Dewayne Squire was the vice president of Berring Lumber Company. On the Thursday before the suicide, he and Seth had engaged in a disagreement over a large shipment of heart pine to a flooring company in Texas. Squire had negotiated the deal, and was surprised to learn that his boss then called the company and negotiated another deal at a lower price. Back and forth they went throughout that Thursday morning. Both men were upset, both convinced they were right, but at some point Squire realized that Seth was not himself. Arlene Trotter was out of the office and missed the conflict. At one point, Squire entered Seth’s office and found him with his head in his hands, claiming to be dizzy and nauseous. They spoke later and Seth had forgotten the details of the contract. He claimed Squire had negotiated a price that was too low, and they argued again. By the time Seth left around 3:00 p.m. the deal was done and Berring would eventually lose about $10,000. To Squire’s recollection, it was the largest loss on any customer contract Seth was ever involved in.
He described his boss as being disoriented and erratic. The following morning he sold the timberland in South Carolina for a substantial loss.
Jake was well aware that Wade Lanier was pushing hard now and trying to get the case to the jury before the weekend. Jake needed to stall, so on cross-examination he pulled out the Berring financials and walked Squire through them. Nineteen eighty-eight was the most profitable year of the last five, though revenues dipped in the last quarter, after Seth’s death. As the jurors faded away, Jake and Squire talked about the company’s performance, its contracts, strategies, costs, labor problems, plant depreciation. Twice His Honor said, “Move along, Mr. Brigance,” but he didn’t push too hard. Mr. Brigance was already unhappy with him.
After Dewayne Squire, Lanier called to the stand a Mr. Dewberry, a land broker who specialized in farms and hunting clubs. He told the story of dealing with Seth in the days before he died. Seth had been interested in buying five hundred acres in Tyler County for a hunting club. He and Dewberry had been looking at land for the past five years, but Seth would never pull the trigger. He finally paid for a one-year option on the five hundred acres, then got sick and lost interest. As the option was about to expire, he called Dewberry several times. Dewberry did not know Seth was dying, nor did he have any idea he was on painkillers. One day Seth wanted to exercise the option; the next day he did not. Several times he could not remember the price per acre, and on one occasion forgot who he was talking to on the phone. His behavior became more and more erratic.
On cross, Jake managed to stall even more. By late Thursday afternoon, the trial had ground to a near halt, and Judge Atlee adjourned early.
46
After butting heads with the Memphis bureaucracy, Ozzie was about to quit when he remembered something he should have thought of sooner. He phoned Booker Sistrunk, whose office was four blocks from the city jail. After a rough beginning, the two had kept in touch, and over the months had visited on two occasions when Ozzie was in Memphis. Booker had not been back to Clanton and wasn’t keen to return. Both realized that two black men, living sixty minutes apart and with some measure of power in a white world, should find common ground. They should be friends. Of particular interest to Booker was the fact that he still had $55,000 on loan to the Langs, and he wanted to protect his money.
The Memphis police loathed Booker Sistrunk, but they were also afraid of him. Fifteen minutes after he arrived in his black Rolls, paperwork was hopping from one desk to another with Lucien Wilbanks a high priority. He walked out thirty minutes after Booker walked in. “We need to go to the airport,” Lucien said.
Ozzie thanked Booker and promised to catch up later.
As the story unfolded, Lucien had left his briefcase on the airplane. He thought it was under the seat, but it could have been in the overhead compartment. Regardless, the flight attendants were idiots for not finding it. They were much too concerned with dragging him off the airplane. Ozzie and Prather listened and fumed as they raced to the airport. Lucien looked and smelled like a skid row bum they’d picked up for vagrancy.
American’s lost and found had no record of a briefcase being turned in on the flight from Atlanta. Reluctantly, the lone clerk began the task of trying to find it. Lucien found an airport lounge and ordered a pint of ale. Ozzie and Prather had a bad buffet lunch on a busy concourse, not far from the lounge. They were trying to keep an eye on their passenger. They called Jake’s office but there was no answer. It was almost 3:00 p.m., and he was obviously tied up in court.
The briefcase was located in Minneapolis. Because Ozzie and Prather were law enforcement officers, American was by then treating the briefcase as if it were valuable evidence and crucial to an important investigation, when in reality it was a battered old leather bag with a few notepads, some magazines, some cheap soap and matches taken from the Glacier Inn in Juneau, and one videocassette tape. After a lot of uncertainty and haggling, a plan was put into place to route it back to Memphis as soon as possible. If all went well, it would arrive around midnight.
Ozzie thanked the clerk and went to find Lucien. As they were leaving the airport, Lucien came to life and said, “Say, my car is here. I’ll just meet you guys in Clanton.”
Ozzie said, “No, Lucien, you’re drunk. You cannot drive.”
Lucien angrily replied, “Ozzie, we’re in Memphis and you got no jurisdiction here. Kiss my ass! I’ll do any damn thing I want to do.”
Ozzie threw up his hands and walked away with Prather. They tried to follow Lucien as they left Memphis at rush hour, but couldn’t keep up with the dirty little Porsche as he weaved dangerously through heavy traffic. They drove on to Clanton, to Jake’s office, and arrived there just before seven. Jake was waiting for the debriefing.
