justice system.

John Girsham lives on a farm in central Virginia.

II. Reviewer: The Last Juror

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1. HARRY G.ARNOLD reviews for The Last Juror

Up until “The Chamber” I had a signed collection of all of Grisham’s books. After “The Chamber” I just couldn’t stick with him any more, though I tried.

Now comes this little gem, and because it is on audio CD and I can listen to it without spending any time on it, I have “read” another of John Grisham’s novels. But this one is good.

It is a story teller’s book. The reader has the affectations and accents of the old Southern story tellers — sounds just like a friend of mine telling half truths mixed with facts. Grisham has captured the personalities and dialogue. Together they paint a picture of Anytown, Mississippi, that should have universal appeal because so much that affected Mississippi in the 1970’s affected everyone, from desegregation, to anti feminist attitudes, to elections, to Vietnam.

Grisham builds the stories that form this book upon a cynical, humorous look at ourselves through the eyes of a reporter instead of those of a lawyer, politician or criminal. The newspaper “prints all of the letters to the editor” and hopes to hear from both sides.

So many things in this book are SOOOO small town — hand delivered letters under the door, people who have “family money” instead of wealth, and an assortment of characters right out of Faulkner as well as those resembling some from earlier Grisham novels.

I liked it, and was happy to see Grisham do some good story telling.

2. NATHAN W.DRAGE reviews for The Last Juror

In The Last Juror, Grisham provides us with a decade long slice of life in Clanton Mississippi. Told through a narrative of the new owner of “the Times,” Clanton’s weekly newspaper, we are introduced to the town Clanton and Ford County.

Through endearing new characters, Grisham gives us another dramatic story unfolding in the stew of racial prejudices, economic disparity, and corruption. The local folks are trying to live out otherwise simple lives while clinging to their patriotism and their individual and collective faith in God. But, the folks in Clanton keep buzzing with opinions and concern as their little community is influenced by ever evolving events and citizens.

Though Grisham’s skilled story telling, we get to know the citizens of this southern community and the colorful characters who will later interact with young lawyer Jake Brigance. Its folksy, its drmagic, and its enjoyable. We find new people to like and some to not like. Despite all its flaws, we root for Clanton and hope it survives itself. And, looking through the lens of that small community, Grisham allows us to examine our own thoughts on many subjects which permeate America. But, the introspection invited is far less demanding than what erupts in A Time to Kill.

The Last Juror is further enjoyable proof that Grisham can write American life and when doing so, we feel subtle connections to another great American author: Mark Twain.

3. NENETTE reviews for The Last Juror

One of Grisham’s best I’d say. The author capitalized on what he does best, that’s the legal part, then added a lot of heart to it. It combines the thrill and drama of the scenes in the courtroom with the heart and soul and lives of its many colorful characters.

The story spans a decade, the 70’s, a period of transformation and awakening, especially in the deep south. It talks about taking risks, commitment, growing up. It demonstrates the power of the written word. It relates how true friendship can break barriers. All of these, Mr. Grisham cooked up, and peppered it with the legal excitement that he’s become a master of, and the result is just very tasteful.

4. KIM reviews for The Last Juror

I have read approximately 90% of John Grisham’s books. Actually took a long break from him because the books all started sounding the same. Decided to give this book a try. I am sooo happy I did.

The story line is outstanding. I love this book. Almost finished with it and it makes me sad. Truly don’t want it to end. If you are a Grisham fan give the book a read. It won’t disappoint. If you have never read his books, give this one a try. You won’t be sorry.

5. JOHN reviews for The Last Juror

Willie Traynor buys the Ford County Times, a weekly newspaper, almost on a whim – it is 1970, he works at the paper when it goes bankrupt and a rich relative backs him. It does not appear to be a sound investment. As ‘luck’ would have it, just after he buys the paper, a horrific rape & murder takes places in the small town of Clanton, and his newspaper has the scoop.

The killer’s identity is not in doubt – Danny Padgitt is part of the local crime family and the victim named him as she died. Traynor’s reports of the murder and the trial make the paper a must read, and he is off and running. When Padgitt is found guilty he threatens revenge. For some reason the jury balks at the death penalty, and he is sentenced to life. But in 70’s Mississippi, life means a few years, if you have contacts and money.

