by John Grisham
Jake placed the will back on the table and asked, “By the way, how old is Will?”
“Fourteen.”
“And how old is Leigh Ann?”
“Twelve.”
“So it’s been twelve years since you had a child?”
“Yes, that’s very true.”
“And your own father didn’t know if you’d had any more kids?”
“You can’t believe that will, Mr. Brigance. My daddy wasn’t in his right mind when he wrote that.”
“I guess that’s up to the jury. No further questions.” Jake sat down and got a note from Quince Lundy that read, “Brilliant. You killed her.” At that moment in the trial, in his career, in his life for that matter, Jake needed a boost. He leaned over and whispered, “Thank you.”
Wade Lanier stood and said, “Your Honor, the contestants call Mr. Ian Dafoe, husband of Ramona Hubbard.” Ian slinked to the stand, no doubt primed and ready to fabricate another trip down memory lane. Halfway through his testimony, Quince Lundy slipped over another note. It read, “These people are trying way too hard to convince the jury. Don’t think it’s working.”
Jake nodded as he looked for an opening, a stray word that he might seize and turn against the witness. In the wake of his wife’s over-the-top drama, Ian came across as harmlessly dull. He gave many of the same answers, but without the emotion.
Through sources and back channels, Jake, Harry Rex, and Lucien had picked up some dirt on Ian. His marriage had been on the rocks for some time. He preferred to stay away from home and blamed his absences on business. He ran the women hard. His wife drank too much. And, some of his deals were in trouble.
On cross, Jake’s first question was, “You say you’re a commercial real estate developer, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Do you own all or part of a company called KLD Biloxi Group?”
“I do.”
“And is that company attempting to renovate the Gulf Coast Mall in Biloxi, Mississippi?”
“It is.”
“Would you say that company is financially sound?”
“Depends on how you define ‘financially sound.’ ”
“Okay, let’s define it like this: Two months ago, was your company, KLD Biloxi Group, sued by the First Gulf Bank for the nonpayment of a $2 million line of credit?” Jake was holding and waving some papers clipped together. He had the proof.
“Yes, but there’s a lot more to the story.”
“I didn’t ask for more. Was your company also sued last month by a New Orleans bank known as Picayune Trust for $2.6 million?”
Ian took a deep breath and finally said, “Yes, but these cases are still pending, and we countersued.”
“Thank you. Nothing further.”
Ian stepped down at 4:45, and for a moment Judge Atlee considered recessing until Thursday morning. Wade Lanier offered to help by saying, “Judge, we can put on a witness that won’t take long.”
If Jake had an inkling of what was coming, he would have stalled some more with Ian, burned some clock, and dodged another ambush, at least until the next day. As it turned out, however, the jury left for the night with an even lower opinion of Seth Hubbard and his proclivities.
Lanier said, “We call Julina Kidd.”
Jake immediately recognized the name as one of the forty-five Lanier had dumped on his desk two weeks earlier. Jake had tried twice to phone her, but got nowhere. She was fetched from a witness room and led to the stand by a bailiff. Per Wade Lanier’s rather clear and firm instructions, she wore a cheap, blue dress that was similar to what Lettie had on. Nothing tight, nothing sexy, nothing to show off a figure that usually commanded a second look. No jewelry, nothing fancy. She tried her best to look plain, though that would have been impossible.
The message was subtle: if Seth would chase this attractive black woman, then he would also chase Lettie.
She took the stand and smiled nervously at the jury. Lanier walked her through some preliminaries, then got right to the point. He handed her some paperwork and asked, “Can you please identify this?”
She took a quick look and said, “Yes, this is a claim for sexual harassment I filed against Seth Hubbard about five years ago.”
Jake was on his feet, practically yelling, “Objection, Your Honor. Unless counsel can explain to us why this is relevant, it should not be admitted.” Lanier was standing too, ready to rumble. “Oh, it’s very relevant, Your Honor,” he said loudly.
