Page 89 of The 1 Lawyer

The professor pointed her finger at Rue and asked in a squeaky voice, “What’s the problem, Officer?”

Jesus. It was shocking to know that the woman quaking at the front of the room actually had a law degree. I bet she’d never seen the inside of a courtroom.

Making damn sure I sounded more authoritative than the professor, I said, “Officer, I’m Rue Holmes’s attorney. There’s no need to execute this warrant. I can guarantee Ms. Holmes’s appearance.”

I strode down to the second row as the other cop entered from the opposite aisle. He reached Rue’s side before I did and held out an arm to ward me off. He must have recognized me, because he said, “You stay back, Stafford Lee.”

I kept coming. “She’s my client. I’m entitled to see the warrant. Who issued it? Which judge? I want to see the probable-cause statement.”

The officer ignored me. He looked down at Rue. “Rue Holmes, you’re under arrest.”

And then some asshole law student decided to play enforcer. He jumped out of his chair and blocked my path. “Back off, dude!” the kid shouted. “You’re obstructing a lawful arrest.”

The cop grabbed Rue by the arm and pulled her from her seat. She didn’t fight him. I saw Rue place her hands behind her back. The cop snapped on the cuffs and began to recite the Miranda warning. “Rue Holmes, you have the right to remain silent.”

I shoved the interfering student out of my way, but it was too late to stop the arrest. The cop continued, “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“She has an attorney. I’m standing right here.” The cop ignored me.

She didn’t protest or hang back as the officer pulled her past her classmates. Both cops walked her up the tiered steps.

I followed them out of the classroom. Once we were in the hall, I shouted my own warning. “You know your rights, Rue! Don’t answer any questions. Remember that they’ll use anything you say against you!”

She turned and looked as if she had something to tell me. But the officers tugged at her arms, which made her stumble on the tile floor. When I ran up to assist her, one cop wheeled around and said, “You want to be arrested too? We got another pair of cuffs, Stafford Lee.”

I took a step back and said, my voice bouncing off the marble walls of the hall, “Rue, I’m going straight over to the jail! Don’t let them talk to you without counsel present. You insist on it. I’m your lawyer, Rue!”

As they took her into the stairwell, Rue finally turned and met my eye. Her jaw was clenched tight; I could see a muscle twitch. When they escorted her down the steps, she walked with dignity, holding her head high.

CHAPTER 70

THE POLICE took Rue to Biloxi.

I kept my promise. I drove directly to the jail and informed them that I was counsel for Rue Holmes. They confirmed that they had her in custody, but they wouldn’t let me see her.

That set me off. I went to the Criminal Investigations Division of the PD and kicked up a fuss, demanded to talk to Detective Sweeney. When he wouldn’t see me, I tried to shoulder my way inside the unit. They locked the doors to keep me out.

So I returned to the front desk of the jail. I was told that Rue was still being processed. Come back in a couple of hours, the officer advised.

I got back in my car, intending to drive to my office and wait it out there. Iris Caro was dead and Rue was in custody on suspicion of homicide—the local news outlets would pick up the story any minute. Rue’s sister, Alicia, was a client of mine, and Rue’s mother was caring for an aunt who had suffered a stroke in Picayune, a town on the same news circuit as Biloxi and Gulfport; I didn’t want Rue’s family to hear about her arrest from the radio or television. I called Alicia, but she didn’t pick up, and I sure as hell couldn’t deliver this shocking bombshell about Rue in a voice-mail message. I needed to reach her mother. I didn’t have her number, but Rue would have it somewhere in her room at my house, so that’s where I headed next.

I pulled into the drive and sprinted inside. I stopped short in front of Rue’s bedroom. It didn’t seem right to intrude on her private space, but under the circumstances, I was certain she wouldn’t mind.

The bedroom was tidy—no surprise there. Looking around, I wondered whether it was a challenge for Rue to tolerate my half-hearted attempts at housekeeping in the rest of the house.

Her schoolbooks and papers were stacked neatly on the bedside table, but her laptop was missing. She’d probably had it with her in class. I made a mental note to contact the law school and pick it up for her later.

When I didn’t find the information in her papers, I approached the dresser, but I was reluctant to go through the drawers. I saw a collection of sticky notes on her mirror, and I scanned the handwritten reminders and to-do lists until I spotted a yellow note with her mother’s name, an address in Picayune, and a phone number with a Mississippi area code.

As I was entering the information into my phone, the doorbell rang. Immediately after that, someone pounded on the front door. I decided that whoever it was could wait.

And that’s when I heard something slam against the wood, followed by a crash. Sounded like my front door had literally been kicked in.

That got me moving. “What the hell?” I shouted, bolting out of the guest room.

It took me only a few seconds to grab my baseball bat and get to the living room, but three officers were already there, prowling across the floor. A fourth cop was trying to fasten a document to my shattered door with a thick strip of tape.

When I bounded into the living room holding the bat, one of the cops pulled his service handgun and pointed it at me. I dropped my bat and froze, my hands in the air. The guy at the door called to his fellow officer, “Put the gun away, you don’t need it. It’s Stafford Lee Penney.”

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