James Patterson: 10th Anniversary

He’d also been waiting for this day for more than a year. And he was pretty sure that today was going to be a very good day.

ALL TWO HUNDRED people in courtroom 3B seemed to be talking at once. Yuki was texting her boss to tell him there’d been a mysterious delay when, at just after ten, the bailiff called out, “All rise for His Honor, Judge Byron LaVan,” and the judge entered the oak-paneled courtroom.

LaVan was fifty-two, a square-jawed man with wild dark hair and black-rimmed glasses. He was known to be a short-tempered judge with an impressive background in criminal law.

He took the bench, the seal of the state of California behind him, the American flag to his right, the state flag to his left. Laptop open in front of him, he was ready to start.

When the gallery was reseated, the judge brusquely apologized for his lateness, saying there had been a family emergency. Then he asked the bailiff to bring in the jury.

The twelve jurors and two alternates filed into the jury box, fumbled with their handbags and notebooks, and settled into their maroon swivel chairs. To Yuki’s right, Phil Hoffman whispered to his client, Dr. Candace Martin.

Sitting in the first row, directly behind Dr. Martin, were her two beautiful young children, Caitlin and Duncan, looking like angels. Angels who didn’t know what the hell was happening.

So, that was how Hoffman was going to play it, Yuki thought. He was going to go for sympathy from the jury.

Suddenly Yuki was struck with a sickening realization. Bringing the kids to court wasn’t just a bid for sympathy from the jury. Hoffman was forcing her to dial down her rhetoric so that she wouldn’t upset the kids.

Controlling son of a bitch.

She couldn’t let him get away with that.

Yuki listened to the judge instruct the jury, but a part of her mind was on her former, lucrative job in a big-deal law firm, which she’d quit so that she could do something meaningful — for herself and for the people of San Francisco.

Not that she was a selfless do-gooder. After two years of defending the rich, Yuki had become highly motivated to put away killers like Candace Martin who thought they could hire a thousand-dollar-an-hour defense attorney and beat the rap.

The judge finished his talk to the jury and turned to face the courtroom. Yuki got to her feet and said, “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

Judge LaVan looked at her like she had farted in court. Too bad, she thought. She stood firm until the judge signaled to Yuki and Hoffman to step forward.

Hoffman’s sequoia-like height dwarfed Yuki’s five foot two. She felt young and small by comparison, the top of her head about level with Hoffman’s armpit.

Yuki said, “Your Honor, I object to the defendant’s young children being present in the courtroom. The State is accusing their mother of killing their father. When I say what I have to say, the kids are going to get upset, which is going to make the jury sympathize with the defendant.”

LaVan said, “Mr. Hoffman? Have you got a position on this?”

“The kids are well behaved and they know the truth, Your Honor. Their mother is innocent. They’re here to show their support.”

LaVan cleaned his glasses with a tissue, repositioned them on the bridge of his nose, and said, “Ms. Castellano, do your job. Ignore the kids. I’ll instruct the jury to do the same. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Is the prosecution ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor, we are.”

“Then tell us what you’ve got.”

YUKI’S HEART WAS PUMPING pure hot adrenaline as she crossed the well of the courtroom and took the lectern. She reminded herself to relax her shoulders and smile as she swept the jury box with her eyes. Then she launched into her opening argument.

“The defendant is charged with premeditated murder — that is, murder in the first degree,” Yuki said, her voice ringing out over the courtroom.

“In the next few days, the State will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant, Candace Martin, shot and killed her husband, Dennis Martin. We will introduce physical evidence and testimony that will show that Dr. Martin’s hands are not just dirty, they’re as black as sin.”

There was a gratifying intake of breath in the courtroom, and Yuki waited out the whispers moving like a wind across the gallery. Then she began to lay out the prosecution’s case as neatly as a hand of solitaire.

“Dennis Martin was shot to death in the foyer of his home on the night of September fourteenth of last year. This is not in dispute.

“The four people who were in the house at the time of the murder were Candace Martin, her two children, and the family cook. All were questioned by the police, and evidence was taken. The twenty-two-caliber handgun that was used to kill Dennis Martin was collected at the scene of the crime and so was the gunshot residue on Candace Martin’s hands.

“There is only one way to get GSR on your hands,” Yuki told the jury. “You get it by firing a gun .”

Yuki told the jury that Candace Martin had the means and the opportunity to kill her husband.

“We’re not required to show motive, but we will tell you why Candace Martin planned and executed this murder.

“Dennis Martin was a habitual womanizer, and at the time of his death, he was having another affair. But Mr. Martin didn’t try to cover up his activities.

“During their thirteen years of marriage, Mr. Martin taunted his wife with his infidelity and finally, on September fourteenth, she’d had enough.

“In our society, marital infidelity is punishable by divorce, but Candace Martin figured her husband deserved the death penalty. With her husband dead, she’d get the kids, the three-point-five-million-dollar home, and everything in their combined bank accounts. She’d also get the meal that is best served cold — revenge.”

Yuki sneaked a glance at the Martin children. The little boy’s mouth was hanging open. The little girl was scowling. The judge had said “Ignore them” and Yuki tried to do that as she preemptively set fire to the defense’s position.

“Mr. Hoffman will tell you that his client didn’t do it,” Yuki told the jurors. “He will say that the defendant was in her home office when she heard shots in the foyer. He will say that she found her husband bleeding on the floor, that she checked his pulse, that she realized that her husband was dead. And then — what do you know? She heard an intruder leaving by the front door.

“Mr. Hoffman will tell you that Candace Martin called out and that the intruder was startled and dropped his gun. And he will tell you that his client picked up the gun and followed the intruder outside and fired at him.

“That’s the defense’s explanation for the gunshot residue on Candace Martin’s hands.

“There’s only one problem,” Yuki said to the fourteen men and women in the jury box. “This story is entirely bogus .

“There was no intruder.

“There was no forced entry into the house, and nothing was stolen.

“But Candace Martin had told several people that she wanted her husband dead, and the very evening of the fatal incident she was seen handling a gun.

“Our job in the DA’s office is to speak for the victim,” Yuki said, “and we will do that. But if Mr. Martin could speak for himself, he’d tell you who killed him,” said Yuki, pointing at the pretty, blond heart surgeon who was chewing on the ends of her hair.

“He’d tell you that his dear wife shot him dead.”

SUSIE’S CARIBBEAN CAFÉ is a mood changer in the best possible way. The walls are yellow, the calypso music is live, the food is hot, and the beer is cold. Susie’s is also the unofficial clubhouse of our gang of four, branded the Women’s Murder Club by our friend, girl reporter Cindy Thomas.