Page 97 of The 1 Lawyer

Though I knew I’d entered nothing incriminating on my phone, the statement made me wince. The phone was in the property room, out of my control. The idea of Sweeney and McGuire reading through my communications was offensive—and nerve-racking.

I shook my head helplessly. Mason cleared his throat and said, looking embarrassed, “Someone’s pitched a theory to the press that you’re obsessed with Iris. They don’t name the source. A long-ago love affair, this individual is claiming, that reignited when you represented her husband in the Aurora Gates murder.”

“We know, Stafford Lee, it’s absolutely nuts,” Jenny hastened to add.

But Mason looked determined to say his piece, to convey every twist of the damning news article. “Someone called the police, told the cops that during the trial, you tried to coerce Iris into having sex with you.”

“What? No!”

He ignored me. “And she spurned your attentions.”

“Insane!” I said, my voice rising. “This doesn’t even make sense.”

Jenny said, “And the theory is that Rue assisted you in the killing. She was motivated by revenge because Iris had turned her in to the police for larceny but also because she’s in love with you.”

That did it; I exploded. I jumped out of the chair, picked it up, and flung it against the wall. “It’s all lies! It’s crazy!” I swung back to my friends. “Who would believe any of that?”

As my voice bounced off the cinder-block walls of the holding cell, it struck me that Jenny and Mason looked scared. That made me wonder: Were they frightened for me? Or frightened of me?

CHAPTER 76

WHEN I returned to my cell, I lay on my cot with my back to Lou. The guy wouldn’t leave me alone. I felt like I was on the witness stand being cross-examined.

“Hey, Stafford Lee! You were gone for quite a spell. Where’d they take you, what did they do with you?”

I closed my eyes and snored softly.

“Stafford Lee? You awake?”

When I didn’t respond, I felt him nudge my hip with his bare foot. I tensed with the urge to jump up and throttle him. As I was searching for a way to silence my companion without incurring additional criminal charges, I heard footsteps on the concrete floor outside the cell.

The jailer appeared, unlocked the cell door, and swung it open. “Penney, come with me.”

Lou whined, “When’s it my turn? I’d like a chance to get out of this box, stretch my legs.”

I slid my feet into the Crocs, stood, and turned around so the jailer could cuff my hands behind me. “Where am I going?”

He didn’t answer until we’d exited the cell and he’d turned the key, locking Lou inside. “You’re getting bonded out.”

Lou heard him. “You’re shitting me! Penney’s getting out?” he shouted. “Where’d he come up with three-quarters of a mil? I can’t believe it!”

Frankly, neither could I. I was dumbfounded as the jailer escorted me down the long, dingy hallways of the facility. I tried to figure out which of my friends had made the sacrifice on my behalf. A bondsman’s percentage fee on seven hundred fifty thousand dollars was a crippling amount of money. Had Jenny and Mason joined together to raise the sum? I couldn’t let them do it. It was asking too much.

Even my father would struggle to come up with that amount. And he and I were on the outs. He’d made it clear that he was unhappy with what he considered my bohemian lifestyle. He’d complained about the casual courtroom attire, and he really lost it when I brought an unmarried Black woman into my house as a boarder. Lately, we’d avoided each other even more than usual.

I suspected the jailer might have overheard some details of my release, but I held off asking. The guy wasn’t likely to part with any information. His face was closed, and he hurried through the jail at a pace too fast for someone who was slogging down the concrete floors in soft plastic shoes with his hands cuffed behind his back to keep up.

We emerged in a lobby, a space at the back of the jail used for bondsman visits. The release personnel sat behind a glass window, and I saw a uniformed woman talking to a bondsman through an intercom. As the jailer released me from my cuffs, I spied Gene Taylor, the bondsman who’d secured my release after my prior arrest. He was leaning against the far wall, dressed in his signature Stetson hat and cowboy boots, his head bent over a clipboard. He looked up, saw me, and came over, grinning. “Stafford Lee, I’m getting you out of here.”

The words sounded like a symphony, soaring and powerful. I experienced elation, a relief so pure that it bordered on ecstasy. Without question, I wanted to accept the offer of liberty, run through the door, and breathe the outside air.

He led me into a cubicle to execute the required paperwork. As I sat on a hard bench while he scanned through the pages on the clipboard, I was literally shaking with the desire to get out. But still, I needed to know the circumstances of my release.

“Did they lower my bond?” That was the only conclusion I could reach. Maybe the judge had decided to knock it down, due to my status as a longtime Biloxi resident. If it was reduced to a quarter of a million or less, Mason could have managed that.

The bondsman gave me a wry look. “Nope, bond set at seven hundred and fifty K. You’re my big score for the month, Stafford Lee. Tonight, I’m taking my girlfriend to dinner to celebrate. Gonna buy her some fancy lingerie.” Obviously happy about the situation, he winked and handed me the pen. I wrote my name with a scrawl that didn’t resemble my actual signature.

He picked up the clipboard and stood. “Let’s get you processed out. I reckon you’ll be glad to get back into your own clothes. Tell you what, I’m tired of looking at your hairy legs. Couldn’t they get you some longer pants?”

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