The 17th Suspect Page 19

  The spur of the hallway outside Len’s office was starting to fill up. Yuki turned her back and continued.

  “Len, I would never have believed Paul Yates was capable of extortion. He’s … timid.”

  Len said, “It’s a red flag, I agree, but it doesn’t mean that he perjured himself against Hill.”

  “I’m connecting the dots this way,” Yuki said. “Paul knows Marc and he tells him about his UCLA escapade. Briana has testified that she was starting to lose interest and Marc got the message. He feels aggrieved and also greedy. Paul’s extortion gives him an idea. So he sets Briana up and tries to blackmail her. Hill tells him to bug off.”

  Parisi said, “So now Marc is mad.”

  “Correct. He’s warned her and she’s not going for it, so it’s time to make her ‘pay up.’ Marc takes the sex video to the cops. He’s emotional. He’s got faded ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. He’s got a video. Of course they buy it, and so do we. We charge Briana.”

  “Theoretically.”

  “Len, my theory that Marc and Paul colluded is speculative. This thought occurred to me when Marc told his new and improved story on the stand. Were old memories just coming to him? Or was he lying? And if he was lying, I have to ask. Is his whole story a lie?”

  Len looked perturbed, but he was hanging in with her.

  Yuki said, “In sum, we’ve got a witness with a history of extortion. I can’t prove that Marc was untruthful, but I’m questioning his veracity. As for the defendant, her testimony was heartbreaking.”

  “Heartbreaking as in good acting? Or heartbreaking, she’s been framed?”

  Yuki shrugged. “I’m on the fence. I want some evidence before we ditch.”

  The prosecution had a legal obligation to withdraw charges if the case against Briana Hill was wrong. If Yuki proceeded without confidence in the defendant’s guilt, she could get disbarred.

  She said, “I need to talk to Yates again. If he changes his story, says he made up what he said happened between him and Briana, I’ll go back to Marc and squeeze him until he yelps.

  “Can you ask Rathburn for a continuance?”

  “I’ll give it a shot,” Len said.

  Parisi used Toni’s desk phone and called Judge Rathburn. In twenty-five words or less he explained the new situation to the judge, who agreed to recess court until tomorrow morning.

  “It’s a gift,” Parisi said to Yuki. “Make the most of it.”

  CHAPTER 91

  AS YUKI HEADED toward her office, she phoned Arthur and left him a message, updating him on the situation, including that court was adjourned until morning. She had just gotten back to her desk when her phone rang.

  She said into the mouthpiece, “Art?”

  “It’s Cindy.”

  There were very few people Yuki would be willing to talk to in the middle of this mess, but Cindy was on the short list.

  Yuki said, “I’m kinda in a rush.”

  Cindy said, “Me, too. Did you hear?”

  “Maybe not,” said Yuki. “Tell me.”

  “This is a girlfriend-to-girlfriend heads-up,” Cindy said. “I got it off the police scanner and I made a couple of follow-up calls to confirm. Paul Yates. He’s your witness, right?”

  “Right. What about him?”

  “He committed suicide this morning. He hanged himself.”

  Yuki sat down hard behind her desk.

  “Noooo. That can’t be true.”

  Cindy assured her that her sources were good.

  “I’m posting a cloaked version of this story to my crime blog in about ten minutes,” Cindy said. “Claire should have Yates’s body by now, so talk to her.”

  Yuki sat for a moment, trying to put this news flash in the context of her meeting with Parisi and her past meetings with Yates, and to consider the impact of his death on her case, which was coming apart at high speed, the wheels flying off and littering the roadway.

  Cindy said, “Yuki? Yuki?”

  “I’m here. I’m just stunned, that’s all. Thanks, Cindy.” Yuki hung up with Cindy, phoned Claire’s office, and was told that Claire wasn’t available. She asked to speak with Claire’s lab assistant, Bunny Ellis. After several crazy-making minutes of ’80s Muzak, Bunny got on the line.

  “Bunny. This is ADA Castellano. Do you have the body of Paul Yates?”

