Jake was on his feet, practically yelling, “Objection, Your Honor. Unless counsel can explain to us why this is relevant, it should not be admitted.” Lanier was standing too, ready to rumble. “Oh, it’s very relevant, Your Honor,” he said loudly.

Judge Atlee raised both hands and said, “Silence.” He glanced at his watch, looked at the jurors, paused for a second, and said, “Let’s keep everyone right here and take a five-minute break. Counsel, meet me in chambers.” They hurriedly marched back into his chambers. Jake was bitter enough to throw a punch and Lanier seemed willing to mix it up. When Lester Chilcott closed the door, Judge Atlee said, “What’s her testimony?”

Lanier said, “She worked for one of Seth Hubbard’s companies in south Georgia. They met there, he came on strong, forced her to have sex, then fired her when she decided she didn’t want any more. They reached an out-of-court settlement on the harassment suit.”

“And this was five years ago?” Jake asked.

“It was.”

“How is it relevant to our issues today?” Judge Atlee asked.

“Oh, it’s very relevant, Your Honor,” Lanier said casually and with the benefit of months of preparation. Jake was thoroughly blindsided and almost too angry to think. Lanier continued, “It goes to the issue of undue influence. Ms. Kidd was an employee, as was Ms. Lang. Seth had a propensity to seduce women who worked for him, regardless of color. This weakness led him to make decisions that were not financially sound.”

“Jake?”

“Bullshit. First, Judge, she should not be allowed to testify because she was not listed as a witness until two weeks ago, in clear violation of the rules. Second, what Seth did five years ago has nothing to do with his testamentary capacity last October. And, obviously, there is not one shred of proof that he was intimate with Lettie Lang. I don’t care how many women, black or white, he was screwing five years ago.”

Lanier said, “We think it’s probative.”

Jake said, “Bullshit, everything’s probative.”

“Your language, Jake,” Judge Atlee warned.

“Sorry.”

Judge Atlee held up a hand and all was quiet. He lit a pipe, exhaled mightily, paced to the window and back, then said, “I like your point, Wade. Both women were his employees. I’ll allow the testimony.”

Jake said, “Who needs a rule book?”

“See me after court today, Jake,” Judge Atlee said sternly, then blew some more smoke. He laid down his pipe and said, “Let’s carry on.”

The lawyers reassembled in the courtroom. Portia leaned forward and whispered to Jake, “What happened?”

“The judge has lost his mind, that’s all.”

Julina told her story to a breathless crowd. Her sudden promotion, the new passport, the trip to Mexico City with the boss, the luxury hotel with adjoining rooms, then the sex and the guilt. Back home, he fired her immediately and had her escorted out of the building. She sued, and Seth quickly settled out of court.

The testimony was not relevant to the will contest. It was scandalous and certainly memorable, but as Jake listened to it he became convinced Judge Atlee had blundered badly. The trial was lost, but the appeal was looking stronger by the hour. Jake would have a grand time exposing Wade Lanier’s trickery to the Supreme Court of Mississippi. He would take great satisfaction in finally getting Reuben V. Atlee reversed.

Jake admitted to himself that it was a lost cause if he was already thinking about the appeal. He quizzed Julina Kidd for a few minutes, just long enough to extract the admission that she was being paid to testify. She would not say how much—Lanier had obviously talked to her in time.

“So you swapped sex for money, and now it’s testimony for money, right, Ms. Kidd?” he asked. It was a harsh question, and as soon as he uttered it he wished he could take it back. She was only telling the truth.

She shrugged but didn’t respond, perhaps the classiest answer of the day.

At 5:30, Judge Atlee adjourned until Thursday morning. Jake stayed in the courtroom until long after everyone had left. He chatted quietly with Portia and Lettie, and tried in vain to assure them things were not as bad as they really were. It was a hopeless exercise.

He finally left as Mr. Pate was turning off the lights.

He did 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.”