The 17th Suspect (Women's Murder Club #17)(15)

“You just have to make time for it, that’s all,” said Claire.

“You’d think that sleeping in the same bed would do it,” Yuki said. “But it’s been a while. A month, anyway. And a month before that.”

“You’ve brought this up with him?”

“Hah. No. Neither one of us is into talk about squishy feelings.”

“Yuki, I know you can figure this out if you try. Maybe less talk, more see-through nighties?”

“Okay, Claire. Thanks for, you know, that.”

“Maybe this drought has nothing to do with you, sweetie. Could be he’s just bone tired. But listen. Do not bring a gun into the bedroom, hear me?”

Yuki let loose with a long peal of laughter. The idea of pulling a gun on Brady was just hilarious. He would pull his.

“You sound better,” said Claire, laughing, too. “As for Brady, you’re both working at the top of your careers, right? Don’t make yourself crazy. That man loves you to death.”

Yuki said good-bye to her friend and thought about what she hadn’t said to her, what she was afraid of most. That Brady had lost interest in her. She had to be wrong about that.

Just had to be.

She went back to her case file and turned her mind, as best she could, to The People v. Hill.





CHAPTER 20


CINDY WAS IN her office at the Chronicle, writing a short follow-up piece on the indictment of Briana Hill for the Criminal Justice Calendar section of the paper, when she got a Google Alert about Marc Christopher.

She clicked on the page and saw that the article she had written after yesterday’s lunch at MacBain’s had spawned countless other articles. As it got picked up, the story was doing a fast and good job of blanketing the internet. The first story on the Google list had a thumbnail of a previously unpublished photo of the alleged rape victim, Marc Christopher.

The photo of Christopher showed him in his prep-school football uniform, holding his helmet under his arm, grinning widely. It looked like a yearbook shot.

Cindy scrolled down the page, reading the lead paragraph of the new stories, thinking that this topic of woman-on-man rape was more explosive than she had expected. It had equal billing with a contentious election, a horrific category-four hurricane in Florida, and a devastating terrorist attack in the Middle East. It was as if they were celebrities.

Even as Cindy scrolled down the Google list, new stories about Marc Christopher were being added to the queue, crossing the country, jumping the pond.

The subject of female-on-male rape was controversial, for sure. She went back to the story she had posted on her crime blog and skimmed the new comments. Opinions ranged from the assertion that men couldn’t be raped, to the dismissal that women who were charged with rape were lying, to the outlier opinion that women had been raping men for centuries and the men had never been believed.

Cindy grabbed her phone and speed-dialed Yuki.

Yuki picked up, said, “Please only good news, Cindy. I’m swamped with phone calls, e-mails, interoffice mail. It’s just crazy.”

“I called to tell you that this Marc Christopher case has struck a nerve,” Cindy said. “I’m surprised.”

Yuki said, “Me, too. If this doesn’t die down, I wonder about finding an unbiased jury. I’m worried that the defense will ask for a change of venue.”

“Yeah,” said Cindy. “Calling all people who live under rocks.”

Yuki laughed and said, “That’s not funny.” She laughed again. “Thanks for giving me the redundant heads-up.”

The two friends said good-byes.

Cindy’s computer rang out with each new alert until she turned off the sound. She had scooped other media with the story, but now The People v. Hill was taking on a life of its own.





CHAPTER 21


YUKI OPENED CINDY’S crime blog and read the impassioned reactions to the case against Briana Hill, which hadn’t yet been brought to trial.

After that she googled Briana Hill.

When she had read enough articles and commentary to gather the points of view that would very likely be reflected in the future jury, she went down the hall to the cubicle belonging to Arthur Baron. Baron was about fifty, and he had just joined the DA’s office from the in-house legal department of BW&T, a huge utility company.

When Yuki was in her late twenties, she had made a similar move, leaving a cushy corporate job for a lower-paying job with the district attorney. She had worked harder and longer for less, but this work for the people of San Francisco made her feel that her time and labor were worthwhile.

Arthur had e-mailed her this morning, saying he wanted to talk to her about the Hill case. Now she knocked on a wall of his cubicle, and Art looked up from his computer. He was wiry, average height, gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a plain blue shirt, a tie, and dark slacks, and his jacket was neatly hung over the back of his chair.

“Yuki. Come in.”

“Got a few minutes, Art?”

“Sure. Thanks for coming by.”

Yuki took a seat next to the desk in the small work space and asked Arthur what he knew about the case against Briana Hill.

“What I’ve read in the press and overheard in the hallway.”

“What do you think?”

“Congrats that you’re going to trial. I’m jealous.”