The 20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(80)

I handed off the bullhorn to Covington.

The broken front door clattered apart, and Leonard Barkley emerged holding his hands above his head. I gave him a visual pat-down. Was he holding a weapon? A grenade? He limped out onto the front steps into the open air.

“I surrender,” he shouted. “It’s over. You should all be proud. The drug dealers win.”





CHAPTER 117





YUKI AND OPPOSING counsel Zac Jordan met with district attorney Len Parisi in his office that Friday morning.

Parisi was in a decent mood, and Yuki observed lipstick on his collar. Maybe that had something to do with his sunny, “Hello, you two. Come in.”

Zac shook hands with Parisi, and Yuki flung herself onto the couch. She was so emotionally exhausted, she’d dressed in jeans and a blazer this morning. In her mind, it was casual Friday and to hell with anyone who objected.

When Parisi was sitting behind his big-man desk, papers all straight edged and tidy, with the Red Dog clock on the wall showing 8:30 on the dot, Yuki began to explain the situation.

“Len, the death of Antoine Castro robbed the justice system but was a good thing all around. Castro is of no danger to anyone now, but he was an El Chapo wannabe. Some aspiring drug lord is going to pick up his business unless we get out in front of it.”

“What do you suggest?”

Zac said, “I’ve spent a couple of hours with my client, Clay Warren. As you know, he was almost killed in jail, presumably by Castro’s crew, who wanted to stop him from talking. He’s not a bad kid. I wouldn’t call him greedy or psychopathic. He’s about average intelligence for a kid his age, but he was smart enough to stop talking when he was arrested.”

Zac went on.

“I’ve got the real story out of Clay, and Yuki can back me up.”

Parisi said, “And you want to what? I’m not getting it.”

“If you agree with what you hear,” said Zac, “we’re hoping you’ll drop the charges. Because honestly, he’s not a criminal and the shanking he got is going to shorten his life. Maybe the judge will see that he’s been punished enough. Dismiss the case and get him to a place where Castro’s gang can’t find him.”

“Make it good,” Len said. “Right now he’s still on the hook for felony murder. Your trial is due to resume early next week.”

“Clay is outside,” said Yuki. “Let me bring him in so he can tell you himself.”





CHAPTER 118





ZAC HELD THE office door for Clay Warren, who leaned heavily on a cane as he came through the entrance.

Parisi stood as Yuki made the introductions, and Clay stretched out his left hand and said, “Thanks for seeing me, sir.”

“Hello, Mr. Warren. Have a seat.”

The teen was in obvious pain. Zac knew he had bandages wrapping his torso under his orange jumpsuit. He looked for and found a chair with arms, close enough to Parisi’s desk.

Zac stood and took a stance he might have used to examine a witness in court.

He said, “Clay, why are you now willing to discuss your relationship with Antoine Castro?”

“Because he’s dead, Mr. Jordan. He can’t personally hurt me, but I don’t feel exactly safe.”

“Explain what you mean.”

“He’s a gangsta, Mr. Jordan. I did nothing to Antoine, but snitches don’t live to sing. I didn’t say anything, and his crew just about destroyed my whatchacallits … organs. My stomach is punched through in about four places.”

“Why did you try to hang yourself, Clay?”

“I was afraid I was going to get killed. And I thought if I offed myself, they wouldn’t hurt my mother. My little sister is only twelve. Jesus. I can’t stand to think about those animals getting to her.”

Tears were falling now.

Yuki walked to the credenza behind Parisi’s desk and brought a box of tissues over to Clay. He took a handful and held them to one eye and then the other. His hands shook.

Zac waited for Clay to pull himself together and then said, “Can you tell Mr. Parisi how you came to be involved with Antoine Castro?”

He nodded. “I was his gofer, sir. He gave me money to get him things. Go buy him a box of Ding Dongs at the gas station. Wash his car. That’s how it started about a year ago. He’d call and tell me, do this, do that, then he’d give me money, and we needed it. I have a part-time job. Mom makes almost nothing.” He sighed and said, “I didn’t like Mr. Antoine, but he said he was watching out for me.”

Zac said, “Tell Mr. Parisi about the day Officer Morton was killed.”

Clay Warren said, “He, Mr. Antoine, needed me to make some deliveries with him.”

“Deliveries of what?” Zac asked.

“Drugs. I didn’t know what kind. They were in a suitcase. I put that into the trunk for him.”

“You knew he was a drug dealer.”

“Everyone did.”

“Go on,” Zac said.

“So he hands me the car keys and tells me, ‘First stop, South San Francisco.’ He says he’ll tell me which way to go. I said okay. I like to drive. And the car handles good. So I’m driving, and this part is all my fault,” said Clay Warren. “The light is yellow, but it turns red. No one is coming, so I gun it.