Page 110 of The 1 Lawyer

Or they might open with the short series of threatening texts I’d purportedly sent to Iris, evidence of a one-sided romantic obsession. A flurry of texts that supposedly came from me appeared on Iris’s phone the day of her death. Texts declaring love, demanding that she leave Daniel. The final text said that I’d commit suicide if she refused but that I’d make sure she died first. Scanning the phony communications, I wondered how I could convince the jury that they were fake. Did I have any hope of persuading them?

Someone knocked on my front door. I didn’t look up. The only friends I had in Biloxi had their own keys and could let themselves in. And I didn’t intend to grant entry to anyone else. I wasn’t inclined to speak to a reporter, and I sure wasn’t up for a confrontation with a random angry member of the public who wanted to tell me off. I had received more than my share of abuse that day at the courthouse.

Now someone was pounding on the door, beating on it so violently that the hinges rattled. Still, I was determined to ignore it. But then the shouting started, a voice I knew well. Groaning, I rose and stepped into the reception area.

He was yelling, “Stafford Lee, I know you’re in there, damn it!”

I unbolted the lock and pulled the door open. My father stood at the threshold, his face florid from yelling. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

He strode in, heading straight for the conference room. I followed, asking, “What are you doing here?”

“I came over because of all the talk around town.” When he reached the doorway of the conference room, he froze. “Jesus Christ!” He swung around to face me, and his complexion was so red, it bordered on purple. “What the hell have you got going on in there? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

“It’s research,” I said. The explanation didn’t sound convincing. I knew how unsettling the room looked to someone who was not part of the investigative team.

He strolled up to the nearest set of photos and studied them. “Good God, Stafford Lee. Is that your wife?”

I stepped away from the room. “Let’s go into my office, okay? I’ve got stuff organized on the table in here, and I don’t want anything disturbed.”

He muttered as he left the conference room. When he settled into a chair in my office, I heard him mumble something about me needing a straitjacket.

I sat behind my desk and faced him. His hair was disheveled, his collar unbuttoned, and his necktie hung loose. He scowled at me. “I was at the courthouse today. It’s buzzing like a beehive over there. People say that the DA went after you, accused you of being a serial killer.”

My stomach knotted. It sickened me to know that the talk was making the rounds at the courthouse. “I guess he did.”

“You guess? They said he called you a monster. Is that a quote? He used that exact word?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I need to get back to work, Dad. I’m in trial.”

“You are not just in trial, son. You are on trial. Why the hell are you representing yourself? Of all the crackpot things I ever heard! Why didn’t you ask me? I’d have stepped in to take your case. What, you think you can’t afford my fee? As if I’d charge my own son.”

The mental image of my father seated next to me at the counsel table was frightening. “That never occurred to me. You know what they say, a close family member shouldn’t take on representation.”

He gave a scornful laugh. “I’d sure as hell have done a better job than you’re doing. I know what you’re up to in there, Stafford Lee. People can’t wait to stop me on the sidewalk and fill me in. You’re putting on a carnival sideshow in court. Why would you act like a lunatic who doesn’t know the law? You’re not a layman; you have the benefit of a legal education.”

In a knee-jerk reaction, I started to defend myself. “There’s a method to what I’m doing, Dad. I had to get the jury to listen to me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

I fell silent, quit trying to explain my tactics. Seeking my old man’s understanding was a losing proposition.

He said, “I’ve given the matter some thought. And I figured a way out for you. How you can plant the seed of reasonable doubt you need for acquittal.”

In spite of myself, I perked up, ready to hear his advice. Because I needed a miracle, and maybe he had one.

He knew he’d gotten my attention. His eyebrows lifted and his face took on a wily expression. “It’s so obvious, I don’t know why you didn’t think of it yourself. You should have stepped right up in opening statements and laid it out.”

“What?” I was eager to hear his strategy.

“It’s time to cast suspicion on that cleaning lady, Rue Holmes. She’s the one who had the opportunity to commit the crime. She worked in the Caros’ house, for crying out loud! And she’s no law-abiding citizen. She stole a necklace from Mrs. Caro.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out, I was speechless. Dad didn’t notice.

He went on. “And that’s not all. That gal is the one who set you up, I’m sure of it. You’ve got to realize that, son. I know you’re softhearted when it comes to people like her. You have a blind spot. But think about it. She lives in your house. How hard would it be to get samples of your hair from the shower drain or a brush in the bathroom? And that bloody shoe? Clearly, she took your beach shoes to the scene, stepped in the blood, brought one back to your house, and tossed it in your closet, wrapped up in a trash bag so you wouldn’t notice.”

He must have read something in my face, because he started to get defensive. “I’m not just shooting in the dark here, Stafford Lee, flailing around to blame anyone but you. I’ve thought it through, and the facts lead me to one reasonable conclusion. She’s responsible. She set you up. Either she committed the murder herself or she knows who did, because she’s covering somebody’s tracks. And she’s covering those tracks with your beach shoes.”

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