Sycamore Row (Jake Brigance, #2)

by John Grisham

Ignoring Fritz was also problematic. What if another lawyer

window, no lock. No security sensors anywhere. Piece of cake. Erby entered the building just after midnight while Clapp sat low in his car across the street and watched for trouble. It was January 18, cold, a Wednesday, and the students were not out on

section of a county road; beyond it was all gravel. Portia had been raised in Box Hill, a dark and secluded community hidden by

practice.” “What does it pay?” “A thousand dollars a month for two months, a trial run. After two months, we’ll take

The wind was still and a cloud of pipe smoke hung

the wicker table between them. Doing business with the judge on his porch meant having a toddy. He kicked back in his favorite rocker, took a long soothing sip, and said, “Rumor has it Lucien’s hanging around your office these days.” “It’s his office,” Jake said. They were gazing across the front lawn, brown and dismal in the dead of winter. Both wore their overcoats, and if the whiskey didn’t kick in soon Jake, quiltless, might request a move inside. “What’s he up to?” Judge Atlee asked. He and Lucien went back many years, with many chapters in their history. “I asked him to do some title work on Seth Hubbard’s property, and some research, just basic legal stuff like that.” Jake would never reveal what Lucien told him that morning, especially to Reuben Atlee. If word got out that Lucien Wilbanks was plotting a comeback, most judges in the area would resign. “Keep him close,” Judge Atlee said, once again dispensing advice that had not been sought. “He’s harmless,” Jake said. “He’s never harmless.” He rattled the ice around, seemed oblivious to the temperature. “What’s the latest on the search for Ancil?” Jake avoided his ice and tried to suck down some more bourbon. His teeth were starting to chatter. He replied, “Not much. Our guys found an ex-wife in Galveston who reluctantly admitted she married a man named Ancil Hubbard thirty-five years ago. They were married for three years, had two kids, then he skipped town. Owes a fortune in child support and alimony but she doesn...

lawyers. Fresh out of law school, Jake had witnessed the mauling of an ill-prepared lawyer who was presenting

fine and I’m not stupid. If you repeat yourself again, I’ll rule in favor of the other side. Now move along, sir.” Are you stupid or deaf? It was a common question in Clanton legal circles. The bourbon was finally warming things up and Jake told himself to slow down. One drink would be enough. Arriving home buzzed on Friday afternoon would not sit well with Carla. He said, “As expected, there will be a fair amount of medical testimony. Mr. Hubbard was in severe pain and taking a lot of meds. The other side will try to prove this affected his judgment, so—” “I understand, Jake. How many medical

began by dropping a few names, none of which meant much. He said he was from Chicago, where he worked as an entrepreneur, whatever that meant. He had a wide, easy grin, a glib manner, and his eyes twinkled

minutes later, Jake and Lucien ambled in as if they had just been passing

comfortable with another black female in the house. Lucien had a fire going

sliding. The witness watched in horror as a crash became inevitable. He estimated Kyle was driving about

a local honky-tonk. According to Lettie, who was already at the hospital, he had not been home in over a week. She thought he was returning from a long

accompanied them to their car. He returned to the main wing,

the kitchen table and waited for the coffee to brew. It

Wednesday, so the funerals will probably be over the weekend. Wait until Monday, and file the divorce. What do you call that restraining thing?” “TRO—temporary restraining

over.” The door opened wider and she managed

explained, in some of the most colorful and abusive language imaginable, it was important for the local folks to see and realize that Simeon Lang was not represented by Jake Brigance, but rather by some scumbag they’d never heard of. Welch understood perfectly. It was another clear example of what was never taught in law school. It was early on Friday afternoon, the weather was cold and damp, and Jake was suffering through the weekly ritual of trying to tie up some of the week’s loose ends so they wouldn’t grow and fester and ruin his Monday. Among his many unwritten but nonetheless serious rules was one that required him to return every phone call by noon Friday. He preferred to avoid most of his phone calls, but that was not possible. Returning them was easy to put off. They often slid from one workday to the next, but he was determined not to drag them through the weekend. Another rule forbade him to take worthless cases that would pay little or nothing and turn his obnoxious clients into people he could choke. But, like every other lawyer, he routinely said yes to some deadbeat whose mother taught Jake in the fourth grade, or whose uncle knew his father, or the broke widow from church who couldn’t afford a lawyer but couldn’t live without one. Invariably, these matters turned into “fish files,” the ones that grew fouler the longer they sat in a corner, untouched. Every lawyer had them. Every lawyer hated them. Every lawyer swore he would never take another; you could a...