We follow Traynor as he makes friends and learns to live in Clanton. He is slowly accepted, and his newspaper flourishes. Less than a decade later, Padgitt is paroled. And the jurors begin to die…

This is a pretty decent outing – albeit very short. Traynor and his life in Clanton make an interesting enough diversion. We are also introduced to a few of the characters in other books (including Harry Rex, the town’s divorce lawyer who still sadly doesn’t have a book focused on him!). As with most of Mr. Grisham’s catalogue, this is a reread for me, and I had actually forgotten the ending. All in all, worth a read for any Grisham fans.

6. ROB reviews for The Last Juror

A stand alone semi-courtroom drama published 2004.

Probably deserves 4 stars.

The story of my life, not really sure to make of this. It was not what I expected but I unexpectedly enjoyed it.

As the title would suggest there was a courtroom involved but it consumed only about twenty percent of the whole. The rest was a retrospective look at Ford County in the seventies through the eyes of the local newspaper.

When it becomes obvious that the local newspaper will soon be going into receivership a young colt journalist, who is an employee of the papers, decided that he would make an offer to buy the paper.

Now the proud new owner with all the ambition and energy that only the young can engender he sets forth to make the paper a success.

To achieve this he, not only, reports on all and every newsworthy, or otherwise, story but he searches out any local citizen who might have a story worth telling. Before long the big event in most peoples lives becomes the next edition of the local newspaper.

For the most part the news is pretty mundane to say the least but when a young widow with two children is brutally raped and murdered the paper and the community goes into overdrive.

The man accused of the murder belongs to a family much hated by the local community for a bunch of thieving cutthroats. The case that was presented to the jury was so cut and dried that not only was a guilty verdict expected but the death penalty was also expected. When the jury gave the guilty as charged verdict but didn’t qualify that with the death penalty the locals were dumbstruck.

For the death penalty to be give all jurors have to agree, it takes just one juror to disagree to prevent the death penalty from being carried out.

This was an interesting look at life in the southern states of America in the seventies.

The division of the races. The Vietnam war. The attitudes to crime and punishment.

Not what I expected but very readable for all that.

7. RON reviews for The Last Juror

I have read almost everything John Grisham has written and with rare exceptions, never been disappointed. His narrative is always clear and clean, his use of the English language better than most modern authors, and how pleasing to never encounter profanities.

In this book, he treats all Christian denominations with respect and that too I found pleasing.

It was also good to see him take his principal character out of the roll of lawyer whilst still managing to weave the tale around the courtroom.

Almost without exception I have thought his novels to be worthy of transferring to the screen believing that they would make great box office movies, far more interesting than much of the modern garbage and constant remakes currently appearing on the screen’s of late.

8. JENNIFER reviews for The Last Juror

One of my favorite books!

I was very impressed. The first notable thing about this story is that while there is some courtroom time, it is NOT about a court case or a lawyer, etc, like many of Grisham’s books. Grisham is a fine writer, but in this story about a small southern town and it’s very young, very green newspaper editor/writer, he outdid himself. I’ll warn that it doesn’t have quite as much “excitement” and “suspense” as you occasionally find in his courtroom thrillers. It’s more laidback than those, although there is some suspense and a touch of blood and gore. This story is about people. It’s about a town that changes over time and the townsfolk who change with it – some with relish and some kicking and screaming. It’s about Willie Trainer, the newspaper owner who comes to town, an outsider, buys the newspaper, and over time gains the respect, loyalty and love of the town he serves. The true beauty of this book, though, is the incredible way that Mr. Grisham introduces you to the characters and the townspeople. Each character in this book is a story finely woven. You’re not reading/hearing that Joe Blow eats eggs for breakfast and is wearing black pants and a blue shirt. You learn about these people: their past, their present, and you look forward to their future. The writing is masterful in the creation of characters that we care about, are interested in and who shape this story. When I finished the story, I actually left the radio off for the rest of my ride home just so I could think about what a wonderful story it was and how much I enjoyed it.

Following Grisham’s other non-courtroom drama’s, specifically A Painted House, I see his talent is truly in character development. But, while A Painted House was good, it wasn’t like this story. This had a much more satisfying plot, filled with wonderful characters, and an end that was somewhat expected, but that provided an end to a tale and to an era. I recommend this story. The narration was wonderful. Don’t go into it expecting the same old Grisham, though. Go into it expecting a good story about people who touch you.

This review is in reference to the unabridged audio version and the narration was excellent on this version. This is definitely a book for the commute.

