Page 87 of The 1 Lawyer

Jenny was reading through the statement a second time when the front door opened and two uniformed officers walked in.

Jenny knew one of the cops, Terry Horton. She’d done some work for Horton’s ex-wife in their divorce, found out about his extramarital activities.

Officer Horton remembered Jenny too, she could tell. His eyes flickered down to her sling and back up to her face.

It took some getting used to, being seen in public with her face in this condition. Her nose was swollen, and she had two black eyes. Other bruises on her face were starting to change color.

Jenny didn’t intend to discuss her injuries with Horton. “Officers, what can I do for you?”

“We’re not here to see you.”

She almost laughed. Officer Horton was downright rude. But that was no surprise, given what she’d learned about him during the divorce. “Stafford Lee’s not here right now. Do you want me to give him a message?”

“We’re looking for Rue Holmes. Is she on the premises?” Horton demanded. He put his hand on his duty belt like he intended to use one of the items it carried.

Jenny’s gut prickled a warning. “What do you want with her?”

“We have some questions.”

Her indignation mounted as he strode through the office looking around as if he thought Rue might be hiding under a piece of furniture. When he opened the door to Stafford Lee’s private office and peered inside, she said, letting the sarcasm drip, “Is Iris Caro missing more of her precious jewelry? Maybe a diamond tiara this time?”

Officer Horton came to a dead stop, then turned slowly to face Jenny. “You think that’s funny? You’re speaking ill of the dead. Iris Caro has been murdered in her home.”

CHAPTER 68

AS I drove through Gulfport on Monday, I thought about the rocky weekend my friends and I had had.

After Rue’s arraignment before Judge Ross, Mason had volunteered to contact Iris and try to reason with her. He drove to the Caros’ house on Saturday. Unfortunately, Daniel Caro met him at the door and shut the conversation down.

On Sunday, Rue tried and failed to get in touch with her boss at the housekeeping agency. Rue was right to be concerned that she’d be terminated. In Mississippi, an employment-at-will state, an employer can fire a worker for any reason or for no reason as long as it doesn’t violate an employment discrimination statute.

By Monday morning, Rue was determined to find a way to save her job and her academic standing. She was going to go to the agency and talk to the manager, then meet me at the dean’s office.

I had some court settings that day, but I made it to the dean’s office just before four o’clock. On the surface, it was a reasonably successful meeting. Rue vowed that she was innocent, speaking with the utmost sincerity. She didn’t hedge, never faltered, and maintained eye contact with the dean throughout the conference. And I made my case on her behalf. After assuring the dean that the accusation was false, I promised that we’d get it sorted out. I wasn’t bullshitting him. There was no way the larceny charge would stick because Rue hadn’t done anything wrong.

The dean, a lanky silver-haired academic, nodded politely as he listened to what we had to say. He’d graduated from law school with honors, and under his diploma, on the credenza, was a bronze statue of Lady Justice holding the scales, a representation of the impartiality of the court’s decisions.

But on two separate occasions, I saw his eyes dart to a computer screen angled just out of my view. Were we boring him? Or was he receiving third-party communications about Rue’s criminal case? When I shifted in my chair to get a look at the monitor, he hit a key and the screen went dark.

After that meeting in Gulfport, I headed for my next destination: the Harrison County DA’s office, First Judicial Circuit. Henry Gordon-James kept his main office in Gulfport, and it was time to talk with the man face to face.

When I stopped at a red light on Twenty-Third Avenue, I pulled out my cell phone and turned it back on. Rue had begged me to turn off the phone before we entered the dean’s office. She said that the law faculty was strict about cell phone use, especially during lectures.

I’d missed three calls and two messages from Jenny in the past hour. I called as the traffic light turned green.

“Thank God,” she said. No greeting, no hello. She sounded rattled.

“Jenny, what’s up?”

“Did you get my messages? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Sorry, I had to turn off the phone in the dean’s office. You’d think we were meeting with a Supreme Court justice. Is everything okay? You sound upset.”

“The police were here, Stafford Lee. At your office.”

“The hell? What did they want?”

“They’re looking for Rue.”

---