he chose to die. The pain was unbearable, the end was near, he simply sped things along. Second, Jake wanted to confront head-on the issue of the side effects of Demerol. Lanier had some heavyweight testimony lined up, an expert who would say the powerful narcotic, taken in the quantities prescribed, seriously impaired Seth’s judgment.
An odd fact in the case was that the last prescription was never found. Seth had purchased it at a pharmacy in Tupelo six days before he died, then he apparently disposed of it; thus, there was no proof of how much or how little he’d actually consumed. At his specific instructions, he was buried without an autopsy. Months earlier, Wade Lanier had suggested, off the record, that the body be exhumed for toxicity tests. Judge Atlee said no; again, off the record. The level of opiates in Seth’s blood on Sunday when he died was not automatically relevant to the level the day before when he wrote his will. Judge Atlee seemed to be particularly offended by the notion of digging up a person after he had been properly laid to rest.
Jake was pleased with his direct examination of Dr. Talbert. They clearly established that Seth tried to avoid taking Demerol, and that there was simply no way to prove how much was in his system when he made his last will.
Wade Lanier managed to get the doctor to admit that a patient taking up to six to eight doses a day of Demerol, at a hundred milligrams each, should not consider making important decisions, especially ones dealing with large sums of money. Such a patient should be somewhere resting comfortably and quietly-no driving, no physical activity, no crucial decision making.
After the doctor was excused, Jake called Arlene Trotter, Seth’s longtime secretary and office manager. She would be his last witness before Lettie, and since they were approaching 5:00 p.m., Jake made the decision to save Lettie for early Wednesday morning. He had spoken to Arlene many times since Seth’s death and was nervous about putting her on the stand. He really had no choice. If he didn’t call her, Wade Lanier certainly would. She had been deposed in early February and had been evasive, in Jake’s opinion. After four hours, he strongly believed she had been coached by Lanier or someone working for him. Nonetheless, she spent more time with Seth the last week of his life than anyone else, and her testimony was crucial.
She appeared terrified as she swore to tell the truth and settled into the seat. She glanced at the jurors, who were watching closely. Jake asked the preliminary questions, the ones with easy and obvious answers, and she seemed to settle down. He established that from Monday through Friday of the week before he died, Seth arrived at his office each morning around nine, which was later than usual. He was generally upbeat and in good spirits until noon, when he took a long nap on the sofa in his office. He wasn’t eating, though Arlene kept offering snacks and sandwiches. He kept smoking-he was never able to stop. As always, he kept his door closed, so Arlene wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. However, he stayed busy that week trying to sell three tracts of timberland in South Carolina. He was on the phone a lot, which was not unusual. At least once an hour, he left the building and went for a stroll around the premises. He stopped and talked to some of his employees. He flirted with Kamila, the girl at the front desk. Arlene knew he was in great pain because at times he couldn’t hide it, though he never, ever admitted this. He let it slip once that he was taking Demerol, though she never saw the bottle of pills.
No, he was not glassy-eyed. He did not slur his speech. At times he was fatigued, and he napped often. Usually, he left around three or four.
Jake was able to paint the picture of a man still in charge, the boss at work as if all was well. For five consecutive days before he wrote a new will, Seth Hubbard was at the office, on the phone, tending to his business.
Wade Lanier began his cross-examination with “Let’s talk about this timberland in South Carolina, Ms. Trotter. Did Seth Hubbard sell these three tracts of land?”
“Yes sir, he did.”
“And when?”
“On that Friday morning.”
“The Friday morning before he wrote his will on Saturday, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Did he sign any sort of contract?”
“He did. It was faxed to my desk and I took it to him. He signed it, and I faxed it back to the attorneys in Spartanburg.”
Lanier picked up a document and said, “Your Honor, I have here Exhibit C-5, which has already been stipulated to and admitted.”
Judge Atlee said, “Proceed.”
Lanier handed the document to Arlene and said, “Could you please identify that?”
“Yes sir. It’s the contract Seth signed on Friday morning, selling the three tracts of land in South Carolina.”
“And how much was Seth to receive?”
“A total of $810,000.”
“Eight ten. Now, Ms. Trotter, how much did Seth pay for this timberland?”
She paused for a moment, glanced nervously at the jurors, and said, “You have the paperwork, Mr. Lanier.”
“Of course.” Lanier produced three more exhibits, all of which had been marked and admitted beforehand. There were no surprises here; Jake and Lanier had haggled over the exhibits and documents for weeks. Judge Atlee had long since ruled them admissible.
Arlene slowly reviewed the exhibits as the courtroom waited. Finally, she said, “Mr. Hubbard purchased this land in 1985 and paid a total of one point one million.”
Lanier scribbled this down as if it were new. Peering over his reading glasses, with his eyebrows arched in disbelief, he said, “A loss of $300,000!”
“Apparently so.”
“And this was only twenty-four hours before he made his handwritten will?”
Jake was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation on the part of the witness. Counsel can save it for his closing argument.”
“Sustained.”
Lanier ignored the commotion and zeroed in on the witness. “Any idea, Ms. Trotter, why Seth would do such a bad deal?”
Jake rose again. “Objection, Your Honor. More speculation.”
“Sustained.”
“Was he thinking clearly, Ms. Trotter?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
Lanier paused and flipped a page of notes. “Now, Ms. Trotter, who was in charge of cleaning the office building where you and Seth worked?”
“A man named Monk.”
“Okay, tell us about Monk.”
“He’s a longtime employee at the lumber yard, sort of a general helper who does all sorts of odd jobs, mainly cleaning. He also paints, fixes everything, even washed Mr. Hubbard’s vehicles.”
“How often does Monk clean the offices?”
“Every Monday and Thursday morning, from nine until eleven, without fail, for many years now.”
“Did he clean the offices on Thursday, September 29, of last year?”
“He did.”
“Has Lettie Lang ever cleaned the offices?”
“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,
