Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“I did ten years ago, but then I always hate the jerk on the other side. That’s what
makes me so mean. I get over it eventually. Hate him or love him, he wrote a will
before he died and the law has got to support that will, if in fact it’s valid.”
“Is it valid?”
“That’s up to the jury. And it’ll be attacked from every direction.”
“How would you attack the will?”
Harry Rex sat back and swung an ankle over a knee. “Been thinkin’ about that. First,
I’d hire me some experts, some medical guys who’ll testify that Seth was drugged up
with painkillers, that his body was ravaged by lung cancer and because of all the chemo
and radiation and medications that he’d been hit with over the past year he couldn’t’ve
been thinkin’ clearly. He was in horrible pain, and I’d hire me another expert to describe
what pain can do to the thought process. Don’t know where these experts are, but, hell,
you can hire an expert to say anything. Keep in mind, Jake, the average juror in this
county barely finished high school. Not that sophisticated. Get a slick expert or a whole
team of them and the jury can really get confused. Hell, I could make Seth Hubbard look
like a slobbering idiot as he was stickin’ his head through that noose. Don’t you have to
be crazy to hang yourself?”
“Can’t answer that.”
“Second. Seth had zipper problems, couldn’t keep his pants on. Don’t know if he ever
crossed the color line, but maybe he did. If a white jury sniffs even the slightest
suspicion that Seth was gettin’ somethin’ more than hot food and starched shirts from his
housekeeper, then they’ll be quick to turn against Miss Lettie.”
“They can’t drag up a dead man’s sex life.”
“True, but they can nibble around the edges of Lettie’s. They can imply, infer,
exaggerate, and use all manner of loose language. If she takes the witness stand, which
she’s bound to do, she becomes fair game.”
“She has to testify.”
“Of course she does. And here’s the kicker, Jake. It really doesn’t matter what is said
in court or who says it. The truth is that if Booker Sistrunk is in that courtroom rantin’
and showin’ his black ass in front of a white jury, then your chances are zero.”
“I’m not sure I care that much.”
“You have to care. It’s your job. It’s a big trial. And it’s a fat fee. You’re workin’ by the
hour now, and gettin’ paid, and that’s rare in our world, Jake. If this thing goes to trial,
then an appeal and so on, you’ll make a half-million bucks over the next three years.
How many DUIs you gotta do to make that kinda money?”
“Hadn’t thought about the fee.”
“Well, every other ambulance chaser in town certainly has. It’ll be generous. A
windfall for a street lawyer like you. But you need to win, Jake, and to win you gotta
get rid of Sistrunk.”
“How?”
“I’m thinkin’ about that too. Just give me some time. Some damage has already been
done with that damned picture in the paper, and you can bet Doofus’ll do it again next
hearing. We gotta get Sistrunk bounced as soon as possible.”