Page 5 of The 1 Lawyer

I was running out of patience—and time. I was due in chambers to meet the judge and the DA, so I made a statement certain to shut him up: “If you really feel unsafe, you should talk to your father. Maybe he’ll provide a security detail for your protection.”

Caro blanched. He re-joined his wife on the bench and said something into her ear; her face crumpled, and she raked her fingers through her carefully styled ash-blond hair.

It was no surprise that Caro backed off when I mentioned his Mob-connected father. I picked up my briefcase, recalling my client’s embarrassment that his medical education at Duke had been paid for with money from Hiram Caro’s casinos. Daniel distanced himself from his roots. If he could have, he’d have rewritten history. But that’s hard to do in Biloxi, where roots are deep and memories are long. Everyone knew that the seed money for old man Caro’s casino complex had come from underground gambling in the 1970s and 1980s. Before casinos were legal in Mississippi, Caro ran slots and card games in the back room of the Black Orchid, his seamy striptease joint. The rest of the Dixie Mafia was taken down in 1985, but my father kept Caro’s father out of prison.

And here we were, the next generation, with a Penney again defending a Caro in court.

Things never really change in Biloxi.

CHAPTER 5

SPEAK OF the devil and he shall appear.

On my way to chambers, I ran smack into my old man. He was at the top of the courthouse stairs, leaning on the railing for balance.

“Hey, Dad. How you doing?” Without waiting for a reply, I veered to the left, giving him a wide berth. But he followed me.

“Hold up, Stafford Lee. I’ve come all the way up here to wish you good luck.”

I didn’t believe that, not for a minute. He had come to offer me unsolicited and unwanted advice. And the truth was, I didn’t have time to fool with him. Over my shoulder, I said, “Dad, Judge Walker is waiting on me. And you always told me never to keep a judge waiting.”

“Horseshit. I never said that. And Tyrone Walker isn’t a stickler for timeliness, never was.” Running a hand through his mane of white hair, he tried to keep up with me. He wore that bulldog look he got when he was determined to say his piece.

I paused at the door to the clerk’s office. “Later, Dad. Thanks for checking in.”

Something must have made him change his mind. He waved a hand, releasing me. “Go on, then.”

I did go, speeding past the judge’s clerk, Megan Dunn. The young woman glanced up at me with the serene expression she always wore, regardless of the circumstances. “Judge is waiting on you, Stafford Lee.”

“Thanks, Megan.”

When I stepped into chambers, Judge Tyrone Walker was perched behind his desk. Across from him sat the district attorney of Harrison County, Henry Gordon-James, somberly dressed in charcoal gray. Though the DA was about my age, his grave demeanor made him seem older. We weren’t close, but I respected his talent and his experience. He was the first Black man to serve as the district attorney of Harrison County.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I picked up the uneasy vibe; the tension in the room was so thick, the air seemed to vibrate with it.

I nodded at them. “Morning, Judge, Henry.”

The judge pointed to a seat. “Join us, Stafford Lee. Henry has been wondering whether you’d be here. But I assured him you wouldn’t bail on us.”

Gordon-James’s eyes briefly met mine. “I don’t believe I suggested that Penney would be a no-show. I did, however, mention that he had failed to appear on time.”

I was late by three or four minutes. But my old man was right; Walker’s nose wasn’t out of joint about that. The DA, however, was less forgiving.

The judge announced, almost gleefully, “We are going to have the battle of the gladiators in the Second Judicial Circuit today. Did you see the crowd out there? TV cameras, the whole nine yards. Good thing that jury is sequestered.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. Henry Gordon-James did not react.

The judge didn’t seem to notice the DA’s lack of enthusiasm. “In this trial, we’ve got the hottest district attorney in Mississippi duking it out with the best defense attorney in the state. Henry, you’re still undefeated, right? No acquittals on your personal trial record?”

“That’s correct.”

The judge chuckled, shaking his head. “Somebody’s record is going to take a hit this time. Stafford Lee has never lost a case before a jury either. I expect y’all both got a copy of the Bar Association Journal.”

The judge held up the publication. My photograph was on the cover above the words The #1 Lawyer for Southern Mississippi.

He tossed the magazine onto his desk. “I wouldn’t be surprised if people all over this town were laying bets on the outcome.”

I caught the distaste that flashed across the prosecutor’s features. “Surely people aren’t making wagers on a case involving a young woman’s grisly death,” he said. “People wouldn’t do that, not even in Biloxi.”

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