Yuki had been through this many times before with other witnesses. Still, she didn’t need it during a trial that had already had its share of problems. There were a lot of defendants. Elio Huerta was only one of them. But arguably the scariest of the bunch.
“C’mon, Carlos. You saw that man shoot the grocer who told him to sell drugs somewhere else. What’s going to happen to the kids in your neighborhood if these guys are cut loose and allowed to return?”
It took another couple of minutes to calm the witness down. Finally, he said he had to use the bathroom. She told him she’d wait right there for him.
Yuki sat for a moment, nodding hello to some of the people who passed by. She didn’t even want to look down at her notes. Her brain was already flooded with facts and witness testimony.
She overheard a young patrolman behind her telling a detective about an incident the previous evening. It didn’t sound like much. He’d stopped to talk to a girl who was walking with a man, and the man had hustled away.
The young patrolman said, “You should’ve seen this girl. She was an absolute knockout. She told me she was in a Toyota commercial for that dealership south of the city. I looked it up online—she really was. She walks up to a pickup truck and sits in the driver’s seat.”
The detective said, “I think I know the one you’re talking about. Does she have long, straight black hair?”
“That’s her,” the patrolman said. “But she’s fallen on hard times. We had to find her a place to stay for the night. There was something up with the man walking with her, but she wouldn’t give us any details. Dude creeped me out, though.”
Suddenly everything the young cop had said seemed to click into place for Yuki. It sounded like the story Cindy Thomas had been working on, and that Lindsay Boxer was also involved in.
Yuki turned around and said, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help overhearing what you guys were saying. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Counselor. Fire away,” the patrolman said.
“Can you tell me what the guy you were just talking about looked like?”
“I only got a glimpse of him. He was tall, maybe six foot two. I’d say he was probably in his early forties. Dark hair, not ugly.” He paused. “Is this a case you’re prosecuting?”
“No, but I’m aware of an ongoing case that involves pretty girls and a tall guy with dark hair,” Yuki told him. “Where’d you take the girl?”
“We got her into a women’s shelter over in the Mission off South Van Ness.”
“I know the place. You think she still might be there?”
“Unless she suddenly found a job this morning. She seemed pretty relieved to have a safe place to stay.” He gave her the girl’s name and the identifiers he had. Yuki appreciated a cop this sharp.
A safe place. Isn’t that what we all want?
CHAPTER52
RICH CONKLIN ANDI wasted no time after Yuki Castellano called us with the information she’d overheard at the Hall of Justice. We headed straight over to South Van Ness, looking for the shelter the patrol officer had mentioned. Traffic made the drive slow and choppy.
The young woman’s name was Elizabeth Nunez. A quick check showed she had a couple of minor arrests. One for breaking into a car and stealing a purse, and the second for underage possession of alcohol. There were a few citations issued for shoplifting. Nothing that had been worth prosecuting.
We found the place easily enough. It wasn’t run-down, but it was the definition of a “basic” building. White paint covered blemishes in the stucco walls. A row of windows, a couple with cracked panes, ran along the exterior. The door looked like it was meant for a home rather than a business. Lindsay and Conklin pressed the video doorbell and stood in front of the camera. After a moment, a woman’s voice said, “Can I help you?”
I held up my badge and said, “Lindsay Boxer, SFPD.”
“What’s this about?”
“It’s a little sensitive. Can we talk to you in person?” I was surprised that there was such a long pause before we got an answer.
“I’ll buzz the door, but only you can come in. Your partner will have to wait outside or in your car.”
I looked at Conklin. He shrugged, understanding the rationale that a male might be disturbing to some of the women in the shelter. Many of them were likely fleeing abusive relationships and didn’t need the extra stress of his presence.
I told the gatekeeper I was coming in alone and she buzzed the door open.
The inside of the shelter was much more cheerful than the exterior. It was well lit, with artwork on the walls and clean, brightly colored furniture. Two of the framed artworks were animation cells of the Roadrunner character. The rest were watercolor landscapes.
A tall Black woman wearing a heavy blue cardigan sweater stepped into the hallway and said, “I’m Laura Chandler, director of the shelter. What’s this sensitive matter you need to discuss?”
