Page 67 of The 1 Lawyer

“As soon as you walk into court, it’ll all come back to you. Don’t forget, I was your right arm back when you were brand-new to trial practice. Even in the beginning, you had star quality.”

His forehead furrowed. “That was ages ago. How much did I pay you back then?”

“Not near what I was worth.” Scrutinizing him across the table, she added, “These days you’re looking like a sun god. I feel sorry for the lawyer on the other side. Next to you, he or she will look like a pasty-faced dweeb.”

“Damn, Jenny. You’d best stop right there. If I start taking you seriously, I’m bound to get a big head.” He wiped his hands and changed the subject. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. I haven’t talked to you all week.”

The question provided the opening she’d hoped for. “I’ve been doing some digging, talking to people. Stafford Lee, I’m not satisfied with Detective Sweeney’s investigation. I’ve formed some of my own theories on the murder case.” When he didn’t respond, she added, for clarity, “Carrie Ann’s murder.”

He remained silent. With the sun reflecting off his sunglasses, she couldn’t read his eyes. “Want to hear what I’ve come up with?” she asked.

“Not really. Nope.” Stafford Lee toyed with the plastic basket. His face wore an expression of distaste, like he’d bitten into a bad shrimp. The mood at the table had altered in a matter of seconds.

Jenny could see that Stafford Lee wasn’t ready to revisit the carnage he’d witnessed. But more than a year had passed. It needed to be addressed. “Stafford Lee, I don’t want to upset you—”

He cut her off. “Then why do you keep bringing it up?” He rose abruptly and grabbed the check. “I’ve got to go back to work. I only get forty-five minutes.”

She said, trying to keep her voice bright, “Hey, let me chip in for lunch.”

He turned to go. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

As he walked off, she called, “Thanks for lunch! Good to see you!”

He didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 52

I HAD to admit that Jenny was right about one thing: As soon as I walked into the courtroom, everything came back to me. It felt good.

I couldn’t say, though, that it was just like it used to be. I’d broken some of my trial traditions. I didn’t walk to the courthouse toting my big briefcase. Didn’t wear the old conservative suit and tie either. Instead, I wore a rumpled—but clean—tan and white seersucker suit and flip-flops. It was an unconventional ensemble, but comfortable? Hell yeah.

Also, I wasn’t trying the types of cases I’d handled prior to the Caro verdict. I didn’t have the luxury of cherry-picking cases. I had to take any client I could get. And I could no longer demand a retainer up front. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t make a dime for my time and effort.

On this particular day, I’d set a civil case for money damages—a tort action for battery, alleging offensive physical contact inflicted by a supervisor on an employee.

My client, Alicia Holmes, a checker at the Dixie Belle grocery store, had been the target of unwelcome sexual overtures from the store manager. Over a period of months, he’d groped her and propositioned her, and when she resisted, he’d threatened consequences related to her employment.

After Alicia confided the harassment to her older sister, Rue, a second-year law student in Gulfport, she stepped in on her little sister’s behalf. I wasn’t the first attorney Rue called, but I was the one who agreed to take it on.

So we had a solid case of quid pro quo sexual harassment against the employer. And under federal law, we were in a position to sue the corporation. I’d explained to Alicia that we wanted to hold Dixie Belle responsible because the business controlled the workplace. And—not an insignificant consideration—the business had money, the deep pockets to pay the judgment.

We had proceeded against Dixie Belle Inc., alleging employment discrimination and sexual harassment in violation of Title VII. The employer was hanging tough, though. To date, the corporation had refused to make a settlement offer. In our last conversation, I’d accused the corporate attorney of being unreasonable on account of my client’s race. She was Black; the store manager was white. It’s an old story in Mississippi.

Since they wouldn’t take us seriously, I sued the supervisor in state court for battery. The dude didn’t have any money, but bringing the battery case against the manager was a strategic move to force the corporation’s hand.

So we proceeded to trial. I was trying the lawsuit before Judge Eckhardt, who’d presided over the disastrous case of my homeless client in State v. Della Calhoun. I was determined to make a more solid appearance this time around.

The civil battery action was simple and straightforward. It was a bench trial, meaning there was no jury; the judge would decide the case. My client testified first. Under questioning on direct, she described her boss’s unwelcome attentions, the improper sexual suggestions, the offensive physical contact he’d inflicted. It was crucial for her to recount in detail the times he’d grabbed her private parts, and though I’d worked with her beforehand, on several occasions during direct, Alicia faltered out of embarrassment, and we had to backtrack. But she had the truth on her side, and it showed.

During the cross-exam, I kept a close eye on opposing counsel, ready to jump out of my chair. Though he went after her, the attorney didn’t break her or make her back down from her testimony.

The next witness I called was a checker who worked with Alicia and had witnessed two of the incidents. She was a disappointment; she gave a much less convincing account on the stand than she’d provided in my office. I wondered whether someone had gotten to her before trial. Maybe she was afraid of losing her job at Dixie Belle.

But I knew we’d make a comeback. I was prepared to stake my reputation on the performance potential of my final witness: my client’s sister, Rue. When she settled into the witness chair, her demeanor was cool and unruffled.

“Ms. Holmes, are you acquainted with Eddie Hough, your sister Alicia’s supervisor at Dixie Belle?”

“Yes, I am.”

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