Sycamore Row

them true. What difference did it make? He’d killed two boys and was headed to Parchman for a long time. His life was over. Lettie needed someone else. She hadn’t been to see him since they locked him up, and he doubted she would ever visit. Not here, not in Parchman. Portia had stopped by to say hello but didn’t hang around too long.
    “What’re you reading?” asked Denny from the top bunk. Denny was his new cell mate who’d been caught driving a stolen car. Simeon was already tired of him. He preferred living alone, though at times it was almost pleasant having someone to talk to.
    “My wife just filed for divorce,” he said.
    “Lucky you. I’ve had two of them already. They get kinda crazy when you’re in jail.”
    “If you say so. You ever had a restrainin’ order?”
    “No, but my brother did. Bitch convinced a judge he was dangerous, which he was, and a judge told him to stay away from the house and keep his distance in public. Didn’t bother him. Killed her anyway.”
    “Your brother killed his wife?”
    “Yep, but she had it coming. It was justifiable homicide, but the jury didn’t exactly see it that way. Found him guilty of second-degree.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Angola, Louisiana, twenty years. That’s about what you’ll get, accordin’ to my lawyer.”
    “Your lawyer?”
    “Yeah, I asked him this afternoon when I saw him. He knows about your case, said the whole town is talkin’ about it, said folks arereally upset. Said your wife’s about to get rich from this big will contest but your ass’ll be locked away for the next twenty years. By the time you get out all the money’ll be gone, what with all the new friends she’s got. That true?”
    “Ask your lawyer.”
    “How’d your wife get herself into that old man’s will like that? Said he left behind twenty million bucks or so, that true?”
    “Ask your lawyer.”
    “I’ll do that. Didn’t mean to piss you off or anything.”
    “I ain’t pissed. Just don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
    “You got it, man.” Denny picked up his paperback and started reading.
    Simeon stretched out on the bottom bunk and went back to page one. In twenty years he would be sixty-six. Lettie would have another husband and a much better life. She would have the children and grandchildren and probably great-grandchildren, and he would have nothing.
    He wouldn’t fight the divorce. She could have it all.
    Maybe he could see Marvis in prison.

32
    Eight days after the Roston tragedy, and just as it was beginning to wind down and folks were discussing other matters, it bolted back onto center stage in the weekly edition of
The Ford County Times
. On the front page, under a bold headline— COUNTY MOURNS LOSS OF ROSTON BROTHERS —were large class photos of Kyle and Bo. Below that and beneath the fold were photos of their wrecked car, their coffins being carried out of their church, and their classmates holding candles at a vigil outside Clanton High School. Dumas Lee had missed little. His stories were long and detailed.
    On page two was a large photo of Simeon Lang, his face ominously bandaged, leaving the courthouse in handcuffs the previous Thursday with his attorney of record, Mr. Arthur Welch of Clarksdale. The story that accompanied the photo made no mention of Jake Brigance, primarily because Jake had threatened Dumas and the newspaper with a libel suit if it even remotely implied that he represented Simeon. There was mention of the old but still pending DUI charge from the previous October, but Dumas did not pursue it or imply that it had been improperly handled. He was terrified of litigation and usually backed down quickly. The two obituaries were lengthy and heartbreaking. There was a story from the high school with glowing comments from classmates and teachers. There was one from the accident scene with Ozzie providing the details. The eyewitness had a lot to say and got his photo in the newspaper. The parents were silent. An uncle asked that their privacy be respected.
    Jake had read every word by 7:00 a.m., and felt exhausted. He skipped the Coffee Shop because he was tired of the endless prattlingabout the tragedy. He kissed Carla good-bye at 7:30 and went to the office, hoping for a return to his normal routine. His goal was to spend most of the day working on cases other than Hubbard. He had a handful of clients in real need of some attention.
    Just after 8:00, Stillman Rush called with the news that he had just