Judge Atlee raised both hands and said, “Silence.” He glanced at his watch, looked at the jurors, paused for a second, and said, “Let’s keep everyone right here and take a five-minute break. Counsel, meet me in chambers.” They hurriedly marched back into his chambers. Jake was bitter enough to throw a punch and Lanier seemed willing to mix it up. When Lester Chilcott closed the door, Judge Atlee said, “What’s her testimony?”
Lanier said, “She worked for one of Seth Hubbard’s companies in south Georgia. They met there, he came on strong, forced her to have sex, then fired her when she decided she didn’t want any more. They reached an out-of-court settlement on the harassment suit.”
“And this was five years ago?” Jake asked.
“It was.”
“How is it relevant to our issues today?” Judge Atlee asked.
“Oh, it’s very relevant, Your Honor,” Lanier said casually and with the benefit of months of preparation. Jake was thoroughly blindsided and almost too angry to think. Lanier continued, “It goes to the issue of undue influence. Ms. Kidd was an employee, as was Ms. Lang. Seth had a propensity to seduce women who worked for him, regardless of color. This weakness led him to make decisions that were not financially sound.”
“Jake?”
“Bullshit. First, Judge, she should not be allowed to testify because she was not listed as a witness until two weeks ago, in clear violation of the rules. Second, what Seth did five years ago has nothing to do with his testamentary capacity last October. And, obviously, there is not one shred of proof that he was intimate with Lettie Lang. I don’t care how many women, black or white, he was screwing five years ago.”
Lanier said, “We think it’s probative.”
Jake said, “Bullshit, everything’s probative.”
“Your language, Jake,” Judge Atlee warned.
“Sorry.”
Judge Atlee held up a hand and all was quiet. He lit a pipe, exhaled mightily, paced to the window and back, then said, “I like your point, Wade. Both women were his employees. I’ll allow the testimony.”
Jake said, “Who needs a rule book?”
“See me after court today, Jake,” Judge Atlee said sternly, then blew some more smoke. He laid down his pipe and said, “Let’s carry on.”
The lawyers reassembled in the courtroom. Portia leaned forward and whispered to Jake, “What happened?”
“The judge has lost his mind, that’s all.”
Julina told her story to a breathless crowd. Her sudden promotion, the new passport, the trip to Mexico City with the boss, the luxury hotel with adjoining rooms, then the sex and the guilt. Back home, he fired her immediately and had her escorted out of the building. She sued, and Seth quickly settled out of court.
The testimony was not relevant to the will contest. It was scandalous and certainly memorable, but as Jake listened to it he became convinced Judge Atlee had blundered badly. The trial was lost, but the appeal was looking stronger by the hour. Jake would have a grand time exposing Wade Lanier’s trickery to the Supreme Court of Mississippi. He would take great satisfaction in finally getting Reuben V. Atlee reversed.
Jake admitted to himself that it was a lost cause if he was already thinking about the appeal. He quizzed Julina Kidd for a few minutes, just long enough to extract the admission that she was being paid to testify. She would not say how much-Lanier had obviously talked to her in time.
“So you swapped sex for money, and now it’s testimony for money, right, Ms. Kidd?” he asked. It was a ha
rsh question, and as soon as he uttered it he wished he could take it back. She was only telling the truth.
She shrugged but didn’t respond, perhaps the classiest answer of the day.
At 5:30, Judge Atlee adjourned until Thursday morning. Jake stayed in the courtroom until long after everyone had left. He chatted quietly with Portia and Lettie, and tried in vain to assure them things were not as bad as they really were. It was a hopeless exercise.
He finally left as Mr. Pate was turning off the lights.
He did not stop by Judge Atlee’s office, as directed. Instead he went home. He needed some quiet time with the two people he loved the most, the two who would always think of him as the greatest lawyer in the world.
