Page 3 of The 1 Lawyer

“Of getting a not-guilty verdict?” Jenny asked. “I’d say fifty-fifty.”

I swallowed down a groan. “Your odds, Mason?”

“Sixty-forty.”

Better.

“Sixty percent that your client will go down,” Mason added. “Just to be clear.”

I’d preferred the fuzzy odds.

I picked up my briefcase and shot a wry grin at my two closest friends. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

CHAPTER 3

THE HEAVINESS of my briefcase as I walked to the courthouse provided a physical reminder of the weight of the Caro case. My briefcase wasn’t a slim nylon bag designed to carry a laptop and nothing else. Constructed of black leather and secured with nickel locks, it was more like a mobile filing cabinet. Mason thought I was crazy to haul the massive briefcase the blocks from my law office to the Biloxi Circuit Court.

Taking this solitary walk on the first day of trial was another of my long-standing rituals. Even when hurricanes threatened, I stubbornly adhered to it. Today, the September sun reflected off my sunglasses; the Gulf breeze blew balmy.

Big casinos lined the water’s edge. People pointed to them and said, “We’re the New South now, not the old fishing town famous only for shrimp and oysters and Jefferson Davis. It’s twenty-first-century progress, these hotels rising up twenty-five stories, hotels that dominate local revenue. Biloxi has changed.”

That’s what people say, anyway. But we’re still a small city with one public high school that serves a population hovering around fifty thousand.

The first couple of blocks cleared my head, and I girded myself for battle. I was acutely aware that I was in for the fight of my life against my opponent, Henry Gordon-James, the district attorney for Harrison County. Harrison County has two county seats, Biloxi and Gulfport, and Gordon-James served in both communities. He was personally handling the trial, and he was a powerhouse in the courtroom.

A whole lot was riding on the outcome of this trial. First and foremost, my client’s life was at stake. It was a death-penalty case.

Tensions around town were running high, and when the jury returned its verdict, Biloxi would likely be in an uproar. Whichever way the case went, there were many issues that would leave people fired up.

Issues like race.

The murder victim, Aurora Gates, was a person of color. The population of Biloxi was about 21 percent Black, but the defendants charged in local criminal cases were about 75 percent Black. This defendant, my client, was a white man. And the particulars of the accusations against him were extremely inflammatory.

For several blocks, I had the sidewalks to myself. I turned the corner, and the courthouse came into view. The Second Judicial District Courthouse is a flat-topped, two-story structure built in 1968 for function rather than architectural style or grace.

Even from a distance, I could see the gathered crowd of onlookers and the news vans circling the building. I switched the briefcase from my right hand to my left and picked up the pace.

A woman coming off the graveyard shift at one of the casinos, still dressed in her poker dealer’s uniform, called out, “It’s Stafford Lee Penney! Hey there, Stafford Lee!”

I paused to return her greeting. “Good morning to you, ma’am.”

As the woman shouted, “Good luck,” the crowd surged toward me. A guy from my high-school class pushed through to clap me on the shoulder excitedly, like he’d come to watch the state football championship. I smiled, said hello, and continued on my way.

Standing near the courthouse entrance was a former client of mine, a young woman I had represented on a minor traffic charge. I had gotten her a good deal on a plea bargain and charged a reasonable fee. I hoped she was there to support me.

I stepped up to her, extending my right hand. “Hey, it’s Arnette, isn’t that right? It’s been a while. How are you doing?”

She stared at my outstretched hand without moving. Finally, she met my eye. “I went to school with Aurora Gates,” she said.

I dropped my hand. Clearly, trying to get the man who was charged with her schoolmate’s death acquitted made me a villain.

But it bothered me that my former client might misunderstand my motivation for taking on the Caro defense. Whether we like our clients or not, criminal defense lawyers sincerely believe in the Fifth Amendment right to due process for everyone. A person’s entitled to a defense, and I was in the business of providing one—for a price.

Still, I wanted to show Arnette that I was not a heartless guy, not just another white good ol’ boy.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Arnette. Ms. Gates was an exceptional young woman. What happened to her is a tragedy.”

Her face was stony, her expression unforgiving. “Right. If you’re so sorry, why are you trying to let her killer walk?”

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