Since Joel and Stella were named defendants in the case, they were required to attend. They sat at the defense table with a Wilbanks on each side and tried to ignore Jackie Bell at the other table. They were trying to ignore a lot of things — the crowd behind them, the stares from the clerks and lawyers, the fear of being sued and pursued — but the real horror of the moment was the fact that they were seated at a table that was about twenty feet from where their father had been electrocuted eleven months earlier. The entire courtroom, and courthouse for that matter, was a dark, wretched place that they wished to never see again.
Rumbold frowned at Burch Dunlap and said, “I’ll allow some very brief opening remarks. For the plaintiff.”
Burch stood and held a notepad. “Yes, thanks, Your Honor. Now, most of the facts have been stipulated, so I don’t have a lot of witnesses. On September 16 of 1946, some three weeks before the unfortunate death of the Reverend Dexter Bell, the late husband of my client, Mr. Pete Banning executed a quitclaim deed to his section of land, all 640 acres, to his children, the defendants, Joel and Stella Banning, in equal shares. A copy of that deed has been entered into evidence.”
“I’ve read it,” Rumbold growled.
“Yes, sir. And we will prove that this deed is the first deed to be used by the Bannings to transfer their land to the next generation since 1818. The family has always passed down their land through last wills and testaments, never deeds. Pete Banning’s purpose in using this deed was clearly to protect his land because he was contemplating the murder of Dexter Bell. Plain and simple.”
Dunlap sat down and John Wilbanks was already on his feet. “May it please the court, Your Honor, I’m not sure Mr. Dunlap is smart enough to explain to us what Pete Banning was contemplating when he signed the deed. He’s correct, though, this land has been in the family since 1818, back when Pete Banning’s great-great-grandfather Jonas Banning started piecing together his farm. The family has always kept the land and added to it whenever possible. Frankly, it’s appalling that a nonresident of Mississippi, or anyone else for that matter, now wants to take it from the family. Thank you.”
“Call your first witness,” Rumbold said to Dunlap. “You have the burden of going forward.”
“The Honorable Claude Skinner, attorney-at-law.”
Skinner rose from the spectator section, walked through the bar, swore to tell the truth, and took the witness stand.
Dunlap said, “Please state your name and occupation.”
“Claude Skinner, attorney. My office is in Tupelo and I do primarily real estate work.”
“And when did you meet Pete Banning?”
“He came to my office in September of 1946 and asked me to prepare a property deed for him. He had full title to a section of land here in Ford County, along with the house on it, and he wanted to deed it to his two children.”
“Had you met him before that day?”
“No, sir, I had not. He brought with him a plat and a full description of the property and house, and I asked him who did his legal work in this county. He said it was the Wilbanks firm but he preferred not to use them for this matter.”
“Did he give a reason for not using the Wilbanks firm?”
“He did not and I did not inquire. I found Mr. Banning to be a man of few words.”
“And you prepared the deed as he wished?”
“I did. He returned a week later and signed the deed. My secretary notarized it, then mailed it with the filing fee to the chancery clerk just down the hall. I charged him $15 for my work and he paid me in cash.”
“Did you ever ask him why he was deeding the property to his children?”
“Well, sort of. After reviewing the chain of title, I realized that the family had never used deeds before. Their property always passed down through wills. I commented on this, and Mr. Banning said, and I quote, ‘I’m just protecting my assets.’”
“Protecting from what?”
“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”
“No further questions.”
John Wilbanks looked rather perturbed as he stood and frowned at Skinner. “When you realized that my law firm had represented Mr. Banning for many years, did it occur to you that perhaps a phone call to me might be appropriate?”
“No, sir. It was quite evident that Mr. Banning did not want to use your firm or any other lawyer in this county. He drove to Tupelo to hire me for that reason.”
“So a professional courtesy by you was not considered.”
“It was not needed, in my opinion.”
“No further questions.”
“You may step down,” Rumbold said. “Call your next witness.”
Dunlap stood and said, “Your Honor, we would like to call Mr. Joel Banning to the stand, as an adverse witness.”
“Any objections?” Rumbold asked John Wilbanks. The move was expected and Joel was thoroughly prepared for his testimony.
“None,” Wilbanks said.
Joel swore to tell the truth and sat in the witness chair. He offered a quick smile to his sister, took in the view from a unique vantage point, nodded at Florry in the front row, then braced himself for questions from one of the state’s finest trial lawyers.
Dunlap began with “Mr. Banning, where were you when you heard the news that your father had been arrested for the murder of Dexter Bell?”
Joel instinctively said, “Why is that relevant to the issues in this case?”
“Please answer the question, sir,” Dunlap replied, somewhat startled by the question.
“And why don’t you answer my question?” Joel shot back like a real smart-ass.
John Wilbanks was on his feet. “Your Honor, the witness has a point. The question asked by Mr. Dunlap is completely irrelevant to the issues in this case. I object to it.”
“Sustained,” Rumbold said at full volume. “I see no relevance.”
“Never mind,” Dunlap mumbled. Joel wanted to grin at him as if to say, “Score one for me,” but managed to maintain a frown.
Dunlap asked, “Now, before your father deeded this property to you in September of 1946, did he discuss it with you?”
“No.”
“Did he discuss it with your sister?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t think he did but I’m not completely certain.”
“Where were you on that date?”
“At college.”
“And where was she?”
“At college.”
“And after that date, did your father ever discuss this deed with you?”
“Not until the day before he died.”
“And that was when?”
Joel hesitated, cleared his voice, and said slowly and with volume, “My father was executed in this courtroom on July 10 of last year.”
After that bit of drama, Dunlap reached for a file and began withdrawing documents. One by one, he handed Joel copies of old wills signed by his ancestors, and asked him to validate each. The entire lot had already been introduced into evidence, but Dunlap needed some live testimony to spruce up his case. His intentions were clear, his points well made: The Banning family had religiously handed down their land to the next generation through well-prepared wills and testaments. Pete took ownership of his 640 acres and the house in 1932, when his mother died. She acquired it three years earlier, when her husband died. Slowly and studiously, Joel laid out the chain of title, along with a fair amount of family history. He knew it by heart and had virtually memorized the old wills. In every generation, the men died first — and at disturbingly young ages — and passed the land to their wives, none of whom remarried.
Dunlap asked, “So your father was the first man in the history of your family to bypass his wife in favor of his children, correct?”