The Reckoning

by John Grisham

  Long after lunch, Dr. Hilsabeck appeared and suggested that the patient needed some rest. He was delighted with the visit and asked if Joel and Stella could return the following day for another round. Of course they could.

  They kissed their mother good-bye, promised to be back soon, and drove to Jackson, where they found rooms at the stately Hotel Heidelberg in downtown. After checking in, they set out on a walk to the state capitol and back, but the heat and humidity were too much. They retreated to the coffee bar, asked the waiter about alcohol, and were directed to a speakeasy behind the hotel. There they ordered drinks, and tried not to talk about their mother. They were tired of talking.

  Chapter 37

  Because he did not have a license to practice law in Mississippi, Errol McLeish was required to associate local counsel for his carefully laid plans. He never considered hiring anyone from Clanton. All the good lawyers there were kin to the Wilbankses anyway. McLeish wanted a lawyer with an aggressive reputation who was well-known in north Mississippi, but with no close ties to Ford County. He took his time, did his research, asked around, and finally selected a Tupelo lawyer named Burch Dunlap. The two met a month before Pete’s execution and began laying the groundwork. Dunlap liked the case because it had the potential for press coverage, and, at least in his opinion, it would be an easy win.

  On August 12, Dunlap, on behalf of his client Jackie Bell, filed a wrongful death suit against the estate of Pete Banning. The lawsuit set forth the facts as virtually everyone knew them, and asked for half a million dollars in damages. In an unexpected twist, it was filed in federal court in Oxford, not state court in Clanton. Jackie Bell claimed to now be a resident of Georgia and thus entitled to relief in federal court, where the jurors would be summoned from thirty counties, and where sympathy for a convicted murderer would be difficult to find.

  Since Florry was the executrix of the estate, papers had to be served upon her. She was in the backyard tending to her birds when Roy Lester appeared from nowhere with a look of deep concern.

  “Bad news, Florry,” he said, tipping his hat. He handed over a thick envelope and said, “Looks like more legal trouble.”

  “What is it?” she asked, knowing full well that he and Nix and probably everybody at the jail had read whatever was in the envelope.

  “A lawsuit filed by Jackie Bell, over in federal court.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Would you sign right here?” he asked, holding a sheet of paper and a pen.

  “For what?”

  “It says that you have been served with the lawsuit and you have it in your possession.”

  She signed, thanked him, and took the papers inside. An hour later, she barged into John Wilbanks’s office and charged up the stairs. She thrust the lawsuit at him and fell onto the sofa in tears. John lit a cigar as he calmly read the three-page pleading.

  “No real surprise here,” he said as he sat in a chair across from the sofa. “It seems as though we’ve discussed this as a possibility.”

  “A half a million dollars?”

  “An exaggeration, just part of the business. Lawyers typically demand far more than they expect to receive.”

  “But you can handle this, right, John? There’s nothing to worry about?”

  “Oh, I can handle it all right, in the sense that I can defend the lawsuit, but there is much to be concerned with, Florry. First, the facts, and they are fairly well established. Second, Burch Dunlap is a fine lawyer who knows what he’s doing. Filing in federal court is a brilliant move, and, frankly, one I didn’t expect.”

  “So you knew this was coming?”

  “Florry, we discussed this months ago. Jackie Bell’s husband was murdered and the killer had assets, which is unheard of.”

  “Well, I don’t remember what we discussed, John, to be honest. My nerves have been shot to hell this past year and my poor brain can’t take much more. What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Nothing for you. I’ll defend the lawsuit. And we’ll wait for more to come.”

  “More?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  They waited two days. Burch Dunlap filed his second lawsuit in the Chancery Court of Ford County and named as defendants Joel and Stella Banning. Errol McLeish figured the two would soon be leaving to pursue their studies, and decided to serve them with process before they left town. Roy Lester again drove out to the Banning farm and handed papers to Joel, Stella, and Florry.

  Being sued by a good lawyer was uncomfortable enough, but facing two lawsuits with little in the way of defenses was terrifying. The three defendants met with John and Russell Wilbanks, and while it was somewhat comforting to be in the presence of loyal friends who were fine lawyers, there was an unmistakable sense of uncertainty in the air.

  Could the Bannings really lose their land? Florry’s, of course, was safe, but the deed to Joel and Stella was being attacked by a lawyer who knew what he was doing. It was clear that Pete had planned the murder, and in doing so attempted to transfer his most valuable asset to his children in an effort to avoid the claims of judgment creditors.

  The Wilbanks brothers discussed what might happen in the months to come. They agreed that Dunlap would probably press hard for a trial on the wrongful death claim, and, assuming he won, and frankly it was difficult to see how he could lose, then he would bring his judgment to the Chancery Court of Ford County and assault their land. Depending on who won and who lost in which trial, the litigation and appeals could drag on for years. Attorneys’ fees could be substantial.

  John Wilbanks promised a vigorous defense on all fronts, but his show of confidence was not altogether believable.

  They left his office in a depressed state and, on a whim, decided to drive to Memphis, to the Peabody, where they could drown their worries at the elegant bar, eat a fine meal, spend a carefree night, and get out of Ford County. Better burn some cash while they had it.

