The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(67)

“But today’s crimes differ.

“Item: The men killed in Baltimore were shot at approximately midnight and 3 a.m. The three men killed in San Francisco were executed at some time prior to the morning rush hour.

“Are the ‘new war on drugs’ snipers going rogue? Or has the original pattern changed and is now encompassing a wider area and a looser time frame? If so, what’s the battle plan?

“The San Francisco Chronicle wants to hear from you.”

Cindy entered her blog post, wrote a note to Tyler that she and McGowan were on the story. She copied McGowan, too. She packed up to go and was standing at the elevator when her cell phone rang.

Richie said, “You still love me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I love you. I want to take you out to dinner tonight. I need your company while we’re both awake.”

Cindy said, “Great idea. Stupendous.”

The elevator doors opened and Cindy left the building, looking forward to seeing Richie over a restaurant dinner. She crossed Mission to the garage, walked down the ramp to her spot, and was unlocking her car when Jeb McGowan appeared.

“Everything okay, Cindy?”

“I’m absolutely fine. What about you?” she said.

She organized her bags and the radio on the passenger seat and closed the door. She was walking around the back of her car to the driver’s side when McGowan blocked her path.

“What’s this?” she said.

McGowan put his hand behind Cindy’s neck and pulled her toward him. Then he kissed her.

Cindy could not believe what had happened, but she had to believe it. McGowan had put his lips on hers and stuck his tongue into her mouth, and now he was grinning at her.

He said, “Wow, I’ve been waiting a long time to do that. Admit it, Cindy. You liked it.”

“Let me be clear. If you ever do that again,” Cindy hissed, “I will have you fired.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said McGowan. “Are you imagining things, Cindy? Because absolutely nothing happened.”





CHAPTER 96





WHEN YUKI OPENED her eyes that morning, she knew that the day she’d been dreading had arrived.

She was still conflicted. The kid was a patsy. But as Parisi had told her at the top of his lungs, it didn’t matter what she felt. She had a job to do. A good prosecutor can prosecute anyone. And since the defendant had refused to cooperate, she couldn’t do anything for him.

So in two hours Yuki would drop the hammer on Clay Warren.

Careful not to wake Brady, Yuki showered, blew out her hair, dressed in a classic blue suit, and stepped into her high-heeled blue suede shoes.

There was a note on the table in the foyer next to her keys that read, “XXX ? B.” She smiled, pressed her lips to the back of the note, and after returning the lipstick kiss to the table, Yuki gathered her stuff and drove to the Hall.

During the drive Yuki reviewed her prep for the trial.

She’d rehearsed her opening and saw no holes in her argument. She’d prepared her witness and set up the props, and she liked the jury. And she thought about opposing counsel, her friend Zac Jordan.

Yuki had worked pro bono with Zac at the Defense League and learned a lot from him. He was smart, had a passion for the underdog, and had a gift for connecting with a jury. She’d also learned that Zac lacked a killer instinct.

But even if he sprinkled broken glass on his cereal, his teenage client was facing grand theft auto, possession of a firearm, and holding a kilo of an illegal substance with intent to distribute—to name three.

The really bad news for Clay Warren was that even if he hadn’t stolen the car, owned the gun, or possessed the drugs, a cop had been killed during the commission of those felonies. That made Clay just as guilty as the guy in the passenger seat.

The charge was felony murder, and the penalty was twenty-five to life. Yuki had gone way out on a very weak limb for Clay, but her sympathy for him had been wasted.

The kid had brought the hammer down on himself.

Minutes after leaving her car at the All-Day lot across from the Hall, Yuki reached her office with time to spare.

Rosalie Belinky, a recent graduate of Berkeley Law and her second chair, popped out of her cubicle and followed Yuki to her desk.

“Hey, Rose. Anything happening that I need to know?”

Rose said, “No calls, no walk-ins, and no semaphore signals from sinking ships. I checked your mail ten minutes ago, and there was nothing regarding Clay Warren.”

She placed the thick folder of highlighted deposition transcripts and Yuki’s opening statement on her desk and handed her a container of milky coffee.

The young lawyer said, “I just have to tell you, I’m pretty excited. I wish my parents could see this trial.”

Yuki smiled at her number two. She sipped coffee without getting any on her suit and picked up the folder.

“Ready, steady, go,” she said.

Rose Belinky locked the office door behind them.





CHAPTER 97





YUKI AND ROSALIE left the DA’s offices and walked fifty yards along the corridor, their heels clacking in time against the terrazzo floor.

Yuki felt her pulse speed up as a court officer opened the door to 6A, and she and her deputy entered the small, oak-paneled courtroom. The gallery was filling as they walked down the center aisle, through the gate, and took their seats at the prosecution table.