Sycamore Row

been fired by Herschel Hubbard. Jake listened thoughtfully. On the one hand he was delighted to see Stillman hit the back door because he really didn’t care for the guy, but on the other hand he was bothered by Wade Lanier’s powers of manipulation. In his only other major trial, that of Carl Lee Hailey, Jake had gone toe-to-toe with Rufus Buckley, then an accomplished district attorney. And while Buckley was quite skilled in the courtroom and smooth on his feet, he was not overly bright, not a crafty manipulator or a clever schemer. Not at all like Wade Lanier, who seemed to be always one step ahead. Jake was convinced Lanier would do anything, lie, cheat, steal, cover up, whatever it took to win at trial, and he had the experience, quick wit, and bag of tricks to do so. Jake wanted Stillman in the courtroom, bungling things and strutting in front of the jury.
    Jake sounded sufficiently sad to say good-bye, but forgot about the call within the hour.
    Portia needed reassuring. They had fallen into the habit of having a morning coffee around 8:30, always in Jake’s office. The family had received four threatening calls in the days after the accident, but now the calls seemed to have stopped. A deputy still hung around the house, sitting in the driveway, checking the rear door at night, and the family was feeling safer. The Rostons had handled themselves with such grace and courage that the raw feelings had been contained, at least for now.
    However, if Simeon decided he wanted a trial, then the entire nightmare would be replayed. Portia, Lettie, and the rest of the family were worried about the spectacle of a trial, of having to face the Roston family in court. Jake doubted that would ever happen, and if it did it would be at least a year away.
    For three months, he had been prodding Lettie to get a job, any job. It would be important at trial for the jurors to know she was working and trying to support her family, not retired at forty-seven and expecting the windfall. But no white homemaker would hire her as a housekeeper, not with her baggage and controversies. She was too old for the fast-food joints; too black for anyone’s office staff.
    “Momma got a job,” Portia said proudly.
    “Excellent. Where?”
    “The Methodist church. She’ll clean their preschool three days a week. Minimum wage but that’s all she can find right now.”
    “Is she happy?”
    “She filed for divorce two days ago, Jake, and her last name is pretty toxic around here. She has a son in prison, a houseful of deadbeat relatives, a twenty-one-year-old daughter with two unwanted kids. Life’s pretty tough for my mom. A job that pays three and a half bucks an hour is not likely to bring much happiness.”
    “Sorry I asked.”
    They were on his balcony, outside where the air was brisk but not too cold. Jake had a million things on his mind, and he’d already had a gallon of coffee.
    “You remember Charley Pardue, my so-called cousin from Chicago?” she asked. “Met him at Claude’s a couple of months ago.”
    “Sure. You called him a shyster who wants money for a new funeral home.”
    “Yep, we’ve been talking on the phone, and he’s found a relative over near Birmingham. An old guy in a nursing home, last name of Rinds. He thinks this guy could be the link.”
    “But Pardue is after money, right?”
    “They’re all after money. Anyway, I’m thinking about driving over this Saturday to find the old guy and ask him some questions.”
    “Is he a Rinds?”
    “Yes, Boaz Rinds.”
    “Okay. Have you told Lucien?”
    “I have, and he thinks it’s worth the effort.”
    “Saturday is your day off. I’m not in charge.”
    “Just wanted you to know. And there’s something else, Jake. Lucien told me the county keeps some of the ancient courthouse records at Burley, the old black school.”
    “Yes, that’s true. I went there once, looking for an old file, didn’t find it. The county stores a lot of junk there.”
    “How far back do the records go?”
    Jake thought for a moment. His phone rang in the distance. Finally, he said, “The land records are still in the courthouse because they get used. But a lot of stuff is basically worthless—marriage and divorce records, birth and death records, lawsuits, judgments, and so on. Most of it should be tossed out but no one wants to destroy court documents,not even from a hundred years ago. I heard once there are trial transcripts dating back to before the Civil War, all