  “Uh-huh. Claire’s with him now.”

  Yuki had to know for sure. Was Paul’s death a homicide, a suicide, an accident, or undetermined? She said to Bunny, “He was a witness in my case. How long before we have a determination in manner and cause of death?”

  “I’ll have Claire call you, okay?”

  “Wait. Bunny, do you have the name of the officer or officers who called it in?”

  Once Yuki had the names of the first officers, she called Lindsay and asked her to look up the report.

  “Okay. I’ve got the file,” said Lindsay. “What it says is that Paul Yates was found dead in his apartment this morning by his girlfriend, who was worried when he didn’t answer his phone. He used a clothesline tied to his bedroom doorknob, strung over the top of the door, knotted around his neck. It’s written up as an apparent suicide.”

  Yuki texted Parisi and then called Arthur again. After she briefed him, he asked, “What do we do now?”

  “I want to speak with Marc Christopher.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Go to the ME’s office and wait for Yates’s death certificate. I’ll leave word that you’re there.”

  CHAPTER 92

  SOMETHING WAS HAPPENING to me that I didn’t understand.

  I was swimming in darkness, surrounded by garbled voices. I was both numb and cold, and my head hurt.

  Is this a really bad dream?

  Hands plucked at me. Someone slapped my cheek. I wanted to sink back into the swirl of underwater, but consciousness intruded. Whatever was happening was too real to be a dream.

  I opened my eyes.

  A patch of the floor came into focus and I recognized the pattern of the ceramic tiles. A row of half doors filled my peripheral view. And then there were the shoes. Pale-colored shoes with sponge soles. Red ballet flats. I knew then that I was in the ladies’ room at the end of the hall from the squad room. I was lying half under a sink, but I didn’t remember coming here.

  Brenda, our PA, yelled into my face. Her expression scared me.

  “Lindsay, can you hear me?” she shouted. “What the heck happened?”

  She was terrified. Had I been shot?

  I said, “I don’t know.” That was the whole truth and nothing but.

  I wasn’t ready to move, but I lifted my head and tried to make sense of the clamor. Paramedics had crammed into the small bathroom and were attempting to lift me onto a stretcher. I fought back. What had happened to me?

  A man stooped down. His name was stitched above his pocket: A. MURPHY.

  “I’m Andy,” he told me. “Can you remember what happened to you?” He had other questions, and I tried to answer them.

  “In the ladies’ room … Lindsay Boxer … Two fingers … Wednesday … George Washington … I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Lindsay. Now tell me the last thing you remember.”

  This was the second time I said this and it was still the truth. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Another paramedic pricked my finger. Someone put a stethoscope to my chest. Andy shined a light into one eye, then the other.

  “That’s good, Lindsay,” he said.

  Fingers pressed across my wrist as Andy asked me more questions about my health—history of heart disease, previous episodes of blacking out, name of GP, last time I’d had a checkup. I struggled to sit up. I had pain in my shoulder and my forehead.

  “I remember now. I came in here to wash my hands before having lunch. I must have passed out.”

  Andy said, “That sounds right. Syncope. Your blood glucose is about normal. Your blood pressure is within normal rang
e,” and he asked me to help him out by getting onto the stretcher. There was no way they could carry me out the narrow doorway on that thing.

  My strength was coming back and so was my mind. I was feeling madder.

  I said, “I’m fine, Andy. Please let me up. I’ve fainted once or twice before when I haven’t eaten. I haven’t eaten today. I’ve been busy. Look. Will someone just help me the fuck up?”

  Hands went under my armpits. I was hoisted onto my feet. I felt woozy, but with the support of strong hands and a counter of sinks, I stood steady as a rock.

  “I’m okay, see?”

  Andy Murphy said, “There’s a pretty big knot coming up on your forehead. Emergency docs should check you out at Metro, give you a CT scan. If you were my sister, I’d insist on that. It’s the right thing to do, Lindsay.”

  “Thanks. No. I’ll call my husband. He’ll drive me home.”

