Page 32 of The 1 Lawyer

My client placed his pen by the legal pad on the counsel table. No need for Caro to take notes; he knew what was coming.

The witness said, “I compared the DNA samples of three subjects: Aurora Gates, the fetus taken from her body, and the defendant.”

“Based on those tests and on your education, training, and experience, did you form an opinion within a reasonable degree of scientific certainty as to the paternity of the fetus taken from the body of Aurora Gates?”

“I did. In my opinion, the probability that the defendant, Daniel Caro, is the father of Aurora Gates’s fetus is greater than ninety-nine point nine-eight percent.”

I’d figured that the jurors had all been following the thread of the direct examination and they’d anticipate Clark’s conclusion. I was wrong. A woman in the jury box gasped with shock. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a packet of tissues. Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

The remainder of the jurors didn’t register surprise, but their reactions were easy to read. I saw three of them fold their arms across their chests.

When I took my eyes from the jury box, I gave Caro a passing glance. He hadn’t flinched during the DNA testimony. And his face wore an expression that could only be interpreted as indifference.

Which struck me as perverse. Maybe it was due to the years Carrie Ann and I had tried unsuccessfully to have a child or the knowledge that Iris and Daniel Caro were also childless. Or maybe it was the seed that Jenny had planted in my head that morning.

And despite what I’d told Jenny, I was uneasy about the murder of Caro’s other patient a couple of years prior and her allegations that he’d been involved in the crime.

After all, a man who’d kill his own child was capable of anything.

CHAPTER 25

WET BOOTS slapped against tile.

“I know I stink,” the young man said to Jenny.

It wasn’t an apology. The man was a deckhand on a shrimp boat. He had worked through the night, dropping the nets at sunset and pulling them up in the wee hours, then dumping the catch on the deck and pinching the heads off the shrimp.

In Mason’s office, Jenny greeted their visitor and made introductions. “Mason, this is Germain Whitman. He came straight from work because he wants to talk to you.”

The man sat down and gripped the arms of the chair. He bowed his head for a moment before he raised his eyes to Mason’s.

“My wife, Desiree, was killed two years back. It’s closer to two and a half years now. Her body was found in Gulfport, just outside the Biloxi city limits. Maybe you remember hearing about it on the news.”

Looking appropriately solemn, Mason folded his hands on the desk. “I don’t recall the details. Can you help me out, refresh my memory?”

Whitman’s shoulders twitched. “She was shot right in the middle of her forehead. The police called it an ‘execution-style’ murder.”

The man released one arm of the chair and ran his hand across his face. “Me and Desiree, we had two kids, little boys. One was just a baby when she got killed, but Lyle—he’s the older one—he still cries for his mama. For a long time, he kept waiting for her to come home.”

When he shuddered, Jenny reached over and placed a hand on his arm. His shirt was damp and reeked of shrimp, but Jenny wasn’t bothered by the smell. Briefly, she worried about Stafford Lee’s reaction to the step she’d taken. He wouldn’t like it, that was guaranteed. But she’d come this far. She edged forward to see how Mason responded to the man’s grief.

Mason cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry for your loss, sir. And it’s a tragedy that those boys lost their mama.”

His eyes on the floor, Whitman nodded. And then he raised his head and gave Mason a guarded look. “Both our boys were delivered by Dr. Caro. He was Desiree’s doctor when she got pregnant.” Whitman’s hands began to tremble. He clasped them together and thrust them in his lap as he shook his head in bewilderment. “How could he kill a woman after he helped bring her babies into the world? He delivered the boys himself. I was standing right there beside him.”

Jenny watched Mason, knowing he’d been caught off guard. She hadn’t told him that Whitman believed Caro was responsible for his wife’s death. She’d thought the young man should relay that to him in his own words.

She was disappointed when Mason turned the interview away from the accusation against Caro. “How was your wife’s body discovered?”

“She was a cocktail waitress. Her shift ended at midnight, but she never made it home. Her body washed up on the beach two days later.”

Mason’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Were there any injuries other than the gunshot to the head?”

That’s when Whitman broke down; sobs wrenched his chest. “He raped her. He raped my wife.”

The room echoed with the man’s grief. When the tears subsided, Mason said, “Can you tell me about the condition of your wife’s body?”

The man touched his throat. “There were bruises around her neck.” He went on, his voice breaking again. “I could see the marks from the guy’s fingers. It was like I could see the dude choking her. I still can’t get that picture out of my head.”

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