Page 11 of The 1 Lawyer

“Judge, the district attorney is out of line, and I ask that you instruct him to refrain from inappropriate commentary in the presence of the jury. He knows full well it’s prohibited, and he’s intentionally disregarding proper conduct of trial.”

The judge rubbed his brow with a liver-spotted hand. “Stafford Lee, not sure why you’re picking this particular battle. What Henry said is true. Your man is on trial for two counts, and everybody here knows it.”

I couldn’t back down. If the judge didn’t restrain my opponent on the first day, the DA would continue the same tactic throughout trial, popping off in front of the jury whenever he took the notion. That was not correct procedure. Lawyers were supposed to ask the questions, not give the answers. And we couldn’t comment on the answers either.

So I stuck to my guns. “Judge, we need to shut this down, right here and now.”

Walker sighed. As he adjusted his glasses, I noticed his hand had a slight tremor. “It’s close to four o’clock. Henry, how much longer are you going to spend on direct with Ellis?”

“I’m done, Your Honor.” Glancing my way, the DA added, “For now.”

His announcement gave me a surge of energy. It was my turn, time for my cross-examination. I was ready for my shot.

But Walker pushed his chair back from the bench.

“Enough for one day. My cardiologist has put me on beta-blockers and blood thinners, and when they’re not kicking my tail, they’re sucking the sap out of me. You young guys are lucky. Enjoy your health while it lasts.”

For the defense, it was a bad stopping place. The jurors would sit in a hotel room overnight, reflecting on the uncontested testimony of the State’s witnesses.

But Judge Walker was already instructing the jury not to discuss the case or listen to news reports about it. I stood in place near the bench as the jurors rose from their seats and filed out. Not one would meet my eye.

Court was adjourned. When the door behind the jury box closed, I stepped back to the counsel table, prepared to consult with Caro. But he was already on his feet; he signaled to his wife with a jerk of his head.

“Daniel, you want to talk? We should review today’s testimony, and I can outline what we expect to see tomorrow.”

He shoved his chair under the table and from an inside coat pocket pulled out a monogrammed linen handkerchief that he used to wipe his hands. Maybe they were sweaty. Could be the medical examiner’s photos had had more impact on Caro than he’d let on.

“I’m out of here. Iris!” He raised his voice. “We’re going to the car.”

If Caro didn’t want to do recon, I couldn’t force him. To his retreating back, I said, “We can talk in my office if that suits you better.”

Caro didn’t respond. I shrugged it off, gathered up the papers from the counsel table, and organized them in my briefcase.

Mason sauntered up. “How’d it go today?”

I answered with a rueful look.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “My car’s in the lot. You want a ride so you don’t have to haul that monster briefcase away on foot?”

I was grateful for the offer. The briefcase was always a heavier burden at the end of the first day.

As we walked down the courthouse stairs, he said, “How about making a stop at the Salty Dog?”

It was our favorite watering hole. We’d been going there since we were a couple of college kids with fake IDs.

Mason didn’t have to talk me into it.

I was ready for a drink.

CHAPTER 10

THEY WERE doing a brisk business at the Salty Dog. Crowds of early-bird diners were eating platters of fried shrimp and oysters, and Mason and I were lucky to snag a corner table.

The barmaid dropped off the first round: a bottle of Stella for me, an Absolut martini for Mason.

“Keep them coming, Scarlett,” Mason said. “We’re thirsty. Me and Stafford Lee, we’ve been working hard today.”

Scarlett said, “I bet that’s half right.” She winked at me and walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, I asked, “How much of the trial did you catch today?”

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