Sycamore Row

“I didn’t write this. Congress did.” Lanier knew perfectly well that the jury would be bored if not repulsed by this testimony, so he labored diligently to skip along, hitting the high points and leaving much of the code in the dust.
    Jake was not about to object and prolong this agony. The jurors were already antsy.
    When McClennan mercifully got to the bottom line, he said, “In my opinion, the total tax bill, state and federal, will be 51 percent.” On the screen, in bold letters, Lanier wrote, “$12,240,000 in taxes.”
    But the fun was just starting. McClennan had analyzed the will prepared by Lewis McGwyre. It was primarily a collection of related and complicated trusts that gave $1 million outright to Herschel and Ramona each, then tied up the remainder for many years while doling it out to the family. He and Lanier had no choice but to discuss it in detail. Jake watched the jurors as they began to nod off. Even McClennan’s light version of what the will was intended to do was dense and, at times, comically impenetrable. Lanier, though, was on a mission. He plowed ahead and began running the numbers on the big screen. The bottom line was that the tax bill under the 1987 will would be, in McClennan’s expert opinion, only “$9,100,000, state and federal, give or take a few bucks.”
    The difference of $3,140,000 was printed in bold numbers on the screen.
    The point was well made. Seth’s hastily written holographic will cost his estate a lot of money; more proof he was not thinking clearly.
    Jake had learned to avoid the IRS code in law school, and for the past ten years had readily stiff-armed any potential client looking for tax advice. He had none to offer because he knew so little about that area of the law. When Lanier tendered the witness, Jake passed. He knew the jurors were bored and ready for lunch.
    “We’ll be in recess until one thirty,” Judge Atlee said. “Mr. Brigance.” Jake planned to grab Wade Lanier and ask if he had five minutesto chat, but his plans were suddenly changed. He met Judge Atlee in his office down the hall. After His Honor removed his robe and lit his pipe, he sat down, stared at Jake, and calmly said, “You’re not pleased with my rulings.”
    Jake snorted and said, “No, I am not. You’ve allowed Wade Lanier to hijack this trial with a couple of dirty tricks, a couple of surprise witnesses that I had no chance to prepare for.”
    “But your client lied.”
    “She’s not my client. The estate is my client. But, yes, Lettie was not truthful. She was caught off guard, Judge, ambushed. In her deposition she clearly stated she could not remember all the white families she’d worked for. The Pickering episode was so unpleasant I’m sure she tried to forget it. And the most important aspect of that little story is that Lettie never knew about the handwritten will. I could have prepared her, Judge. That’s my point. I could have softened the impact. You, though, allowed an ambush, and the trial flipped in a matter of seconds.”
    Jake glared at the old man as he spoke, though he was well aware that Reuben V. Atlee was not one to be reprimanded. But this time the judge was wrong, and Jake was angry at the injustice. He had nothing to lose at this point, so why not lay it all on the table?
    The judge puffed and seemed to eat the smoke, then it drifted out. “I disagree. Regardless, though, I expect you to maintain your dignity. Lawyers do not curse in my chambers.”
    “My apologies. I sometimes curse in the heat of the battle, doubt if I’m the only one.”
    “I’m not sure the jury has flipped, as you say.”
    Jake hesitated. He almost reminded the judge that he knew almost nothing about juries. He so rarely saw them, which was part of the problem. In Chancery Court, he ruled supreme as judge and jury and had the luxury of admitting all evidence. He could sift through it, separate the good from the bad, and issue a ruling he deemed fair.
    Jake was not about to argue. Instead, he said, “Judge, I have a lot of work to do.”
    Judge Atlee waved at the door, and Jake left. Harry Rex caught him as he was leaving the courthouse and said, “Ozzie called the office, said they’re still at the jail in Memphis and trying to get him out. Right now they can’t get a bond set.”
    Jake frowned and said, “A bond, for what?”
    “He’s charged with public drunkenness and resisting arrest. It’sMemphis. They throw in the resisting charge every time they