The 19th Christmas (Women's Murder Club #19)(42)
Okay. That would work. But Cindy was sweating it.
She was an investigative crime reporter. Her work read like fiction, but it was solidly based on journalistic ethics and principles. Professional. Unbiased. Facts only. Facts checked.
Cindy wanted a good outcome for Eduardo, but if it went badly for him today, Cindy was going to have to write a Christmas tragedy.
Earlier, as the gallery filled, Cindy had made her way down to the front row of the courtroom and met Eduardo for the first time. She’d seen many photos of him as a free man, and she was shocked by how shrunken and pale he was now, how much older he looked than his forty years.
When she told Eduardo who she was, he teared up.
Cindy hugged him, then reached over the seat and hugged his dear wife, Maria, and their three teenage children, sitting behind their father. And she shook Zac Jordan’s hand, wishing him the best of luck.
After returning to her seat in the back row, she texted Henry Tyler, the newspaper’s editor in chief, to say that she was on the job and would alert him as soon as the case had been dismissed.
Tyler texted back, Always the optimist.
She replied with a smiley face.
Tyler was supportive and he trusted her. Good outcome for Eduardo or bad, she must write this story as if her job depended on it.
Today, Judge Lauren Innello would hear dozens of case summaries presented in brief by both the prosecution and the defense counsel. She would weigh mitigating or aggravating circumstances and negotiate sentences or pleas for those defendants who wanted to avoid going to trial.
Would Eduardo get a break? Would he go home or would he go back to jail to keep waiting for trial?
Cindy was jolted out of her thoughts by someone shaking her shoulder.
“Yuki!” Cindy said. “What’s wrong?”
Normally, Yuki was immaculately put together, but right now she looked as though she’d taken a few spins inside a clothes dryer. She put her finger to her lips and indicated to Cindy that she needed to speak with her outside the courtroom, then she went to grab Zac.
Cindy left her jacket on her seat and waited for Yuki and Zac outside the courtroom.
What had happened?
Her thoughts went directly to the worst thing she could imagine: that the murder weapon had been recovered, that it was registered to Eduardo, and that his prints were on the gun.
When Cindy, Zac, and Yuki were all gathered in a corner of the teeming corridor outside the courtroom, Yuki said, “I found this.”
She pulled a document out of her handbag and showed it to Zac. After he’d read it, Yuki asked, “What do you think?”
“We need to get Palermo in on this,” Zac said, referring to the ADA who had brought the homicide charges against Eduardo. “And we have to meet with Judge Innello in chambers.”
CHAPTER 60
AT JUST BEFORE six on Christmas Eve, William Lomachenko strolled through the International Terminal at San Francisco International Airport. He wore a loud Christmas sweater—red and green with a big Christmas tree on the chest—jeans, and running shoes, and he had a carry-on bag with the strap slung over his shoulder.
Loman was bareheaded, which felt odd to him. He’d worn a cap almost constantly since he’d started to lose his hair, around age twenty-five. Like many bald men, he sported a full beard and mustache.
There were cameras throughout the terminal, and Loman was counting on that. He glanced at the one inside the entrance as he gazed up at the elongated skylights with structures hanging from the ceiling, then moved on. There was another art installation near the Virgin Atlantic checkin counter, a very grounded sculpture called Stacking Stones.
The cameras would show that the man in the garish Christmas sweater took a deep breath of ionized air and continued his self-guided tour. He moved at an unhurried pace, checking out exits, escalators, bathrooms, rental-car booths, the left-luggage section, appearing to be just another traveler killing time.
Eventually he headed toward the shops, most of them with their lights on to capture desperate last-minute shoppers, Christmas music still pouring from the open doors, tinsel and glass ornaments arranged invitingly around merchandise in the plate-glass windows.
Loman checked the time and pulled what appeared to be a boarding pass from a side pouch of his bag. He peered at it, then looked up at the arrival/departure board as if double-checking the time and the gate number.
He still had some time.
Loman scoped out the row of retail stores—the bookstore, the souvenir shop, the candy store, the art gallery, the high-priced toiletries boutique, and Tech4U, an electronic gadgets wonderland.
That was the one.
Tech4U was narrow and deep and lined with shrink-wrapped camera, phone, and computer accessories. The blond, tattooed young woman behind the counter was bored enough to listen as he told her about his nephews and asked her advice on what to get them.
Together they picked out some device chargers and games, and Loman waited as the girl gift-wrapped them. She seemed to enjoy making the square corners, tucking them in, taping them down.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Nope, I’m good,” said Loman.
He paid for the gifts in cash, thanked the girl, and headed to the men’s room. Inside a stall, Loman opened his overnight bag and removed a pair of gray slacks, a plain navy-blue cotton pullover, a black ball cap, and a pair of glasses with red frames.