Sycamore Row - John Grisham

evealed. The element of surprise would be lost. It might become necessary to approach
him later, but for now Wade Lanier and Lester Chilcott were quite content to spin a web
of silence and deceit. Cheating was often hard to cover and required meticulous
planning, but they were skilled.
Two days later, Randall Clapp entered the Freeman Law Firm and informed the
secretary he was there for a four o’clock appointment. The two-man shop was in a
converted bungalow one block off the Oxford town square, next door to a savings and
loan and just down the street from the federal courthouse. As Clapp waited in the
reception area, he flipped through a magazine and took in the surroundings. No video
cameras; no security sensors; a dead bolt on the front door; no chains; almost nothing to
prevent even a half-witted cat burglar from sneaking in during the night and taking his
time. And why would there be? Other than the usual mountain of paperwork, there was
nothing of real value in the building.
It was a typical small-town law office, just like a hundred others Clapp had visited. He
had already wandered through the rear alley and scoped out the back door. A dead bolt
but nothing formidable. His man Erby could walk through either the front or the rear
door faster than one of the employees using a key.
Clapp met with Todd Freeman and discussed some land he wanted to buy west of
town, along the main highway. He used his real name, real job, and real business card,
but lied when he said he and his brother wanted to put in an all-night truck stop. The
legal work would be routine and Todd seemed sufficiently interested. Clapp asked to use
the restroom and was sent down the narrow hall. Retractable staircase; at least two
cluttered rooms chock-full of files; a small kitchen with a broken window, no lock. No
security sensors anywhere. Piece of cake.
Erby entered the building just after midnight while Clapp sat low in his car across the
street and watched for trouble. It was January 18, cold, a Wednesday, and the students
were not out on the town. The square was dead, and Clapp’s biggest fear was getting
noticed by a bored policeman. Once Erby was inside, he checked in by radio. All was
quiet and still. Using his trusty jack-blade, he had picked the rear door dead bolt in
seconds. With an infrared penlight, he eased through the offices; not a single interior
door was locked. The retractable stairs were flimsy and squeaked, but he managed to
pull them down with little racket. He stood in the front window, spoke to Clapp by
radio, and Clapp could not see his shadow inside. Wearing gloves and disturbing
nothing, Erby began in one of the storage rooms. It would take hours and he was in no
hurry. He opened drawers, looked at files, dates, names, and so on, and in doing so
touched documents that had not been touched in weeks, months, maybe years. Clapp
moved his car to a lot on the other side of the square and walked through the alleys. At
1:00 a.m., Erby opened the rear door and Clapp entered the building. Erby said, “Every
room has file cabinets. Looks like the current files are kept in the lawyers’ offices, some
by the secretaries.”
“What about these two rooms?” Clapp asked.
“The files date back about five years. Some are retired, some not. I’m still looking. I
haven’t finished the second room. There’s a large basement filled with old furniture,