Sycamore Row - John Grisham

settlement. He has a strategy to force a settlement, especially in light of what his chief
investigator is digging up. He’ll pick the right moment and spring it all on Jake
Brigance, who’ll crack under the pressure. We can have the money within a few months!
Herschel held his ground for a while, but eventually agreed to drive to Jackson and
meet with Lanier in secret.
Simeon Lang was finishing Monday’s dinner of pork and beans from a can and four
slices of stale white bread when the jailer appeared and stuck a package through the
bars. “Happy reading,” he said and walked away. It was from the law offices of Harry
Rex Vonner.
Inside was a letter from the lawyer, addressed to Simeon, care of the Ford County jail,
and the letter tersely announced to Simeon that what followed was a Complaint for
Divorce. He had thirty days to respond.
He read it slowly. What was the hurry? Habitual cruel and inhuman treatment;
adultery; desertion; physical abuse. Page after page of allegations, some of them wild,
some of them true. What difference did it make? He’d killed two boys and was headed to
Parchman for a long time. His life was over. Lettie needed someone else. She hadn’t
been to see him since they locked him up, and he doubted she would ever visit. Not here,
not in Parchman. Portia had stopped by to say hello but didn’t hang around too long.
“What’re you reading?” asked Denny from the top bunk. Denny was his new cell mate
who’d been caught driving a stolen car. Simeon was already tired of him. He preferred
living alone, though at times it was almost pleasant having someone to talk to.
“My wife just filed for divorce,” he said.
“Lucky you. I’ve had two of them already. They get kinda crazy when you’re in jail.”
“If you say so. You ever had a restrainin’ order?”
“No, but my brother did. Bitch convinced a judge he was dangerous, which he was,
and a judge told him to stay away from the house and keep his distance in public. Didn’t
bother him. Killed her anyway.”
“Your brother killed his wife?”
“Yep, but she had it coming. It was justifiable homicide, but the jury didn’t exactly see
it that way. Found him guilty of second-degree.”
“Where is he?”
“Angola, Louisiana, twenty years. That’s about what you’ll get, accordin’ to my
lawyer.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Yeah, I asked him this afternoon when I saw him. He knows about your case, said the
whole town is talkin’ about it, said folks are really upset. Said your wife’s about to get
rich from this big will contest but your ass’ll be locked away for the next twenty years.
By the time you get out all the money’ll be gone, what with all the new friends she’s got.
That true?”
“Ask your lawyer.”