9. PAUL WEISS reviews for The Last Juror

Much more than just a legal thriller – very fine writing!

Mississippi’s Ford County local weekly newspaper hangs on the edge of bankruptcy and Willie Traynor, a rather shiftless ne’er do well college dropout, hears from a chum that a publication like the Ford County Times would be a veritable license to print money if it were properly run. With the help of a $50,000 loan from his doting grandmother, Willie assumes the ownership of the newspaper and begins the process of pulling the newspaper from its deep hole. Things are definitely looking up and readership is given an enormous boost with his lurid, sensational coverage of the trial of local bad boy, Danny Padgitt, for the brutal rape and murder of Rhoda Kasselaw, a reclusive young widow. With the assistance of a shocking in court threat of revenge against the members of the jury if he is convicted, Padgitt is sent to prison for life and Ford County resumes the role of a sleepy-eyed southern town living its languid 1970 life.

As I read the entire middle half of the book, I found it quite easy to forget that Grisham made his name as an author writing legal thrillers. Grisham treats us to an extended commentary on life in a typical southern community during the decade of the 70s. He deals with racial prejudice, hatred, fear and the legal issues of bussing and de-segregation in a calm, straight up and quite fearless almost documentary approach. His very human characters of Calia and Esau Ruffin, a black couple that live on the wrong side of the tracks, allow us to see and acknowledge the historical wrongs and injustices that were visited upon the black population in the Deep South without standing up on an annoying soap box and yelling about it. The stereotypical white old boy’s network is represented by the notorious Padgitt family, Lucien Willbanks, their extraordinarily slimy lawyer and Mackey Don Coley, the sheriff who has made a career of ignoring the Padgitt family’s wrongdoings. Nixon’s politics, the struggles the US faced attempting to extricate itself from the Vietnam debacle, conscientious objectors and returning veterans all make an appearance. Clearly, this fine piece of writing was also a metaphor for the time that Padgitt was in prison. Padgitt and the brutal murder simply vanish from the collective psyche of Ford County. As we read this story, we are SUPPOSED to forget about him just as the community did until we are shocked to discover he has been released on parole after only nine years and the jurors who sent him to prison begin to die.

At the risk of sounding like a literary snob, I’d like to suggest that Grisham has moved up a very large notch. With The Last Juror, he has proven his ability to write compelling human drama that doesn’t rely upon simple chills and thrills to make the reader turn the pages. I believe this is the finest effort from an author who already has a pretty commendable body of work to his credit!

10. DEANNA reviews for The Last Juror

Although I read this book quite a few years ago I still remember how much I enjoyed reading it.

I had read only a couple of Grisham’s books up to that point and this one sounded like one that I would really enjoy reading and I did. I finished it over a weekend up at the cabin in just a few sittings.

There didn’t seem to be as much courtroom time and I enjoyed the focus on the story in the small southern town. I really enjoyed the first person narrative. The characters are quite believable and the descriptions are vivid and understandable especially for the time in small town America. I also loved all of the descriptions of Miss Callie’s wonderful cooking.

I got to know the town, its people, and the trauma they all experienced during the murder trial and the turmoil after the early release of a murderer. Grisham kept my interest throughout the book.

All in all a good story with interesting and well-developed characters.

III. The Last Juror Quotes

The best book quotes from The Last Juror by John Grisham

“judge not that ye be not judged”

“Because I was single, there was a chance I was a homosexual. Because I went to Syracuse, wherever that was, then I was probably a Communist. Or worse, a Liberal. Because I was from Memphis, I was a subversive intent on embarrassing Ford County.”

“Since most law-abiding citizens had no contact with the parole system, it was not a priority with the state legislatures. And since most of the state’s prisoners were either poor or black, and unable to use the system to their advantage, it was easy to hit them with harsh sentences and keep them locked up. But for an inmate with a few connections and some cash, the parole system was a marvelous labyrinth of contradictory laws that allowed the Parole Board to pass out favors.”

“The bankruptcy was called involuntary, as if others had eager volunteers. The pack was led by a print supplier from Memphis that was owed $60,000. Several creditors had not been paid in six months. The old Security Bank was calling in a loan.”

