Women's Murder Club [10] 10th Anniversary, Page 5

  Chapter 20

  “YOUR HONOR, SIDEBAR?” Hoffman said stiffly.

  The judge waved the two attorneys in toward the bench and said, “Go ahead, Mr. Hoffman.”

  “Your Honor, this witness is a private investigator. He’s not even a cop. His testimony is pure guesswork. Where is this so-called hit man? Why isn’t he on the witness list? How do we know why my client was seeing this man, or even if this person is who the witness says he is?”

  “Ms. Castellano?”

  “Mr. Podesta didn’t say he was an expert witness. He followed the defendant, who got into a car with a man who resembles Gregor Guzman. Mr. Podesta took pictures of a clandestine meeting between them. He compared the picture of the man in the SUV with photos of Gregor Guzman issued by the FBI. He made a match—in his opinion. That’s his testimony.”

  “Mr. Hoffman, I’ve heard you. Now, please cross-examine the witness,” LaVan said.

  Phil Hoffman addressed Joseph Podesta from his seat beside his client, trying to show the jury how little regard he had for the witness.

  “Mr. Podesta, I don’t know which piece of fiction to begin with. Okay, I’ve got it,” he said before Yuki could object.

  “First, have you ever worked for the FBI?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any specialized training in the identification of contract killers?”

  “I have a very good eye.”

  “That wasn’t my question, Mr. Podesta. Do you have any specialized training in the identification of contract killers? Did you get this man’s fingerprints? Did you get his DNA? Do you have a tape recording of this assumed conversation?”

  “Objection,” Yuki said. “Which question does counsel want the witness to answer?”

  “I’ll withdraw all of them,” Hoffman said, “but I object to this exhibit. The quality of this photograph stinks and it proves nothing. In fact, I object to this entire testimony and move that it be stricken from the record.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “If you’re finished questioning this witness, Mr. Hoffman, he may step down.”

  Chapter 21

  “THE PEOPLE CALL Ellen Lafferty,” Yuki said.

  The doors opened at the back, and a pretty, auburn-haired woman in her early twenties wearing a tight blue suit and a blouse with a bow at the neck came into the courtroom and walked down the aisle. She passed through the gate to the witness stand, where she was sworn in.

  “Are you employed by Candace and the late Dennis Martin?” Yuki asked her witness.

  “I am.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “I am the children’s nanny. I work days and live out.”

  “How long have you worked in the Martin house?” Yuki asked.

  “Just about three years.”

  Yuki nodded encouragingly. “In your opinion, what was the state of the Martin marriage?” she asked.

  “In a word,” Lafferty said, “explosive.”

  “Could you give us a couple more words?”

  “They hated each other,” said the nanny. “Dennis wanted to divorce Candace, and she was furious about it. She once told me she thought getting a divorce would be messy. It would hurt her children as well as her standing in the medical community.”

  “I see,” Yuki said. The witness was describing a marriage held together by practical considerations rather than love, and Yuki knew the jury would understand that.

  “Were you in the Martin house on the day that Dennis Martin was killed?”

  “Yes. I was,” Lafferty said. She had kept her eyes on Yuki until this moment, but now she swung her gaze toward the defendant and fixed it there.

  “Did something remarkable happen that evening?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Please go on.”

  Lafferty turned back to Yuki.

  “I was getting ready to leave for the day. It was six o’clock and I was going to meet a girlfriend at Dow’s Imperial Chinese at six-fifteen. We hadn’t seen each other in a while and I was really looking forward to seeing her.”

  “Go on,” Yuki said.

  Lafferty said, “I was putting on my lipstick when Dr. Martin came home. She had a funny look on her face. Distracted, or maybe angry. I went into her office to ask her if everything was okay, and when I got there, she was putting a handgun in her desk drawer.”

  “You’re sure it was a gun?” Yuki asked.

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Did Dr. Martin ever tell you she wished her husband were dead?”

  “Many times. Too many to count.”

  “Too many to count,” Yuki said pointedly to the jury.

