“She was upstairs in her room.”
“And where was Ellen Lafferty?” Hoffman asked.
“I don’t know where she was. She said good night to me about fifteen minutes before Dennis was shot.”
“And where was Dennis just before the incident?”
“I don’t know that either. I didn’t see him. I went to the bedroom wing, passed the kids’ rooms and said hello to each of them. Then I went down that hallway to my office. That’s where I was when Ellen said that she was leaving.”
“What were you doing in your office that evening?”
“I was returning calls.”
“And were you still in your office when you heard shots?”
“Yes. I was about to call a patient’s wife. It wasn’t going to be good news. I had taken off my glasses and was massaging my temples, like this.”
Dr. Martin took off her glasses and put them down on the armrest. She rubbed her temples with her thumb and third finger of her left hand.
“I had the phone in my other hand,” she said, making a claw of her right hand as if she were clutching a receiver.
Yuki thought that this demo was a pretty ingenious way to visually put a cell phone in Candace Martin’s hand instead of a gun, and she had to admire Hoffman for coming up with it.
“Please tell the jury what happened when you heard the shots,” Hoffman said. He stepped aside so that he wouldn’t obstruct the sight line between his client and the jurors.
Candace Martin listed the timeline just as Hoffman had done in his opening statement. She said that she ran to the foyer, found her husband on the floor, blood pooling near his chest, and checked his pulse.
She went on to say that she wasn’t wearing her glasses but heard the clatter of something metallic falling to the floor. She realized it was a gun at the same time that she saw someone in the shadows moving toward the front door.
Yuki watched Candace Martin’s face for tells, facial tics or eye movements, and she listened for lies. She found Candace believable.
And she thought that the jury would believe her, too.
In a few minutes Yuki would have to discredit this heart surgeon, this good mother, and undo the work Phil Hoffman had done, polishing a halo and affixing it to the crown of Candace Martin’s pretty blond head.
Yuki knew what she had to do.
She wondered if she could do it.
Chapter 69
PHIL HOFFMAN was winding up his direct examination of Candace Martin, trying to rein in any visible sign of the rush he was feeling. The gamble was paying off. Candace was the perfect witness for herself: Concise. Clear. Consistent.
And, of course, innocent.
“When you found Dennis on the floor and realized that he had expired, what did you do?” Hoffman asked.
“I remember grasping the gun. I had never held a gun before, but I saw someone leaving the house. The front door was open. Instinctively, I wanted to stop whoever had shot my husband. I ran after the intruder. I yelled, ‘Stop!’ a couple of times,” Candace Martin told the jury. “And then I fired.”
“Did you hit anyone, Dr. Martin?”
“No. I didn’t see anyone outside. I just fired high to make sure he didn’t come back. Then I came back into the house, locked the front door, and went back to Dennis. By that time, the kids had come out of their rooms and were crying. It was horrible. Horrible. I sent Caitlin to her room, and Duncan went upstairs to Cyndi’s room.”
“What happened after that?”
“I called nine one one. The police came in a few minutes.”
“Please tell the jury how you were feeling.”
“Me? I was almost paralyzed with shock and grief. And then, unbelievably, everything got worse. Shall I go on?”
“Please do.”
The doctor nodded, swallowed hard, and resumed speaking.
“It was the routine end of a routine day. Suddenly — gunshots. Someone had come into my house and killed my husband. When the police arrived, they started questioning me. I had to leave my children at the most traumatic moment in their lives. I had to walk past my dead husband and get into a patrol car so that I could be interviewed at the police station.
“I was questioned for eight hours, then held overnight. In the morning, I was charged with a murder I didn’t commit.
“I was terrified then — and I’m terrified now. The fear never leaves me. Because I’m also afraid for my children and I’m not with them.”
Yuki thought, Holy crap. Candace Martin had had the jury at I do. Under the best of circumstances, they would have a hard time seeing the killer in this woman. Yuki scribbled a note to Nicky that sent him to his laptop. He was opening files as Hoffman thanked his client.
“Your witness,” Phil Hoffman said.
Chapter 70
YUKI RAN HER FINGER down the section of the transcript on Nicky’s laptop, her deposition of Candace Martin from a year before. Then she stood and walked toward the witness.
“Dr. Martin, did you love your husband?”
“Yes.”
“But you had been having an affair for more than a year before he was killed.”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about Felix Ashton, your lover?”
“Objection. Relevance,” Hoffman said from his seat.
“Overruled. Dr. Martin, please answer the question,” said the judge.
“I have a lot of affection for Felix.”
Yuki said, “Mr. Ashton testified that he loves you. But you don’t return his feelings?”
“I don’t know how to quantify my feelings for Felix.”
“Did your husband tell you how he felt about you having an affair?”
“Not specifically.”
“Did it upset him? Did it make him angry?”
“I don’t think he cared if I had an affair,” Candace Martin said. “If he did, it would only have made him a hypocrite.”
“Well, your lover testified that your husband followed the two of you around. Is that true?”
“Yes. But, I don’t think Dennis cared that I was seeing Felix. He was just trying to get me to agree to a divorce.”
“And you wouldn’t give it to him?”
