James Patterson - 10th Anniversary

“Sydney, Australia. As far away from him as I could get.”

“Ms. Walker. Did you call the Martin house while you were in Sydney?”

“I hate to admit it, but I called Candace. Might have set this whole debacle into motion.”

“Really. Could you be more specific?”

“I was heartbroken. I wanted to get back at Dennis, so I called Candace and told her about my two-year affair with her husband. And I told her that he was still seeing someone.”

“Did you know who Dennis was seeing?”

“Nope. Didn’t have a clue.”

“And how did Candace Martin react to your phone call?”

“She was really cold. She said, ‘You’re right. He’s an animal. Someone ought to put him down. I might do it myself.’”

“Thank you. Your witness,” Yuki said, walking away.

PHIL HOFFMAN STOOD UP behind the defense table. He looked well rested and at the top of his game, a study in gray pinstripes and old school tie.

Yuki took note of the way the jurors looked at Phil. They liked him.

“Ms. Walker, you don’t like Candace Martin, do you?” Hoffman asked.

“I don’t dislike her. Like I said, I’ve never met her.”

“Well, you clearly had no regard for her. You were sleeping with her husband for two years, knowing full well that he had a home, two young children, and a wife. Isn’t that right?”

“Your Honor, counsel is leading the witness.”

“Sustained. Don’t do that, Mr. Hoffman.”

“Sorry, Your Honor.”

Hoffman jingled the coins in his pocket, turned back to the witness, and asked, “Do you have any regard for the defendant?”

“Not really.” The woman squirmed in her seat. Patted her hair.

“In fact,” said Hoffman, “you don’t care if Candace lives or dies. Excuse me. Let me make that a question. Ms. Walker, do you care if Candace Martin lives or dies?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Would it be fair to say about you that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”

“Your Honor!” Yuki said.

Hoffman smiled and said, “I have nothing further for this witness.”

YUKI WAS AT the bar in MacBain’s when Cindy breezed in, looking like she’d sprouted wings. She was obviously that over-the-moon happy. Yuki hugged her friend and said, “I hope this high you’re on is contagious.”

“Me, too,” said Cindy.

Yuki grinned and patted the stool next to her, and as Cindy flung herself onto the seat, Yuki said, “Tell me all about that bended-knee proposal in front of God and all his angels.”

Cindy laughed and Yuki leaned in to hear all about it — and Cindy didn’t spare any detail.

Yuki had always liked Rich. It was rare to find a guy who was both movie-star gorgeous and not in love with himself. Yuki knew Rich to be the opposite of a narcissist. He was a genuinely sweet guy of the old-fashioned, chivalrous kind. Perfect man for Cindy.

And now Yuki was dating a cop, too.

A married one.

“Hey, I’ve done all the talking,” Cindy said. “I think that’s a first. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Yuki blurted, “I’m going out with Jackson Brady.”

“No. You are not ,” Cindy said. “Are you kidding me?”

Yuki took a look around to make sure Brady hadn’t come inside the saloon while she wasn’t looking.

“I swear. It’s true.”

“Holy cow,” Cindy said, the shocked look on her face saying that she was way impressed. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out a word.”

Yuki laughed, then filled her friend in on the whole story: the conferences with Brady regarding the Martin case, their first date at First Crush, a cool wine bar and restaurant, perfectly named. And she told Cindy about her date with Brady Friday night at Renegade.

“He told me things about himself that were pretty revealing.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Cindy asked.

“Everyone is so interested in my sex life. Why?”

“Well, did you?”

“No. No, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Well … if I remember correctly, Saturday night,” Yuki said, with a coy smile.

“Hah! Well, I have a feeling you’re going to have another chance to get his clothes off. Jeez. You’d better tell me all about it, girlfriend. I’m not kidding. This, I gotta hear.”

The waiter carried their drinks to a small table by the window. He brought their lunches right after that, saying, “Please be careful. These plates are hot. Can I get you ladies another drink?”

Yuki passed on a second beer and removed the onions from her burger and cut it in half. “I find Brady tremendously attractive,” she said.

“Who doesn’t?” said Cindy, taking aim at her fries with a ketchup bottle, thwacking the bottom. “He’s like Don Johnson in that old show Miami Vice . Tubbs. No, Crockett.”

“One problem,” Yuki said.

“Only one?”

“He’s married. Lindsay says.”

“Wait. He’s married? And he didn’t tell you?”

“No, but he will. Don’t forget what I do for a living.”

“Be careful, Yuki. You’re hooked, you’re cooked. That plate is hot.”

“I’m on it,” Yuki said. “I am.” She finished most of her burger, checked her watch, and pictured setting off Judge LaVan if she was late. “Crap. I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll get the check,” Cindy said.

“But I’m taking you out to lunch.”

“Next time,” Cindy said.

Yuki dabbed her lips with a napkin, kissed Cindy’s cheek, and rubbed her engagement ring with her thumb as if making a wish on Aladdin’s lamp. With Cindy’s laughter in her ears, Yuki ran out of the bar.

YUKI’S WITNESS LOOKED surprised but pleased to find himself the center of attention.

“Mr. White, you own a store called Oldies But Goodies on Pierce?” she asked him.

“Yes, that’s right. On Pierce near Haight.”

“And what do you sell in your store?”

“Lots of different things. Jukeboxes. Musical instruments. Vinyl LPs. Odds and ends.”

“Do you sell guns?”

“Rarely, but yes.”

“In April of last year, did you sell a twenty-two-caliber Smith and Wesson handgun to Mr. Dennis Martin?”

“Yes. He had a license to carry. I checked it and I checked his driver’s license. It was him.”

“Your Honor,” Yuki said, “I’d like to admit this receipt, which documents the sale of a twenty-two Smith and Wesson handgun to Dennis Martin.”

Yuki handed the sales slip up to the judge, who passed it to the clerk, who showed it to Phil Hoffman.

“Any objections, Mr. Hoffman?” LaVan asked.

“None.”

“People’s exhibit number thirty is admitted into evidence,” LaVan said.

Yuki asked, “When did you contact the police, Mr. White?”

“Last week. When I saw the story about this trial in the paper. I recognized Mr. Martin’s picture.”

“Thank you, sir. Your witness,” Yuki said to opposing counsel.

Hoffman stood, walked across the well, and greeted the witness.

“Mr. White, I think you know that the serial number of the gun you sold Mr. Martin is not on the sales receipt. Did you file a transfer of registration, as required?”

“I’m not a gun dealer. I’m in the antiques business. I bought that gun as part of a box lot at an auction last year.”

“So you didn’t comply with the law?”

“Like I just said, I didn’t even know there was a gun in the box I bought for thirty bucks. I’m not a gun dealer. I work alone in the store. Man comes in, sees the gun in the case. He also bought a fountain pen. And a book on electricity from the 1920s. These things are memorabilia. I wrote up a receipt. I didn’t know I had to file anything. Look, I checked his gun license. I don’t think a lot of people with my kind of business would even have done that.”