A Time to Kill von John Grisham (2003, Taschenbuch)

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Buchreihe: Jake Brigance. Produktart: Taschenbuch. Autor: John Grisham. Zustand: Neu. Länge: 105mm. Höhe: 174mm. EAN: 9780440211723.

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Tonya Hailey, ein zehnjähriges Mädchen, wurde von zwei betrunkenen Männern brutal vergewaltigt und mißbraucht. Wenige Tage später erschießt Tonyas Vater Carl Lee Hailey die beiden Täter im Gerichtsgebäude, in dem sie zu einer ersten Anhörung vorgeführt wurden. Das Gerichtsverfahren, daß gegen ihn eingeleitet wird, gerät zum Sensationsprozeß. Denn: die beiden Gewaltverbrecher sind Weiße; Carl Lee ist ein Schwarzer. Und der Ort der Handlung ist die Kleinstadt Clanton im amerikanischen Bundesstaat Mississippi, eine Gegend, in der ein Schwarzer noch heute damit rechnen muß, Nigger genannt zu werden. John Grisham schildert diesen Mordprozeß nicht nur aus der Perspektive des Gerichtssaals; er führt den Leser hinter die Kulissen, er deckt die inneren und äußeren Verflechtungen auf, die den Prozeßverlauf bestimmen. In this searing courtroom drama, best-selling author John Grisham probes the savage depths of racial violence... as he delivers a compelling tale of uncertain justice in a small southern town... Clanton, Mississippi. The life of a ten-year-old girl is shattered by two drunken and remorseless young man. The mostly white town reacts with shock and horror at the inhuman crime. Until her black father acquires an assault rifle -- and takes justice into his own outraged hands. For ten days, as burning crosses and the crack of sniper fire spread through the streets of Clanton, the nation sits spellbound as young defense attorney Jake Brigance struggles to save his client's life... and then his own...

Produktkennzeichnungen

EAN9780440211723
ISBN9780440211723
eBay Product ID (ePID)4327952

Produkt Hauptmerkmale

FormatTaschenbuch

Maße

Gewicht248g

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AutorJohn Grisham
SprachausgabeEnglisch
Veröffentlichung2003
Seiten544 Seiten
LeseprobeONE<br /><br><br /><br>BILLY RAY COBB was the younger and smaller of the two rednecks. At twenty-three he was already a three-year veteran of the state penitentiary at Parchman. Possession, with intent to sell. He was a lean, tough little punk who had survived prison by somehow maintaining a ready supply of drugs that he sold and sometimes gave to the blacks and the guards for protection. In the year since his release he had continued to prosper, and his small-time narcotics business had elevated him to the position of one of the more affluent rednecks in Ford County. He was a businessman, with employees, obligations, deals, everything but taxes. Down at the Ford place in Clanton he was known as the last man in recent history to pay cash for a new pickup truck. Sixteen thousand cash, for a custom-built, four-wheel drive, canary yellow, luxury Ford pickup. The fancy chrome wheels and mudgrip racing tires had been received in a business deal. The rebel flag hanging across the rear window had been stolen by Cobb from a drunken fratern<br /><br>ity boy at an Ole Miss football game. The pickup was Billy Ray's most prized possession. He sat on the tailgate drinking a beer, smoking a joint, watching his friend Willard take his turn with the black girl.<br /><br><br /><br>Willard was four years older and a dozen years slower. He was generally a harmless sort who had never been in serious trouble and had never been seriously employed. Maybe an occasional fight with a night in jail, but nothing that would distinguish him. He called himself a pulpwood cutter, but a bad back customarily kept him out of the woods. He had hurt his back working on an offshore rig somewhere in the Gulf, and the oil company paid him a nice settlement, which he lost when his ex-wife cleaned him out. His primary vocation was that of a part-time employee of Billy Ray Cobb, who didn't pay much but was liberal with his dope. For the first time in years Willard could always get his hands on something. And he always needed something. He'd been that way since he hurt his back.<br /><br><br /><br>She was ten, and small for her age. She lay on her elbows, which were stuck and bound together with yellow nylon rope. Her legs were spread grotesquely with the right foot tied tight to an oak sapling and the left to a rotting, leaning post of a long-neglected fence. The ski rope had cut into her ankles and the blood ran down her legs. Her face was bloody and swollen, with one eye bulging and closed and the other eye half open so she could see the other white man sitting on the truck. She did not look at the man on top of her. He was breathing hard and sweating and cursing. He was hurting her.<br /><br><br /><br>When he finished, he slapped her and laughed, and the other man laughed in return, then they laughed harder and rolled around the grass by the truck like two crazy men, screaming and laughing. She turned away from them and cried softly, careful to keep herself quiet. She had been slapped earlier for crying and screaming. They promised to kill her if she didn't keep quiet.<br /><br><br /><br>They grew tired of laughing and pulled themselves onto the tailgate, where Willard cleaned hims
VerlagRandom House Lcc Us

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