Angela Torres was taking her time before she got back into the cross-examination of the witness. Torres wasthenarcotics attorney in San Francisco. Ever since she’d gotten a serious crack dealer released on a technicality, she’d shot to the top of every drug dealer’s Contacts list. She was young, good-looking, and seemingly without any conscience whatsoever. A Stanford law degree also helped.
Torres turned back to the witness. “Mrs. Ortega, you said that you’d spoken with detectives and with ADA Castellano. Is that correct?”
The older woman nodded her head. She said with a heavy accent, “Yes, that is correct.” Her gray hair fell to her shoulders, and her left hand had a slight tremor where it rested on the edge of the witness stand.
Torres leaned in as if gossiping with a relative. “You didn’t know the name Elio Huerta until you spoke to the detective and ADA Castellano. Is that also correct?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Ortega’s reedy voice didn’t sound like it could say much more.
“You’re not in any trouble, Mrs. Ortega. I just want to know if itwas ADA Castellano who suggested that Mr. Huerta was who you saw with a gun.” Torres had used exaggerated air quotes around the word “suggested.”
Yuki sprang to her feet again. “Objection, Your Honor.”
Torres turned and opened her eyes wide, like an innocent kitten. It was almost comical, Yuki thought. The problem was, she knew some of the jury would eat it up.
Judge Cousins said, “I’d like both the prosecution and the defense to approach the bench.” His command had an edge to it, unlike his usual neutral tone.
When both attorneys stood in front of the judge, he shut off his microphone and leaned forward for the sidebar conversation. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, Ms. Torres.”
“I’m trying to show that the police and prosecution influenced this witness.”
Yuki cut in. “What are you getting at by saying Isuggestedthe name Elio Huerta? Of course I brought up the name. She didn’tknowhis name. She just saw him with a gun. You’re purposely trying to muddy the waters.”
Angela Torres looked directly at Yuki and said, “Hello? I’m a defense attorney. That’s my job.”
Judge Cousins let out a quiet laugh but regained his composure quickly. “Perhaps you can do your job without impugning the integrity of a respected prosecutor,” he chided Torres.
“Of course, Your Honor. But I’m concerned that this is just a witch hunt. I’m told the witness who was scheduled for this afternoon won’t be appearing.”
Yuki said, “You mean the witness who got in a fight”—she used her own air quotes around the word “fight”—“and is currently in the hospital?”
Torres spread her hands out in front of her and said, “I have no control over what goes on outside this courtroom.”
“You can’t convince your client to stop attacking witnesses?”
“There is no indicationmy clienthad anything to do with your witness. Like I said, I have no say in what happens outside. I barely have a say in what goes oninsidethis courtroom.”
Judge Cousins said, “But I do. And we’re going to quit this minor bickering. We will get on with this trial. And we will do it in a professional manner.”
Yuki and Angela Torres both responded, “Yes, Your Honor,” at the same time, then were dismissed and returned to their respective seats.
Yuki still had her best witness ahead of her. Roberto Paz was the grocer who Elio had shot, and who was now a paraplegic. She knew the defense was not looking forward to seeing a man in a wheelchair tell the jury who shot him. Yuki couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER70
CINDY THOMAS WASfarther east than San Julio, in an area on the outskirts of Concord. The sun felt brighter out here. On her way here, still feeling anxious about her upcoming interview, she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up winding through a valley crowded with native oak and walnut trees against the backdrop of Mount Diablo. Eventually, though, she’d found her way to her destination, much less bucolic but oddly quiet at the moment.
She’d done a fair amount of research on the suspect Jason Cortlandt. He was the only name on Eric Snaff’s list that didn’t seem like a dead end, even if Gina Scrittori thought this guy was harmless and a waste of time.
Cindy parked on a gravel road that led to what appeared to be a concrete production facility. It almost looked abandoned. A tall building to her right had no windows. It reminded her of a set in a horror movie.
As soon as Cindy stepped out of the car, she started coughing from all the particulate in the air. She was glad she’d worn her old tennis shoes as she navigated the dusty gravel to the unlocked, rusty gate.
An older, beat-up white Chevy truck with faded blue stripes along the hood was parked in front of the building. A bright bumper sticker said,PEOPLE SUCK, in bold letters. It was the only vehicle visible at the facility.
“Hello?” Cindy called out. No one answered. She started crunching across the gravel toward the truck. When she had just reached it, a metal door opened in the side of the building. A man in a sweat-stained T-shirt, dusty jeans, and work boots stepped out onto the gravel.
He appeared to be in reasonably good shape, with brown hair that was cut very short. She knew him to be in his late thirties, but he had the weather-beaten look of an older man who’d worked outside for most of his life. The caked cement in the creases of his face didn’t help the perception.
