Sycamore Row (66 page)

“Yes sir. The contestants call Mr. Herschel Hubbard.” He took the stand, smiled goofily at the jury, swore to tell the truth, then began answering a lot of mundane questions. Wade Lanier had groomed him well. Back and forth they went, covering all aspects of Herschel’s uneventful life. As always, the spin was in and Herschel recalled with great fondness his childhood, his parents, his sister, and the grand times they’d all had together. Yes, the divorce was quite painful, but the family struggled through it and persevered. He and his old man were very close: talked all the time, saw each other whenever they could, but, hey, both were living busy lives. Both were big fans of the Atlanta Braves. They followed the team religiously and talked about the games all the time.

Lettie stared at him, dumbfounded. She had never heard Seth Hubbard say one word about the Atlanta Braves, and she had never known him to watch a baseball game on television.

They tried to make it to Atlanta at least once each season to catch some games. Say what? This was news to Jake and everyone else who’d read Herschel’s depositions. He had never mentioned such a road trip with his father. But there was little Jake could do. It would take two
days of hard digging to prove the trips to Atlanta never took place. If Herschel wanted to invent tales about him and his old man, Jake couldn’t stop him at this point. And Jake had to be careful. If he had any credibility left with the jury, he could seriously damage it by attacking Herschel. The man had lost his father, then he’d been cut out of his will in a very cruel and humiliating manner. It would be easy and only natural for the jurors to feel sympathy.

And how do you argue with a son who wasn’t close to his father, but now swears that he was? You don’t, and Jake knew it was an argument he could not win. He took notes, listened to the fiction, and tried to keep a poker face as if everything was going great. He could not bring himself to look at the jurors. There was a wall between him and them, something he’d never before experienced.

When they finally got around to Seth’s cancer, Herschel became somber and even choked back tears. It was just awful, he said, watching this active and vigorous man dry up and shrivel with the disease. He had tried to quit smoking so many times; father and son had engaged in long, heartfelt conversations about the smoking. Herschel quit when he was thirty, and he begged his father to quit also. In his final months, Herschel visited him as often as possible. And, yes, they talked about his estate. Seth was clear about his intentions. He might not have been too generous with Herschel and Ramona when they were younger, but he wanted them to have it all when he died. He assured them that he had prepared a proper will, one that would insulate them from financial worries and also secure the future for their children, Seth’s beloved grandchildren.

Seth was not himself toward the end. They talked all the time by phone, and at first Herschel noticed his father’s memory was fading. He couldn’t remember the score of last night’s baseball game. He repeated himself constantly. He would ramble on about the World Series, though the Braves were not in the Series last year. But to Seth they were. The old guy was slipping away. It was so heartbreaking.

Not surprisingly, Herschel was wary of Lettie Lang. She did a fine job cleaning the house, and cooking and caring for his father, but the longer she worked there, and the sicker Seth became, the more she seemed to protect him. She acted as though she didn’t want Herschel and Ramona in the house. Several times Herschel called his father, but she said he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come to the phone. She tried to keep him away from his family.

Lettie glared at the witness, slowly shaking her head.

It was quite a performance, and by the time it was over Jake was almost too stunned to think or move. Through skillful and no doubt exhaustive preparation, Wade Lanier had pieced together a fictional narrative that any father and son would envy.

Jake walked to the podium and asked, “Mr. Hubbard, on these trips to watch the Braves play, what hotel did you and your father usually stay in?”

Herschel squinted and his mouth opened but nothing came out. Hotels have records that can be checked. Finally, he recovered and said, “Uh, well, we stayed in different hotels.”

“Did you go to Atlanta last year?”

“No, Dad was too sick.”

“The year before?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Okay, so you went in eighty-seven. Which hotel?”

“I can’t remember.”

“All right. Who did the Braves play?”

Games and schedules are records that can be checked. “Well, gee, I’m not sure, you know. Maybe it was the Cubs.”

Jake said, “We can check on that. What was the date?”

“Oh, I’m terrible with dates.”

“Okay, in eighty-six. Did ya’ll make it to Atlanta for a game or two?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Which hotel?”

“Maybe the Hilton. Not sure.”

“Who’d the Braves play?”

“Well, let’s see. I can’t be sure, but I know we saw them play the Phillies one year.”

“In eighty-six, who played third base for the Phillies?”

Herschel swallowed hard and looked straight ahead, as if staring at headlights. His elbows were twitching and he kept glancing at the jurors. His lying had caught up with him. Lanier’s fictional masterpiece had holes in it.

Finally, “Don’t know.”

“You don’t recall Mike Schmidt, the greatest third baseman in the game. He’s still there and on his way to the Hall of Fame.”

“Sorry, no.”

“Who played center field for the Braves?”

Another painful pause. It was obvious Herschel didn’t have a clue.

“Ever hear of Dale Murphy?”

“Sure, that’s him. Dale Murphy.”

For the moment, Herschel gave every indication of being a liar, or at least a great embellisher. Jake could poke and prod around the rest of his testimony, but there was no guarantee he could score again. Instinctively, he decided to sit down.