  “And did Mr. Martin tell you about his feelings for his wife?”

  “He said she was cold. He used to say that he didn’t trust her.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Lafferty. That’s all I have for this witness.”

  Hoffman stood, his chair scraping noisily against the oak floor. He put his hands in his pockets and approached the witness, who stiffened her shoulders and looked up at him.

  “Ellen. May I call you Ellen?”

  “No. I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. Ms. Lafferty. Did you think Dr. Martin was going to kill her husband?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “So, if you thought she was going to commit murder and you saw Dr. Martin with a weapon, why didn’t you call the police?”

  Yuki watched Lafferty’s righteous indignation melt into an expression of grief.

  She said, almost begging Hoffman and the jury to understand, “I wasn’t thinking about her that night. I was in a hurry. In hindsight, I should have called the police or warned Mr. Martin. I blame myself. If I’d done something, Mr. Martin would still be alive and the children would still have their father.”

  The little boy’s wail cut through the air like a siren: “Elllllll-ennnnnnnn.”

  The witness leaned forward in her chair and called out across the well of the courtroom, “Duncan. Baby. I’m right here, sweetie.”

  That’s when Judge LaVan went nuts.

  Chapter 22

  YUKI TOOK THE ELEVATOR up to the DA’s offices, her mind still busy with the sound of the child’s scream and Judge LaVan’s reaction.

  Christ. It was as if Duncan Martin had yelled, “Stop beating me!” There was a good chance Hoffman’s sympathy ploy had worked.

  Yuki left her briefcase in her windowless office, made her way to the corner office facing Bryant Street, and knocked on the open door.

  Leonard Parisi, deputy district attorney and her direct superior, asked her to come in and sit down.

  Parisi had been nicknamed Red Dog for his thick red hair and his unshakable determination. He was a large, pear-shaped man of fifty with coarse skin and clogged arteries, but the expression on his face was just beautiful.

  He was smiling. At her.

  “I peeked in this morning. Saw your examination of that private eye. Fantastic job, Yuki,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks, Len. LaVan just called us into chambers,” Yuki said, taking the chair in front of his desk.

  “Oh? What was that about?”

  “Hoffman had the defendant’s kids in the courtroom, half to gain sympathy from the jury, half to rattle me. I objected, but LaVan overruled me.

  “So I’ve got the Martins’ nanny on the stand, and she says if she’d called the police on Candace, Dennis would still be alive. And, Len, the little boy just screams for his nanny. Nanny calls out to him from the stand, ‘There, there, I’m here, baby.’ ”

  “Huh, huh, huh,” Parisi grunted sympathetically.

  “Court’s adjourned for the day. The judge says to me and Hoffman, ‘You two. See you in back.’ He tells Hoffman, any more out of the kids, he’s barring them from the courthouse.”

  “Good. LaVan doesn’t kid around.”

  “Len, tell me what you make of this. Hoffman came up to me afterward,” Yuki told her boss. “He said, ‘You know, El
len Lafferty’s testimony was a pack of lies.’ I said, ‘Well, I sure didn’t see that on cross.’ Hoffman wanted to talk to me about it, but I didn’t have time. I knew it was just going to be more of his B.S.”

  “Sure. He’s trying to mess with your head, Yuki. Shake your confidence. Disrupt your momentum, that SOB. Listen, switching gears, I’ve been wanting to tell you. Craig Jasper is leaving. Moving to San Diego at the end of the month.”

  Craig Jasper was a bright light in the department and had been Parisi’s protégé. Yuki told Red Dog she was sorry, but he waved the comment away.

  “I see opportunities for you, Yuki. You just need a couple of wins under your belt.”

  Yuki’s face brightened and she nodded. She would love to get an upgrade in status and pay grade. It was really time. The Martin case had been important a minute ago, and it just got more important.

  “I’ve got a good feeling about this case,” she said, standing to leave.

  “Me, too,” said Red Dog. And he smiled again.

