Page 102 of The 1 Lawyer

I pulled out my phone to check where she was on the tracking app. Jenny had talked Rue and me into signing up to share our whereabouts after some creepy calls came into the office. Mason wasn’t interested, said he thought location-sharing apps themselves were creepy.

A blinking dot showed Jenny on a highway, heading out of town. An excruciating stab of disappointment made me slump down in the chair. Maybe she was working, but it would’ve been nice to see her there. Our relationship had undergone some changes in the past thirty-one weeks. Significant changes.

But hell, even my own father hadn’t bothered to show up and offer support. He said he had a conflict, a court setting in another county. Bullshit. I suspected he was conflicted, all right—because he was ashamed. Maybe he’d finally written me off.

The jury had been selected. Fourteen men and women were squeezed inside the jury box in the courtroom in Biloxi. Judge Holly Ostrov-Ronai was presiding over my trial, and she had insisted on seating two alternates in addition to the jury of twelve. She didn’t want to take any chances, she’d said. Didn’t want to throw out the case in the event someone caught the flu.

That wasn’t the way we usually did it here. In Biloxi, one alternate was considered sufficient insurance. But this judge didn’t hail from Harrison County. All the judges in our district had speedily disqualified themselves. While the case bounced around the judiciary looking for a place to land, another half a dozen judges had to recuse. Some of them were friends of mine or knew my father. One judge from Hattiesburg had a long-standing feud with my old man; I was relieved to see him drop out. Ultimately, they had to bring Judge Ostrov-Ronai in from Jackson.

Ostrov-Ronai wasn’t a Mississippi native—she was actually from New York City, had been born in Bayside, Queens. She’d taken Jackson by storm when she opened her plaintiffs’ personal-injury firm. Her practice was so successful that the local lawyers were relieved when she took the bench as a circuit judge. I’d heard about her phenomenal trial practice, but she’d never spent much time in the southern part of the state and had no connection to me.

The jury had also been imported from the state capital. The fourteen jurors had been transported from Jackson to Biloxi by bus and were lodged in a Best Western near the courthouse. Free breakfast, flat-screen TV, nice pool.

They wouldn’t be using the pool, though. A sequestered jury stays locked up tight.

Judge Ostrov-Ronai emerged from chambers. After she instructed the jury, she looked at the DA and said, “You may begin opening statements.”

That took me back to the start of the Caro trial, when I was still on top of the world. Toting my briefcase to the courthouse, ready to wow the jury with the opening statement I’d rehearsed at the office in front of my two best friends.

As I watched Gordon-James pull a script from his files, I had the distinct feeling that the best opening statement in the world couldn’t help me today. I debated reserving my own opening for the start of the defense case. Maybe I’d get more mileage from it then, after the jury got to know me.

But my opponent was ready. He surged up out of his chair as if he couldn’t wait to begin. “If it please the court,” he said, his voice soaring out over the room.

As he approached the jury box, he looked like a warrior launching a crusade. His expression was predatory, and though he didn’t gaze directly at me, I knew I was the prey.

It hit me then—the hunted sensation I was experiencing was how criminal defendants felt when they were on trial. My former point of view, that of defense counsel, wasn’t remotely similar. This time, I was the accused. It was terrifying.

The prosecutor wanted to nail me on the murder charge. That desire was etched in his face. I could hear it in the intensity in his voice as he began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I appreciate the sacrifice y’all are making, coming all this way to hear this case. Permit me to introduce myself. I’m the district attorney of Harrison County, Henry Gordon-James.”

Unlike the local judges, Gordon-James hadn’t opted to recuse himself. He could have claimed a conflict. We’d known each other for years. But my old nemesis had willingly stepped up to orchestrate my destruction.

CHAPTER 81

AS JENNY GLASER drove down a farm road on the Mississippi Delta with her car radio on for company, she wrestled with the regret that had plagued her since she’d left town that morning.

I ought to be in Biloxi.

Jenny had intended to go to court and take her place among the spectators. Though it would be a painful exercise, she wanted to be present as a show of support. Stafford Lee didn’t have many friends who were still willing to stand behind him and be there on his behalf.

But a call had come the night before, a possible break. She couldn’t pass it up. She’d been tracking this man for months, trying to pin him down. It was important to seize the opportunity.

She was doing it for Stafford Lee, and the clock was ticking. He’d taken the May trial setting even though she begged him to ask for more time. She needed to find evidence compelling enough to convince a jury—or the DA—that they had the wrong guy.

About fifty yards up the road, she spotted a sign that read PETTUS PECAN GROVES. As she turned into the drive, the local radio station started playing an oldie. The familiar melody of “Stand by Me” drifted through the speakers of Jenny’s car, but Ben E. King’s plaintive baritone sounded like a rebuke. She hastily grappled with the knob to turn off the radio, but she upped the volume by mistake.

The music blared as she pulled up a gravel drive to an old two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. Two big dogs appeared out of nowhere and ran toward her car, barking like crazy.

A sandy-haired man in denim overalls opened a screen door, stepped onto the porch, and shouted at the dogs. When they retreated, Jenny got out of her car. “Jenny Glaser, that you?” the man called.

Jenny waved, flashed a big smile. “Detective Pettus, I sure appreciate you agreeing to talk to me today.”

They shook hands on the porch. He said, “Call me Bill, okay? I haven’t been a detective for quite a while.” He gestured toward a pair of wicker rockers. “We can sit out here, if that suits you. No flies yet, a little too early for them. Can I get you some tea? It’s no bother, we keep a pitcher in the refrigerator.”

“No, but thanks so much,” Jenny said. After all the trouble she’d had setting up this meeting, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight. They sat down in the wicker chairs. “You said you’re leaving for a trip soon? I was lucky to catch you before you left town,” Jenny said.

“We’ve got a new grandson in Little Rock. We’re eager to get to Arkansas and meet the little guy. He’s our first.”

“That’s just wonderful. Congratulations.” Jenny gazed out at the trees. “This is a beautiful orchard, Bill. I can see why you left police work to move out here. I love Biloxi; I’ve lived there all my life. But this spot is special.”

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