Page 84 of The 1 Lawyer

CHAPTER 65

A COUPLE of days later, I sat at my desk scouring the internet for unsolved murder cases around the Gulf Coast. If another patient of Daniel Caro had suffered a mysterious death, I was determined to find her. I would be on it like a bloodhound.

Mason came into the office and pulled up a seat. “How’s she getting along?” he asked.

I looked up from the monitor. “They discharged her. She’s recovering at home.”

He looked relieved. “Hey, does she need any help? Running errands or something?”

“I did a Target run for her yesterday, but you never know. Why don’t you give her a call? I know she’d be glad to hear from you.”

He shifted in the chair like he couldn’t get comfortable. “It’s hard to know what to say in a situation like this. I wish there were somebody I could sue on her behalf. Or even take outside for a rumble, although fistfights aren’t my strong suit.”

I got a call on my cell phone. I checked the screen: Harrison County Jail. Without hesitation, I picked it up. I was back in the law business. “This is Stafford Lee Penney.”

“Stafford Lee? It’s Rue. I’m in trouble.”

It didn’t sound like Rue. The voice on the line was high-pitched and shaky. “Rue, tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m in custody. The Biloxi police picked me up at your house. I wanted to call or leave you a note, but they wouldn’t let me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “The police came out and arrested you? Did they have a warrant?”

“Yeah, they did. I demanded to see it. It said I was under arrest for larceny.”

“What?” It had to be a mistake. Maybe a store employee had made a false accusation.

Her voice dropped to a frightened whisper. “Grand larceny.”

That stunned me. It meant that this was no trifling matter, no misunderstanding at the grocery store’s checkout counter. In Mississippi, grand larceny is taking personal property valued at five hundred dollars or more. It’s a felony, punishable by imprisonment for up to ten years or a fine of up to ten thousand dollars. Or both.

Mason waved his hand to get my attention. “What? What’s going on?”

I set the phone on the desk and put it on speaker. “Rue, Mason is here. We are both on the line now. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she said.

“What are you accused of taking?”

“A necklace. A diamond pendant necklace,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t even know what she’s talking about. I didn’t go through her jewelry. I’ve never touched it.”

“Where’s the accusation coming from? Whose jewelry?”

“Iris Caro’s.”

I met Mason’s eye across the desk. It was starting to make sense in a perverse, underhanded way. It was opportune timing for the accusation, less than forty-eight hours after my confrontation with Daniel Caro at his office. Or maybe the move had been triggered by my conversation at the casino with the old man.

Rue said, “Stafford Lee? They’re asking if I qualify for a public defender. What do I say?”

That was easy to resolve. “Tell them no, Rue. In fact, you tell them hell no. You have counsel.”

I heard an audible sigh of relief on her end of the phone. She said, “They told me they’re bringing me before the judge this afternoon for a first appearance on the felony charge.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Mason leaned over and spoke into the phone. “Me too, Rue.”

“Hear that, Rue? You’ll have two lawyers defending you. Don’t worry, we’ve got this. Okay?”

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