Excerpted from The Last Juror by John Grisham

Chapter 2 – The Last Juror

Rhoda Kassellaw lived in the Beech Hill community, twelve miles north of Clanton, in a modest gray brick house on a narrow, paved country road. The flower beds along the front of the house were weedless and received daily care, and between them and the road the long wide lawn was thick and well cut. The driveway was crushed white rock. Scattered down both sides of it was a collection of scooters and balls and bikes. Her two small children were always outdoors, playing hard, sometimes stopping to watch a passing car.

It was a pleasant little country house, a stone’s throw from Mr. And Mrs. Deece next door. The young man who bought it was killed in a trucking accident somewhere in Texas, and, at the age of twenty-eight, Rhoda became a widow. The insurance on his life paid off the house and the car. The balance was invested to provide a modest monthly income that allowed her to remain home and dote on the children. She spent hours outside, tending her vegetable garden, potting flowers, pulling weeds, mulching the beds along the front of the house.

She kept to herself. The old ladies in Beech Hill considered her a model widow, staying home, looking sad, limiting her social appearances to an occasional visit to church. She should attend more regularly, they whispered.

Shortly after the death of her husband, Rhoda planned to return to her family in Missouri. She was not from Ford County, nor was her husband. A job took them there. But the house was paid for, the kids were happy, the neighbors were nice, and her family was much too concerned about how much life insurance she’d collected. So she stayed, always thinking of leaving but never doing so.

Rhoda Kassellaw was a beautiful woman when she wanted to be, which was not very often. Her shapely, thin figure was usually camouflaged under a loose cotton drip-dry dress, or a bulky chambray workshirt, which she preferred when gardening. She wore little makeup and kept her long flaxen-colored hair pulled back and stuck together on top of her head. Most of what she ate came from her organic garden, and her skin had a soft healthy glow to it. Such an attractive young widow would normally have been a hot property in the county, but she kept to herself.

After three years of mourning, however, Rhoda became restless. She was not getting younger; the years were slipping by. She was too young and too pretty to sit at home every Saturday and read bedtime stories. There had to be some action out there, though there was certainly none in Beech Hill.

She hired a young black girl from down the road to baby-sit, and Rhoda drove north for an hour to the Tennessee line, where she’d heard there were some respectable lounges and dance clubs. Maybe no one would know her there. She enjoyed the dancing and the flirting, but she never drank and always came home early. It became a routine, two or three times a month.

Then the jeans got tighter, the dancing faster, the hours longer and longer. She was getting noticed and talked about in the bars and clubs along the state line.

He followed her home twice before he killed her. It was March, and a warm front had brought a premature hope of spring. It was a dark night, with no moon. Bear, the family mutt, sniffed him first as he crept behind a tree in the backyard. Bear was primed to growl and bark when he was forever silenced.

Rhoda’s son Michael was five and her daughter Teresa was three. They wore matching Disney cartoon pajamas, neatly pressed, and watched their mother’s glowing eyes as she read them the story of Jonah and the whale. She tucked them in and kissed them good night, and when Rhoda turned off the light to their bedroom, he was already in the house.

An hour later she turned off the television, locked the doors, and waited for Bear, who did not appear. That was no surprise because he often chased rabbits and squirrels into the woods and came home late. Bear would sleep on the back porch and wake her howling at dawn. In her bedroom, she slipped out of her light cotton dress and opened the closet door. He was waiting in there, in the dark.

He snatched her from behind, covered her mouth with a thick and sweaty hand, and said, “I have a knife. I’ll cut you and your kids.” With the other hand he held up a shiny blade and waved it before her eyes.

“Understand?” he hissed into her ear.

She trembled and managed to shake her head. She couldn’t see what he looked like. He threw her to the floor of the cluttered closet, face down, and yanked her hands behind her. He took a brown wool scarf an old aunt had given her and wrapped it roughly around her face. “Not one sound,” he kept growling at her. “Or I’ll cut your kids.” When the blindfold was finished he grabbed her hair, snatched her to her feet, and dragged her to her bed. He poked the tip of the blade into her chin and said, “Don’t fight me. The knife’s right here.” He cut off her panties and the rape began.

He wanted to see her eyes, those beautiful eyes he’d seen in the clubs. And the long hair. He’d bought her drinks and danced with her twice, and when he’d finally made a move she had stiff-armed him. Try these moves, baby, he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

He and the Jack Daniel’s had been building courage for three hours, and now the whiskey numbed him. He moved slowly above her, not rushing things, enjoying every second of it. He mumbled in the self-satisfying grunts of a real man taking and getting what he wanted.

