“I’m glad that you were outta here, Lindsay, because the sharks have been in a feeding frenzy,” Yuki said. I noticed that her eyes made direct contact with mine, but her hands never stopped moving.
“Editorials and TV coverage of the outraged parents have been running twenty-four/seven. . . . Did you catch Saturday Night Live?”
“Never watch it.”
“Well, just so you know, there was a skit. You’ve been dubbed Dirty Harriet.”
“That must’ve been a riot,” I said, pulling a face. “I guess someone made my day.”
“It’s going to get worse,” said Yuki, tugging at a lock of her shoulder-length hair. “Judge Achacoso okayed live TV coverage in the courtroom. And I just got the plaintiff’s witness list. Sam Cabot’s going to testify.”
“Well, that’s okay, isn’t it? Sam confessed to doing those electrocution murders. We can use that!”
“’Fraid not, Lindsay. His lawyers filed a motion to suppress because his parents weren’t there when he blurted out his confession to that ER nurse.
“Look,” Yuki said, grabbing my hands, no doubt responding to the way my face had frozen in shock. “We don’t know what Sam’s going to say—I’ll take him apart; you can count on that. But we can’t impeach him with his confession. It’s your word against his—and he’s thirteen and you’re a drunken cop.”
“And so you’re telling me ‘Don’t worry’ because . . . ?”
“Because the truth will out. Juries are composed of human beings, most of whom have had a drink in their lives. I think they’re going to find that you’re entitled and probably even expected to have a few drinks now and then.
“You tried to help those kids, Lindsay. And that ain’t no crime.”
Chapter 81
“DON’T FORGET THAT YOU’RE on trial from the minute you arrive at the courthouse,” Yuki said as we walked together through the cool and darkening night. We entered the Opera Plaza Garage on Van Ness and took the elevator down to where Yuki had parked her taupe two-door Acura.
Soon we were driving east on Golden Gate Avenue toward my favorite watering hole, although I was sticking to Cokes tonight. Just to be safe.
“Come in a really plain car, not a cop car or a new SUV or anything like that.”
“I have a four-year-old Explorer. With a ding in the door. How’s that?”
“There you go.” Yuki laughed. “Perfect. And what you wore to the prelim was good. Dark suit, SFPD lapel pin, no other jewelry. When the press climbs all over you, you can smile politely, but don’t answer any of their questions.”
“Leave all that stuff to you.”
“Bingo,” she said as we pulled up to Susie’s Bar.
A surge of happiness warmed me as we stepped inside Susie’s. The calypso band had put the dinner crowd into a fine mood, and Susie herself, wearing a hot pink sarong, was doing the limbo in the center of the dance floor. My two best friends waved us over to “our” booth at the back.
I said, “Claire Washburn, Yuki Castellano; Yuki, Cindy Thomas,” and the girls stretched out their hands and shook hers in turn. I could see from the strained look on their faces that my buds were as worried about my upcoming ordeal as I was.
When Claire took Yuki’s hand, she said, “I’m Lindsay’s friend—and I don’t have to tell you, I’m also a witness for the prosecution.”
Cindy, looking quite grave, said, “I work for the Chronicle and I’ll be yelling rude questions outside the courthouse.”
“And chopping her into bite-size chunks if that’s the way the story goes,” said Yuki.
“Absolutely.”
“I’m going to take good care of her, you guys,” Yuki said. “We’re going to have a real nasty fight on our hands, to be sure, but we’re going to win.”
As if we’d known in advance we were going to do it, we clasped our combined eigh
t hands across the center of the table.
“Fight, team, fight,” I said.