Sycamore Row - John Grisham

clients with the greatest interests. Divide the work any way you want—I wouldn’t dare
give advice,” he said gravely, advising. “I’m not trying to muzzle anyone. You have the
right to advocate for your client or clients. Each of you may call your own witnesses and
cross-examine those called by the proponents. But the first time you start repeating
what’s already been said, as lawyers have a natural inclination to do, you can expect
swift intervention from up here. I will not tolerate it. Are we on the same page?”
They certainly were, for the moment anyway.
He jammed the reading glasses back onto his nose and looked at his notes. “Let’s talk
about exhibits,” he said. They spent an hour discussing the documents that would be
admitted into evidence and shown to the jury. At Judge Atlee’s heavy-handed insistence,
the handwriting was stipulated to be that of Henry Seth Hubbard. Arguing otherwise
would be a waste of time. The cause of death was stipulated. Four large color photos
were approved. They showed Seth hanging from the tree and eliminated any doubt as to
how he died.
Then Judge Atlee said, “Now, let’s review the witnesses. I see that Mr. Lanier has
added quite a few.”
Jake had been waiting impatiently for over an hour. He tried to keep his cool, but it
was difficult. He said, “Your Honor, I’m going to object to a lot of these witnesses being
allowed to testify at trial. If you’ll look on page six, beginning there and running for a
while, you see the names of forty-five potential witnesses. Looking at their addresses,
I’m assuming these people worked in Mr. Hubbard’s various factories and plants. I don’t
know because I’ve never seen these names before. I’ve checked the latest updated
responses to interrogatories, and of the forty-five, only fifteen or sixteen have ever been
mentioned by the contestants before today. Under the rules, I was entitled to have these
names months ago. It’s called a witness dump, Your Honor. Dump a pile of witnesses on
the table two weeks before the trial, and there’s no way I can possibly talk to them all
and find out what their testimony might be. Forget depositions—it would take another
six months. This is a clear violation of the rules, and it’s underhanded.”
Judge Atlee scowled at the other table and said, “Mr. Lanier?”
Lanier stood and said, “May I stretch my legs, Your Honor? I have a bad knee.”
“Whatever.”
Lanier began pacing in front of his table, limping slightly. Probably a courtroom trick
of some variety, Jake thought.
“Your Honor, this is not underhanded and I resent the accusation. Discovery is always
a work in progress. New names are always popping up. Reluctant witnesses sometimes
come forward at the last minute. One witness remembers another one, or another one,
or he remembers something else that happened. We’ve had investigators digging and
digging for five months now, nonstop, and, frankly, we’ve outworked the other side.
We’ve found more witnesses, and we’re still looking for more. Mr. Brigance has two
weeks to call or go see any witness on my list. Two weeks. No, it’s not a lot of time, but
is there ever enough time? We know there is not. This is the way high-powered litigation
goes, Your Honor. Both sides scramble until the very last moment.” Pacing, limping,
arguing quite effectively, Lanier inspired grudging admiration, though at the same time