Sycamore Row - John Grisham

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.”