Sycamore Row jb-2

by John Grisham

  Wolkowicz left the chair and Lucien stepped forward. He was sworn by the court reporter, then likewise sat facing the camera. He said, “My name is Lucien Wilbanks and I’m well known to Judge Atlee and the lawyers involved in the contest over the last will and testament of Seth Hubbard. Working with Jake Brigance and others, I have been able to locate Ancil Hubbard. I have spent several hours with Ancil and there is no doubt in my mind that he is in fact the surviving brother of Seth Hubbard. He was born in Ford County in 1922. His father was Cleon Hubbard. His mother was Sarah Belle Hubbard. In 1928, his father, Cleon, hired my grandfather Robert E. Lee Wilbanks to represent him in a land dispute. That dispute is relevant today. Here is Ancil Hubbard.”

  Lucien vacated the chair and Ancil took it. He raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth.

  Wade Lanier began his toxic cross-examination by asking about Simeon. Why was he in jail? Had he been indicted? How often had she visited him? Was he contesting the divorce? It was a harsh but effective way to remind the jurors that the father of Lettie’s five children was a drunk who’d killed the Roston boys. After five minutes, Lettie was wiping tears, and Lanier looked like a prick. He didn’t care. With her emotions in play, and her judgment temporarily impaired, he quickly switched gears and laid his trap.

  “Now, Ms. Lang, prior to being employed by Mr. Hubbard, where did you work?”

  Lettie wiped a cheek with the back of a hand and tried to collect her thoughts. “Uh, that was Mr. and Mrs. Tingley, here in Clanton.”

  “What type of work?”

  “Housekeeper.”

  “How long did you work for them?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but about three years.”

  “And why did you leave their employment?”

  “They died. Both of them.”

  “Did they leave you any money in their wills?”

  “If they did, nobody ever told me.” This got a few smiles from the jurors.

  Wade Lanier missed the humor. He continued, “And before the Tingleys, where did you work?”

  “Uh, before that, I worked as a cook in the school in Karaway.”

  “For how long?”

  “Maybe two years.”

  “And why did you leave there?”

  “I got the job with the Tingleys and I’d rather work as a housekeeper than a cook.”

  “Okay. Before the job at the school, where did you work?”

  She was silent as she tried to remember. Finally, she said, “Before the school, I worked for Mrs. Gillenwater, here in Clanton, as a housekeeper.”

  “And for how long?”

  “About a year, then she moved away.”

  “Before Mrs. Gillenwater, where did you work?”

  “Ummm, that would be the Glovers, in Karaway.”

  “And for how long?”

  “Again, I can’t remember exactly, but it was three or four years.”

  “Okay, I’m not trying to nail down specifics, Ms. Lang. Just remember things as best you can, all right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And before the Glovers, where did you work?”

  “That was Miss Karsten, here in town. I worked for her six years. She was my favorite. I never wanted to leave her but she died suddenly.”

  “Thank you.” Lanier scribbled on his legal pad as if he was learning something new. “Now, just to summarize, Ms. Lang, you worked for Mr. Hubbard for three years, the Tingleys three, the school two, Mrs. Gillenwater one, the Glovers three or four, and six years for Miss Karsten. According to my math, that’s approximately twenty years. Does that sound about right?”

  “It does, give or take a year here, a year there,” Lettie said, confidently.

  “And you’ve had no other employers in the past twenty or so years?”

  She shook her head. No.

  Lanier was going somewhere, but Jake couldn’t stop him. The inflections of his voice, the slight hints of suspicion, the arched eyebrows, the matter-of-factness of his sentences. He was trying to disguise all these, but to Jake’s trained ears and eyes they meant trouble.

  “That’s six employers in twenty years, Ms. Lang. How many times were you fired?”

  “None. I mean I was terminated after Mr. Hubbard died, and Miss Karsten got sick, and Mr. and Mrs. Tingley passed, but that was just because the job sorta played out, you know?”

  “You’ve never been fired for doing a bad job, or for doing something wrong?”

  “No sir. Never.”

  Lanier abruptly backed away from the podium, looked up at Judge Atlee, and said, “That’s all, Judge. I reserve the right to recall this witness later in the trial.” He walked smugly to his table, and, at the last second, Jake saw him wink at Lester Chilcott.

  Lettie had just lied, and Lanier was about to expose her. Jake, though, had no idea what was coming; thus, he had no way to prevent it. His instincts were to get her off the witness stand. He stood and said, “Your Honor, the proponents rest.”

  Judge Atlee said, “Do you have some witnesses, Mr. Lanier?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Then call the first one.”

  “The contestants call Mr. Fritz Pickering.”

  “Who?” Jake blurted.

  “Fritz Pickering,” Lanier repeated loudly and sarcastically, as if Jake were hard of hearing.

  “Never heard of him. He’s not on your witness list.”

  “He’s out in the rotunda,” Lanier said to a bailiff. “Waiting.”

  Jake was shaking his head at Judge Atlee and said, “He can’t testify if he’s not listed as a witness, Judge.”

