Yuki shifted her eyes, taking in the street that passed under I-80. It was quiet. But she hoped someone might be in the parking lot next door or coming down the sidewalk on this side of the Hall of Justice.
She refocused on the man in front of her, who looked like he was about to pull a weapon from under his coat.
Before he could move, a voice with a slight twang came from the side of the building. “Be careful removing that hand. I might get confused and pull the trigger.”
It was her husband, Jackson Brady. Yuki wanted to jump up and down for joy. Instead, she watched as the man who’d been talking to her slowly withdrew his hand from inside his jacket. He held a single sheet of paper. It fluttered in the breeze.
Brady said, “Throw that on the ground and I’ll arrest you forlittering.” He glanced over at Yuki. “The one time you’re early to meet me.”
Yuki shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.”
The man said, “I am unarmed. I merely wanted to show the assistant district attorney a flyer from our neighborhood.” He held the piece of paper up with both hands.
Yuki squinted in the dim light from the single bulb above the side door. It was a flyer espousing Elio Huerta’s supposed good deeds in the neighborhood. It called him “the Latino Robin Hood.”
Yuki thought,I don’t remember reading about Robin Hood shooting unarmed grocers or running cocaine through four different neighborhoods. Maybe I need to read the story again.But she kept silent.
Now Brady stepped forward, gun in hand. His pale blond hair looked almost white in the sparse light. He kept his eyes on the man. “Put your hands on your head,” he said, more like an annoyed father than a police lieutenant. The man complied.
Brady used his left hand to pat the man down for weapons. He took the man’s wallet and looked at his driver’s license.
“Hector Huerta. Let me guess—a cousin?”
“Nephew. And I’ve broken no laws. I was merely trying to inform the ADA of all the circumstances in the case.”
Yuki said, “That’s done through the defense attorney. Whatyouwere doing was intimidation.”
Now Brady stood right next to the man, doing a pretty good job of intimidation himself. He holstered his pistol and looked over at Yuki.
She knew what her husband was asking. He wanted to know if it was worth arresting this idiot. Yuki thought through what she could honestly tell an investigator. Hector had been smart. He’dbeen careful not to step over the line. He could claim that everything he’d said was innocent and just designed to bolster his uncle’s reputation.
Yuki looked at Brady and shook her head.
Brady leaned in close to Hector and whispered in his ear, “Run.”
The man turned his head and stared at Brady.
All Brady added was “Right now.”
Hector broke into a sprint. He was fast. They both watched him race under the overpass and turn down the next street.
Brady strode over to Yuki and said, “If he had run right off the bat, I never would’ve caught him. I was a wrestler, not a track star.”
Yuki fell into his arms and said, “You’remystar.”
CHAPTER22
THE NEXT MORNING,Cindy Thomas was deep into a four-year-old United Nations report on human trafficking. The more she read, the more horrified she became. The way people were shuttled between countries was terrifying. Cindy was shocked at how many people were transported across the borders of Europe and into the US by trafficking networks.
She couldn’t stop reading, even though none of it really pertained to the story she intended to write. Her idea was to be more specific and personal, starting with Nicole Snaff and the girls from San Julio. She had begun hours earlier with an article inThe Sunabout the human-trafficking problem in Europe, and it seemed to line up with her theory: Groups profited most by trafficking younger women.
The UK had experienced its share, specifically in London. It seemed like a lot of that had to do with the tremendous number of people crammed into a relatively small urban area. She also read about how criminal gangs related by nationality often worked together, under the radar. Much like in the US, law enforcementand the government in the UK were not particularly plugged into some of the larger minority cultures. It appeared they found it easier to just ignore certain issues.
Cindy was so engrossed in her research, she barely noticed the other workers in the building walking past her open office door. She would mumble something when someone poked their head in and offered a greeting, but in general, she was completely absorbed in the UN report and articles she was reading.
Then her cell phone rang. More accurately, it played the theme toFriends. She didn’t recognize the local number. It looked like a switchboard. She answered it with a quick “Cindy Thomas speaking” while still staring down at the report.
“Hi, Cindy. It’s Joe Molinari.” When Cindy didn’t say anything immediately, he continued. “You know, Lindsay’s husband.” He added a short laugh to show he was kidding.
