At 11:00 a.m., after almost two hours on the stand, Jake tendered the witness for cross-examination. During a quick recess, he told Lettie she did a fabulous job. Portia was thrilled and very proud; her mother had kept her composure and been convincing. Harry Rex, who’d been watching from the back row, said her testimony could not have been better.
By noon, their case was in shambles.
He was certain harboring a fugitive was against the law in every state, including Alaska, so jail time was a possibility, though Lucien wasn’t worried about that at the moment. He woke up at sunrise, stiff from sleeping off and on in a chair. Ancil had the bed, all of it. He had volunteered to sleep on the floor or in a chair, but Lucien was concerned about his head injuries and insisted he take the bed. A painkiller knocked him out, and for a long time Lucien sat in the dark, nursing his last Jack and Coke, listening to the old boy snore.
He dressed quietly and left the room. The lobby of the hotel was deserted. There were no cops poking around, searching for Ancil. Down the street he bought coffee and muffins and hauled them back to the room, where Ancil was awake now and watching the local news. “Not a word,” he reported.
“No surprise,” Lucien said. “I doubt if they’ve brought in the bloodhounds.”
They ate, took turns showering and dressing, and at 8:00 a.m. left the room. Ancil was wearing Lucien’s black suit, white shirt, paisley tie, and the same cap pulled low to hide his face. They hurriedly walked three blocks to the law office of Jared Wolkowicz, a lawyer referred by Bo Buck at the Glacier Inn bar. Lucien had visited Mr. Wolkowicz late the day before, retained him, and organized the deposition. A court reporter and a videographer were waiting in the conference room. At one end of the table, Mr. Wolkowicz stood, raised his right hand, repeated after the court reporter, and swore to tell the truth, then sat facing the camera. He said, “Good morning. My name is Jared Wolkowicz and I’m an attorney, duly licensed by the State of Alaska. Today is Wednesday, April 5, 1989, and I’m sitting here in my law office on Franklin Street in downtown Juneau, Alaska. Here with me is Lucien Wilbanks, of Clanton, Mississippi, and also a man by the name of Ancil F. Hubbard, who currently resides in Juneau. The purpose of the deposition is to record the testimony of Mr. Hubbard. I know nothing about the case that brings us here. My role is to simply vouch for the fact that this will be an accurate recording of what takes place here. If any of the lawyers or judges involved in this matter would like to speak to me, feel free to call.”
Wolkowicz left the chair and Lucien stepped forward. He was sworn by the court reporter, then likewise sat facing the camera. He said, “My name is Lucien Wilbanks and I’m well known to Judge Atlee and the lawyers involved in the contest over the last will and testament of Seth Hubbard. Working with Jake Brigance and others, I have been able to locate Ancil Hubbard. I have spent several hours with Ancil and there is no doubt in my mind that he is in fact the surviving brother of Seth Hubbard. He was born in Ford County in 1922. His father was Cleon Hubbard. His mother was Sarah Belle Hubbard. In 1928, his father, Cleon, hired my grandfather Robert E. Lee Wilbanks to represent him in a land dispute. That dispute is relevant today. Here is Ancil Hubbard.”
Lucien vacated the chair and Ancil took it. He raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth.
Wade Lanier began his toxic cross-examination by asking about Simeon. Why was he in jail? Had he been indicted? How often had she visited him? Was he contesting the divorce? It was a harsh but effective way to remind the jurors that the father of Lettie’s five children was a drunk who’d killed the Roston boys. After five minutes, Lettie was wiping tears, and Lanier looked like a prick. He didn’t care. With her emotions in play, and her judgment temporarily impaired, he quickly switched gears and laid his trap.
“Now, Ms. Lang, prior to being employed by Mr. Hubbard, where did you work?”
Lettie wiped a cheek with the back of a hand and tried to collect her thoughts. “Uh, that was Mr. and Mrs. Tingley, here in Clanton.”
“What type of work?”
“Housekeeper.”
“How long did you work for them?”
“I don’t know exactly, but about three years.”
“And why did you leave their employment?”
“They died. Both of them.”
“Did they leave you any money in their wills?”
“If they did, nobody ever told me.” This got a few smiles from the jurors.
Wade Lanier missed the humor. He continued, “And before the Tingleys, where did you work?”
“Uh, before that, I worked as a cook in the school in Karaway.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe two years.”
“And why did you leave there?”
“I got the job with the Tingleys and I’d rather work as a housekeeper than a cook.”
“Okay. Before the job at the school, where did you work?”
She was silent as she tried to remember. Finally, she said, “Before the school, I worked for Mrs. Gillenwater, here in Clanton, as a housekeeper.”
“And for how long?”
“About a year, then she moved away.”
“Before Mrs. Gillenwater, where did you work?”
“Ummm, that would be the Glovers, in Karaway.”
“And for how long?”
“Again, I can’t remember exactly, but it was three or four years.”
“Okay, I’m not trying to nail down specifics, Ms. Lang. Just remember things as best you can, all right?”
“Yes sir.”
“And before the Glovers, where did you work?”
“That was Miss Karsten, here in town. I worked for her six years. She was my favorite. I never wanted to leave her but she died suddenly.”
“Thank you.” Lanier scribbled on his legal pad as if he was learning something new. “Now, just to summarize, Ms. Lang, you worked for Mr. Hubbard for three years, the Tingleys three, the school two, Mrs. Gillenwater one, the Glovers three or four, and six years for Miss Karsten. According to my math, that’s approximately twenty years. Does that sound about right?”
“It does, give or take a year here, a year there,” Lettie said, confidently.
“And you’ve had no other employers in the past twenty or so years?”
She shook her head. No.
Lanier was going somewhere, but Jake couldn’t stop him. The inflections of his voice, the slight hints of suspicion, the arched eyebrows, the matter-of-factness of his sentences. He was trying to disguise all these, but to Jake’s trained ears and eyes they meant trouble.
“That’s six employers in twenty years, Ms. Lang. How many times were you fired?”
“None. I mean I was terminated after Mr. Hubbard died, and Miss Karsten got sick, and Mr. and Mrs. Tingley passed, but that was just because the job sorta played out, you know?”
“You’ve never been fired for doing a bad job, or for doing something wrong?”
“No sir. Never.”
Lanier abruptly backed away from the podium, looked up at Judge Atlee, and said, “That’s all, Judge. I reserve the right to recall this witness later in the trial.” He walked smugly to his table, and, at the last second, Jake saw him wink at Lester Chilcott.
Lettie had just lied, and Lanier was about to expose her. Jake, though, had no idea what was coming; thus, he had no way to prevent it. His instincts were to get her off the witness stand. He stood and said, “Your Honor, the proponents rest.”
Judge Atlee said, “Do you have some witnesses, Mr. Lanier?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then call the first one.”
“The contestants call Mr. Fritz Pickering.”
“Who?” Jake blurted.
“Fritz Pickering,” Lanier repeated loudly and sarcastically, as if Jake were hard of hearing.
