Page 121 of The 1 Lawyer

Ostrov-Ronai stood and started to zip up her robe. Gordon-James said in a bleak voice, “I’ll vigorously oppose it, Your Honor.”

Once her robe was zipped, the judge pulled a lipstick from her leather tote bag. Getting ready for the cameras, I supposed.

“Gentlemen, you’ll both get to say your piece. But this jury is going home.”

CHAPTER 96

THREE DAYS later, I was cooling my heels in the interrogation room at the Biloxi PD. Detective Sweeney had called first thing Saturday morning to schedule a meeting.

It was unnerving, sitting in the cinder-block room again with the mounted camera aimed down at me. Sweeney hadn’t revealed the reason for the interview other than to say he had an inquiry. And the last time I’d been escorted to the stifling space, I’d just been arrested for the murder of Iris Caro. So I was tense.

While I waited, I gave myself a mental pep talk. These circumstances were different. Sweeney had framed the interview as a request. I’d come to the PD in my Prius rather than the back seat of a patrol car. And I was wearing my own clothes. No orange scrubs this time, no Crocs on my feet.

The memory of the Crocs made my feet itch. I was about to kick off a shoe when the door to the interview room opened. Sweeney entered. He was solo. That was a good omen. No good cop/bad cop routine this time.

He carried a brown paper envelope. As he scraped back his chair, he gave me a nod. “Appreciate you coming by today, Stafford Lee.”

I perked up. The detective sounded somber but not unfriendly. I hoped he had a bombshell on Joey Roman, one that would set me free for good. But I didn’t let down my guard, not yet.

“Detective, just so we’re clear. I don’t waive my rights to silence or counsel regarding any matters related to the death of Iris Caro.”

He rested his hand on top of the paper envelope. It was small and marked EVIDENCE. The bottom of the bag was printed with signature lines to preserve chain of custody. “This isn’t about Iris Caro.”

He pulled a pen from his pocket. For a moment, he was silent. I was curious, eager to learn where this conversation was headed. I wanted to hear him utter Joey Roman’s name.

At length, he said, “We received information this week. I expect you know what it was. The tip enabled us to obtain a search warrant. We executed it yesterday. Searched the home of Joseph Roman.”

Bam! I clenched my jaw shut, waiting for the big reveal. The search must have borne fruit or I wouldn’t be sitting at the table. I wondered what he’d try to fish from me. I was impatient to hear the outcome of that search, but Sweeney wasn’t forthcoming. Trying to sound chill, I said, “Come on, Sweeney. What did y’all find? Hell, you’re working on a Saturday. The search must have revealed something significant.”

“I can’t go into detail, you understand that. But I need to show you an item of property we found in the search.”

He clicked his pen, signed and dated the envelope. Then he opened it, pulled out a clear plastic bag, and placed it on the table directly in front of me.

I looked down. The bag held a ring, a gold wedding band. I began to shake. My throat closed up.

Sweeney’s voice held a note of sympathy. “If you’d examine it, please. Without opening the bag. See if you can identify it.”

I picked up the bag, but my hand trembled so violently that I was in danger of dropping it. I’d recognized the contents at first glance.

There was no mistaking it. The bag held Carrie Ann’s wedding ring.

Before our wedding day, I’d had the inside of the band engraved. Through the plastic evidence bag, the letters jumped out at me: SL & CA forever.

My eyes burned. I set the bag down, thinking of the hubris of youth. We’d been too young to understand the tenacity that forever would require.

Sweeney’s voice broke into my misery. “You recognize it, Stafford Lee?”

I nodded. Couldn’t speak.

“He kept souvenirs. Stored them in a hollowed-out dictionary, one of those books people use as a safe.”

His words conjured up an awful image, a dictionary filled with mementos of violence and death.

Sweeney said, “We’ve got a warrant out for him, an APB. We haven’t picked him up, can’t locate him just yet. Caro says he’s not showing up at the casino. It might take time. He could be out on a boat in the Gulf.”

I struggled for composure. Sweeney returned the ring to the brown evidence envelope. As he sealed it, he said, “But he’ll turn up. Don’t want you to worry about that. A guy like him, he can’t hide forever.”

There was that word again. Forever.

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