Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Not to my knowledge. There was no need for her to do so. Monk was in charge of
that. I’ve never seen Ms. Lang until today.”
Throughout the day, Myron Pankey moved around the courtroom. His job was to
watch the jury constantly, but to do so without being obvious required a number of
tricks. Different seats, different vantage points, a change in sports coats, shielding his
face behind a larger person sitting in front of him, the use of various eyeglasses. He
spent his career in courtrooms, listening to witnesses and watching jurors react to them.
In his learned opinion, Jake had done a steady job of laying out his case. Nothing fancy,
nothing memorable, but no blunders either. The majority of the jurors liked him and
believed that he was searching for the truth. Three apparently did not. Frank Doley,
Number Twelve, was firmly in their corner and would never vote to give all that money
to a black housekeeper. Pankey did not know the tragic story of Doley’s niece, but he
could tell from the opening statements the man distrusted Jake and did not like Lettie.
Number Ten, Debbie Lacker, a fifty-year-old white woman, and quite rural, had shot
several hard looks at Lettie throughout the day, little messages that Myron never missed.
Number Four, Fay Pollan, another fifty-year-old white woman, had actually nodded in
agreement when Dr. Talbert testified that a person on Demerol should not make
important decisions.
As the first day of testimony came to a close, Pankey called it a draw. Two fine
lawyers had performed well and the jurors had not missed a word.
With Ancil unable to talk, Lucien spent the day in a rented car touring glaciers and
fjords in the mountains around Juneau. He was tempted to leave, to hustle back to
Clanton for the trial, but he was also quite taken with the beauty of Alaska, and the cool
air and near-perfect climate. It was already heating up in Mississippi, with longer days
and stickier air. As he ate lunch at a hillside café, the Gastineau Channel stretched
magnificently below him, he made the decision to leave tomorrow, Wednesday.
At some point, and soon, Jake would inform Judge Atlee that Ancil Hubbard had been
located, and verified, though the verification was shaky because the subject might
change his mind at any moment and adopt another alias. Lucien doubted this, though,
because Ancil was thinking about the money. Such a revelation would not affect the
trial. Wade Lanier was right: Ancil had nothing to say about his brother’s will or
testamentary capacity. So Lucien would leave him to his own problems. He suspected
Ancil might serve a few months in prison. If he got lucky and found a good lawyer, he
might walk entirely. Lucien was convinced the search and seizure of the cocaine was a
clear violation of the Fourth Amendment. Suppress the search, eliminate the cocaine,
and Ancil would be free again. If Jake won the trial, Ancil might one day make his longdeferred
return to Ford County and claim his share of the estate.
If Jake lost, Ancil would disappear into the night, never to be found again.