James Patterson - 7th Heaven

I collapsed onto Joe’s chest, my knees still on either side of his body, my cheek resting over his pounding heart. He stroked my back and I told him I loved him. I remember him kissing my forehead, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders as I drifted off with him still inside me.

Oh, my God.

It was just so good with Joe.

YUKI STUDIED JUNIE MOON as she was sworn in by the bailiff.

Defendants weren’t required to testify. It couldn’t be held against them if they didn’t, and it rarely helped when they did. So it was very risky to put your client on the stand. No matter how well rehearsed, there was no way to know if your client was going to go rogue, or get flustered, or laugh at the wrong time, or in some unique way prejudice the jury against her.

But Davis was putting Junie Moon on the stand. And the citizens of San Francisco and trial watchers across the country were dying to hear what she would say. Junie’s white blouse hung from her shoulders and her plain blue skirt billowed around her calves. She’d lost weight in jail – a lot of it – and when Junie raised her right hand to take the oath, Yuki saw vivid bruising on her forearm.

Spectators gasped and murmured. And now Yuki understood why Davis had risked everything she’d gained to have her client testify. Junie looked nothing like a whore and a ghoul.

She looked like a victim .

Junie swore to tell the truth, stepped up to the witness stand, and sat with her hands in her lap, smiling trustingly as Davis approached.

“How are you doing?” Davis asked.

“In jail, you mean?”

“Yes. Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.”

Davis nodded, said, “Good. And how old are you, Junie?”

“I’ll be twenty-three next month.”

“And when did you start turning tricks?” Davis asked.

“When I was fourteen,” Junie said softly.

“And how did that come about?”

“My stepdad turned me out.”

“Do you mean that your stepfather prostituted you? That he was your pimp?”

“I guess you could call him that. He was having sex with me from the time I was about twelve. Later on, he brought his friends over and they had sex with me, too.”

“Did you ever report your stepfather for rape or child abuse, anything like that?”

“No, ma’am. He said it was how I paid my rent.”

“Is your stepfather here today?”

“No. He died three years ago.”

“And your mother? Where is she?”

“She’s doing time. For dealing.”

“I see,” Davis said. “So, Junie, you’re a bright enough girl. Did you really have to be a prostitute? Couldn’t you have gotten a job in a restaurant or a department store? Maybe worked in an office?”

Junie cleared her throat, said quietly, “Doing sex is the only thing I’ve ever known, and I don’t really mind. It’s like, for a little time every day, I feel close to someone.”

“Having sex with strangers makes you feel close?”

Junie smiled. “I know it’s not real, but it makes me feel good for a while.”

Davis paused to let the tragedy of the vulnerable young woman’s story wash over the jury. Then she said, “Junie, please tell the jury: Did you ever have sex with Michael Campion?”

“ No, I did not . Absolutely never !”

“So why did you tell the police that you did?”

“I guess I wanted to please them, so I told them what they wanted to hear. I… that’s the kind of person I am.”

“Thank you, Junie. Your witness,” Davis said.

YUKI HAD A THOUGHT. It was stark, simple, irrefutable.

When Junie took the stand in her own defense, she had come across so frail and so helpless , it would be best for Yuki to say, “I have no questions,” get the woman off the stand. Then tear her apart in summation.

Nicky Gaines passed Yuki a note from Red Dog. She read it as Judge Bendinger snapped the rubber band on his wrist impatiently, then said, “Ms. Castellano? Are you planning to cross?”

Parisi’s note was short. Three words. “ Go get her .”

Yuki shook her head no, whispered across Gaines to Parisi, “We should take a pass.”

Parisi scowled, said, “Want me to do it?”

So much for irrefutable. Red Dog had spoken. Yuki stood, picked up the photocopy of the acknowledgment of rights form, and walked toward the witness stand.

“Ms. Moon,” Yuki said without preamble, “this is an acknowledgment of rights form. Do you remember it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And you can read and write, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Okay, then. This form was presented to you by Sergeant Lindsay Boxer and Inspector Richard Conklin when you were interviewed at the police station on April nineteenth.

“It says here, ‘Before we ask you any questions you must understand your rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ And here’s a set of initials. Are they yours?”

Junie peered at the document, said, “Yes.”

Yuki read the entire form, stopping at each point to fire the question at Junie: “Did you understand this? Are these your initials?” Bang, bang, bang .

And after each question, Junie scrutinized the paper and said, “Yes.”

“And here at the bottom is a waiver of rights. It says that you understand your rights, that you don’t want a lawyer, that no threats have been made against you, that you weren’t coerced. Did you sign this?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“And did you tell the police that Michael Campion died in your house and that you disposed of his body?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel tricked or intimidated by the police?”

“No.”

Yuki walked to the prosecution table, put down the form, collected a nod from Parisi, and turned back to the defendant.

“Why did you make this confession?”

“I wanted to help the police.”

“I’m confused , Ms. Moon. You wanted to help them. So first you said you never met Mr. Campion. Then you said he died in your arms . Then you said you left his body parts in a Dumpster . Then you said you made up the story to please the police – because that’s the kind of person you are.

“Ms. Moon. Which lie do you want us to believe?”

Junie shot a startled look to her attorney, then stared at Yuki, stuttered incoherently, her lips quivering, tears sliding down her pale face, before choking out, “I’m sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what to say.”

A woman’s voice sounded out from the gallery, directly behind the defense table. “ STOP !”

Yuki turned toward the voice, as did every other person in the courtroom. The speaker was Valentina Campion, wife of the former governor, mother of the dead boy. She was standing, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder for support.

Yuki felt her blood drain to her feet.

“I can’t stand what she’s doing to that poor child,” Valentina Campion said to her husband. Then she edged past him to the aisle, and as two hundred people swiveled in their seats to watch her, Mrs. Campion exited the courtroom.

YUKI HAD SPENT THE NIGHT flopping like a beached tuna, and she was still sweating this morning, thinking how first she’d been sandbagged by her fricking boss . And then Valentina Campion had thrown her under an eighteen-wheeler!

People bond during trials, Yuki knew that, and strange attachments were made. But Mrs. Campion protecting the defendant? That was crazy! Didn’t she realize that Yuki was on her side? That she was trying to do the right thing by her son?