Page 98 of The 1 Lawyer

“Hey, Gene,” I said. I needed him to tell me the name of my benefactor while we were here in the cubicle, where no one else could hear. “Who paid your fee?”

“My fee?” He gave me a curious look. “You don’t know?”

“I figure it was Mason Burnett.” When the bondsman didn’t say anything, I added, “Or Jenny Glaser. Is that right? Did Jenny contact you?”

He snorted like he knew a joke I wasn’t in on. The sound was unsettling.

For my final guess, I croaked out, “My father?”

“No, sir! A client of yours paid it.”

I was stumped. I’d had many clients over the years, and sure, I’d worked hard to foster positive professional relationships with them. But I couldn’t think of any man or woman I’d represented who would bail me out of jail.

“Can’t guess?” he said.

I shook my head. The bondsman shuffled through his paperwork until he came to the sheet setting out the indemnitor’s information. He set the clipboard back on the table and placed his finger right under the name. I looked down. Thought at first my eyes were deceiving me. But there it was, in black ink. A signature I’d seen before.

Daniel Caro, MD.

CHAPTER 77

TWO DAYS later, I walked out onto the oak-shaded courtyard of Mary Mahoney’s Old French House restaurant. Daniel Caro was already there. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, but I suspected that he’d chosen the meeting spot for its relative privacy. The glass-topped tables on the brick-paved courtyard were spaced farther apart than those inside the eighteenth-century house where Mary Mahoney’s had done business for fifty years.

I sat down on a metal patio chair and jumped right in. “What’s going on here, Caro?”

His face remained expressionless. “Excuse me?”

Perspiration started beading on my forehead despite the shade. “Is this some game you’re playing? Posting my bond and bailing me out?”

He adjusted his sunglasses. “Your reaction surprises me. I assumed you’d want to be released. I must confess, I thought you’d be more appreciative. If you’re not responsible for my wife’s death—”

I broke in, my words tumbling out in a rush. “No—God, no! It wasn’t me, I’m innocent. You know that I would never harm Iris.”

The slight nod he gave me didn’t provide sufficient reassurance. I wanted—no, needed—a definitive sign that he believed me. To set the facts straight, I said, “The police theory made it into the press. They concocted a love triangle, said that I seduced your wife and killed her in a crime of passion and that I’d also romanced my intern and used her to aid and abet me in my crime. Daniel, it’s absurd, absolutely crazy. I swear on my life, I never harmed Iris. I never had any designs on your wife. Iris and I, we were never—”

He raised a hand to silence me. “Enough.”

Enough? I shut up, but I wondered what it meant. Had I convinced him? Or did he think I was lying? Maybe I needed to backtrack. “I apologize—I haven’t offered my condolences. Please know how sorry I am about the death of your wife. It’s a terrible loss, a senseless tragedy. Iris was a wonderful person—” I would have said more; I was prepared to mention some of her virtues. But Caro cut me off.

“You’re right about that. She was wonderful. I was very fortunate to have Iris as my spouse for all those years. I knew her well. And she was never interested in you, Stafford Lee.”

That shut me up. I sat back and listened.

He said, “I’m aware y’all knew each other when you were young. Had a date, maybe. And I also know it didn’t go anywhere. Iris told me she never found you particularly attractive or likable, not even when you were in college.”

The nature of the conversation was so bizarre, I had an inappropriate urge to laugh. To suppress it, I covered my mouth with my hand and coughed.

A waiter appeared with glasses of ice water. “What can I bring you gentlemen this evening?”

“Just water,” I said.

Caro said, “I’ll have a Grey Goose martini, up. Dry.”

After the waiter walked away, Caro took off his sunglasses. He had dark circles under his eyes. His face bore marks of strain. “About Iris. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, of course. We went through some stormy times; you know that.” He glanced away from me and paused for a moment. “I put her through a lot with the Aurora Gates affair and the murder trial.”

I didn’t argue.

He went on. “And Iris had her own faults. At times, she engaged in flirtations, played the coquette, acted out her glory days as a college belle. But she never betrayed me, never broke her vows. Iris wasn’t unfaithful.”

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