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  “Ms. Walker, can you tell the court why your relationship with Mr. Martin ended?”

  “He told me he was seeing someone else and that it was serious. He said he just couldn’t contain the messiness of his social life anymore.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Oh yes. He was a hound. A goat. A snake. A shark. A skunk. Pick your animal, and that was Dennis.”

  “And where were you when Dennis was killed?”

  “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.

  Chapter 51

  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.”

  Chapter 52

  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.

  Chapter 53

  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.”

  Stephen White cast his eyes toward Yuki as if to say, “Did I just get into trouble here?”

  Hoffman continued his cross-examination.

  “So, to be clear, you didn’t write down the serial number of the gun you sold to Mr. Martin on the receipt. Do you have the serial number anywhere?”

  “Extremely doubtful.”

  “So there’s no way to know if the gun you sold Dennis Martin is the gun that killed him, isn’t that right?”

  “I didn’t say I did know.”

  “That’s all, Mr. White. Thank you.”

  The judge folded his hands on his desk. “Redirect, Ms. Castellano?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Yuki opened the folder in front of her, pulled a photograph from the file, and walked toward the witness. This was going just the way she’d hoped it would.

  “Mr. White. This is a picture of the murder gun, a Smith and Wesson twenty-two. Is this the type of gun you sold to Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many of these guns did you sell in April last year?”

  “I sold just the one.”

  “How many twenty-two Smith and Wesson guns did you sell in the entire year?”

  “I sold just the one.”

  “To Mr. Dennis Martin?”

  “Yes, exactly like I said. I wrote his name on that receipt.”

  “Thanks, Mr. White. I’m finished, Your Honor.”

  Yuki kept her expression neutral as she walked back to the prosecution table, but she was doing handsprings in her mind.

  White was a very credible witness. He’d checked Dennis Martin’s gun license and driver’s license and he’d positively identified Dennis Martin from his photo. And he’d positively sold Dennis Martin a gun.

  It wasn’t proof — but it was damning testimony.

  Yuki waited for Stephen White to step down from the box and then called her next witness.

  Chapter 54

  I STOOD IN THE BACK of the packed courtroom watching Yuki interrogate level-two investigator Sharon Carothers, the CSI who had tested Candace Martin’s hands for GSR less than a half hour after Dennis Martin was gunned down.

  I’d known Carothers for about four years and had worked a dozen cases with her, and I had never known her to make a mistake. She went strictly by the book but knew how to look around corners without breaking the rules.

  “Ms. Carothers, are you the lead investigator on the Martin case?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Did you test Dr. Martin’s hands for gunshot residue at approximately six-forty-five on the night of September fourteenth?” Yuki asked.

  “I did. The test was positive for GSR.”

  A woman sitting near the wall broke into a fit of wet coughing that seemed like it would never quit. Yuki waited it out, every last sputter, then asked, “Ms. Carothers, did you ask the defendant if she fired the gun that was found on the scene?”

  “Yes, I did. She said she had.”

  “And what was her explanation for firing the gun?”

  “She had one explanation before I tested her hands and a more detailed explanation afterward.”

  “She had two explanations?” Yuki said, turning to shoot Candace Martin a look. Had that look been a gun, it would’ve gone bang.

  I was torn, both rooting for Yuki and at the same time feeling compassion and fear for Candace Martin. A lot of people I knew and respected had bet their careers on their belief that Candace Martin had killed her husband. Could they all be wrong?

  Why was my gut telling me that she was innocent?

  Yuki said to her witness, “Please tell us about those two explanations.”

  Carothers turned unblinking eyes on the jury and said, “Before I did the test for GSR, Dr. Martin told me that an intruder shot her husband. After the test, she repeated that an intruder had shot her husband but added that when she called out to her husband, the intruder dropped the gun and took off. She said that she picked up the gun and ran after the intruder. That she had fired out toward the street to scare him off.”

  I left the courtroom quietly. I was still nowhere on the Richardson case and Brady had made it superclear to me that the Candace Martin case was closed.

  What he didn’t know was that I had gone through the Martin case file last night. I had read all of Paul Chi’s notes and had found a lead I wanted to check out. I needed to check it out so that I could shut down Candace Martin’s voice in my head saying, “I didn’t kill him, Sergeant. Please help me. I’m on trial for my life.”