  “I’m calling him anyway,” Lanier said.

  Fritz Pickering entered the courtroom and followed a bailiff to the witness stand.

  “I object, Your Honor,” Jake said.

  Judge Atlee removed his reading glasses, glared at Wade Lanier, and said, “All right, let’s take a fifteen-minute recess. I’ll see the lawyers in chambers. Lawyers only. No paralegals or staff.”

  The jury was hurried out of the courtroom as the lawyers followed the judge into the rear hallway and into his cramped chambers. He did not remove his robe, but sat down and looked as confused as Jake. “Start talking,” he said to Lanier.

  “Your Honor, this witness is not an evidentiary witness; thus he does not have to be made known to the other side. His purpose is to impeach the credibility of another witness, not to give evidence. I was not required to put him on the list or in any way divulge his name because I was never certain he would be called. Now, based on the testimony of Lettie Lang, and her inability to tell the truth, this witness is suddenly crucial to our case.”

  Judge Atlee exhaled as every lawyer in the room racked his brain for bits and pieces of the rules of evidence and the rules of civil procedure. At the moment, there was little doubt Lanier had full command of the rules regarding witness impeachment. This was his ambush, one he and Lester Chilcott had planned perfectly. Jake wanted to gush forth in some cogent and sensible argument, but brilliance failed him miserably at the moment.

  “What will the witness say?” Judge Atlee asked.

  “Lettie Lang once worked for his mother, Mrs. Irene Pickering. Fritz and his sister fired Lettie when his sister found a handwritten will leaving fifty thousand in cash to Lettie. She just told at least three lies. Number one, she said she had worked for only those people I mentioned, over the past twenty or so years. Mrs. Pickering hired her in 1978, and they fired her in 1980. Number two, she has in fact been fired as a housekeeper. Number three, she said she has never seen a will. Fritz and his sister showed her the handwritten will the day they fired her. There may be another one or two, I can’t think of them all right now.”

  Jake’s shoulders fell as his gut clenched, his vision blurred, and the color drained from his face. It was imperative that he say something intelligent, but everything was blank. Then lightning struck and he asked, “When did you find Fritz Pickering?”

  “I didn’t meet him until today,” Lan
ier said smugly.

  “That’s not what I asked. When did you find out about the Pickerings?”

  “During discovery. Again, Jake, it’s another example of us outworking you. We found more witnesses. We’ve been out there beating the bushes, working our asses off. I don’t know what you’ve been doing.”

  “And the rules require you to submit the names of your witnesses. Two weeks ago you dumped the names of forty-five new ones on the table. You’re not playing by the rules here, Wade. Judge, this is a clear violation of the rules.”

  Judge Atlee raised a hand and said, “Enough. Allow me to think a moment.” He stood, walked to his desk, took one of a dozen pipes from a rack, stuffed it with Sir Walter Raleigh, lit up, blew a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, and drifted away. On one side of the table, Wade Lanier, Lester Chilcott, Zack Zeitler, and Joe Bradley Hunt sat smugly, silently, waiting for a decision that would send the trial either north or south, with no return. On the other side, Jake sat alone, scribbling notes that not even he could decipher. He felt ill and couldn’t make his hands stop shaking.

  Wade Lanier had pulled a masterful dirty trick, and it was infuriating. At the same time, Jake wanted to grab Lettie and lash out at her. Why had she not mentioned the Pickering matter? They had spent countless hours together since October.

  His Honor blew more smoke and said, “This is too crucial to keep out. I’ll allow Mr. Pickering to testify, but within limits.”

  Angrily, Jake said, “Trial by ambush. This will be automatically reversible. We’ll be back in two years to do this all over again.”

  Angrily, Judge Atlee barked, “Don’t lecture, Jake. I’ve never been reversed by the Supreme Court. Never.”

  Jake took a deep breath and said, “Sorry.”

  Ancil’s narrative ran for fifty-eight minutes. When he finished, he wiped moisture from his eyes, said he was exhausted and couldn’t continue, and left the room. Lucien thanked Jared Wolkowicz for his accommodations. He had not told the lawyer that Ancil was a man on the run.

  Walking back to the hotel, they saw several policemen loitering around a street corner and decided to duck into a coffee shop. They hid in a booth and tried to maintain small talk. Lucien was still rattled by the stories Ancil told, but neither was in the mood to pursue them.

  Lucien said, “I’ve paid for two more nights at the hotel; it’s all yours. I’m leaving now. You can have the clothes, toothpaste, everything. There’s a pair of old khakis hanging in the closet with three hundred bucks in the front pocket. It’s yours.”

  “Thanks, Lucien.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t want to go to prison, so I’ll probably skip town, as usual. Just disappear. These clowns can’t catch me. This is pretty routine for me.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Well, I might mosey on down to Mississippi since my dear old brother thought so highly of me. When might I see some of his estate?”

  “Who knows? They’re fighting over it as we speak. Could be a month. Could be five years. You have my phone number. Call me in a few weeks and we’ll catch up.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Lucien paid for the coffee and they left through a side door. In an alley, they said good-bye. Lucien was headed for the airport; Ancil, the hotel. When he got there, the detective was waiting.