  Yuki fixed her makeup in the bathroom at the end of the hallway. She was psyched at the idea of the job and more responsibility, but it also meant more pressure. And she already had no shortage of that.

  She had a date later with a guy who was almost too gorgeous for her. She hoped she could calm down and not talk too much, not scare the guy off.

  They had a lot in common. The guy was a cop.

  Chapter 23

  I WAS LEAVING for the day when Phil Hoffman galloped up to me in the all-day lot across from the Hall. I like Hoffman, even though his job is getting off killers and perverts and other living human garbage. He was one of the few criminal defense attorneys I’d met who could actually pull off this kind of dirty work without acting smug about it.

  On the other hand, Yuki was locked in mortal combat with Hoffman and she was my friend.

  “Hey, Phil,” I said as he pulled up next to the spot where I’d parked my Explorer. I took off my jacket and tossed it into the backseat.

  “Lindsay, I need your help.”

  “Can we talk tomorrow?” I asked him. “I’ve been slogging through hell all day,” I said, thinking of the dozens of consecutive hours I’d been working on finding the Richardson baby.

  “This will only take a minute.”

  “Okay, then. Shoot.”

  “You’re aware of Candace Martin?”

  “Sure. My colleague Paul Chi worked the Martin case. And Yuki, of course.”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Hoffman said, putting his briefcase down on the asphalt. He ran a hand through his hair. “Something new has come up regarding the testimony of one of the witnesses. I asked Yuki to hear me out, but I’m the enemy. She’s not inclined to believe anything I say.”

  “Phil, why don’t you just say your piece in court?”

  “If I could get Yuki’s ear out of court, it would be better for all concerned. This new information I have is going to reverse the trial. Let me be clear. The case will be dismissed and you’ll be booking someone else for Dennis Martin’s murder.”

  My mind spun. I heard what he said, but I didn’t get why Hoffman was talking to me. “How can I help you?”

  “I want you to talk to my client.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. After that, maybe you can get Yuki to hear me out.”

  “So if I get this right, this is the long way around in getting Yuki to talk to you.”

  Everything about Hoffman’s request was inappropriate. I was the wrong cop and he was going around everyone in the Hall of Justice. But Paul Chi reported to me. I had to worry if the SFPD and the District Attorney’s Office had the wrong person in the dock.

  Hoffman’s request made me uncomfortable. But off the record? Unofficially?

  Phil Hoffman had definitely gotten my attention.

  Chapter 24

  INSPECTOR PAUL CHI is a certified genius and a lifelong student of criminal behavior. It was hard to believe that he had arrested the wrong person for the murder of Dennis Martin.

  So what was Hoffman up to?

  I left Joe a message saying I’d be late, then retraced my steps into the stream of Justice Department workers leaving the lobby of 850 Bryant.

  Chi and McNeill were with Brady in the corner office when I rapped on the glass. Brady waved me in and Cappy McNeill stood, sucked in his stomach so I could get past him, and then gave me his chair. McNeill has five years on me both in age and time in grade. He’s not ambitious, but he’s steady. He’s all about instinct and experience and bringing down the bad guys.

  As for Brady, I’d seen him go through a firestorm and confront a killer who had nothing to lose. Brady had guts to spare, but he was new to San Francisco. He didn’t know Phil Hoffman, and he hadn’t been in charge of Homicide when Candace Martin was investigated for murder.

  I reset my ponytail and then laid out my conversation with Hoffman in the parking lot. “Bottom line, Hoffman says the wrong person is being charged with murder. He says we should withdraw the charges, reopen the case, and bring in the person who really killed Dennis Martin.”

  “Really? And who does Hoffman say did it?” Chi asked me.

  “Hoffman said his client will tell me.”

  “Ah, shit, Lindsay,” McNeill grumbled. “Candace Martin damn well is the doer. Hoffman is cornered, so he’s working any angle he can dream up. And I gotta give him credit. This angle is pretty damned creative.”

  “This case opened and shut itself,” said Chi. “And then it tied itself with a big red bow.” He started ticking off the physical evidence on his fingers: gun, prints, GSR.

