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Court was adjourned for lunch break. Yuki stood as the judge left the bench.
As Barbara was rolled out of the courtroom, Yuki hoped she’d made every man and woman in the room feel as trappedand as close to death as that poor woman had felt. Had the jurors believed Barbara? Yuki couldn’t think of anything she would have done differently. At this minute, everyone in Courtroom 6A was thinking about Barbara Sullivan.
CHAPTER 52
WHEN COURT RECONVENED, Her Honor Judge Froman asked the defense counsel if Mr. Switzer was ready to make his closing argument.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Maurice Switzer stood, walked to the jury box and addressed the jurors. He looked attractive, honest, and made good eye contact with the jurors. Switzer didn’t bother with a preamble. No warm-up lines. He got right to it.
He said, “This is what happened one terrible afternoon in a homey house in Alamo Square. Barbara Sullivan antagonized her husband by giving the time of day to a man Lewis thought was a competitor for his wife’s affections. He picked up a bread knife from the kitchen counter and followed his wife to the basement laundry room where he threatened her. In her own words, Barbara didn’t take his threat seriously, which further inflamed her husband. When he stepped up his threat with the knife, Barbara kicked her husband in the testicles, causing intolerable pain. She could have left thebasement, called the police, or gotten into the car with the children.
“Instead Barbara picked up the bread knife and threatened Lewis, already fired up, furious, and in pain.
“Barbara’s memory may be challenged in this regard. She called Lewis names that no man could handle. He remembers. She told him that he was a loser, a failed husband and father, and that she couldn’t stand to look at him. She knew how to push Lew’s buttons. She was good at it.
“Over the course of that evening, we maintain that Barbara wrote ‘I love you’ on the basement wall. Yes. With her own blood and her own hand. Was she baiting him? Offering an olive branch? We don’t know. But we know that she didn’t leave the basement. She remained there for twenty-four hours.
“As mentioned by the defendant and alluded to by Mrs. Sullivan, she liked rough sex and was Lew’s mentor in this activity. She encouraged it. If things went too far, Barbara told us that there is ‘fantasy and there is over the line.’ This is not a tangible line. This is an arbitrary distinction that Barbara alone made.
“In my opinion, Mr. Sullivan can be pardoned for not seeing that line. Historically, if Barbara called the police, she dropped the charges before ever giving a statement. She says she was afraid of her husband, but she didn’t leave him. She didn’t file for separation or divorce. She stayed.
“Barbara Sullivan knew the game she was playing but—combined with his own failure to read the situation—she pushed her husband too far. He loves her. He maintains that she loves him. Lew never intended for their sex game to resultin the physical pain Barbara suffered and he is remorseful and repentant.
“But Lewis Sullivan did not attempt to murder Barbara.
“He could have done it, but he did not.”
Maurice Switzer thanked the jury and returned to his seat.
CHAPTER 53
I DROVE FROM the Hall to the southern edge of the Financial District in about ten minutes without using sirens and flashers. I parked on Jackson, not far from Susie’s front door. Susie’s Café is a Caribbean-style bar and restaurant and all are welcome, but Claire, Cindy, Yuki, and I thought of Susie’s as our clubhouse, the Women’s Murder Club HQ.
The plate glass windows were alight and when I opened the front door, a wonderful spicy aroma turned my mind toward dinner. The bar was full at 6:00 p.m. Fireman was manning the bar taps, the Yellow Bird Quartet was tuning up their steel drums, and the ochre sponge-painted walls added a glow to the front room. Old acquaintances waved, called out, “Hey, Sarge,” and I returned greetings. Susie, a limber and athletic woman, stopped me to say that the limbo contest was slated for six thirty and did I want to sign up?
“Sorry, Suz. I’m out of shape.”
She politely disagreed but I told her maybe next time and as I made my way to the back room, I was singing to the YellowBirds’ warm-up:“Down at de market you can hear people cry out while on their heads they wear/Hot tea, rice, salt fish is nice and de rum is fine any time of year …”
Claire was in the corner of “our” booth talking to Yuki. I slid in next to my BFF and asked to be brought up to speed. Claire was in her listening mode. She put her arm around my shoulders and said, “Yuki can bring you up to speed faster and better than I can.”
Yuki has a high metabolism, is a fast-talker with a melodious laugh and a low tolerance for alcohol—tequila being her juice of choice. This evening she was drinking tea and seemed subdued.
Claire said, “Yuki, tell her.”
“You’ve heard this before.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Defense made a stellar closing argument. Really.”
Lorraine brought a pitcher of beer and said she’d be back for our order when Cindy showed up.
Yuki said, “He blamed the victim! Here’s the victim, battered to a pulp and defense counsel is saying she flirted with the neighbor. She calls her husband names. He’s sorry.
“Sorry?” Yuki continued, knocking her teacup with one hand, catching it with the other, never losing a beat.
