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“What did you think?” Twilly smiled. It was a charming smile, lopsided, the left side of his mouth twitching up, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“Made me think about teenage boys in a whole new way.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Twilly said. “What can I get you to drink?”
Twilly called the waitress over, ordered wine for Cindy, mineral water for himself, and told Cindy that since Yuki was going to be prosecuting Junie Moon, he wanted to get some sense of her from her closest friend.
“I spoke with some of her professors at Boalt Law,” Twilly told Cindy. “And a couple of her former colleagues at Duffy and Rogers.”
“She was really on the fast track to partnership there,” Cindy said.
“So I’ve heard. Yuki told me that after her mother was killed at Municipal Hospital, she lost her taste for civil cases and went over to the prosecutorial side.”
“Exactly.”
“So what does that make her? Fierce? Vengeful?”
“You’re baiting me,” Cindy said, laughing. “Did Yuki strike you as vindictive?”
“Not at all,” Twilly said, giving her another of his electrifying smiles. “Well, maybe the fierce part is true,” he said. “I’ve seen Yuki in action at the Brinkley thing.”
Twilly told Cindy that he already had a contract from his publisher to do the unauthorized biography of Michael Campion when, suddenly, Michael disappeared.
“It looked like an unsolved mystery until the cops found a suspect and indicted Junie Moon,” Twilly said. “And when I heard that Yuki Castellano was going to try Moon for Michael’s murder, it just couldn’t get any better. It should be a hell of a trial. And what I love about Yuki Castellano is that she’s passionate and she’s fearless.”
Cindy nodded in agreement, said, “L. Diana Davis had better bring her best game.”
“That’s interesting,” said Twilly. “Because what I was thinking is that it’s good that Yuki has a friend like you, Cindy. I mean, with all due respect to Yuki, Davis is going to slaughter her.”
Part Two
HABEAS CORPUS (Produce the Body)
Chapter 33
YUKI PUSHED THROUGH the swarm of reporters and cameramen who had surrounded her from the moment she parked her car. She hoisted her handbag higher on her shoulder, clutched her briefcase, and headed toward the street, the press moving along with her, shouting out questions about how she thought the trial would go, and if there was anything she wanted to say to the public.
“Not now, people,” she said. “I don’t want to keep the court waiting.” She lowered her head, pushed her way out to the intersection, saw the fleet of satellite vans and setups on Bryant: local news, cable news vans, and crews from the networks, all there to cover the trial of Junie Moon.
The light changed and Yuki crossed the street encased in a mob of reporters. She headed toward the Hall of Justice and into the thicker crowd that had gathered at the foot of the granite steps. Len Parisi had told her he’d field the media, but right now he was locked in a pileup on the freeway, an oil truck having tipped over, blocking all lanes, cars slamming into each other in the slick.
Parisi didn’t know when he’d get to court, and so Yuki had spent a half hour going over her opening with him again on the phone, and that’s why she’d cut the time too close. She marched up the courthouse steps, eyes front, said, “Can’t talk now, sorry,” to a gang of reporters at the heavy steel-and-glass front doors to the Hall of Justice. And then, to her chagrin, she couldn’t open the doors.
A reporter from KRON held the door for her, then winked and said, “See ya later, Yuki.”
Yuki tossed her briefcase and handbag on the security desk, walked through the metal detectors without incident, accepted “luck of the Irish” wishes from the guard, and made for the stairs, taking them quickly to the second floor.
The golden oak-paneled courtroom was packed to the walls. Yuki took her seat at the prosecution table, exchanged looks with Nicky Gaines, her second chair. He was big-eyed and sweaty, looked as apprehensive as she was.
“Where’s Red Dog?” he asked.
“He’s in a traffic jam.”
The bailiff cut the murmur in the courtroom by calling out, “All rise,” and Judge Bruce Bendinger entered the room through a panel behind the bench, took his seat between Old Glory and the California state flag.
Bendinger was sixty, gray-haired, recovering from knee replacement surgery. His shirt collar above his robe was pink, his striped satin tie was a vibrant ultramarine. Yuki noted Bendinger’s rumpled brow and thought the normally easy-going judge looked a bit frayed before the trial had even begun. His knee must be giving him hell.
Yuki half listened as Bendinger instructed the jury. She used the moment to sneak a look at Junie Moon’s formidable, take-no-prisoners attorney, L. Diana Davis.
