My pallbearers are: Harvey Moss, Duane Thomas, Steve Holland, Billy Bowles, Mike Mills, and Walter Robinson.

Burial Instructions:

I just bought a plot in the Irish Road Cemetery behind the church. I’ve spoken with Mr. Magargel at the funeral home and he’s been paid for the casket. No vault. Immediately after the church service, I want a quick interment—five minutes max—then lower the casket.

So long. See you on the other side.

Seth Hubbard

Jake addressed the witness and said, “And Sheriff Walls, this suicide note and these instructions were found by you and your deputies in the home of Seth Hubbard shortly after you found his body, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do with them?”

“We took them into our possession, made copies, then the following day gave them to Mr. Hubbard’s family at his home.”

“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Any cross-examination, Mr. Lanier?”

“None.”

“You are excused, Sheriff Walls. Thank you. Mr. Brigance?”

“Yes, Your Honor, at this time I would like for the jury to be instructed that it has been stipulated by all parties that the documents just admitted into evidence were indeed written by Mr. Seth Hubbard.”

“Mr. Lanier?”

“So stipulated, Your Honor.”

“Very well, there is no dispute as to the authorship of these documents. Proceed, Mr. Brigance.”

Jake said, “The proponents call Mr. Calvin Boggs.” They waited until Calvin was summoned from a witness room. He was a large country boy who’d never owned a necktie, and it was obvious he had not even considered buying one for the occasion. He wore a frayed plaid shirt with patches on the elbows, dirty khakis, dirty boots, and looked as though he just wandered into the courtroom from a pulpwood-cutting expedition. He was thoroughly intimidated and overwhelmed by the surroundings, and within seconds began to choke up as he described his horror at finding his boss hanging from a sycamore tree.

“What time did he call you that Sunday morning?” Jake asked.

“Around nine, said to meet him at the bridge at two.”

“And you arrived at two on the dot, right?”

“Yes sir, I did.”

Jake’s plan was to use Boggs to illustrate how Seth took care of the details. He would later argue to the jury that Seth left the note on the table, packed up his rope and ladder, drove to the site, and made sure he was good and dead when Calvin arrived at 2:00 p.m. He wanted to be found not long after he died. Otherwise, it could have been days.

Lanier had nothing to ask. The witness was dismissed.

“Call your next witness, Mr. Brigance,” Judge Atlee said.

Jake said, “The proponents call the county coroner, Finn Plunkett.”

Finn Plunkett was a rural mail carrier when he was first elected county coroner thirteen years earlier. At the time, he had no experience in medicine; none was required in Mississippi. He had never visited a crime scene. The fact that the state still elected its county coroners was odd enough; it was one of the last states to do so. Indeed, it was one of the few to ever initiate the ritual to begin with. For the past thirteen years, Finn had been called at all hours of the day and night to such locations as nursing homes, hospitals, accident scenes, honky-tonks, rivers and lakes, and homes wrecked by violence. His typical routine was to hover over a corpse and solemnly pronounce, “Yep, he’s dead.” Then he would speculate on the cause of death and sign a certificate.

He had been present when Seth was lowered to the ground. He’d said, “Yep, he’s dead.” Death by hanging, a suicide. Asphyxiation and a broken neck. With Jake leading him through his testimony, he quickly explained to the jury what was already painfully obvious. Wade Lanier had no cross-examination.

Jake called to the stand his ex-secretary, Roxy Brisco, who, since she’d left the office with bad blood, had initially refused to testify. So Jake issued a subpoena and explained she might go to jail if she ignored it. She quickly came around, and took the stand dressed fashionably for the moment. Tag-teaming, they walked through the events of the morning of October 3, when she arrived at the office with the mail. She identified the envelope, letter, and two-page will from Seth Hubbard, and Judge Atlee admitted them into evidence as exhibits for the proponents. There was no objection from the other side. Following a script that had been suggested by His Honor, Jake projected on the screen an enlarged version of the letter to him from Seth. He also handed a copy to each juror. Judge Atlee said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to pause for a moment while each of you carefully reads this letter.”

The courtroom was instantly silent as the jurors read their copies and the spectators studied the screen.

 … herein you will find my last will and testament, every word written by me and signed and dated by me. I’ve checked the law of Mississippi and am satisfied that it is a proper holographic will, thus entitled to full enforcement under the law. No one witnessed me signing this will because, as you know, witnesses are not required for holographic wills. A year ago I signed a thicker version in the offices of the Rush law firm in Tupelo, but I have renounced that document.

This one is likely to start some trouble and that’s why I want you as the attorney for my estate. I want this will defended at all costs and I know you can do it. I specifically cut out my two adult children, their children, and my two ex-wives. These are not nice people and they will fight, so get ready. My estate is substantial—they have no idea of its size—and when this is made known they will attack. Fight them, Mr. Brigance, to the bitter end. We must prevail.

With my suicide note I left instructions for my funeral and burial. Do not mention my last will and testament until after the funeral. I want my family to be forced to go through all the rituals of mourning before they realize they get nothing. Watch them fake it—they’re very good at it. They have no love for me.

I thank you in advance for your zealous representation. It will not be easy. I am comforted in knowing I will not be there to suffer through such an agonizing ordeal.

Sincerely, Seth Hubbard

October 1, 1988

Slowly, as each juror finished, they could not help but glance into the audience and take a look at Herschel Hubbard and Ramona Dafoe. She wanted to cry, but at that moment she correctly assumed anyone looking would think she was only faking it. So she stared at the floor, along with her brother and husband, and waited for this awkward and awful time to pass.

Finally, after an eternity, Judge Atlee said, “Let’s take a fifteen-minute recess.”

In spite of Seth’s warnings about the hazards of smoking, at least half of the jurors needed a cigarette. The nonsmokers stayed in the jury room and had coffee while the rest followed a bailiff to a small patio overlooking the north side of the courthouse lawn. They quickly fired up and began puffing away. Nevin Dark was trying to quit and had whittled his habit down to half a pack a day, but at the moment he was craving nicotine. Jim Whitehurst eased beside him, took a puff, and said, “What do you think, Mr. Foreman?”

Judge Atlee had been explicit in his warnings: Do not discuss this case. But jurors in every trial couldn’t wait to discuss what they had just seen and heard. Almost under his breath, Nevin said, “Looks like the old boy knew exactly what he was doing. You?”

“No doubt about it,” whispered Jim.

Just above them, in the county law library, Jake gathered with Portia, Lettie, Quince Lundy, and Harry Rex, and there was no shortage of observations and opinions. Portia was unnerved because Frank Doley, Number Twelve, kept staring at her, frowning with his lips moving as if he were cursing. Lettie thought Debbie Lacker, Number Ten, had fallen asleep, while Harry Rex was certain Number Two, Tracy McMillen, had already developed a crush on Jake. Quince Lundy still maintained the jury was already split, but Harry Rex said they’d be lucky to get four votes. Jake politely asked him to shut up and reminded him of his dire predictions during the trial of Carl Lee Hailey.