The 19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19)(12)

Maria had told Cindy that Eduardo was sleeping in his car when he heard the shots. She said that the witnesses had lied—he didn’t own and had never fired a gun. Maybe when they’d seen Eduardo, they had decided on the spot to pin the shooting on him.

Cindy thought about the possible outcomes of a trial. Could those witness statements be refuted? Or was it more likely that two years after that murder, in a transient neighborhood with an immigrant population, no one would testify in Eduardo’s defense? And if the case went to trial and Eduardo was found guilty of murder despite the sketchy evidence, he would go to prison, probably for life.

With her new understanding of Eduardo’s situation and what he was up against, Cindy decided it was time to pitch Tyler the story and then, if he approved it, go see Yuki Castellano and try to get her on board.





CHAPTER 16





YUKI WAS BEHIND her tidy desk in her office when Cindy came to the door. She said to Cindy, “Come on in. Have a seat. Put your feet up. What’s going on?”

Yuki was usually the fast talker of the group, but Cindy could put some speed on when she was worked up. The two friends went over to the small sofa, where Cindy filled Yuki in on her meeting with Maria and the research she had done.

Her proposed article about Eduardo Varela wasn’t an investigative report. It was an opinion piece, a human-interest story. She hadn’t interviewed cops or the ME or gone over crime scene photos.

She had pitched Eduardo’s story to Henry Tyler, the publisher and editor in chief, saying that she believed, based on talks with his family, that this undocumented immigrant had been wrongfully charged and jailed without trial for two years.

Cindy had told Tyler that she was convinced that an injustice had been done, and she and Tyler had discussed the Varela family’s backstory.

After ten intense minutes Tyler had said, “Go for it.” And he was holding space for her on the front page of the Christmas edition.

Now she had to write it—and fast. Could Yuki help Eduardo?

Yuki said, “Are you asking me to lean on an ADA and get this man out of jail? Today?”

“Can you?”

“Hell no.”

Cindy laughed. “I thought you could do anything.”

“Not exactly,” said Yuki. “I can do nothing to defend this man. I’m a prosecutor, remember? But I have some questions for you.”

“Shoot,” said Cindy.

Yuki asked for the names of the victim, the arresting officers, and the witnesses against Eduardo. Cindy referred to her notes.

“The victim was Gordon Perez, twenty years old, body found on Bartlett Street two blocks from Eduardo and Maria’s apartment. Here’s a transcript of the arresting officers’ statements,” Cindy said as she emailed the police report to Yuki from her phone.

“Let me see,” said Yuki. She went to her laptop, read the report, then looked up and said, “The police didn’t find the gun.”

“That’s good or bad?”

“If they’d found a gun that belonged to Eduardo, there’s your slam-dunk conviction. If they’d found the murder weapon and it was registered to someone else but Eduardo’s prints were on it, ditto. Slam dunk. If they’d found the gun but there were no prints, that would have worked in Eduardo’s favor. Without a gun, it’s much harder to prove that he’s the shooter. Did Eduardo know the victim?”

“Yes. They were acquainted.”

“How did they get along?”

“From what Maria told me, they just lived on the same street. That was all.”

Yuki said, “Okay. Assuming Eduardo Varela had no motive to shoot Gordon Perez, the case against him is based on witness statements. Varela has a crappy alibi. As it says here, he was sleeping in his car, heard shots, got out, and saw some boys run off.”

“He didn’t call the police,” said Cindy. “He just drove to his second job.”

“Hmm. Or, as the state will put it, he shot the guy, got rid of his gun, then drove to his second job.”

Yuki had worked for a nonprofit lawyers’ organization. Cindy knew she had defended a couple of undocumented immigrants while assisting the head of the Defense League, who was now a friend.

Yuki said, “I’m thinking about that big case that gets talked about a lot. Jorge Alvarez was deported five times and got back into San Francisco, where he fatally stabbed a man in a hotel lobby. It was an unfortunate criminal career path,” Yuki said, “but it made a big impression on the public consciousness, and it hardened the courts against illegal immigrants.”

“What happened to Alvarez?” Cindy asked.

“He’s awaiting trial. He could be your guy’s cell mate, for all we know. But there’s another guy I just read about, an immigrant convicted of murder, Jaime Ochoa. Ochoa got a break—after twenty years.”

“Twenty?”

“The one and only witness retracted her statement. She maintained that she had told the cops she wasn’t sure at the time, but the state ran with the witness testimony and got a conviction. After twenty years, the witness was willing to swear she’d ID’d the wrong man.”

“Holy crap. Twenty years of life, wasted.”

“Ochoa walked out a free man. He wasn’t deported, and he thanked the court and went home to his family,” Yuki said. “He was undocumented, but he had no prior record.