Of course they did. He was speaking slowly, clearly, and with his usual heavy authority. He continued, “I suggest that Mr. Lanier take the lead for the contestants and handle the bulk of the trial. He certainly has more trial experience, not to mention the clients with the greatest interests. Divide the work any way you want—I wouldn’t dare give advice,” he said gravely, advising. “I’m not trying to muzzle anyone. You have the right to advocate for your client or clients. Each of you may call your own witnesses and cross-examine those called by the proponents. But the first time you start repeating what’s already been said, as lawyers have a natural inclination to do, you can expect swift intervention from up here. I will not tolerate it. Are we on the same page?”
They certainly were, for the moment anyway.
He jammed the reading glasses back onto his nose and looked at his notes. “Let’s talk about exhibits,” he said. They spent an hour discussing the documents that would be admitted into evidence and shown to the jury. At Judge Atlee’s heavy-handed insistence, the handwriting was stipulated to be that of Henry Seth Hubbard. Arguing otherwise would be a waste of time. The cause of death was stipulated. Four large color photos were approved. They showed Seth hanging from the tree and eliminated any doubt as to how he died.
Then Judge Atlee said, “Now, let’s review the witnesses. I see that Mr. Lanier has added quite a few.”
Jake had been waiting impatiently for over an hour. He tried to keep his cool, but it was difficult. He said, “Your Honor, I’m going to object to a lot of these witnesses being allowed to testify at trial. If you’ll look on page six, beginning there and running for a while, you see the names of forty-five potential witnesses. Looking at their addresses, I’m assuming these people worked in Mr. Hubbard’s various factories and plants. I don’t know because I’ve never seen these names before. I’ve checked the latest updated responses to interrogatories, and of the forty-five, only fifteen or sixteen have ever been mentioned by the contestants before today. Under the rules, I was entitled to have these names months ago. It’s called a witness dump, Your Honor. Dump a pile of witnesses on the table two weeks before the trial, and there’s no way I can possibly talk to them all and find out what their testimony might be. Forget depositions—it would take another six months. This is a clear violation of the rules, and it’s underhanded.”
Judge Atlee scowled at the other table and said, “Mr. Lanier?”
Lanier stood and said, “May I stretch my legs, Your Honor? I have a bad knee.”
“Whatever.”
Lanier began pacing in front of his table, limping slightly. Probably a courtroom trick of some variety, Jake thought.
“Your Honor, this is not underhanded and I resent the accusation. Discovery is always a work in progress. New names are always popping up. Reluctant witnesses sometimes come forward at the last minute. One witness remembers another one, or another one, or he remembers something else that happened. We’ve had investigators digging and digging for five months now, nonstop, and, frankly, we’ve outworked the other side. We’ve found more witnesses, and we’re still looking for more. Mr. Brigance has two weeks to call or go see any witness on my list. Two weeks. No, it’s not a lot of time, but is there ever enough time? We know there is not. This is the way high-powered litigation goes, Your Honor. Both sides scramble until the very last moment.” Pacing, limping, arguing quite effectively, Lanier inspired grudging admiration, though at the same time Jake wanted to throw a hatchet at him. Lanier did not play by the rules but he was quite adept at legitimizing his cheating.
For Wade Lanier, it was a crucial moment. Buried in the list of forty-five was the name Julina Kidd, the only black woman Randall Clapp had found so far who was willing to testify and admit she’d slept with Seth. For $5,000 plus expenses, she had agreed to travel to Clanton and testify. She had also agreed to ignore phone calls or any contact from any other lawyer, namely one Jake Brigance, who might show up desperately sniffing around for clues.
Not buried in the list was Fritz Pickering; his name had not been mentioned, nor would it be until a critical moment in the trial.
Judge Atlee asked Jake, “How many depositions have you taken?”
Jake replied, “Together, we’ve taken thirty depositions.”
“Sounds like a lot to me. And they’re not cheap. Mr. Lanier, surely you don’t plan to call forty-five witnesses.”
“Of course not, Your Honor, but the rules require us to list all potential witnesses. I may not know until we’re in the middle of the trial who I need next on the stand. This is the flexibility the rules contemplate.”
“I understand that. Mr. Brigance, how many witnesses do you plan to call?”
“Approximately fifteen, Your Honor.”
“Well, I can tell you fellas right now I’m not going to subject the jury, or myself, to the testimony of sixty witnesses. At the same time, I’m not inclined to restrict who you may or may not call at trial. Just make sure all witnesses are disclosed to the other side. Mr. Brigance, you have all the names and you have two weeks to dig.”
Jake shook his head in frustration. The old Chancellor couldn’t help but revert to his old ways. Jake asked, “Then would it be possible to require the attorneys to submit a brief overview of what each witness might say on the stand? This seems only fair, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Lanier?”
“I’m not sure how fair it is, Your Honor. Just because we’ve hustled our butts off and found a bunch of witnesses Mr. Brigance has never heard of doesn’t mean we should be required to tell him what they might say. Let him do the work.” The tone was condescending, almost insulting, and for a split second Jake felt like a slacker.
“I agree,” Judge Atlee said. Lanier shot Jake a look of contemptuous victory as he walked by him and sat down again.
The PTC dragged on as they discussed the expert witnesses and what they might say. Jake was irritated at Judge Atlee and did not try to hide his feelings. The highlight of the meeting was the distribution of the jury list, and the judge saved it for last. It was almost noon when a clerk distributed it. “There are ninety-seven names,” Atlee said, “and they’ve been screened for everything but age. As you know, some folks over the age of sixty-five do not want to be exempted from service, so I’ll let you gentlemen handle that during selection.”
The lawyers scanned the names, looking for friendly ones, sympathetic ones, smart folks who would instantly side with them and bring back the right verdict. Atlee went on, “Now, and listen to me, I will not tolerate contact with these people. As I understand the nature of big lawsuits these days, it’s not unusual for the attorneys to investigate the jury pool as thoroughly as possible. Go right ahead. But do not contact them, or follow them, or frighten them, or in any way harass them. I will deal harshly with anyone who does. Keep these lists close. I do not want the entire county knowing who’s in the pool.”
Wade Lanier asked, “In what order will they be seated for selection, Your Honor?”
“Entirely at random.”
The lawyers were silent as they rapidly read through the names. Jake had a distinct advantage because it was home turf. Every time he looked at a jury list, though, he was astonished at how few names he recognized. A former client here, a church member there. A high school buddy from Karaway. His mother’s first cousin. A quick review yielded maybe twenty hits out of ninety-seven. Harry Rex would know even more. Ozzie would know all the black ones and many of the whites. Lucien would boast about how many he knew, but in reality he’d been sitting on the front porch for too long.