“I wouldn’t accept his terms.”
“So you subscribe to the theory that it’s better for the children if a couple stays together — even if they are both having affairs — than if they divorce?”
“Your Honor,” Hoffman said from his seat, “counsel is badgering the witness.”
“Sustained. Get to your point if you have one, Ms. Castellano.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” She walked to the center of the well, then turned back around to face the witness, the distance between them making it necessary for Candace Martin to speak loudly. Yuki said, “Ellen Lafferty testified that she was having an affair with your husband. Were you aware that they were involved?”
“Not until she testified.”
“Were you jealous of the attention your husband lavished on other women?”
“No. I was used to it.”
“So despite the fact that you loved him, his philandering in your own home didn’t infuriate you? That’s remarkable,” Yuki said.
“Don’t bother to object, Mr. Hoffman,” LaVan said. “Ms. Castellano, your opinions are out of order. Don’t do that again. Ask your questions, and let’s move on.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. Dr. Martin, let me make sure I understand your testimony.
“You were having an affair. You admit your husband was habitually unfaithful. And yet you maintain that you loved him. You were photographed with a known hit man. You found your husband’s gun —”
Yuki made a gun with her thumb and forefinger, moved in toward the witness, and from five feet away pointed her “gun” at Candace Martin, saying, “And when you had an opportunity to kill him, you shot him dead.”
Yuki squeezed the imaginary trigger and jerked the imaginary gun as if it were kicking back. And she ignored Hoffman, who was shout
ing his objections, and ignored the bang of the gavel — a sound as effective as if the bullets she’d fired with her hand were real.
She spoke over the commotion, saying, “And so, Dr. Martin, after your husband was dead, you fired a few rounds into the air to explain away the gunshot residue on your hands. Isn’t that true?”
“Your Honor,” Hoffman shouted, “Ms. Castellano just gave her summation. Apart from her disingenuous ‘Isn’t that true?’ there wasn’t a question in that entire herd of bull,” Hoffman said. “I move that this entire cross-examination be stricken —”
“For God’s sake,” Candace Martin said, gripping the arms of the witness box, leaning forward, the cords of her neck standing out as she shouted at Yuki over her lawyer’s voice.
“If I were going to kill Dennis, why would I do it in my own home, where my children would see it? This travesty is the fault of bad police work and insane, rabid prosecution. Take a look at yourself, Ms. Castellano. I was angry at Dennis, but I didn’t kill him. Just like I would never kill you.”
Chapter 71
THE JUDGE SLAMMED down his gavel again and again, bellowing, “Order! Mr. Hoffman, get your client under control,” he commanded, which only added fuel to the conflagration that was already consuming the courtroom.
Yuki stood in the well with her hands clasped in front of her, hoping the disturbance would rage on.
Even if her cross was stricken, even if she was fined, she had turned a blowtorch on Candace Martin’s cool demeanor. The doctor’s vehement protests that she wouldn’t kill her husband had lost their punch.
The motive to kill was there.
Her going ballistic had demonstrated to the jury that she could have lost her cool and gunned him down.
The judge banged his gavel once more, and at last the ruckus died down. He straightened his glasses, peered down at Yuki, and said, “Anything else, Ms. Castellano? Or have you done enough for one day?”
Yuki said, “I have nothing further for the witness.”
Hoffman said, “Redirect, Your Honor.”
But the judge wasn’t listening anymore. His attention had gone to his cell phone. His face was pale.
A second time Hoffman told the judge that he wanted to reexamine the witness.
“It’ll have to wait,” said Judge LaVan. “I have to visit someone at the hospital, immediately.
“Dr. Martin, you may step down. Court is adjourned for the day. Ms. Castellano. Mr. Hoffman. Be in my chambers at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.
“We’ll pick up the pieces then.”
Chapter 72
I WALKED INTO Brady’s office first thing in the morning, hoping to have the quickest meeting on record.
Brady put down his phone and said, “Boxer, I’m going to have to pull you off Richardson and send it down to Crimes Against Persons. Look at what’s come in in the past week,” he said, tilting his chin toward the whiteboard in the center of the squad room, legible through the glass walls of his office.
Six open cases were listed in black letters. Closed cases were always written in red. There were no closed cases.
“Lieutenant, we’re getting some real movement on Richardson,” I said, pulling out a chair, sitting down across from the big guy. His sunny hair was pulled back, but there was no wedding band on his ring finger. I thought about Yuki, no bigger than a bird, wrapped in the arms of this cop I barely knew, and I was afraid for her.
Yuki was a brilliant, gutsy prosecutor — and at the same time an absolute loser at picking men.
Brady was staring back at me, waiting for me to speak.
“Quentin Tazio found a connection that could crack this case,” I said.
“QT’s our computer consultant, right?”
“He’s the best.”
I told Brady that through the wizardry of telephony and electronic databases, QT had tracked a phone call to Jordan Ritter from the Lake Merced area during the time Avis Richardson was delivering her baby.
“According to Avis, she asked one of the two women who had assisted in the delivery to lend her a phone so she could call her boyfriend.
