Dunlap picked up some more papers and handed them to Florry. He asked, “Do you recognize this as the inventory you filed in his estate in November of last year?”
“Yes.”
“Once it’s filed it’s public record, right?”
“I suppose. You’re the lawyer.”
“This is true. Now, Miss Banning, if you will, would you please look at the list of assets that you filed in this inventory, paragraph C, second page, and read them to the jury?”
“Why can’t they just read it themselves?”
“Please, Miss Banning.”
Florry made a fuss out of adjusting her reading glasses, flipping a page, locating paragraph C, all performed in obvious frustration. Finally, she said, “Well, number one is Pete’s personal checking account at First State, balance of $1,800. Number two is his farm account, same bank, $5,300. Number three is his savings account, same bank, $7,100. Is that enough?”
“Please read on, Miss Banning,” Dunlap replied patiently.
“A 1946 Ford pickup truck, Pete bought it new when he came home from the war, approximate value of $750. I suppose you want to take that too.”
“Please continue, Miss Banning.”
“His car, a 1939 Pontiac, value of $600.” Joel shifted his weight as he pondered the loss of the car, one he had been driving since last summer.
Florry went on to testify that the estate included two John Deere tractors, some trailers and plows, and other assorted items of farm equipment, all appraised at $9,000. It was indeed a farm, complete with the usual collection of pigs, chickens, cows, goats, mules, and horses, and an auctioneer had placed a value on the animals of $3,000. “Plus or minus a chicken or two,” she said like a real smart-ass.
“And that’s all,” she said. “Unless you want his boots and underwear.”
She explained that Pete owed no money when he died and no claims had been registered against his estate.
“And what’s the value of the Banning mansion?” Dunlap asked loudly.
John Wilbanks bolted to his feet and growled, “Objection, Your Honor! The house is not separate from the land, and the land was deeded to the children. We just had this argument.”
“Indeed we did,” Judge Stratton said, obviously annoyed with Dunlap, who mumbled something like “I’ll withdraw the question.”
Withdrawn or otherwise, the word “mansion” hung in the air. When Florry was excused and stepped down, Joel glanced at the jurors and was not comforted by their faces. The rich guy who lived in the mansion had killed a humble servant of God, and justice was in order.
In the usual course of a wrongful death trial, the defense would contest liability with a parade of witnesses all testifying that the death was not caused by the accused, or that the deceased was at least partially responsible through his own negligence. Not so in Bell v. Estate of Banning. John Wilbanks could offer nothing to create even the slightest doubt about the cause of death, and to attempt such a feeble effort would risk losing what little credibility he had.
Instead, he chose to nibble around the edges of the damages and lighten the impact of the verdict. He called his only witness, another economics expert, and one from California, of all places. Wilbanks believed in the old maxim that, at least in litigation, the farther an expert traveled the more valid his testimony.
His name was Dr. Satterfield and he taught at Stanford. He’d written books and testified a lot. The gist of his testimony was that the total sum of Dexter Bell’s future earnings, whatever figure the jury accepted, must be reduced significantly to show a fair picture of its present value. Using a large colored chart, he tried to explain to the jury that, for example, $1,000 paid each year for ten straight years equals $10,000. Simple enough. But if ten thousand was given in a lump sum right now, the recipient would be able to turn around and invest that money, and the eventual earnings would be much greater. Therefore, it was only fair to reduce the immediate payment — that is, the verdict — to a present value.
Dr. Satterfield explained that this method had been adopted by courts across the country in similar cases. He implied that perhaps Mississippi was a bit behind the curve, and this did not sit well with the jurors. His bottom line, when a “more likely rate of inflation was applied,” was the figure of $41,000 in lost future earnings for the family of Reverend Bell.
John Wilbanks believed that any verdict under $50,000 was survivable. The land could be mortgaged to withstand it. Most farmers were saddled with debt anyway, and with hard work, decent weather, good prices — the daily prayer on every farm — the Bannings could eventually pay off the mortgage. Wilbanks was also counting on the traditional conservatism of rural jurors. People with almost no spare change always found it difficult to award big sums to others.
On cross-examination, Burch Dunlap haggled with Dr. Satterfield over his numbers, and within minutes everyone was confused over present values, discounted values, projected rates of inflation, and structured payouts. The jurors especially seemed baffled, and as Joel watched them drown he realized that Dunlap was intentionally muddying the water.
Late in the afternoon, after the testimony was over and the lawyers had finished their motions and legal posturing, Burch Dunlap rose to address the jury. Without notes and seemingly without forethought, he talked about the gravity of this wrongful death, one not caused by negligence. At times, everyone is negligent, so we can understand why certain accidents happen. We are all human. But this was no accident. This was a well-planned, premeditated, cold-blooded murder. A fatal assault against an unarmed man by a soldier who knew how to kill.
Joel could not take his eyes off the jurors, and they were spellbound by Dunlap.
The damages for such a monstrous deed? Let’s forget about the dead people — Reverend Bell and Pete Banning — and let’s talk about those left behind. He, Dunlap, wasn’t too worried about the Banning family. The two kids were being beautifully educated. Florry, well, she owned her own section of land, free and clear. They’ve had privileged lives. What about Jackie Bell and her three children?
Here, Dunlap digressed into a side story that was nothing short of brilliant. Near tears, he told the jury of how his own father died when he was only six years old, and of the heartbreaking devastation it brought to his mother and siblings. He went on, and when he began to describe the burial and watching his father’s casket disappear into the grave, John Wilbanks finally stood and said, “Please, Your Honor, this has nothing to do with our case.”
Judge Stratton shrugged and said, “It’s a closing argument, Mr. Wilbanks. I give great leeway.”
Dunlap thanked His Honor, then suddenly turned nasty and ridiculed the “wealthy Bannings” for trying to appear broke. They owned “hundreds of acres of rich farmland” while his clients, the Bells, had nothing. Don’t be fooled by the Bannings and their lawyers.
He ridiculed Professor Satterfield from Stanford, and asked the jurors who had a better understanding of life in rural Mississippi — “some bow-tied, pointy-headed liberal professor from California, or Dr. Potter from Ole Miss”?
Dunlap performed beautifully, and when he sat down, Joel felt nauseated.
John Wilbanks never mentioned liability, but chose to argue the numbers. He tried desperately to lowball everything, but the jurors appeared unmoved.
During his rebuttal, Burch Dunlap took off the gloves and demanded punitive damages, damages invoked in only the most offensive cases. Damages fitting here because of Pete Banning’s callous disregard for human life and his complete lack of responsibility.
Judge Stratton had presided over many trials, and he had a hunch this jury would not take long. He sent them away at 6:00 p.m. and adjourned court. An hour later, the jury was ready.