When Clapp found her she was living in subsidized housing with her two teenagers and a younger sister, and she was working part-time for an oil jobber. Initially, she had little interest in talking to an unknown white man. Clapp, though, did this for a living and was adept at extracting information. He offered her $200 in cash, plus lunch, for one hour of her time and direct answers to his questions. They met at a truck stop and ordered the special, baked chicken. Clapp, a simmering racist who would never be tempted to chase a black woman, struggled to control his thoughts. This one was a knockout—beautiful dark skin with a touch of cream, hazel eyes that penetrated to the core, high African cheekbones, perfect teeth that revealed an easy, seductive smile. She was reserved and her eyebrows were perpetually arched, as if she suspected every word he uttered.

He didn’t tell her much, not at first anyway. He said he was involved in some high-powered litigation with Seth Hubbard on the other side, and he knew they had a history. Yes, he was digging for dirt.

She had it. Seth had come on to her like an eighteen-year-old sailor on shore leave. At the time, she was thirty-four and in the late stages of a bad divorce. She was fragile and frightened about her future. She had no interest in a sixty-six-year-old white man who smelled like an ashtray, regardless of how many companies he owned. But he was persistent and spent a lot of his time at the Thomasville factory. He gave her a substantial raise and moved her to a desk near his office. He fired the old secretary and appointed Julina as his “executive assistant.” She could not type.

He owned two furniture factories in Mexico and needed to visit them. He arranged for Julina to obtain a passport and asked her if she wanted to accompany him. She took it more as a demand than an invitation. But she had never left the country and was mildly intrigued by the notion of seeing a bit of the world, even though she knew a compromise would be involved.

“I doubt if Seth was the first white man to chase you,” Clapp said.

She smiled slightly, nodded her head, and said, “No. It does happen.” Again, Clapp tried to control his thoughts. Why was she still single? And living in a subsidized apartment? Any woman, black or white, with her looks and figure could parlay them into a much better life.

Her first trip on an airplane was to Mexico City. They checked into a luxury hotel—two adjoining rooms. The dreaded knock on her door came that night, and she opened it. Afterward, lying in bed with him, she was disgusted by what she had done. Sex for money. At the moment, she was nothing but a prostitute. She bit her tongue, though, and as soon as he disappeared the next day she took a cab to the airport. When he returned a week later, she was fired on the spot and escorted out of the office by an armed guard. She hired a lawyer who slapped a sexual harassment claim on Seth, whose own lawyer was horrified by the facts. They quickly capitulated and wanted to settle. After some haggling, Seth agreed to a lump sum payment of $125,000 in a confidential deal. Her lawyer kept $25,000, and she had been living off the rest. She wasn’t supposed to reveal that to anyone, but what the hell. It had been five years.

“Don’t worry, Seth’s dead,” Clapp said, then told her the rest of the story. She listened as she chewed the elastic chicken and washed it down with sugared iced tea. She had no feelings for Seth and did not pretend to. She had practically forgotten about the old man.

“Did he ever say anything about preferring black women?”

“He said he didn’t discriminate,” she said, slower now. “He said I wasn’t the first black one.”

“When did he say these things?”

“Pillow talk, you know? I’m not getting involved in a lawsuit.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Clapp tried to reassure her, but she was even more careful. Clapp knew he had once again stumbled onto something huge but played it cool. “But I’m sure the lawyers I work for would be willing to pay for your testimony.”

“Is that legal?”

“Of course it’s legal. Lawyers pay for testimony all the time. Every expert charges a fortune. Plus they fly you up there and cover your expenses.”

“How much?”

“Don’t know but we can talk about it later. Can I ask you something that’s, well, rather delicate?”

“Oh why not? What have we not discussed?”

“When you were with Seth, how was he, know what I mean? He was sixty-six then, and he hired this black housekeeper a couple of years later. This was long before he got sick. The old boy was getting on in years, but sounds like he was fairly frisky, you know?”

“He was all right. I mean, for a man his age he was pretty good.” She said this as though she’d had many, and of all ages. “I got the impression he just wanted to hole up in the room and screw for a week. That’s kind of impressive for an old guy, black or white.”

Wade Lanier was having a beer in the men’s grill at the country club when Clapp tracked him down. He teed off every Sunday morning at precisely 7:45 with the same three pals, played eighteen holes, usually won more money than he lost, then drank beer for a couple of hours over poker. He quickly forgot about the cards and the beer and made Clapp repeat every word of his conversation with Julina Kidd.

Most of what she said would not be admissible in court; however, the fact that she could take the stand, let the jury absorb her ethnicity, and chat about her claim for sexual harassment at the hands of Seth Hubbard would sway any white jury to believe the old guy and Lettie were probably doing business. They would believe that Lettie had gotten as close as humanly possible, and she had influenced him. She had used her body to work her way into his will. Lanier couldn’t prove it by a preponderance of evidence, but he could certainly imply it in a powerful way.

He left the country club and drove to his office.

Early Monday morning, Ian and Ramona Dafoe drove three hours from Jackson to Memphis and had a late breakfast with Herschel. Their relationship had deteriorated and it was time to patch things up, or that’s what Ramona said anyway. They were on the same side; it was foolish for them to bicker and distrust one another. They met at a pancake house, and, after the usual efforts at reconciliation, Ian launched into a strong-armed plea for Herschel to ditch Stillman Rush and his firm. His lawyer, Wade Lanier, was far more experienced, and, frankly, was worried that Rush would be a hindrance at trial. He was a pretty boy, too showy, cocky, and likely to alienate the jury. Lanier had watched him closely now for over four months and did not like what he saw. There was a big ego and not much talent. Trials can be won or lost by the arrogance of a lawyer, and Wade Lanier was worried sick. He was even threatening to bail out.

And there was more. As evidence of the inequality of their lawyers, Ian revealed the story of the other will and its attempted bequest of $50,000 to Lettie. He did not name names because he didn’t want Stillman Rush to screw up things. Herschel was stunned, but also thrilled. But wait—it gets better. Now Wade Lanier had found a black woman who sued Seth for sexual harassment.

Look at what my lawyer is doing, and compare it to yours. Your boy is not in the game, Herschel. Lanier understands guerrilla warfare; your lawyer is a Boy Scout. Let’s join forces here. Lanier even has a deal to offer: if we come together, get rid of Rush, and allow Lanier to represent both of us, he’ll cut his fee to 25 percent of any settlement. He has a strategy to force a settlement, especially in light of what his chief investigator is digging up. He’ll pick the right moment and spring it all on Jake Brigance, who’ll crack under the pressure. We can have the money within a few months!