Fritz got an urgent call one day from his sister, who had found an astonishing document. It was a will handwritten by their mother, and in it she left $50,000 in cash to Lettie Lang. Fritz took off from work, sped over to Lake Village, met his sister after hours, and took a look at the will. It had been dated two months prior and signed by Irene Pickering. There was no doubt about the handwriting, though it was a much feebler version of what they had always known. His sister had found the will in a plain envelope stuffed in an old family Bible on a shelf with the kitchen cookbooks. They confronted their mother, who claimed to be too weak to discuss the matter.

At the time, Mrs. Pickering had $110,000 in a certificate of deposit and $18,000 in a checking account. Lettie had access to the monthly statements for these accounts.

The following morning, Fritz and his sister confronted Lettie when she arrived for work. During a nasty row, they claimed she had convinced or even coerced their mother into making the will. She denied any knowledge of it and seemed genuinely surprised, even hurt. They fired her anyway and made her leave the house immediately. They loaded up their mother and drove her to a lawyer’s office in Oxford, where the sister lived. While they waited, the lawyer prepared a two-page will that made no mention of Lettie Lang and left everything to Fritz and his sister, in equal shares, just as they had discussed many times with their mother. She signed it on the spot, died a month later, and the probate went off without a hitch. Fritz and his sister sold the house and property and split the assets evenly without a cross word.

Before Irene died, they quizzed her several times about the handwritten will, but it always upset her and she wouldn’t discuss it. They quizzed her about Lettie Lang, and this made her cry too. Eventually, they stopped these conversations. Truthfully, at the time she signed the will in the lawyer’s office she was not really thinking clearly, and things did not improve before she died.

Over coffee, Clapp listened with growing excitement. With Fritz’s permission, he was recording the conversation and couldn’t wait to play it back for Wade Lanier.

“Did you keep a copy of the handwritten will?”

Fritz shook his head and said, “I don’t recall doing that, and if we did keep it, it’s long gone. I sure don’t know where it would be.”

“Did the lawyer in Oxford keep it?”

“I think so. When we took Mother to see him, we gave him her prior will, one that was prepared by a lawyer in Lake Village, plus the handwritten will, and I’m sure he kept both of them. He said it was important to destroy prior wills because they sometimes show up and cause problems.”

“Do you remember the name of the lawyer in Oxford?”

“Hal Freeman, an old guy who’s since retired. My sister died five years ago and I was the executor of her estate. Freeman had retired by then but his son handled the probate.”

“Did you and the son ever talk about the handwritten will?”

“I don’t think so. I had very little contact with him, really. I try to avoid lawyers, Mr. Clapp. I’ve had some very unpleasant experiences with them.”

Clapp was savvy enough to know he had discovered dynamite, and he was experienced enough to know it was time to back off. Take it slow, share it all with Wade Lanier, and let the lawyer call the shots. Pickering began to inquire into Clapp’s reasons for pursuing Lettie, but was met with a wall of vagueness. They finished lunch and said good-bye.

Wade Lanier listened to the tape with his customary grim face and tight lips. But Lester Chilcott, his associate, could hardly suppress his enthusiasm. After Clapp was excused from Lanier’s office, Chilcott rubbed his hands together and said, “This ball game is over!” Wade eventually smiled.

Step one: No further contact with Pickering. His mother and sister were dead, so he was the only person who could possibly testify about the handwritten will, other than Hal Freeman. Two quick phone calls to Oxford verified that Freeman was retired, still alive, and that his old office was run by his two sons, Todd and Hank. Ignore Pickering, for now. No contact between Lanier’s office and Pickering because it would be important, at a later date, for Pickering to testify he had never spoken to the attorneys.

Step two: Find the handwritten will, at all costs. If it exists, find it, get it. But do so without alerting Hal Freeman, if possible. Find it, before Jake or somebody else does.

Step three: Bury this now and save it for later. The most dramatic and effective use of the handwritten will of Irene Pickering would come at trial, with Lettie Lang on the witness stand and denying any knowledge of the will. Produce it then. Make her a liar. And prove to the jury that conniving her way into wills handwritten by her old and vulnerable bosses was a devious pattern.

Such a strategy was loaded with hazards. The first and most obvious was the basic rules of discovery. Jake had filed interrogatories requiring his adversaries to divulge the identities of all potential witnesses. Lanier and the other lawyers had done the same; it was standard procedure in the new days of wide-open discovery where everything was supposedly transparent. To hide a witness like Fritz Pickering was not only unethical, but also dangerous. Attempting to produce a surprise at trial was often futile. Lanier and Chilcott needed time to plot ways around this rule. There were exceptions, but they were narrow.

Just as troublesome was the plan to find Irene’s handwritten will. There was a chance it had been destroyed, along with a thousand other worthless old files in the Freeman archives. But lawyers generally kept their retired files for longer than ten years, so the odds were decent that the will was still around.

Ignoring Fritz was also problematic. What if another lawyer tracked him down and asked the same questions? If the other lawyer happened to be Jake, then the element of surprise would be lost. Jake would have plenty of time to coach Lettie into testimony that might appease the jury. He could certainly spin the story. And he would rage at the violated discovery rules. Judge Atlee would not be sympathetic.

Lanier and Chilcott debated the idea of contacting Freeman directly. If the will was filed away and gathering dust, Freeman could certainly produce it without someone being forced to steal it. And, he would be a respectable witness at trial. But speaking to Freeman would blow their great secret. As a potential witness, his name would be revealed. The element of surprise would be lost. It might become necessary to approach him later, but for now Wade Lanier and Lester Chilcott were quite content to spin a web of silence and deceit. Cheating was often hard to cover and required meticulous planning, but they were skilled.

Two days later, Randall Clapp entered the Freeman Law Firm and informed the secretary he was there for a four o’clock appointment. The two-man shop was in a converted bungalow one block off the Oxford town square, next door to a savings and loan and just down the street from the federal courthouse. As Clapp waited in the reception area, he flipped through a magazine and took in the surroundings. No video cameras; no security sensors; a dead bolt on the front door; no chains; almost nothing to prevent even a half-witted cat burglar from sneaking in during the night and taking his time. And why would there be? Other than the usual mountain of paperwork, there was nothing of real value in the building.

It was a typical small-town law office, just like a hundred others Clapp had visited. He had already wandered through the rear alley and scoped out the back door. A dead bolt but nothing formidable. His man Erby could walk through either the front or the rear door faster than one of the employees using a key.