The only slightly good news in an otherwise dreadful and frustrating day was Lucien’s arrest for public drunkenness and resisting arrest. It would kill any talk of a possible reinstatement to the practice of law, but at the moment that was small satisfaction, something Jake could not even mention. Other than that, things were as grim as they could possibly be.
Two hours later, Jake drove to Lucien’s house. As he pulled in to the driveway, he noticed the Porsche wasn’t there. He spoke briefly to Sallie on the front porch and she promised to call as soon as he came home.
Miraculously, Lucien’s briefcase arrived in Memphis at midnight. Deputy Willie Hastings picked it up and drove to Clanton.
At 7:30 Friday morning, Jake, Harry Rex, and Ozzie gathered in the conference room downstairs and locked the door. Jake inserted the cassette into his video recorder and turned down the lights. The words Juneau, Alaska … April 5, 1989 appeared on the television screen, then disappeared after a few seconds. Jared Wolkowicz introduced himself and explained what they were doing. Lucien introduced himself and said that this was a deposition and he would be asking the questions. He looked clear-eyed, sober. He introduced Ancil F. Hubbard, who was sworn in by the court reporter.
Small, frail, his head as slick as a white onion, he was wearing Lucien’s black suit and white shirt, both several sizes too big. There was a bandage on the back of his head, and a strip of the adhesive tape holding it was barely visible above his right ear. He swallowed hard, looked at the camera as if in terror, then said, “My name is Ancil F. Hubbard. I live in Juneau, Alaska, but I was born in Ford County, Mississippi, on August first, 1922. My father was Cleon Hubbard, my mother Sarah Belle, my brother Seth. Seth was five years older than me. I was born on the family farm, near Palmyra. I left home when I was sixteen and never went back. Never. Never wanted to. Here’s my story.”
When the screen went blank fifty-eight minutes later, the three men sat for a while and stared at it. It was not something they ever wanted to see or hear again, but that would not be the case. Finally, slowly, Jake rose and pushed the eject button. “We’d better go see the judge.”
“Can you get it admitted?” Ozzie asked.
“No way in hell,” Harry Rex said. “I can think of ten different ways to keep it out, and not a single way to get it in.”
“All we can do is try,” Jake said. He raced across the street, his heart pounding, his mind spinning. The other lawyers were milling around the courtroom, happy it was Friday and eager to get home with a major win under their belts. Jake spoke briefly to Judge Atlee and said it was urgent the lawyers meet in his office down the hall where there was a television and a VCR. When they were assembled there, around the table, and when His Honor had filled and lit his pipe, Jake explained what he was doing. “The deposition was given two days ago. Lucien was there and asked some questions.”
“Didn’t know he was a lawyer again,” Wade Lanier said.
“Hang on,” Jake said dismissively. “Let’s watch the tape, then we can fight.”
“How long is it?” asked the judge.
“About an hour.”
Lanier said, “This is a waste of time, Judge. You can’t admit this deposition if I wasn’t there and didn’t have the chance to examine the witness. This is absurd.”
Jake said, “We have time, Your Honor. What’s the rush?”
Judge Atlee puffed away. He looked at Jake, and, with a twinkle in his eye, said, “Play it.”
For Jake, the second time through the video was just as gut grinding as the first. Things he wasn’t sure he heard right the first time were confirmed. He glanced repeatedly at Wade Lanier, whose indignation wore off as the story overwhelmed him. By the end, he seemed deflated. All of the lawyers for the contestants had been transformed. Their cockiness had vanished.
When Jake removed the tape, Judge Atlee kept staring at the blank screen. He relit his pipe and exhaled a gust of smoke. “Mr. Lanier?”
“Well, Judge, it’s patently inadmissible. I wasn’t there. I didn’t have the chance to examine or cross-examine the witness. Not really fair, you know?”
Jake blurted, “So it’s in keeping with the spirit of this trial. A surprise witness here, an ambush there. I thought you understood these tricks, Wade.”
“I’ll ignore that. It’s not a proper deposition, Judge.”
Jake said, “But what could you ask him? He’s describing events that happened before you were born, and he’s the only surviving witness. It would be impossible for you to cross-examine him. You know nothing about what happened.”
Lanier said, “It’s not properly certified by the court reporter. That lawyer in Alaska is not licensed to practice in Mississippi. I could go on and on.”
“Fine. I’ll withdraw it as a deposition and offer it as an affidavit. A statement given by a witness sworn before a notary public. The court reporter was also a notary public.”
Lanier said, “It has nothing to do with Seth Hubbard’s testamentary capacity on October 1 of last year.”
Jake countered, “Oh, I think it explains everything, Wade. It proves without a doubt that Seth Hubbard knew exactly what he was doing. Come on, Judge, you’re letting everything else in for the jury to hear.”
“That’s enough,” Judge Atlee said sternly. He closed his eyes and seemed to meditate for a moment. He breathed deeply as his pipe went out. When he opened his eyes he said, “Gentlemen, I think the jury should meet Ancil Hubbard.”