The Trial (Women's Murder Club 15.50)

Penney said, “He maintains his innocence. He wants to walk out of court a free man.”

It took massive willpower for me not to roll my eyes and shout, Yeah, right. Of course he’s innocent!

Parisi shrugged into his jacket, tightened the knot in his tie, glanced at the clock. Then he said, “I told Sierra about the attack on you two by Mala Sangre thugs. I said that if the violence stops now, and if he is convicted, I will arrange for him to do his time at the prison of his choice, Pelican Bay. He said, ‘Okay. I agree. No more violence.’ We shook on it. For whatever that’s worth.”

Pelican Bay was a supermax-security prison in Del Norte County, at the very northwest tip of California, about fifteen miles south of the Oregon border. It was a good six-and-a-half-hour drive from here. The prison population was made up of the state’s most vio

lent criminals and rated number one for most gangs and murders inside its walls. The King would feel right at home there.

“I’ll see you in court,” Parisi said to Penney.

The two men shook hands. Conklin and I wished Parisi luck, then headed down to the courtroom.

Kingfisher had agreed to the safety of all involved in his trial, but entering Courtroom 2C, I felt as frightened as I had when I woke up this morning with a nightmare in my mind.

An AK had chattered in the King’s hands.

And then he’d gotten me.

Chapter 31

Kingfisher’s day in court had dawned again.

All stood when Judge Crispin, looking irritated from his virtual house arrest, took the bench. The gallery sat down with a collective whoosh, and the judge delivered his rules of decorum to a new set of spectators. No one could doubt him when he said, “Outbursts will be dealt with by immediate removal from this courtroom.”

I sat in a middle row between two strangers. Richie was seated a few rows ahead to my right. Elena Sierra sat behind the defense table, where she had a good view of the back of her husband’s head. A white-haired man sat beside her and whispered to her. He had to be her father.

The jurors entered the box and were sworn in.

There were five women and nine men, including the remaining alternates. It was a diverse group in age and ethnicity. I saw a range of emotion in their faces: stolid fury, relief, curiosity, and a high level of excitement.

I felt all those emotions, too.

During the judge’s address to the jurors every one of them took a long look at the defendant. In fact, it was hard to look away from Kingfisher. The last time he was at the defense table, he’d cleaned up and appeared almost respectable. Today the King was patchily shaven and had flecks of blood on his collar. He seemed dazed and subdued.

To my eye, he looked as though he’d used up all his tricks and couldn’t believe he was actually on trial. By contrast, his attorney, Jake Penney, wore his pin-striped suit with aplomb. DA Leonard Parisi looked indomitable.

All stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and then there was a prolonged rustle as seats were retaken. Someone coughed. A cell phone clattered to the floor. Conklin turned his head and we exchanged looks.

Kingfisher had threatened us since the nasty Finders Keepers case last year—and still he haunted my dreams. Would the jury find him guilty of killing Stone and Whittaker? Would this monstrous killer spend the rest of his life inside the high, razor-wired walls of Pelican Bay State Prison?

The bailiff called the court to order, and Judge Crispin asked Len Parisi if he was ready to present his case.

I felt pride in the big man as he walked out into the well. I could almost feel the floor shake. He welcomed the jury and thanked them for bearing down under unusually trying conditions in the interest of justice.

Then he launched into his opening statement.

Chapter 32

I’d never before seen Len Parisi present a case to a jury. He was an intimidating man and a powerful one. As district attorney, he was responsible for investigating and prosecuting crime in this city and was at the head of three divisions: Operations, Victims Services, and Special Operations.

But he was never more impressive than he was today, standing in for our murdered friend and colleague, ADA Barry Schein.

Parisi held the jury’s attention with his presence and his intensity, and then he spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the defendant, Jorge Sierra, is a merciless killer. In the course of this trial you will hear witness testimony and see video evidence of the defendant in the act of shooting two innocent women to death.”

Parisi paused, but I didn’t think it was for effect. It seemed to me that he was inside the crime now, seeing the photos of the victims’ bloodied bodies at the Vault. He cleared his throat and began again.