  Chapter 55

  WHAT I HAD GLEANED from Chi’s notes was that Caitlin and Duncan Martin had a piano teacher who came to their home to give them lessons twice a week.

  His name was Bernard St. John.

  Chi had interviewed St. John during the Martin investigation, and according to his notes, St. John had no idea who the killer was. In fact, he’d made a point of saying that he did not believe that Candace Martin shot her husband.

  Chi had never interviewed St. John again, but because the piano teacher felt so strongly that Candace Martin was innocent, I wanted to hear from him how and why he had formed that opinion.

  St. John’s rented apartment was in a Victorian house in the mostly residential 2400 block of Octavia Street. He was expecting me, and when I rang the bell on the ground floor, he buzzed me in.

  I sized St. John up at his doorway.

  He was in his early forties, five foot eight, with a slim build and spiky hair. I followed him into his apartment and saw that he clearly liked drama in his furnishings. The parlor was gold with red draperies, faux zebra-skin rugs were flung about, and a very nice Steinway grand sat near the bay window.

  After offering me a chair, St. John sat down on a tassel-fringed hassock and told me he was glad that I had called.

  “But I don’t understand why the police want to talk to me now,” he said. “No one wanted me as a witness.”

  “You weren’t in the Martin house the night of the murder, were you?”

  “No. I wasn’t there. I saw no gun. Heard no threats,” he said with a shrug.

  “From what you said in our phone call, I take it that you were privy to certain behaviors in the household that you thought might be important.”

  “Well, I have some thoughts and observations, Sergeant. I certainly do. Starting with when Candace had breast cancer a couple of years ago.”

  St. John needed no encouragement to fill me in on the last two years of his employment with the Martins, a story laced with petty complaints and gossip. Still, the fact that he was a gossip didn’t make him a bad witness.

  On the contrary.

  “Candace was bitchy to everyone when she was in chemo,” he said. “Especially to Ellen.”

  “Ellen Lafferty. The children’s nanny.”

  “That’s right,” St. John told me. “I don’t know when it started, but it was well over a year ago when Ellen confided in me,” St. John said. “She told me that she was having an affair with Dennis.”

  “Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”

  “I didn’t think it was important. Is it?”

  “I’m not sure. But tell me — why did you say to Inspector Chi that you didn’t think Candace was capable of shooting her husband?”

  “She’s a doctor. ‘First, do no
harm.’ Killing Dennis would have harmed everyone in the house. And look. It did.”

  I closed my notebook and thanked St. John for his time. As I left his apartment, I thought about Phil Hoffman telling me that what he knew about Ellen Lafferty could cause the charges against Candace Martin to be dismissed.

  Candace had speculated that her husband had been sleeping with Ellen Lafferty, and now Bernard St. John had confirmed that part of her theory.

  Had Lafferty gotten jealous, as Candace had suggested?

  Was Ellen Lafferty the so-called intruder who killed Dennis Martin?

  Chapter 56

  I THOUGHT PAUL Chi might still be steamed at me for questioning the slam-dunk first-degree murder charge against Candace Martin. If he wasn’t fuming now, he would be after I told him I was still turning over stones on his case, that I still wasn’t prepared to let it go.

  It was about 5 p.m. when I brought him a latte and sat down across from him at his very tidy desk in the squad room.

  Chi looked at me, his expression absolutely blank, and said, “You still trying to pry open my closed case?”

  I nodded. “You just have to let me get this out of my system,” I said. “If you were me, you’d do the same.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “You remember Bernard St. John?” I asked him.

  “The piano teacher. How could I forget that guy?”

  “I just spoke with him.”

  “I’m not pissed off, Lindsay. I just want to understand you better. Fifty homicides a year come through here. We solve only half of them. And that’s in a good year. So, here we got one that we actually close. Why has this case gotten to you?”

  “I can’t explain it.”

  “Can’t explain an insult to me, McNeill, Brady, the SFPD as a whole, and the DA’s entire office? You think this is going to score us any points with the DA?”

  “I’ve got to do this, Paul. If Candace Martin is guilty, my poking around isn’t going to change that.”

  “But you don’t think she is guilty, do you?”

  “I don’t know.”