files?” “Why? It’s a waste.” “Because I love the legal history, Jake. I’ve spent hours in the courthouse reading old court files and land records. You can learn a ton about a place and its people. Did you know that in 1915 they hung a man in front of the courthouse one month after his trial? He robbed Security Bank, shot a man but didn’t really hurt him, made off with $200, then got caught. They tried him on the spot, then strung him up.” “That’s pretty efficient. I guess they didn’t worry about overcrowded prisons.” “Or congested dockets. Anyway, I’m fascinated with this stuff. I’ve read an old will from 1847 where some white guy gave away his slaves; talked about how much he loved and treasured them, then gave them away like horses and cows.” “Sounds depressing. You’ll never find a Brigance who owned a slave. We were lucky to have a cow.” “Anyway, I need written permission from a member of the bar to get into the old files. County rule.” “Done. Just do it after hours. You still digging for your roots?” “Sure. I’m looking everywhere. The Rindses abruptly left this county in 1930 without a trace, without a clue, and I want to know why.” Lunch in the rear of Bates Grocery was a selection of four vegetables chosen at random from a collection of ten pots and skillets simmering on a large gas stove. Mrs. Bates herself pointed, dipped, served, and commented as she loaded the plates and handed them over while Mr. Bates punched the cash register and collected $3.50, iced tea incl...

he’s appalled at the notion of a white

his heart is with the other side.” “All we can ask for is a fair trial.” “Sure, but a fair trial

table and sat violently into his chair. With a mouth full, he said, “Willie

driver’s license and 40 percent of the whites.” “I fail to

driver’s license. There’s a reasonable chance to believe he would not

had a hunch that nothing else would be said, not by the old guy. “Have you met this fella Arthur Welch, from Clarksdale?” Judge Atlee asked. “No sir. I just know he’s a friend of Harry Rex’s.” “We spoke by phone this morning and he says he’ll represent Mr. Lang in the divorce also, though there won’t be much to do. He says his client will agree to waive everything and get it over with. Not that it matters. With his bail, and the charges, he won’t be getting

considered it his Christian duty to defend a legitimate house of worship from such a worthless claim. During jury selection, he famously and arrogantly told the judge, “Give me the first twelve.” The lawyer for the preacher wisely acceded, and the first twelve were sworn in and seated in the jury box. The lawyer proved the church’s

there for the two ladies to interrogate. Boaz was just happy to have a

owned the eighty acres that was deeded by his wife to Cleon Hubbard,

us for

clear about forty, no fee for me because that was the deal, and you’re back on your feet. I’ll call Willie and tell him you and Carla will pay two twenty-five for the

county, spruced up, and put to good

“Docket.” She said, “This is a docket book from the 1920s,

Hubbard family ever since.” “And the fact that Sylvester still owned

Lucien took it well. He offered a few

expected, to those always in play in a will contest; to wit, testamentary capacity and undue influence. Ancil, if he’s alive, did not see his brother Seth for decades prior to Seth’s suicide. Ancil can’t possibly testify to how or what his brother was thinking. So let’s proceed as planned. If the jury finds in favor of the handwritten will, then Mr. Brigance and the estate will have plenty of time to keep searching for Ancil and hopefully give him his 5 percent. But if the

lecture was coming. “Now gentlemen, when we get to trial,

three different opening statements, three different closing arguments,

dare give advice,” he said gravely, advising. “I’m not trying to muzzle anyone. You have the right to advocate for your client or clients. Each of you may call your own witnesses and cross-examine those called by the proponents. But the first time you start repeating what’s already been said, as lawyers have a natural inclination to do, you can expect swift intervention from up here. I will not tolerate it. Are we on the same page?” They certainly were, for the moment anyway. He jammed the reading glasses back onto his nose and looked

otherwise would be a waste of time. The cause of death was stipulated. Four large color photos were approved. They showed Seth hanging from the tree and eliminated any doubt as to how he died. Then Judge Atlee said, “Now, let’s review the witnesses. I see that Mr. Lanier has added quite a few.” Jake had been waiting impatiently for over an hour. He tried to keep his cool, but it was difficult. He said, “Your Honor, I’m going to object to a lot of these witnesses being allowed to testify at trial. If you’ll look on page six, beginning there and running for a while, you see the names of forty-five potential witnesses. Looking at their addresses, I’m assuming these people worked in Mr. Hubbard’s various factories and plants. I don’t know because I’ve never seen these names before. I’ve checked the latest updated responses to interrogatories, and of the forty-five, only fifteen or sixteen have ever been mentioned by the contestants before today. Under the rules, I was entitled to have these names months ago. It’s called a witness dump, Your Honor. Dump a pile of witnesses on the table two weeks before the trial, and there’s no way I can possibly talk to them all and find out what their testimony might be. Forget depositions—it would take another six months. This is a clear violation of the rules, and it’s underhanded.” Judge Atlee scowled at the other table and said, “Mr. Lanier?” Lanier stood and said, “May I stretch my legs, Your Honor? I have a bad knee.” “Whatever.” Lanier...

Honor. Just because we’ve hustled our butts off and

required to tell him what they might say. Let him do the

At 4:30 Monday afternoon, she, Jake,

cash. When another waitress was knocked down, he ducked

visits, the detective said they could find no records of a man named

sure. His memory was foggy, coming and going. He had, after all, a cracked

internationally. So far, the estate of Seth Hubbard had paid the firm

say so.” “The locals

said. Harry Rex looked at his notes and said,

Seattle. He drank on the flight but went to sleep before being excessive. He killed six hours in the Seattle airport, then caught a two-hour flight to Juneau on Alaska

he wasn’t sure he’d actually seen and heard the stranger? Was he finally