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“Can you tell us what you saw?”
Stringer’s face seemed to contract as he sent his mind back to that horrific and bloody day. “Mrs. Canello was straightening the kid out, being kind of rough on him, I thought.
“Don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t abusive. It was just that the kid was taking it hard, and I was thinking about butting in. But I never said anything because the defendant shot her. And then he shot the little boy. And then everything on the boat went crazy.”
“Did Mr. Brinkley say anything to either of those victims before firing his gun?”
“Nope. He just lined up his shots. Bang. Bang. Really cold.”
Yuki let Bernard Stringer’s words hang for a moment in the courtroom, then said, “To be clear, when you say it was ‘really cold,’ you’re not talking about the temperature?”
“No, it’s the way he killed those people. His face was like ice.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stringer. Your witness,” Yuki said to the defense counsel.
Chapter 73
YUKI WATCHED MICKEY SHERMAN put his hands in his pockets, walk toward the witness in the reflected golden glow of the oak-paneled walls of the courtroom. His smile was real enough, but the amble, the common-man language, the whole low-key act, was also a cunning cover for Mickey’s talent for launching surprise attacks.
Yuki had worked with Sherman at close range before, and she’d learned to recognize his “tell.” Sherman would touch his right forefinger to the divot in his upper lip just before he sprang for the witness’s throat.
“Mr. Stringer, did Mrs. Canello or Anthony Canello do anything to provoke my client?” Sherman asked.
“No. As far as I could see, they were unaware of him.”
“And you say my client looked calm when he shot them?”
“He had a wild look about him generally, but when he pulled the trigger, his expression was like I said — cold. Blank. And his hand was steady.”
“When you look at him today, does Mr. Brinkley look the way he did on the Del Norte?”
“Not really.”
“In what way does he look different?”
Stringer sighed, gazed down at his hands before answering. “He looked mangy. I mean, his hair was long. He had a messy beard. His clothes were dirty, and he smelled funky.”
“So he looked mangy. His face was blank, and he stank to high heaven. And you saw him shoot two people who didn’t provoke him. They didn’t even know he was there.”
“That’s right.”
Forefinger to the upper lip.
“So what you’re saying is, Fred Brinkley looked and acted like a madman.”
Yuki shot to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Leading the witness.”
“Sustained.”
Sherman’s quiet charm returned.
“Mr. Stringer, did Mr. Brinkley look sane to you?”
“No. He looked as crazy as hell.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stringer,” Sherman said.
Yuki tried to summon up a question for redirect that could cancel out the words “madman” and “crazy,” but what came out of her mouth was “The People call Mr. Jack Rooney.”
