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Cindy nodded her agreement. “It’s how so-called angels of death rack up dozens and sometimes hundreds of victims before they’re caught—if they ever are.”
“It’s no wonder Yuki’s obsessed with Garza,” I said. “She’s sure he’s responsible for killing her mother.”
“I can tell you this for a fact,” said Cindy. “Someone at that hospital is responsible for what happened to Keiko. She should be at home right now. Drinking tea. Telling Yuki what to wear and how to get married.”
Chapter 54
SAN FRANCISCO’S MORNING rush-hour snarl had eaten up fifteen precious minutes of drive time, and now Cindy was late. She pushed open the courtroom door, waved at Yuki, who was sitting behind the rail, then bumped everyone in the press row down a seat as she squeezed in.
A sidebar was in progress, a fairly heated one, Cindy thought. O’Mara and Kramer were arguing in lowered voices at the base of the judge’s bench.
Judge Bevins had listened long enough. “I don’t see the problem, Mr. Kramer.” Bevins flicked his ponytail, adjusted his bifocals. “Both of you, step back. Let’s get going.”
Kramer spun away from the bench, and Maureen O’Mara took the lectern. She tossed her mane of titian hair. A sign of victory? Then she called a witness to the stand.
There was a buzz in the courtroom as a striking fortyish woman with short platinum-blond hair was sworn in. Her slim European designer suit in shades of olive green combined with her crisp, white man-tailored shirt spoke of uncommon style and confidence.
“What’s going on?” Cindy whispered to the reporter beside her. This dude was like Clark Kent in the flesh—early thirties, dark-haired, bespectacled, remarkably cute in a nebbishy sort of way.
“Hello. I’m Whit Ewing. Chicago Tribune,” he said.
“Sorry. I’m Cindy Thomas.”
“Of the Chronicle?”
“That’s me.”
“I’ve been reading your reports. Not too bad.”
“Thanks, Whit. So, what’s the beef?”
“O’Mara is calling a defense witness as part of her case-in-chief. It’s a pretty clever tactic. Kramer can’t cross-examine his own witness —”
“So she gets over on him until he puts the witness on himself.”
“Very good.”
“Thanks, bud. I owe you one.”
“I just may hold you to that,” he said, grinning.
The sharp crack of Judge Bevins’s gavel brought the court to order.
“Please state your name,” said O’Mara.
“Dr. Sonja Engstrom.”
“Dr. Engstrom, what is your position at Municipal?”
“I’m director of pharmacy.”
“Here we go,” Whit Ewing said to Cindy. “The windup for the pitch.”
Chapter 55
SONJA ENGSTROM LISTED her credentials succinctly, said that she’d been at Municipal for seven years and was responsible for the systems and people who dispense medication. She seemed suitably impressed with herself, too.
O’Mara asked, “Could you tell the jury about those systems that you’ve put in place, Doctor?”
