Sycamore Row

not stop by Judge Atlee’s office, as directed. Instead he went home. He needed some quiet time with the two people he loved the most, the two who would always think of him as the greatest lawyer in the world.

45
    The flight to Seattle was overbooked. Lucien got the last seat on one to San Francisco, where he would have twenty minutes to catch a nonstop to Chicago. If all went well, he would land in Memphis just after midnight. Nothing went well. He missed the connection in San Francisco, and while berating a ticket agent almost got himself handcuffed by a security guard. To get him out of the airport, they put him on a shuttle to L.A. with the promise he’d get a better connection to Dallas. En route to L.A., he drank three double bourbons on ice, and had the flight attendants glancing at each other. Upon landing, he went straight to a bar and continued drinking. He called Jake’s office four times but got only the recording. He called Harry Rex’s three times, but was told the lawyer was in court. When the nonstop to Dallas was canceled at 7:30, he cursed another ticket agent and threatened to sue American Airlines. To get him out of the airport, they put him on a four-hour flight to Atlanta, first class with free drinks.

    Tully Still drove a forklift for a freight company in the industrial park north of town. He was working the night shift and easy to find. At 8:30 Wednesday night, Ozzie Walls gave him the nod and they walked outside into the darkness. Still lit a cigarette. The two were not related, but their mothers had been best friends since elementary school. Tully’s wife, Michele, was Juror Number Three. Front row, dead center, Jake’s prize.
    “How bad is it?” Ozzie asked.
    “Pretty bad. What happened? Things were rockin’ along fine, then the case blows up.”
    “Couple of witnesses came outta nowhere. What are they sayin’ in there?”
    “Ozzie, even Michele’s got doubts about Lettie Lang. The woman looks bad, man, sneakin’ round, gettin’ old white folks to change their wills. Michele and the Gaston woman’ll stick with her, don’t worry, but that means they got two votes. And the whites on the jury ain’t bad people, maybe a couple, but most were goin’ with Lettie until this mornin’. It’s not all black against white in there.”
    “So there’s a lot of talk?”
    “Didn’t say that. I think there’s a lot of whisperin’. Ain’t that pretty normal? You can’t expect folk to not say a word until the end.”
    “I suppose.”
    “What’s Jake gonna do?”
    “I’m not sure he can do anything. He says he’s called his best witnesses.”
    “Looks like he got blindsided, like those Jackson lawyers got the best of him.”
    “We’ll see. Maybe it’s not over.”
    “Looks bad.”
    “Keep a lid on it.”
    “Don’t worry.”

    They were not celebrating with champagne at the Sullivan firm, though fine wine was being poured. Walter Sullivan, the retired partner who founded the firm forty-five years earlier, was a connoisseur who had recently discovered fine Italian Barolos. After a light working dinner in the conference room, he pulled some corks, brought in some fine crystal goblets, and a tasting came to life.
    The mood was nothing short of triumphant. Myron Pankey had watched a thousand juries and had never seen one flip so quickly and so thoroughly. “You own them, Wade,” he said. Lanier was being revered as a courtroom magician, able to pull rabbits out of hats in spite of the rules of evidence. “Give the judge the credit,” he said modestly, and more than once. “He just wants a fair trial.”
    “Trials are not about fairness, Wade,” Mr. Sullivan chided. “Trials are about winning.”
    Lanier and Chilcott could almost smell the money. Eighty percent of the gross estate for their clients, less taxes and so forth, and their little ten-man litigation firm would net a fee in excess of $2 million. It could arrive quickly. After the handwritten will was declared void, they would move on to the prior will. The bulk of the money was in cash. A lengthy probate might be avoided.
    Herschel was in Memphis, commuting to the trial with his two children. The Dafoe family was staying in the guesthouse of a friend near the country club. All were in fine spirits and eager to get the money and get on with their lives. After he finished his wine, Wade would call them and receive their accolades.

    An hour after he spoke to Tully Still, Ozzie was leaning on the hood of