The smell of the whiskey and his sweat nauseated her, but she was too frightened to throw up. It might anger him, cause him to use the knife. As she started to accept the horror of the moment, she began to think. Keep it quiet. Don’t wake up the kids. And what will he do with the knife when he’s finished?

His movements were faster, he was mumbling louder. “Quiet, baby,” he hissed again and again. “I’ll use the knife.” The wrought-iron bed was squeaking; didn’t get used enough, he told himself. Too much noise, but he didn’t care.

The rattling of the bed woke Michael, who then got Teresa up. They eased from their room and crept down the dark hall to see what was happening. Michael opened the door to his mother’s bedroom, saw the strange man on top of her, and said, “Mommy!” For a second the man stopped and jerked his head toward the children.

The sound of the boy’s voice horrified Rhoda, who bolted upward and thrust both hands at her assailant, grabbing whatever she could. One small fist caught him in the left eye, a solid shot that stunned him. Then she yanked off her blindfold while kicking with both legs. He slapped her and tried to pin her down again. “Danny Padgitt!” she shouted, still clawing. He hit her once more.

“Mommy!” Michael cried.

“Run, kids!” Rhoda tried to scream, but she was struck dumb by her assailant’s blows.

“Shut up!” Padgitt yelled.

“Run!” Rhoda shouted again, and the children backed away, then darted down the hallway, into the kitchen, and outside to safety.

In the split second after she shouted his name, Padgitt realized he had no choice but to silence her. He took the knife and hacked twice, then scrambled from the bed and grabbed his clothing.

Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Deece were watching late television from Memphis when they heard Michael’s voice calling and getting closer. Mr. Deece met the boy at the front door. His pajamas were soaked with sweat and dew and his teeth were chattering so violently he had trouble speaking.

“He hurt my mommy!” he kept saying. “He hurt my mommy!”

Through the darkness between the two houses, Mr. Deece saw Teresa running after her brother. She was almost running in place, as if she wanted to get to one place without leaving the other. When Mrs. Deece finally got to her by the Deece garage, she was sucking her thumb and unable to speak.

Mr. Deece raced into his den and grabbed two shotguns, one for him, one for his wife. The children were in the kitchen, shocked to the point of being paralyzed. “He hurt Mommy,” Michael kept saying. Mrs. Deece cuddled them, told them everything would be fine. She looked at her shotgun when her husband laid it on the table. “Stay here,” he said as he rushed out of the house.

He did not go far. Rhoda almost made it to the Deece home before she collapsed in the wet grass. She was completely naked, and from the neck down covered in blood. He picked her up and carried her to the front porch, then shouted at his wife to move the children toward the back of the house and lock them in a bedroom. He could not allow them to see their mother in her last moments.

As he placed her in the swing, Rhoda whispered, “Danny Padgitt. It was Danny Padgitt.”

He covered her with a quilt, then called an ambulance.

Danny Padgitt kept his pickup in the center of the road and drove ninety miles an hour. He was half-drunk and scared as hell but unwilling to admit it. He’d be home in ten minutes, secure in the family’s little kingdom known as Padgitt Island.

Those little faces had ruined everything. He’d think about it tomorrow. He took a long pull on the fifth of Jack Daniel’s and felt better.

It was a rabbit or a small dog or some varmint, and when it darted from the shoulder he caught a glimpse of it and reacted badly. He instinctively hit the brake pedal, just for a split second because he really didn’t care what he hit and rather enjoyed the sport of roadkilling, but he’d punched too hard. The rear tires locked and the pickup fishtailed. Before he realized it Danny was in serious trouble. He jerked the wheel one way, the wrong way, and the truck hit the gravel shoulder where it began to spin like a stock car on the backstretch. It slid into the ditch, flipped twice, then crashed into a row of pine trees. If he’d been sober he would’ve been killed, but drunks walk away.

He crawled out through a shattered window, and for a long while leaned on the truck, counting his cuts and scratches and considering his options. A leg was suddenly stiff, and as he climbed up the bank to the road he realized he could not walk far. Not that he would need to.

The blue lights were on him before he realized it. The deputy was out of the car, surveying the scene with a long black flashlight. More flashing lights appeared down the road.

The deputy saw the blood, smelled the whiskey, and reached for the handcuffs.

….

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