  “We can’t make you come with us, but you do have to sign this,” said the paramedic, handing me a release. I signed it with a flourish. I thanked everyone. Brenda walked with me to my desk and I called Joe. I was scared, but I tried not to let him hear the throbbing freak-out in my voice.

  I still hadn’t made an appointment to see Dr. Glenn Arpino, but I had to do it. I couldn’t justify putting it off any longer. Problem was, I was pretty sure that I now knew what was wrong with me.

  It was a terrifying thought, and I couldn’t bear it. So I shoved it to the back burner.

  I would deal with it tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 93

  YUKI WATCHED MARC Christopher squirm in one of the two metal-frame chairs across from her desk.

  He leaned his crutch against the second chair. She moved her lamp a few inches, placed her phone where Marc could see it, and pressed Record.

  “I’m recording our meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “You have a problem speaking on the record, Marc?”

  “I guess not. But why do you want to do it?”

  “I want to ask you some questions about Paul Yates,” Yuki said. “I’ve seen his death certificate. It’s official. Suicide by hanging. Do you have any idea why he killed himself?”

  Marc’s defiance withered, and it looked like tears were about to spring out of his eyes. Yuki really didn’t care.

  Marc cleared his throat a couple of times and said, “I just heard. It’s horrible. I haven’t spoken with Paul since, I don’t know. A week. I don’t know what to say.”

  Yuki asked him again. “Marc. Do you have any thoughts why he would have hanged himself?”

  “You’re asking if it’s about what happened during the trial?”

  Yuki didn’t answer, just kept her eyes on Marc.

  Marc said, “Maybe you’re right. Oh, man. He’s a pretty sensitive guy. Was. I shouldn’t have even told you about him. You would never have even heard his name if it weren’t for me. Oh, my God. I don’t know what to do or say. I want it all to stop.”

  “Did you know that when Paul was in college, he was arrested for trying to blackmail a professor?”

  Marc looked at her as if she were pointing a gun at him.

  He said, “No. Of course not.”

  Yuki slapped her desk. “Stop lying to me.”

  He recoiled, then said, “Okay, okay, Paul told me about what he did in college. I don’t see what that has to do with anything. It was harmless. Look. Yuki. I want you to drop the charges against Briana. This has gotten out of hand. Can we just draw this whole thing to a close?”

  “Drop the charges? You mean I should tell the judge what, Marc? The prosecution changed its mind?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Tell me what happened with you, Paul, and Briana,” she said.

  “What more is there to tell?” he asked her.

  “Plenty. Feel free to fill in the blanks.”

  Yuki took a sheet of paper out of a folder on her desk and flashed it at Marc.

  “This is Paul’s suicide note.”

  “No. Please. Please don’t read it to me.”

  “I’ll skip around,” Yuki said. “Paul said that he’s sorry. He didn’t mean to lie about Briana. He wishes he’d never met you, Marc. He wishes he’d aimed higher when he shot you, at your request.”

  Marc was saying, “Oh, God. Oh, God,” and crying now, hands over his eyes. Compared with the tears he had shed on the witness stand, this was a very ugly cry.

  Yuki went on. “Here’s a quote: ‘Please tell Briana I know what I did was wrong and I am more sorry than she can ever know or believe for hurting her. I hope one day she can forgive me.’ That’s about it, Marc. And he wrote an apology to his girlfriend and his parents for taking his life.”

  She gave the criminal liar sitting across from her direct eye contact. “Marc. Was this accusation that Briana Hill raped you a lie?”

  He nodded.

  “Speak up, Marc. Is that a yes?” Yuki asked.

  “Yes. It was what she said it was. A game.”

  “You and Paul cooked this up together? To frame her for rape and blackmail her?”

  “It was my idea,” Marc said, his voice just barely audible. “Paul helped me.”

  “Helped you plan?” Yuki asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And he shot you?”

  “I asked him to do it.”

  “But you were going to cut him in?”

  “Yes to all of that,” Marc told Yuki. He looked broken, and Yuki felt that he was finally telling the truth.

  “Why, Marc? Why did you do this?”

