Page 96 of The 1 Lawyer

My leg started jiggling. I forced myself to still the movement. Once I composed myself, I said, “Mason, I need a favor.”

He waved off my request. “You don’t even need to ask. I’ll enter my appearance immediately. Consider yourself represented, Stafford Lee. I’m here for you.”

Jenny added, “I’ll help on the investigation side. Anything I can do. You know that. Anything at all.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the support—I did. I was sincerely thankful. But the help they offered was not the help I sought. “I’m going pro se. I intend to represent myself.”

They were both facing me, so I couldn’t miss their reactions to my announcement. Their expressions cycled from disbelief to dismay to disapproval.

Mason spoke first. “What the absolute—” He glanced at Jenny, then looked back at me. “You trying to be funny? Making a joke?”

Jenny pinned me with her stare. “No. You can’t.”

I opened my mouth and began to explain, but Mason stood, cutting me off. His voice boomed as he said, “You’re crazy. You know what they say, Stafford Lee?”

“He knows,” Jenny said.

I sighed, dreading the argument. I knew the old expression.

Mason said, “Come on, Stafford Lee. Tell me. What do they say about a lawyer who represents himself?”

We stared each other down. Did he really want me to answer? What the hell; I wasn’t afraid to say it. “He’s a fool.”

“No, that’s not it. Get it right, friend. ‘A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client.’ That’s you, Stafford Lee.”

“We’re not going to debate this,” I said. I was trying to sound reasonable. Pleasant, even. Like I said, I appreciated what they were trying to do.

But they wouldn’t drop it. Jenny said, “That applies even to you, Stafford Lee. In case you weren’t aware.”

“I’m aware.”

She tapped her phone. “Mason was serious when he said it’s bad. This is the coverage in today’s paper. You need to see it.”

She set the phone in front of me. I didn’t pick it up. To Mason, I said, “So, about that favor. I want you to take Rue’s case, Mason. She can’t afford to hire a lawyer.”

Mason was conflicted, I could tell. “They’ll appoint counsel. She’ll get a public defender.”

“The public defenders are overworked, Mason. Their caseload is too heavy, and a lot of them are young, inexperienced. She won’t get the representation she needs. It’s got to be you.”

He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t flat-out refuse either. I was confident Mason would do the right thing.

Jenny had the stubborn look she got when she had no intention of backing down. She shoved the phone right in front of me so I couldn’t ignore it. “You gonna read it or do I have to read it to you?”

I looked down. Below the headline, the story had photos of each of the three principal parties: a portrait of Iris Caro, taken from coverage of some society event; my regular headshot, a fairly recent professional photo the newspaper kept on file; and Rue’s picture, which was taken from her mug shot. The contrast between the jailhouse picture and the posed photographs was profound.

I shoved the phone away.

Jenny said, “Okay, you don’t have to read it; I’ll give you the gist. There’s a probable-cause statement. The cop swears that the charges against the two of you are supported by forensic evidence tying you to the murder scene—”

Mason interjected, “Doesn’t say why or how.”

“Right,” Jenny said. “And the sworn statement says they found online correspondence on your laptop, Stafford Lee, showing threats against Iris.”

“E-mails,” Mason said.

I could barely keep up. “What? No. Not possible. Who were the e-mails from?” I was genuinely baffled.

“From you. There are veiled threats that if she rejected you, you’d harm yourself and her. Implying murder/suicide. They’re filing a motion to get access to your cell phone.”

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