45
The flight to Seattle was overbooked. Lucien got the last seat on one to San Francisco, where he would have twenty minutes to catch a nonstop to Chicago. If all went well, he would land in Memphis just after midnight. Nothing went well. He missed the connection in San Francisco, and while berating a ticket agent almost got himself handcuffed by a security guard. To get him out of the airport, they put him on a shuttle to L.A. with the promise he’d get a better connection to Dallas. En route to L.A., he drank three double bourbons on ice, and had the flight attendants glancing at each other. Upon landing, he went straight to a bar and continued drinking. He called Jake’s office four times but got only the recording. He called Harry Rex’s three times, but was told the lawyer was in court. When the nonstop to Dallas was canceled at 7:30, he cursed another ticket agent and threatened to sue American Airlines. To get him out of the airport, they put him on a four-hour flight to Atlanta, first class with free drinks.
Tully Still drove a forklift for a freight company in the industrial park north of town. He was working the night shift and easy to find. At 8:30 Wednesday night, Ozzie Walls gave him the nod and they walked outside into the darkness. Still lit a cigarette. The two were not related, but their mothers had been best friends since elementary school. Tully’s wife, Michele, was Juror Number Three. Front row, dead center, Jake’s prize.
“How bad is it?” Ozzie asked.
“Pretty bad. What happened? Things were rockin’ along fine, then the case blows up.”
“Couple of witnesses came outta nowhere. What are they sayin’ in there?”
“Ozzie, even Michele’s got doubts about Lettie Lang. The woman looks bad, man, sneakin’ round, gettin’ old white folks to change their wills. Michele and the Gaston woman’ll stick with her, don’t worry, but that means they got two votes. And the whites on the jury ain’t bad people, maybe a couple, but most were goin’ with Lettie until this mornin’. It’s not all black against white in there.”
“So there’s a lot of talk?”
“Didn’t say that. I think there’s a lot of whisperin’. Ain’t that pretty normal? You can’t expect folk to not say a word until the end.”
“I suppose.”
“What’s Jake gonna do?”
“I’m not sure he can do anything. He says he’s called his best witnesses.”
“Looks like he got blindsided, like those Jackson lawyers got the best of him.”
“We’ll see. Maybe it’s not over.”
“Looks bad.”
“Keep a lid on it.”
“Don’t worry.”
They were not celebrating with champagne at the Sullivan firm, though fine wine was being poured. Walter Sullivan, the retired partner who founded the firm forty-five years earlier, was a connoisseur who had recently discovered fine Italian Barolos. After a light working dinner in the conference room, he pulled some corks, brought in some fine crystal goblets, and a tasting came to life.
The mood was nothing short of triumphant. Myron Pankey had watched a thousand juries and had never seen one flip so quickly and so thoroughly. “You own them, Wade,” he said. Lanier was being revered as a courtroom magician, able to pull rabbits out of hats in spite of the rules of evidence. “Give the judge the credit,” he said modestly, and more than once. “He just wants a fair trial.”
“Trials are not about fairness, Wade,” Mr. Sullivan chided. “Trials are about winning.”
Lanier and Chilcott could almost smell the money. Eighty percent of the gross estate for their clients, less taxes and so forth, and their little ten-man litigation firm would net a fee in excess of $2 million. It could arrive quickly. After the handwritten will was declared void, they would move on to the prior will. The bulk of the money was in cash. A lengthy probate might be avoided.
Herschel was in Memphis, commuting to the trial with his two children. The Dafoe family was staying in the guesthouse of a friend near the country club. All were in fine spirits and eager to get the money and get on with their lives. After he finished his wine, Wade would call them and receive their accolades.
An hour after he spoke to Tully Still, Ozzie was leaning on the hood of his patrol car in front of Jake’s house, smoking a cigar with his favorite lawyer. Ozzie was saying, “Tully says it’s ten to two.”
Jake puffed and said, “No real surprise there.”