  In a crowded courtroom that was silent, even stunned, Fritz Pickering told his story, every devastating detail. Lettie absorbed it in total defeat, her head bowed, her eyes on the floor, then her eyes closed in agony. She shook her head from time to time as if she disagreed, but no one in the courtroom believed her.

  Lies, lies, lies.

  Fritz produced a copy of his mother’s handwritten will. Jake objected to its admission into evidence on the grounds that there was no way to prove Irene Pickering’s handwriting, but Judge Atlee barely heard him. It became evidence. Wade Lanier asked his witness to read the fourth paragraph, the one giving $50,000 to Lettie Lang. He read it slowly and loudly. A couple of the jurors shook their heads in disbelief.

  Wade Lanier hammered away. “So, Mr. Pickering, you and your sister sat Lettie Lang down at the kitchen table and showed her the will handwritten by your mother, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “And if she testified earlier that she had never seen a will, then she was lying, correct?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Objection,” Jake said.

  “Overruled,” His Honor snarled from the bench.

  It was apparent, at least to Jake, that Judge Atlee was now the enemy. He viewed Lettie as a liar, and in his world there was no greater sin. Over the years he had jailed several litigants when they were caught red-handed telling lies, but always in divorce cases. A night in jail worked wonders in the search for veracity.

  Lettie was in no danger of going to jail; that would be far more preferable. At that dreadful moment, with the jurors squirming nervously and glancing around, she was in danger of losing about $20 million, give or take, before taxes of course.

  When a witness is telling the truth, and the truth hurts, a trial lawyer has no alternative but to attack the witness’s credibility. Jake sat stone-faced as if he expected Fritz to say what he was saying, but just under the skin he was desperately searching for a soft spot. What did Fritz have to gain by testifying? Why would he waste his time?

  “Mr. Brigance,” Judge Atlee said when Lanier tendered the witness.

  Jake stood quickly and faked as much confidence as possible. The first rule every trial lawyer learns is to never ask a question if you don’t know the answer. But when you’re staring at certain defeat, toss the rules. Shooting wildly from the hip, Jake said, “Mr. Pickering, how much are you being paid to testify here today?”

  The bullet landed between his eyes. He actually flinched as his jaw dropped, and he shot a desperate look at Wade Lanier. Lanier shrugged and nodded. Go ahead, it’s no big deal.

  Fritz said, “Seventy-five hundred dollars.”

  “And who’s paying you?” Jake demanded.

  “The check came from Mr. Lanier’s office.”

  “And what’s the date on the check?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, but I got it about a month ago.”

  “So about a month ago you guys closed the deal. You agreed to come here and testify, and Mr. Lanier sent you the money, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Didn’t you in fact demand more than seventy-five hundred?” Jake asked, still shooting wildly with no idea what the facts were. But he had a hunch.

  “Well, yes, I did ask for more.”

  “You wanted at least ten thousand, didn’t you?”

  “Something like that,” Fritz admitted and looked at Lanier again. Jake was reading his mind.

  “And you told Mr. Lanier that you would not testify unless you got paid, right?”

  “At the time, I wasn’t talking to Mr. Lanier. It was one of his investigators. I didn’t meet Mr. Lanier until earlier this morning.”

  “Regardless, you were not going to testify for free, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When did you drive over from Shreveport?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon.”

  “And when are you leaving Clanton?”

  “Just as soon as I can.”

  “So, a quick trip, say twenty-four hours?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Seventy-five hundred bucks for twenty-four hours. You’re an expensive witness.”

  “Is that a question?”

  Jake was getting lucky but he knew it couldn’t last. He looked at his notes, chicken scratch he could not read, and changed course. “Mr. Pickering, didn’t Lettie Lang explain to you that she had nothing to do with the preparation of your mother’s will?”

  Jake had no idea what Lettie had done; he had yet to discuss the incident with her. That would be an ugly conversation, probably during lunch.
<
br />   “That’s what she said,” Fritz replied.

  “And didn’t she try to explain that your mother never said a word to her about the will?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Where did you get this copy of the will?”

  “I kept it.” Actually, it had arrived anonymously in the mail, but who would ever know the difference?

  “Nothing further,” Jake said as he sat down.

  Judge Atlee announced, “We’ll be in recess until one thirty.”

  44

  Jake and Harry Rex fled town. With Jake driving, they raced deep into the countryside, putting distance between themselves and the nightmare in the courtroom. They wouldn’t risk bumping into Lettie or Portia, or the other lawyers, or anyone, for that matter, who had just witnessed the bloodletting.

  Harry Rex was the eternal contrarian. When a day in trial went smoothly, he could always be counted on to see nothing but negatives. A bad day, and he could be unbelievably optimistic about tomorrow. As Jake drove and seethed, he kept waiting for his foxhole buddy to pass along an observation that might lift his spirits, if only for a moment. What he got was: “You’d better come off your high horse and settle this son of a bitch.”