Sycamore Row - John Grisham

corrected Jake in open court on two occasions, with everlasting impressions.
With the pipe stem screwed into the corner of his mouth, Judge Atlee retrieved his
black suit jacket and put it on. Except when he was in court, under a robe, he wore
nothing but black suits. The same black suit. No one knew if he owned twenty, or just
one; they were identical. And he always wore navy-blue suspenders and white starched
shirts, most with a collection of tiny cinder holes from airborne tobacco embers. He took
his position at the end of the table as they talked about Lucien. When Jake finished
unloading his briefcase, he handed over a copy of the inventory.
“Quince Lundy is very good,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t want him looking through my
finances.”
“Probably wouldn’t take that long,” Judge Atlee observed wryly. To many he was a
humorless man, but to those he liked he was occasionally a raging smart-ass.
“No. It wouldn’t.”
For a judge, he said little. Silently, and studiously, he went through the inventory,
page by page as his tobacco burned out and he stopped puffing. Time was of no
consequence because he controlled the clock. At the end, he removed his pipe, put it in
an ashtray, and said, “Twenty-four million, huh?”
“That’s the grand total.”
“Let’s lock this up, okay, Jake? No one should see it, not now anyway. Prepare an
order and I’ll seal this part of the file. God knows what would happen if the public knew
this. It would be front-page news and probably attract even more lawyers. It’ll come out
later, but for now let’s bury it.”
“I agree, Judge.”
“Any word from Sistrunk?”
“No sir, and I’ve got a good source now. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must tell you
that I’ve hired a new intern. Portia Lang, Lettie’s oldest daughter. A bright girl who
thinks she might want to be a lawyer.”
“Smart move, Jake, and I really like that girl.”
“So, no problems?”
“None. I’m not in charge of your office.”
“No conflicts of interest?”
“None that I can see.”
“Me neither. If Sistrunk shows up, or comes slinking around, we’ll know it soon
enough. Simeon is still AWOL, but I suspect he’ll come home eventually. He may be
trouble but he’s not stupid. She’s still his wife.”
“He’ll be back. There’s something else, Jake. The will leaves 5 percent to a brother,
Ancil Hubbard. That makes him an interested party. I’ve read your report and the
affidavits and I understand we’re proceeding as if Ancil is dead. But that troubles me.
Since we don’t know for certain, then we should not assume he is dead.”
“We’ve searched, Judge, but there are no clues anywhere.”
“True, but you’re not a pro, Jake. Here’s my idea. Five percent of this estate is over a
million dollars. It seems prudent to me to take a smaller sum, say fifty thousand or so,
and hire a high-powered detective agency to find him, or find out what happened to