  “You’re saying that no innocent person has ever been convicted?” I asked Chi.

  “What’s in this for you, Sergeant, because I just don’t get where you’re going,” Brady said. He texted a message, closed the phone, and put his eyes on me. “How many hours have you worked in the past twenty-four?”

  “I don’t keep track.”

  “I do. You’ve gone about eighteen hours straight. The Martin case was closed—what, a year ago? It’s in the hands of the justice system. So go home, Boxer. Get some sleep. Tomorrow let’s see some progress on Richardson.”

  I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. First time I’d ever felt this kind of opposition from Chi and McNeill. As for the new lieutenant? I didn’t know if his mind was just closed—or if he was right.

  I threw up my hands, said okay, and left the squad room again. I called Hoffman from the stairwell and told him I’d meet him on the seventh floor in five minutes.

  He thanked me and said, “You won’t be sorry.”

  I was already sorry. Phil Hoffman’s story had gotten to me, and now I was bucking the boss with absolutely nothing to gain.

  Chapter 25

  THERE ARE TWO JAILS at the Hall, each with separate elevators that go only from the lobby to the jail. Prisoners awaiting trial are held in the jail on the seventh floor, and that’s where I met Phil Hoffman.

  Hoffman’s expression showed that he was relieved to see me, but my stomach heaved with anxiety. I didn’t belong here, doing this. Not my job.

  “Thanks for coming, Lindsay,” Hoffman said. Doors buzzed open as we walked along grimy, overlit corridors toward a meeting room used for prisoners and their lawyers.

  “I’m doing this on my own time, Phil. Nothing official about it.”

  “I understand and I appreciate it.”

  A moment later, Candace Martin was escorted by a guard into the room. She was wearing jailhouse orange, and somehow it looked good on her. She wore no makeup and had her blond hair tucked behind her ears, and she looked younger than her forty years. Hoffman introduced us and we all sat down.

  “Candace, tell Sergeant Boxer what you told me.”

  “First, thanks for coming, Sergeant Boxer,” she said. “I know you’re doing a big favor for Phil.”

  “I only have a few minutes.”

  Candace Martin nodded and said, “Ellen flat out li
ed. I never had a gun in my office. The gun came into my house with the killer,” she said. “So why did Ellen lie? It makes no sense, unless she’s trying to get me convicted.”

  “Why would she want to do that?” I asked.

  “My husband was handsome and a self-described sex addict. He would screw a tree if it breathed. He liked to tell me that Ellen was ‘a treasure,’ and he’d put a little spin on it to see what I would do. But I never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction.”

  Now Candace Martin clenched her fists on the tabletop. “You know what I cared about, Sergeant? The kids. Caitlin and Duncan love Ellen. I wanted to trust her, so I did.”

  I said, “I don’t see where this is going, Dr. Martin. Whatever was going on between Ellen Lafferty and your husband, why would she commit perjury? Why would she accuse you of murder?”

  “Here’s what I think, Sergeant. I didn’t understand why an intruder would shoot Dennis. But today, when Ellen turned the air purple with her lies, it clicked.

  “What if Dennis was screwing her? What if he was making promises to her about divorcing me, and it wasn’t happening fast enough? What if she gave him an ultimatum and he didn’t go for it? What if she was the so-called intruder who shot my husband?”

  I said, “That’s a lot of what ifs and no evidence at all.” I stood up, already projecting myself out of the Hall, heading home to my husband, leaving this whole questionable action behind me.

  “I know, I know,” Candace said, putting her head in her hands. “I know it’s just speculation, but if you knew what a manipulative prick Dennis was, you’d see how he could use her to enrage me—and use me to enrage her.”

  “Sorry, Dr. Martin. It’s an interesting theory,” I said, “but that’s all it is.”

  I was acting tough, but Candace Martin was getting to me. I’d once been on trial, accused of wrongful death, and had been abandoned by everyone but my attorneys. What Candace Martin said made sense. I sympathized with her and I even liked her.