  Joel drove, perched like a chauffeur alone up front with the gals in the rear seat, and for several miles nothing was said until they crossed into Van Buren County. Stella broke the ice with “I really don’t want to go back to Hollins. Classes start in three weeks and I cannot imagine walking into a classroom and trying to listen to a lecture on something as unimportant as Shakespeare when my father has just been executed and my poor mother is in a mental institution. Seriously? How can I be expected to study and learn?”

  “So you’re quitting college?” Florry asked.

  “Not quitting, just taking a break.”

  “And you, Joel?”

  “I’m having the same thoughts. The first year of law school is a boot camp and I’m just not up to it. I was leaning toward Vanderbilt but now with money more of an issue I was thinking about Ole Miss. Truth is, though, I can’t see myself sitting in a classroom getting hammered by a bunch of crusty old law professors.”

  “Interesting,” Florry said. “And with no classes and no jobs what will the two of you be doing in the months to come? Sitting around the house and driving Nineva crazy? Or perhaps you could help out in the fields and pick cotton with the Negroes? Buford can always use some extra hands. And if you get bored in the fields, you can always pull weeds and gather vegetables from the garden so we’ll have something to eat this winter. Amos will be happy to show you how to milk cows at six every morning. Nineva would love to have you under foot in her kitchen as she cooks and cans. And when you get bored on the farm you can always venture into town, where everyone you bump into will ask how you’re doing and pretend to be so sad about your father. Is that what you want?”

  Neither Joel nor Stella responded.

  Florry continued. “Here’s the better plan. In three weeks you’re getting the hell out of here because you need to finish school before we lose all the money. Your father put me in charge of your education, so I’m writing the checks. If you don’t
finish school now, then you never will, so you have no choice but to go. Stella, you’re going back to Hollins, and Joel, you’re going to law school. I don’t care where, just get away from here.”

  A few miles passed in silence as the finality of the decision sank in.

  Stella finally said, “Well, on second thought, Hollins is not a bad place to hide these days.”

  Joel said, “If I go to law school, I’ll probably go to Ole Miss. That way I can visit Mom on the weekends, and I can also hang around Wilbanks’s office and help with the lawsuits.”

  “I’m sure he has things under control,” Florry said. “We can afford Vanderbilt if that’s what you want.”

  “No. Four years there is enough. I need to branch out. Besides, there are more girls at Ole Miss.”

  “When did that become important?”

  “Always.”

  “Well, I think it’s time you got serious about a girl. You are, after all, twenty-one and a college graduate.”

  “Are you giving unsolicited advice on romance, Aunt Florry?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Good. Just keep it to yourself.”

  * * *

  —

  Before leaving for the fall, Joel and Stella made three more trips to Whitfield to sit with Liza. Dr. Hilsabeck encouraged this and assured them their visits helped immensely, though they certainly could not see any improvement. Liza’s physical appearance remained unchanged. For one visit, she refused to leave her dark little room and said virtually nothing. For the other visits, she allowed them to roll her around the grounds in a wheelchair, looking for shade from the August heat. She smiled occasionally but not often enough, said very little, and never strung together enough words for a complete sentence. So she listened as her children tag-teamed their way through the same long narratives. To break the monotony, Joel read articles from Time magazine and Stella read from The Saturday Evening Post.

  The visits were emotionally exhausting, and they said little driving the long way home. After four trips to Whitfield, they were becoming convinced that their mother would never leave.

  * * *

  —

  Early on September 3, Joel loaded his sister’s luggage into the trunk of the family’s 1939 Pontiac, and together they drove to the pink cottage for a farewell breakfast with Aunt Florry. Marietta stuffed them with biscuits and omelets and packed a lunch for the road. They left Florry in tears on the porch and hustled away. They stopped for a somber moment at Old Sycamore and said a prayer at their father’s tombstone, then sped to the train station, where Stella almost missed the 9:40 to Memphis. They hugged each other, tried not to cry, and promised to keep in touch.

  When the train was out of sight, Joel got in the car, drove a lap around the square, then through the side streets past the Methodist church, and finally returned home. He packed his own bags, said good-bye to Nineva and Amos, and drove an hour to Oxford, where law school was waiting. Through a friend of a friend he had a lead on a tiny apartment near the square, above a widow’s garage, a cheap place rented only to graduate students. The widow showed him a tiny three-room flat, laid out the rules, which included no alcohol, no parties, no gambling, and of course no women, and said the rent was $100 cash for four months, September through December. Joel agreed to her rules, though he had no plans to follow them, and handed over the money. When she left, he unpacked his bags and boxes and arranged his clothing in a closet.

  After dark, he walked along North Lamar toward the courthouse in the distance. He lit a cigarette and smoked it as he strolled past stately old homes on shaded lots. Porches were filled with the post-supper gossip as the families and neighbors waited for the heat and humidity to break for the night. Though the students were back the square was dead, and why wouldn’t it be? There were no bars, clubs, lounges, dance halls, or even nice restaurants. Oxford was a small, dry town, and a long way from the bright lights of Nashville.

