16th Seduction (Women's Murder Club 16)

“It’s nothing,” said Brady. “My wife and I are professionals. We have never discussed this case together.”

“That’s what you’d like us to believe, but I think otherwise. We have the sergeant’s husband, Mr. Molinari, backing up my so-called confession, and now—”

Parisi was on his feet, yelling, “Objection,” and Grant shouted over him.

“You and your wife are nailing me to the cross. What would you call that, Lieutenant? Conspiracy? Railroading?”

“I call it bullshit,” said Brady.

The judge banged his gavel and admonished counsel and instructed the jury to disregard. He then told the gall

ery to quiet down immediately or people would be removed from the courtroom.

Yuki was watching Connor Grant. For the first time she saw rage cross his face, and he was transformed from the mild high school teacher to something twisted and monstrous.

Grant shouted at Brady, “One suspect. No evidence.”

Judge Hoffman slammed down his gavel and shouted back at Grant.

“Sit down, Mr. Grant. Speak out of turn again, or cause any disruption at all, and you will be watching this trial on closed-circuit TV. Do you understand me?”

Grant apologized to the court and said, “Judge, I ask that this be stricken from the record.”

“No, there’s no reason to strike that, Mr. Grant. Is the prosecution ready for cross?”

Parisi stood.

“Lieutenant Brady, have you colluded with ADA Castellano?”

“No. We have a Chinese wall at our house, and we respect it.”

“Please tell the jury what a Chinese wall is.”

“We don’t discuss the case together. Ever. Period.”

“Lieutenant, thank you,” said Parisi. “Now here’s a hypothetical question. If you were going to destroy evidence—DNA, fingerprints, video cameras, et cetera—would blowing up the crime scene with a hard-force explosion accompanied by a flash fire do the job?”

“Absolutely. There was nothing left of Sci-Tron but six tons of granulated rubble.”

Parisi thanked Brady and told him that he could step down.

CHAPTER 44

AFTER THE LUNCH break, as everyone resumed their places, Yuki took her seat at the prosecution table. Len sat down heavily beside her.

Len seemed to have recovered his composure, but Yuki was still reeling from the accusation that she and her husband had colluded, when in fact they had carefully, rigorously avoided any talk about the case. But the worst part of the assault on Brady’s credibility was how Grant had brilliantly summarized his defense in four words.

One suspect. No evidence.

If Antonelli had coached him to do this, kudos to her.

Antonelli sat quietly by as Grant introduced his character witnesses: his priest, his banker, and last, Kenneth Evan Miller, an eighteen-year-old student at Saint Brendan who was president of the senior class.

Kenneth Miller had close-cropped blond hair and hornrimmed glasses and wore a forest-green blazer with the school logo on a patch over the breast pocket.

Miller testified under Grant’s questioning: “You are a very devoted teacher. I’d say you have a warm relationship with your students, and I personally learned a lot from you.”

Yuki was watching the young man closely. When she had deposed him, she’d felt that Kenneth Miller was holding something back. She was going to try to dislodge whatever that something was on cross.