Sycamore Row

haul someone in.”
    “I thought Ozzie had contacts there.”
    “I guess he’s lookin’ for them. I told you it was a mistake to send that drunk to Alaska.”
    “Is this really helpful right now?”
    “No. What are you doin’ for lunch?”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Let’s get a beer.”
    “No, Harry Rex. Some juries get offended when the lawyer reeks of alcohol.”
    “You’re not still worried about this jury, are you?”
    “Knock it off, would you?”
    “I gotta go to court in Smithfield this afternoon. Good luck. I’ll check in later.”
    “Thanks.” As Jake crossed the street to his office, he realized that Harry Rex had not missed a word in the courtroom since Monday morning.

    Dewayne Squire was the vice president of Berring Lumber Company. On the Thursday before the suicide, he and Seth had engaged in a disagreement over a large shipment of heart pine to a flooring company in Texas. Squire had negotiated the deal, and was surprised to learn that his boss then called the company and negotiated another deal at a lower price. Back and forth they went throughout that Thursday morning. Both men were upset, both convinced they were right, but at some point Squire realized that Seth was not himself. Arlene Trotter was out of the office and missed the conflict. At one point, Squire entered Seth’s office and found him with his head in his hands, claiming to be dizzy and nauseous. They spoke later and Seth had forgotten the details of the contract. He claimed Squire had negotiated a price that was too low, and they argued again. By the time Seth left around 3:00 p.m. the deal was done and Berring would eventually lose about $10,000. To Squire’s recollection, it was the largest loss on any customer contract Seth was ever involved in.
    He described his boss as being disoriented and erratic. The following morning he sold the timberland in South Carolina for a substantial loss.
    Jake was well aware that Wade Lanier was pushing hard now andtrying to get the case to the jury before the weekend. Jake needed to stall, so on cross-examination he pulled out the Berring financials and walked Squire through them. Nineteen eighty-eight was the most profitable year of the last five, though revenues dipped in the last quarter, after Seth’s death. As the jurors faded away, Jake and Squire talked about the company’s performance, its contracts, strategies, costs, labor problems, plant depreciation. Twice His Honor said, “Move along, Mr. Brigance,” but he didn’t push too hard. Mr. Brigance was already unhappy with him.
    After Dewayne Squire, Lanier called to the stand a Mr. Dewberry, a land broker who specialized in farms and hunting clubs. He told the story of dealing with Seth in the days before he died. Seth had been interested in buying five hundred acres in Tyler County for a hunting club. He and Dewberry had been looking at land for the past five years, but Seth would never pull the trigger. He finally paid for a one-year option on the five hundred acres, then got sick and lost interest. As the option was about to expire, he called Dewberry several times. Dewberry did not know Seth was dying, nor did he have any idea he was on painkillers. One day Seth wanted to exercise the option; the next day he did not. Several times he could not remember the price per acre, and on one occasion forgot who he was talking to on the phone. His behavior became more and more erratic.
    On cross, Jake managed to stall even more. By late Thursday afternoon, the trial had ground to a near halt, and Judge Atlee adjourned early.

46
    After butting heads with the Memphis bureaucracy, Ozzie was about to quit when he remembered something he should have thought of sooner. He phoned Booker Sistrunk, whose office was four blocks from the city jail. After a rough beginning, the two had kept in touch, and over the months had visited on two occasions when Ozzie was in Memphis. Booker had not been back to Clanton and wasn’t keen to return. Both realized that two black men, living sixty minutes apart and with some measure of power in a white world, should find common ground. They should be friends. Of particular interest to Booker was the fact that he still had $55,000 on loan to the Langs, and he wanted to protect his money.
    The Memphis police loathed Booker Sistrunk, but they were also afraid of him. Fifteen minutes after he arrived in his black Rolls, paperwork was hopping from one desk to another with Lucien Wilbanks a high