  Joel Banning felt a long way from everywhere.

  Chapter 38

  The lawsuit was over a deadly collision between a sedan filled with a young family and a flat railcar loaded with several tons of pulpwood. It occurred late at night on a main highway between Tupelo and Memphis, at a crossing that for reasons never to be known had been built at the foot of a long hill, so that the traffic coming down the hill at night could not always see the trains until the last moment. To avoid collisions, and there had been several, the railroad installed red flashing lights on both sides, east and west, but did not splurge on gates that descended and actually blocked the highway. The flat car was the eleventh in a long train of sixty, with two engines and an old red caboose.

  The lawyers defending the railroad made much of the fact that any driver paying sufficient attention to the road could certainly see something as large as a flat railcar that was eighty feet long and stacked fifteen feet high with timber. They passed around enlarged photos of the flat railcar and seemed confident in their proof.

  However, they were no match for the Honorable Burch Dunlap, attorney for the deceased family—both parents and two small children. In two days of trial, Mr. Dunlap attacked the men who designed the crossing, exposed the railroad’s lousy safety record, proved that it had been warned that the crossing was dangerous, discredited two other drivers who claimed to be eyewitnesses, and presented the jury with his own set of enlarged photos that clearly revealed a severe lack of maintenance by the railroad.

  The jury agreed and awarded the family $60,000, a record verdict for federal court in north Mississippi.

  Sitting low in the back row, Joel Banning watched the trial from beginning to end, and felt sick. Burch Dunlap was masterful in the courtroom and owned the jury from start to finish. He was at home, comfortable and relaxed and thoroughly credible. He was meticulously prepared, smooth on his feet, and always two steps ahead of the witnesses and the defense lawyers.

  Now he was coming after the Bannings and their land.

  Because Joel was watching the court’s Oxford docket with a keen eye, he happened to notice the upcoming trial involving the railroad collision. Out of curiosity, he decided to skip classes and watch it. And then he wished he had not been so curious.

  After the verdict, Joel thought about calling Stella, but why ruin her day? He thought about calling Florry, but her phone line was not private. And why bother? He needed someone to talk to, but in his first weeks of law school he had remained reclusive and met few other students. He was detached, aloof, almost rude at times, and always on the defensive because at any moment he expected some loudmouth to ask about his father. He could almost hear the whispers behind his back.

  Three months after the fact, the wounds from the execution were still open and raw. Joel was certain that he was the only student in the history of Ole Miss whose family had suffered through the shame of such a spectacle.

  On October 9, he skipped class and drove to a lake where he sat under a tree and sipped bourbon from a flask. One year ago, his father had murdered Dexter Bell.

  Joel studied hard but found the classes boring. On Saturdays, when the talk was of nothing but football, he drove to Whitfield to sit with his mother, or he drove home to check on Florry and look at the crops. Home had become an awful, empty place with only Nineva to talk to. But she, too, was depressed and moped around the kitchen with little to do. Hell, it seemed as if everybody was depressed. On most Friday afternoons, Joel stopped by John Wilbanks’s office to discuss the family’s legal troubles, or to hand over a brief or a memo he had polished off at law school. Wilbanks was impressed with young Joel and had mentioned more than once that the firm could use some fresh talent in a few years. Joel was polite and said he had no idea where he wanted to live and practice law.

  The last place would be Clanton, he thought to himself.

  * * *

  —

  As the holidays approached, Florry bega
n dropping hints about another road trip to New Orleans. However, her plans seemed to collapse almost as soon as she made them. Joel and Stella suspected the reason was money. With the family’s finances so uncertain, they had noticed a few cutbacks here and there. The 1947 cotton crop was good but not great, and with Pete gone the picking had lacked some intensity and efficiency.

  Stella arrived home on December 21, and that night they decorated a tree while carols played on the phonograph. And they were drinking, a bit more than usual. Bourbon for Joel and Stella, gin for Florry. Nothing for Marietta, who hid in the basement and was convinced they were all cracking up and going to hell.

  As gloomy as things were, they tried their best to find the holiday spirit, with small gifts and big meals and lots of music. The two lawsuits facing them and threatening their future were never discussed.

  On Christmas Day, they once again loaded into Florry’s Lincoln and drove to Whitfield. A year earlier, they had made the trip, only to be denied access to Liza. Those days were over now because Pete was certainly out of the way and Joel was now his mother’s legal guardian. They sat with her in one corner of a large activity room, and gave her gifts and chocolates sent by Nineva and Marietta. Liza smiled a lot and talked more and seemed to enjoy the attention.

  In every corner there was a quiet little family doting on a loved one, a patient with pale skin and hollow cheeks. Some were ancient and appeared half-dead. Others, like Liza, were much younger, but they seemed to be going nowhere too. Was this really her future? Would she ever be well enough to come home? Were they destined for decades of such pathetic visits?

  Though Dr. Hilsabeck maintained that he was pleased with her progress, they had seen little improvement in the past four months. She hadn’t gained a pound, and the nurses kept her in a wheelchair so she wouldn’t burn calories walking. She often went for long stretches of time without a word. Occasionally, her eyes had a sparkle, but it never lasted.