“The phone used to call Jordan Ritter belongs to Antoinette Burgess, age forty, used to be a schoolteacher. She lives in Taylor Creek, Oregon. Population three thousand forty-two.”
Brady said, “You think Burgess may have the baby?”
“Avis says Burgess was there when the baby was born.”
“I’m starting to feel a little hopeful. Seem okay to be hopeful, Boxer?”
I nodded and told Brady that Burgess didn’t have a record and that I wanted to meet her. If she had the baby, I would get him out of Taylor Creek before sirens and helicopter and SWAT made an intervention dangerous.
“Conklin is going to stay here and work on locating Avis and her boyfriend,” I told Brady. “Claire Washburn is coming with me. We’re both working off the meter.”
“Work on the meter,” Brady said. “Let’s wrap this up. I’ll contact the local authorities in whatever the largest town is near Taylor Creek. I’ll do it now.”
“Lieutenant. With all due respect, I think we should get a feel for the situation first.”
Brady and I went a few rounds about the logistics, but I could tell he was excited. After I assured him that I would call him as soon as I reached Taylor Creek and give him postings throughout the day, he gave me the green light.
I got out of Brady’s office, relieved that I was still on the case. I knew that this one lead to a woman who lived in Oregon was probably my last chance to find Avis Richardson’s missing child.
And it might be the baby’s last chance, too.
Book Three
ROAD TRIP
Chapter 73
I MET CLAIRE in the parking lot outside the Medical Examiner’s Office. She piled in next to me in the front seat of the Explorer with a diaper bag doing duty as a picnic carryall.
Like me, Claire hadn’t gone on a road trip in more than a year. Unlike me, Claire was in a cheery mood.
I punched “Main Street, Taylor Creek, Oregon” into the Explorer’s nav system and set out toward the Bay Bridge and 1–80 East. It was a four-hundred-and-thirty-mile trip, and I planned to make it all in one day.
By this time tomorrow, I hoped to have Baby Boy Richardson in my care. I could almost see him all bundled up, lying in his car seat.
“I brought you a fried-egg sandwich,” Claire told me as we passed the Berkeley exit and got a foggy-morning Bay view across the marina to the west. “I had the deli man put a slice of ham in there. And here’s your coffee. Extra milky.”
“You’re a sweetie, ya know?”
“I do know,” Claire said, chuckling. Man, she was glad to be getting out of town. By the time we hit the interstate, Claire was in full throat about her baby and my goddaughter, Ruby Rose Washburn.
She spared no detail in singing out stories about Ruby’s adventures in the pots-and-pans cabinet, her first taste of hot dog with relish, and how Ruby’s daddy was her favorite person.
“Edmund plays the cello for her,” Claire told me as I got in the Fas Trak lane. We crossed the Carquinez Bridge. I took in the view of San Pablo Bay and Mare Island, the site of the old Mare Island shipyard and the sugar refinery in the town of Crockett to the east.
“She lies in the puffy chair when he practices and coos along with the music. She loves Vivaldi, Edmund says. It’s all so delicious, Lindsay.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I couldn’t say more. I love Ruby Rose. I was looking for a missing baby. And I had babies on my mind.
I ached to have a baby with Joe. I wanted what Claire had — hot dogs and pots and pans and cooing babies. I wanted to hear Joe singing amazing arias to our child in Italian.
I didn’t even know they were there, but salty tears leaked out of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I palmed them away, but Claire caught me in the act.
“What is it, Lindsay? What’s wrong?”
“Just tired,” I said.
“After all these years, you still think you can get away with lying to me?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“So, what is it?”
I told my best bud, “Once a month I get body-slammed by the loss of another opportunity, you know? Getting married makes me want a baby more than ever. It’s come over me like a freakin’ baby-love tsunami,” I said.
“You and Joe have been trying?”
I nodded.
“For how long?”
“A little while. Three or four months.”
“That’s nothing,’” Claire said.
By then we were on Interstate 5 about one hundred miles north of San Francisco. Knee-high thickets of scrub flanked both sides of the freeway, and wire fences separated the road from the plains of parched grass that stretched to the horizon.
The word “barren” came to mind.
“You having PMS right now?” Claire asked me.
“Yuh-huh,” I said.
Claire reached over and gave my shoulder a shake. “You’re getting a chocolate bar at the next gas station,” she said.
I croaked, “What is that? Doctor’s orders?”
Claire laughed. “Yes, it is, smarty-pants,” she said. “It most definitely is.”
Chapter 74
ANY COP WOULD SAY that emotional attachment messes with your objectivity. You just have to accept that innocent people get hurt, raped, scammed, kidnapped, and murdered every day.
But if you’re a cop and you don’t bring everything you’ve got to nailing the bad guys, what the hell is the point? For the same time and money, you might as well be punching tickets on a train.
We gassed up the Explorer outside Williams, then had lunch at Granzella’s, a restaurant that looked like a feed store on the outside and a hunting lodge inside. Claire and I sat at a table under the mounted heads of deer and bear as well as zebras, water buffalo, and long-horned goats.
Along with the exotic taxidermy, Granzella’s specialized in a very nice linguine with a spicy red sauce. While we ate, I groused about Avis.