Sycamore Row

thorough responses. Wade Lanier did not object.
    Judge Atlee said, “Mr. Nevin Dark, would you join us in my chambers, please?”
    A bailiff showed him the way, and Nevin nervously walked past the bench, through a door, down a short hallway, and into a rather small room where everyone was waiting. A court reporter sat ready to transcribe every word. Judge Atlee occupied one end of the table and the lawyers crowded around the rest of it.
    “Please remember that you’re under oath, Mr. Dark,” Judge Atlee said.
    “Of course.”
    Jake Brigance flashed him an earnest smile and said, “Some of these questions might be kind of personal, Mr. Dark, and if you don’t want to answer them, that’s fine. Do you understand?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you currently have a last will and testament?”
    “I do.”
    “Who prepared it?”
    “Barney Suggs, a lawyer in Karaway.”
    “And your wife?”
    “Yes, we signed them at the same time, in Mr. Suggs’s office, about three years ago.”
    Without asking the specifics of their wills, Jake nibbled around the edges of the will-making process. What prompted them to prepare their wills? Do their children know what’s in the wills? How often have they changed their wills? Did they name each other as executor of their wills? Have they ever inherited anything from another will? Did he, Nevin Dark, believe a person should have the right to leave his property to anyone? To a non–family member? To charity? To a friend or employee? To cut out family members who may have fallen out of favor? Had either Mr. Dark or his wife ever considered changing their wills to exclude a person currently named as a beneficiary?
    And so on. When Jake finished, Wade Lanier asked a series of questions about drugs and painkillers. Nevin Dark said he’d used them only sparingly, but his wife was a breast cancer survivor and at one time had relied on some strong medications for pain. He could not remember their names. Lanier showed genuine concern for this woman he’d never met, and poked and prodded enough to convey the message that strong painkillers taken by very sick people often cause a lapse in rational thinking. The seed was skillfully planted.
    Judge Atlee was watching the clock, and after ten minutes he called time. Nevin returned to the courtroom, where everyone stared at him. Juror Number Two, Tracy McMillen, was waiting in a chair by the bench, and was quickly led to the back room, where she faced the same questioning.
    Boredom hit hard and many of the spectators left. Some of the jurors napped while others read and reread newspapers and magazines. Bailiffs yawned and gazed from the large plate-glass windows overlooking the courthouse lawn. One prospective juror replaced the next in a steady parade to Judge Atlee’s chambers. Most disappeared for the full ten minutes, but a few were finished in less time. When Juror Number Eleven emerged from her interrogation, she passed the benches and headed for the door, excused from service for reasons those sitting in the courtroom would never know.
    Lettie and Phedra left for a long break. As they walked down the aisle toward the double doors, they were careful to avoid glancing at the Hubbard clan, bunched together on the back row.

    It was almost 6:30 when Juror Number Thirty-eight left chambers and returned to the courtroom. Judge Atlee, showing remarkable energy, rubbed his hands together and said, “Gentlemen, let’s finishthis job now so we can start fresh with the opening statements in the morning. Agreed?”
    Jake said, “Judge, I’d like to renew my motion for a change of venue. Now that we’ve interviewed the first thirty-eight jurors, it is apparent that, as a whole, this panel knows far too much about this case. Almost every juror was willing to admit he or she had heard something about it. This is quite unusual in a civil case.”
    “Quite the contrary, Jake,” Judge Atlee said. “I thought they answered the questions well. Sure they’ve heard about the case, but almost all of them claimed to be able to keep an open mind.”
    “I agree, Judge,” Wade Lanier said. “With a few exceptions, I’m impressed with the panel.”
    “Motion is overruled, Jake.”
    “No surprise,” Jake mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.
    “Now, can we pick our jury?”
    “I’m ready,” Jake said.
    “Let’s go,” replied Wade Lanier.
    “Very well. I’m dismissing jurors number three, four, seven, nine, fifteen, eighteen, and twenty-four