“A thousand years ago. So did Lucien’s.”

“Yes, but Lucien’s crazy. He wandered off the reservation a long time ago. He doesn’t count. Atlee does, and don’t expect him to do you any favors. He’ll run a fair trial, but I’ll bet his heart is with the other side.”

“All we can ask for is a fair trial.”

“Sure, but a fair trial in another county sounds better right now than a fair trial here.”

Jake took a drink and spoke to a gentleman who passed by. He leaned in lower and said, “I still have to file a motion to change venue. It gives us something to argue on appeal.”

“Oh sure. File it. But Atlee is not moving the case.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because he’s an old man in bad health and he doesn’t want to drive a hundred miles every day. He’s still the presiding judge, Jake, regardless of where the trial takes place. Atlee’s lazy, like most judges, and he wants this spectacle of a case right here in his courtroom.”

“So do I, to be perfectly honest.”

“His days are filled with no-fault divorces and who gets the pots and pans. Like any other judge, he wants this case and he wants it at home. We can pick a jury here, Jake. I’m confident.”

“We?”

“Of course. You can’t do it by yourself. We proved that during the Hailey trial. You’re okay in the courtroom but it’s my brains that won the case.”

“Gee, I didn’t remember it that way.”

“Just trust me, Jake. You want some banana pudding?”

“Sure, why not?”

Harry Rex lumbered over to the counter and paid for two hefty servings of dessert, in paper cups. The floor shook as he waddled back to their table and sat violently into his chair. With a mouth full, he said, “Willie Traynor called last night. Wants to know what you’re thinking about that house.”

“Judge Atlee told me not to buy it, not now anyway.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“Didn’t know His Honor was in the real estate business.”

“He thinks it might look bad, thinks the gossip will be that I’m clipping the estate for a chunk of money so I’m suddenly in the market for a fine old home.”

“Tell Atlee to kiss your ass. Since when is he in charge of your personal affairs?”

“Oh he’s very much in charge. He’s approving my legal fees these days.”

“Bullshit. Look, Jake, tell that old fart to take a hike, to mind his own business. You’re gonna screw around and lose this house and then for the rest of your life, and dear Carla’s too, ya’ll will kick yourselves for not buying it.”

“We cannot afford it.”

“You cannot afford not to buy it. They don’t build ’em like that anymore, Jake. Plus, Willie wants you to have it.”

“Then tell him to cut the price.”

“It’s already below market.”

“Not enough.”

“Look, Jake, here’s the deal. Willie needs the money. I don’t know what he’s up to, but evidently he’s stretched pretty thin. He’ll cut it from two fifty to two twenty-five. It’s a steal, Jake. Hell I’d buy it if my wife would move.”

“Get another wife.”

“I’m thinking about it. Look, dumbass, here’s what I’ll do for you. You got your arson case so screwed up it’ll never get settled. Why, because your client is yourself and they taught us in law school that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, right?”

“Something like that.”

“So, I’ll take the case at no charge and get it settled. Who’s the insurance company?”

“Land Fire and Casualty.”

“Crooked sonofabitches! Why’d you buy a policy from them?”

“Is that really helpful at this point?”

“No. What was their last offer?”

“It’s a replacement value policy, for one fifty. Since we paid only forty thousand for the house, Land is claiming it was worth a hundred grand when it burned. I kept the receipts, invoices, contractors’ bills, everything, and I can prove we put another fifty into the house. This was over a three-year period. That, plus market appreciation, and I’m claiming the house was worth a hundred and fifty when it burned. They won’t budge. And they totally discount the sweat Carla and I poured into the house.”

“And that pisses you off?”

“Damned right it does.”

“See! You’re too emotionally attached to the case to do any good. You have a fool for a client.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. How much is the mortgage?”

“Mortgages, plural. I refinanced it when the renovation was complete. The first mortgage is eighty thousand, the second is just under fifteen.”

“So Land is offering you just enough to pay off both mortgages.”

“Basically, yes, and we’d walk away with nothing.”

“Okay, I’ll make some phone calls.”

“What kinda phone calls?”

“Settlement calls, Jake. It’s the art of negotiation, and you got a lot to learn. I’ll have them crooks on the run by five o’clock this afternoon. We’ll settle the case, walk away with some cash, for you, nothing for me, then we’ll put together a deal with Willie for the Hocutt House, and in the meantime you’ll tell the Honorable Reuben Atlee to kiss your ass.”

“I will?”

“Damned right you will.”

33

Instead, Jake uttered not a single word that could have been considered even remotely disrespectful. They gathered on the porch on a windy but warm March afternoon and spent the first half hour talking about Judge Atlee’s two sons. Ray was a law professor at the University of Virginia and had managed to live a peaceful, productive life, so far. Forrest, the younger, had not. Both had been shipped back east for boarding school, and thus were not well known in Clanton. Forrest was battling addictions and this weighed heavy on his father, who knocked back two whiskey sours in the first twenty minutes.

Jake paced himself. When the timing was right, he said, “I think our jury pool is contaminated, Judge. The Lang name is toxic around here and I don’t think Lettie can get a fair trial.”

“That convict should’ve had his license yanked anyway, Jake. I hear you and Ozzie were stalling his DUI. I don’t like that at all.”

Jake felt stung and took a deep breath. As a Chancellor, Reuben Atlee had absolutely no jurisdiction over drunk driving cases in the county, though, as always, he assumed they were his business.

Jake said, “That’s not true, Judge, but even if Simeon Lang had no license he would’ve been driving anyway. A valid license is not important to those people. Ozzie set up a roadblock three months ago on a Friday night. Sixty percent of the blacks had no driver’s license and 40 percent of the whites.”

“I fail to see the relevance,” Judge Atlee replied, and Jake was not about to enlighten him. “He was caught driving drunk in October. If his case had been processed in an orderly manner through the courts, he would not have had a driver’s license. There’s a reasonable chance to believe he would not have been driving on Tuesday night of last week.”

“I’m not his lawyer, Judge. Not now, not then.”

Both rattled their ice cubes and let the moment pass. Judge Atlee took a sip and said, “File your motion to change venue if you wish. I can’t stop you.”

“I’d like for the motion to be taken seriously. I get the impression you made up your mind some time ago. Things have changed.”

“I take everything seriously. We’ll learn a lot when we start picking a jury. If it appears as though folks know too much about the case, then I’ll call time-out and we’ll deal with it. I thought I had explained this already.”

“You have, yes sir.”

“What happened to our pal Stillman Rush? He sent over a fax Monday and informed me he was no longer counsel of record for Herschel Hubbard.”

“He got fired. Wade Lanier has been maneuvering for months, trying to consolidate the contestants into his camp. Looks like he scored big.”