Sycamore Row (61 page)

“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
.

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.

After ten minutes of mindless chatter, Jake vowed to eat lunch alone.

Back in the courtroom, he called Quince Lundy to the stand and led him through a series of bland but necessary questions about his involvement in the estate, his appointment as the administrator, and his substitution for Russell Amburgh, who wanted out. Lundy dryly explained the duties of the administrator and did a superb job of making it sound as dull as it really was. Jake handed him the original handwritten will and asked him to identify it.

Lundy said, “This is the holographic will that was admitted to probate on October 4 of last year. Signed by Mr. Seth Hubbard on the first day of October.”

“Let’s have a look,” Jake said, and once again projected the document onto the screen as he passed out copies to the jurors.

Judge Atlee said, “Again, ladies and gentlemen, take your time and read it carefully. You will be allowed to take all documents and exhibits back to the jury room when you begin your deliberations.”

Jake stood by the podium, held a copy of the will, and pretended to read it as he carefully watched the jurors. Most seemed to frown at one point or another, and he assumed the “perish in pain” phrase made them cringe. He had read the will a hundred times and still had the same two reactions. One, it was mean-spirited, harsh, cruel, and unreasonable. Two, it made him wonder what Lettie was doing to make the old boy so fond of her. But, as always, another reading convinced him Seth knew precisely what he was doing. If a person has testamentary capacity, then that person can make all the wild and unreasonable bequests he or she wants.

When the last juror finished and laid down her copy, Jake turned off the overhead projector. He and Quince Lundy then spent half an hour hitting the highlights of Seth Hubbard’s amazing ten-year journey from the ruins of his second divorce to wealth that no one in Ford County had ever seen.

At 12:30, Judge Atlee recessed until 2:00 p.m.

42

The detective was leaving the hospital as Lucien was entering it. They spoke briefly in the main lobby, just a few words about Lonny Clark, still up there on the third floor and not doing well. He’d had a rough night and his doctors said no visitors. Lucien got lost in the hospital and surfaced on the third floor an hour later. There was no cop by the door, no nurses tending to Lonny. Lucien sneaked into the room, gently shook Ancil’s arm, and said, “Ancil. Ancil, are you there?”

But Ancil wasn’t there.

Within the tiny Brigance firm, there was a general agreement that the morning could not have gone better. The presentation of the suicide note, funeral and burial instructions, handwritten will, and the letter to Jake made it perfectly clear that Seth Hubbard planned everything and was in control until the very end. Jake’s opening statement had been persuasive. Lanier’s, though, was just as masterful. All in all, a good beginning.

Jake began the afternoon session by calling to the stand the Reverend Don McElwain, pastor of Irish Road Christian Church. The preacher told the jury he had spoken briefly to Seth after the worship hour on October 2, a few hours before he hung himself. He knew Seth was gravely ill, though he did not know the doctors had given him only weeks to live. On that morning, Seth seemed to be in good spirits, alert, even smiling, and told McElwain how much he enjoyed the sermon. Though he was sick and frail, he did not appear to be drugged or under the influence. He had been a member of the church for twenty
years and usually showed up about once a month. Three weeks before he died, Seth had purchased for $350 a plot in the cemetery, the same plot he now occupied.

The church’s treasurer was next. Mr. Willis Stubbs testified that Seth dropped into the offering plate a check in the amount of $500, dated October 2. For the year, Seth contributed $2,600.

Mr. Everett Walker took the stand and shared a private moment in what was likely Seth’s last conversation. As the two walked to the parking lot after church, Mr. Walker asked how business was going. Seth made a crack about a slow hurricane season. More hurricanes meant more property damage and demand for lumber. Seth claimed to love hurricanes. According to Mr. Walker, his friend was sharp, witty, and did not seem to be in pain. Of course he was frail. When Mr. Walker later heard that Seth was dead, and that he’d killed himself not long after their conversation, he was stunned. The man seemed so at ease and relaxed, even content. He’d known Seth for many years and he was not the slightest bit gregarious. Rather, Seth was a quiet man who kept to himself and said little. He remembered Seth smiling as he drove away that Sunday, and remarked to his wife that it was rare to see him smile.

Mrs. Gilda Chatham told the jury she and her husband sat behind Seth during his final sermon, spoke to him briefly when the service was over, and picked up no clue whatsoever that he was on the verge of such a startling act. Mrs. Nettie Vinson testified that she said hello to Seth as they were leaving the church and that he seemed uncharacteristically friendly.

After a short recess, Seth’s oncologist, a Dr. Talbert from the regional medical center in Tupelo, was sworn in and quickly managed to bore the courtroom with a long and dry narrative about his patient’s lung cancer. He had treated Seth for almost a year, and, referring to his notes, went on and on about the surgery, then the chemotherapy and radiation and medications. There had been little hope initially, but Seth had fought hard. When the cancer metastasized to his spine and ribs, they knew the end was near. Dr. Talbert had seen Seth two weeks before he died, and was surprised at how determined he was to keep going. But the pain was intense. He increased the oral dosage of Demerol to a hundred milligrams every three to four hours. Seth preferred not to take the Demerol because the drug often made him drowsy; in fact, he said more than once that he tried to survive each day without pain meds. Dr. Talbert did not know how many tablets
Seth actually took. In the past two months, he had prescribed two hundred.