Ramona was next, and she was crying not long after she was sworn in. She still couldn’t believe her beloved “daddy” had been so lost and distraught that he took his own life. With time, though, Lanier settled her down and they plowed through their scripted testimony. She had always been Daddy’s girl and she just couldn’t get enough of the old guy. He adored her and her children and came to visit them often down in Jackson.

Once again, Jake grudgingly admired Wade Lanier. He had prepared Ramona well for her deposition back in December and taught her the art of sandbagging. He knew that at trial there was no way Jake could rebut her testimony, so offer a few crumbs during the deposition, just enough to vaguely answer the questions, then load up the fiction for the jury.

Her testimony was a dramatic blend of emotion, bad acting, lying, and exaggerating. Jake began stealing glances at the jury to see if anyone was suspicious. As she bawled again, Tracy McMillen, number two, met Jake’s look and frowned as if to say, “Can you believe this?”

At least that was Jake’s reading. He could be wrong. His instincts had been rattled and he didn’t fully trust them. Tracy was his favorite juror. Their eyes had been meeting for two days now, and things had been elevated almost to the point of flirting. It wasn’t the first time Jake had used his good looks to win over a juror, nor would it be the last. Another glance over and he caught Frank Doley shooting one of his patented “I can’t wait to burn you” looks.

Wade Lanier wasn’t perfect. He kept her on direct far too long and began to lose people. Her voice was grating and her crying was a tired old act. Those watching suffered along with her, and when Lanier finally said, “I tender the witness,” Judge Atlee quickly tapped the gavel and said, “Let’s recess for fifteen minutes.”

The jurors left and the courtroom cleared out. Jake stayed at his table, as did Lettie. It was time to acknowledge each other. Portia moved her chair closer so the three of them could speak softly in a small
huddle. Lettie began with “Jake, I’m so sorry. What have I done?” Her eyes were instantly wet.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lettie? If I had known about the Pickerings, I could have been prepared.”

“It didn’t happen that way at all, Jake. I swear I never discussed no will with Miss Irene. Never. Not before she wrote it, not after. I didn’t even know about it until I came to work that mornin’ and all hell broke loose. I swear, Jake. You gotta let me explain this to the jury. I can do it. I can make them believe me.”

“It’s not that simple. We’ll talk about it later.”

“We need to talk, Jake. Herschel and Ramona are lyin’ through their teeth. Can’t you make ’em stop?”

“I don’t think the jury is buying much of this.”

Portia said, “They don’t like Ramona.”

“I can understand that. I need to run to the restroom. Any word from Lucien?”

“No, I checked the phone messages during lunch. Some lawyers, some reporters, and one death threat.”

“A what?”

“Some dude said they gonna burn your house again if you win all that money for them niggers.”

“How nice. I sort of like it. It brings back fond memories of the Hailey trial.”

“I saved it. You want me to tell Ozzie?”

“Sure.”

Harry Rex caught Jake outside the restroom and said, “Spoke with Chilcott. No deal. No interest in talking settlement. In fact, he almost laughed in my face, said they have another surprise or two.”

“What?” Jake asked in a panic.

“Well, of course he wouldn’t tell me. That would ruin the ambush, right?”

“I can’t take another ambush, Harry Rex.”

“Just keep your cool. You’re doing fine. I don’t think Herschel and Ramona impressed too many jurors.”

“Should I go after her?”

“No. Take it easy. If you pin her down, she’ll just start crying again. The jury’s sick of her.”

Five minutes later, Jake walked to the podium and said, “Now, Mrs. Dafoe, your father died on October 2 of last year, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Before he died, when was the last time you saw him?”

“I didn’t keep notes, Mr. Brigance. He was my daddy.”

“Isn’t it true that you last saw him in late July, over two months before he died?”

“No, that’s not true at all. I saw him all the time.”

“The last time, Mrs. Dafoe. When was the last time?”

“Again, I didn’t keep up with the dates. Probably a couple of weeks before he died.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, no, I’m not positive. Do you make a note every time you visit your parents?”

“I’m not the witness, Mrs. Dafoe. I’m the lawyer who’s asking the questions. Are you sure you saw your father a couple of weeks before he died?”

“Well, uh, I can’t be positive.”

“Thank you. Now, what about the children, Will and Leigh Ann? When was the last time they saw their grandfather before he died?”

“Oh, heavens, Mr. Brigance. I have no idea.”

“But you testified they saw him all the time, right?”

“Of course, yes. They loved their granddaddy.”

“Did he love them?”

“He adored them.”

Jake smiled and walked to the small table where the exhibits were kept. He picked up two sheets of paper and looked at Ramona. “This is the will your father wrote the day before he died. It’s in evidence and the jury has already seen it. In paragraph six, your father writes, and I quote: ‘I have two children—Herschel Hubbard and Ramona Hubbard Dafoe—and they have children, though I don’t know how many because I haven’t seen them in some time.’ End quote.”

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?”