  He grabbed the arms of the chair and lunged toward her, shouting, “Can’t you see what a ballbuster she is?”

  There it was—his anger and his venom. His dark side that he’d used to bring down Briana Hill. It would now fuel his own reversal of fortune.

  Yuki drew back and said, “Oh, my God.”

  Marc sagged in the chair. His voice was breaking when he asked, “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “I’ll let you know. Stay here.”

  Marc said, “I’m going to be sick.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Yuki reached under her desk, pulled out the trash can, and walked it over to where Marc was slumped over his knees. She handed him the wastebasket and said, “You’re despicable.”

  She picked her phone up off the desk, left the room, and walked down the hall to Red Dog’s office.

  He was waiting for her.

  CHAPTER 94

  YUKI PARKED HER car on Clayton Street in front of the pretty, shingled condo building where Briana Hill lived.

  She grabbed her car keys and stepped out onto the tree-shaded residential block, walked up stone steps and under a trellis. She paused for a moment, checking her anxiety level, and then rang the doorbell.

  She heard footsteps, the click of the peephole, followed by the clack of the lock. And there was Briana in her pink-and-blue-striped pajamas, smelling of liquor at three in the afternoon.

  “What are you doing here?” Briana asked her.

  “Hi, Briana. May I come in?”

  “I can’t speak with you without my lawyer present. You know that.”

  “Mr. Giftos is with DA Parisi right now,” Yuki told her. “He knows that I’m here and he knows why. It’s okay with him, but of course you should call him if you like.”

  Briana stepped back and let Yuki in.

  The place was a mess—clothes tossed on the furniture, coffee cups and bowls of half-eaten cereal on tables and counters, dried-out potted palms. An open bottle of vodka was centered on the coffee table.

  Briana threw herself into a basket chair. Yuki sat on the edge of a facing sectional.

  Briana said, “So, why are you here?”

  “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “For God’s sake. What next? A knock-knock joke?” Yuki could do nothing but press on.

  “Paul Yates committed suicide, Briana. His body was found this morning.”

  Briana’s expression was one o
f sheer disbelief. She shouted, “No way. Paul is dead? Why? Why did that creep kill himself?”

  “According to his suicide note, it’s because he regretted what he’d done to you.”

  Briana got up and paced around the room. When she had completed the circuit, she came back to Yuki and said, “Bad news and good news, you said?”

  “The DA is dropping the case against you. It’s over.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely,” Yuki said.

  Briana said, “You’re dropping the case? I’m free?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I might have a heart attack.”

  Briana’s phone rang from under a throw blanket on the couch. She found it, looked at the caller ID, said, “Mom? I can’t talk. The DA is here … Yes. In my fucking apartment.”

  Briana clicked off the call and said to Yuki, “I’ll be right back.”

  She went down the hallway and into another room out of Yuki’s view, but Yuki heard the door slam closed.

  Right after that Yuki heard Briana screaming a loud, wordless howl, then came cursing, more screaming.

  There was the sound of running water.

  A moment later Briana came back into the living room with a towel around her neck, hair dripping, like she had put her head under the faucet.

  She dropped back into the basket chair and said, “Okay, Yuki. Tell me everything. The good, the bad, the ugly, and any other damned thing you’ve got.”

  CHAPTER 95

  YUKI PRESSED ON, past her own tremendous discomfort in the face of the shock Briana was clearly feeling.

  She folded her hands in her lap and told Briana about confronting Marc with Paul Yates’s suicide note, and the subsequent confession from Marc two hours ago.

  “He committed crimes against you and he manipulated the justice system. We’re working up charges against him now,” Yuki told her. “Extortion, perjury, criminal libel, and maybe a few other things we can throw at him once we get his signed confession.”

  Briana shot out of her chair, lit up all over again. She stood over Yuki and shouted, “Throw everything at him. Do not spare him. Do you know what that maniac has done to me? He’s wrecked my career, my reputation. Even my friends have lost faith in me. I can’t leave the house without people taking pictures of me. Pointing. ‘She raped that cute guy. She had a gun.’