“Well, it looks like it’s time to fold up your chair and go home, Jake. This little party’s over. Get somethin’ for Lettie and get the hell out. She don’t need much. Settle this damned thing before it goes to the jury.”
“We’re trying, Ozzie, okay? Harry Rex approached Lanier’s guys twice this afternoon. They laughed at him. You can’t settle a case when the other side is laughing at you. I’d take a million bucks right now.”
“A million! How many black folk around here got a million bucks, Jake? You’re thinkin’ too much like a white man. Get half a million, get a quarter, hell, get somethin’.”
“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll see how the morning goes, then approach Wade Lanier during lunch. He knows the score and he obviously knows how to play the game. He’s been in my shoes before. I think I can talk to him.”
“Talk fast, Jake, and get out of this damned trial. You want no part of this jury. This ain’t nothin’ like Hailey.”
“No, it’s not.”
Jake thanked him and went inside. Carla was already in bed, reading and worrying about her husband. “What was that all about?” she asked as he undressed.
“Just Ozzie. He’s concerned about the trial.”
“Why is Ozzie out roaming around at this hour?”
“You know Ozzie. He never sleeps.” Jake fell across the end of the bed and rubbed her legs under the sheets.
“Neither do you. Can I ask you something? Here you are in the middle of another big trial. You haven’t slept four hours in the past week, and when you are asleep you fidget and have nightmares. You’re not eating well. You’re losing weight. You’re preoccupied, off in la-la land half the time. You’re stressed-out, jumpy, testy, sometimes even nauseous. You’ll wake up in the morning with a knot in your stomach.”
“The question?”
“Why in the world do you want to be a trial lawyer?”
“This might not be the best time to ask that question.”
“No, it’s the perfect time. How many jury trials have you had in the last ten years?”
“Thirty-one.”
“And you’ve lost sleep and weight during each one, right?”
“I don’t think so. Most are not quite this significant, Carla. This is exceptional.”
“My point is that trial work is so stressful. Why do you want to do it?”
“Because I love it. It’s what being a lawyer is all about. Being in the courtroom, in front of a jury, is like being in the arena, or on the field. The competition is fierce. The stakes are high. The gamesmanship is intense. There will be a winner and a loser. There is a rush of adrenaline each time the jury is led in and seated.”
“A lot of ego.”
“A ton. You’ll never meet a successful trial lawyer without an ego. It’s a requirement. You gotta have the ego to want the work.”
“You should do well, then.”
“Okay, I ad
mit I have the ego, but it might get crushed this week. It might need soothing.”
“Now or later?”
“Now. It’s been eight days.”
“Lock the door.”
Lucien blacked out somewhere over Mississippi at thirty-five thousand feet. When the plane landed in Atlanta, the flight attendants helped him off. Two guards put him in a wheelchair and rolled him to the gate for the flight to Memphis. They passed several airport lounges, all of which he noticed. When the guards parked him he thanked them, then got up and staggered to the nearest bar and ordered a beer. He was cutting back, being responsible. He slept from Atlanta to Memphis, landing there at 7:10 a.m. They dragged him off the plane, called security, and security called the police.
Portia took the call at the office. Jake was upstairs frantically reviewing witness statements when she buzzed through with “Jake, it’s a collect call from Lucien.”
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know but he sounds awful.”
“Take the call and put him through.”
Seconds later, Jake picked up the receiver and said, “Lucien, where are you?”
With great effort, he was able to convey the message that he was in the Memphis City Jail and needed Jake to come get him. He was thick-tongued, erratic, obviously bombed. Sadly, Jake had heard it all before. He was suddenly angry and unsympathetic.
“They won’t let me talk,” Lucien mumbled, barely intelligible. Then he seemed to be growling at someone in the background. Jake could visualize it perfectly. He said, “Lucien, we’re leaving in five minutes for the courtroom. I’m sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry at all. Let him rot in jail.
“I gotta get there, Jake, it’s important,” he said, his words slurred so badly that he repeated himself three times.
“What’s important?”