23rd Midnight, page 13
part #23 of Women's Murder Club Series
Yuki said, “Cindy, did you know Burke has a new lawyer working on an appeal of his sentence?”
“On what grounds?” Cindy said. “He confessed. He gave me all the proof anyone could need to convict him many times over. He wanted people to know his score because he’s an egomaniac. And because of his confession, he only got six consecutive life sentences. He’s done.”
Yuki said, “That’s all I know.”
Claire said, “In my professional opinion, Evan Burke has surpassed all categories of criminally insane. He needs a new category.”
Cindy agreed. “A class of his own. Call it ‘All Burked Up.’”
There was laughter, booze, yummy food, sounds of applause from the front room as the limbo competition ended. I checked my phone. Seven fifteen.
“Cin, when’s your flight tomorrow morning?”
“Ten twenty-two.”
“Stop by my place at eight thirty,” I said. “I’ll drive us to the airport. Please don’t fight me, Cin. I’m going with you to Phoenix.”
CHAPTER 55
I WAS IN bed with Joe when Julie climbed up over the foot of the bed, crawled northward, and wedged herself between us. She fell straight to sleep on top of the blankets. My head was on Joe’s shoulder. His left arm was around me and we held hands, speaking softly so as not to wake our little girl. Martha was snoring on the rug beside the bed, the four of us filling the available sleeping space in our blue-painted bedroom, which for me was the center of the universe.
Joe was telling me about his visit to his childhood home.
He said, “It was crazy. Like a cross between Leave It to Beaver and Animal House,” he said. “And Mom. She says, ‘Seventy-five is the new ninety.’”
“She meant seventy-five is the new fifty?”
Joe laughed. “Nope. She never sat down. She vacuumed every morning, did laundry every other day, and cooked every night. Our first night there, the whole table was lined with my brothers. So, she made four kinds of pasta and sides, all different sauces … and everyone was tossing cracked jokes and bread.
“Mom said, ‘Are you kids ever going to grow up?’ ‘Noooooo,’ from the whole pack and it just kept going.”
I laughed thinking about that and said, “But tell me about Julie. I’m trying to picture her at that table.”
“She sat on a big pile of cushions between me and Mom. Her head swiveled from me to Mom to Petie, to Aldo, to George, back to me, and then down the table to Greg and Paul, and then straight ahead to Dad’s picture over the sideboard. I think she was trying to process how we all looked almost alike.”
Joe laughed again and I smiled into his shoulder. Julie adjusted her position, spooning against me. I tucked my arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“It was good for her to get all those uncle horsie rides, play ‘Go Fish,’ and just be with her Grandma.”
“I need some of that horsing around and time with your family, myself.”
“You sure do. Next time, you’re coming.”
I said, “I ditched Dr. Greene this morning. Didn’t remember. Didn’t even call him.”
“I believe that’s called unconscious resistance.”
“Like I don’t want to face something? Well, that would be true.” I told Joe that my week had been like his week only upside down and inside out and on speed. That for my peace of mind and Cindy’s safety I was going to Phoenix with her in the morning. “I’ll be home tomorrow night.”
“Is that just a good idea or a necessity?” he asked.
“Necessity. She’s determined and unarmed. I want to see if someone’s watching her.”
“Try to have some fun, will you?”
I said I would try just before Joe’s hand went slack. Soon, he and Martha were both snoring. I nudged our little one and carried her to her bedroom with Martha padding behind us. I put her to bed asking, “How’s my girl?”
“I missed you, Mommy.”
“I missed you, too, Jules.”
Martha hopped up into bed with Julie. She circled, put her head on Julie’s pillow, and closed her big brown eyes. I stood watching them sleep by the night-light shaped like an angel.
Julie hadn’t said the Lord’s Prayer tonight, and come to think of it, neither had I—not in a long time. I knelt beside Julie’s bed and did it for her. After “God bless …” I included everyone in the Molinari and Boxer families and Mrs. Rose. I requested blessings for the Women’s Murder Club and their men and my friends and colleagues at the SFPD. I tucked Cindy’s name in once more, just before “Amen.”
I turned to leave Julie’s room with an idea to wake my husband accidentally on purpose. But he was already up, standing in Julie’s doorway after watching and listening to me pray.
“And God bless you,” he said.
He hugged me tight and walked me back to bed.
CHAPTER 56
WE WERE ON the Tuesday morning flight to Phoenix when Cindy told me that the book tour was driving sales far beyond expectations.
“You know what they say? ‘Books are flying off the shelves.’”
We both grinned at the image and actually I liked how she sounded. The Cindy who’d had too much contact with Evan Burke, who’d been steeped in souvenirs of his decades-long murder spree, was nearly back to her old self: enthusiastic, daring, fully alive.
When we exited the Phoenix terminal, Cindy’s driver was waiting to take us to The Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Old Town Scottsdale. The store had an impressive exterior with corkscrew columns flanking the front door. Even more impressive was the line of customers stretched out the door to the street in advance of the afternoon signing. I badged the security guard, but before crossing the threshold, I stopped to admire Cindy’s beautiful face on a larger-than-life-sized poster in the window. We each took pictures with Cindy as a backdrop, and she took a selfie of us together. And then we were welcomed inside by the Poisoned Pen’s owner, Barbara Peters.
Barbara wore red, had a short blond bob, and was so glad to meet us both. She showed us the layout of the store, and where Cindy would be speaking. I met the retired cop she had hired for security and asked to be positioned so that my chair was angled toward the audience. Within a half hour, Barbara Peters introduced Cindy Thomas, best-selling author and crime reporter of note, to rousing applause. I clapped, too, and at the same time watched the room for anomalies, sudden movements or a face I’d seen in previous bookstore videos.
Once Cindy engaged the audience, she was encouraged to speak longer and answer more questions, while the book signing line grew longer. We had planned to have an early dinner with Barbara Peters at Café Monarch, a five-star restaurant with a four-course menu that even one-star foodies like me would remember forever. But it was clear by the time we finished at the Poisoned Pen that we could have dinner or catch our return flight, but not both.
Barbara recommended Chelsea’s Kitchen, an airport restaurant that was so popular, non-travelers drove out to the airport to eat there. We took her advice and had hot tacos and iced tea. And I told Cindy how proud I was of her.
“My God. That was such a great event. And you were so good, Cin. How’d you learn to do public speaking like that?”
“Well, I’ve had practice—”
“You’re a natural, Cindy. And you know your subject—”
“Don’t I, though?”
“You practically materialized Evan Burke into the store. The audience couldn’t get enough of you.”
“Thanks, Linds. I have to enjoy it while I can.”
“While you can, what? You’re scaring me.”
“No, no. I mean, someone else’s book will be top of the list in a couple of weeks. But still. This is almost like a first-class vacation. In Paris.”
I laughed, paid the check, and waited for the waiter to bring back my card. There was a long pause as Cindy pulled at the hem of her flippy jersey dress and then asked, “Did you see anyone who looked wrong?”
“No. And I was watching while everyone else was looking at you.”
“Hah,” said Cindy. “So, we don’t have to get into a fight when I go to Portland in a few days.”
Quoting Claire, I said, “You’re incorrigible.”
“And I’m right. Let’s go, Linds. They’re calling our flight.”
I exhaled. Cindy and I were both going home tonight.
Thank God. We hugged and boarded the plane.
CHAPTER 57
YUKI WAS WRAPPING up her summation, her left hand resting on the rail of the jury box.
She’d stood there since word one, making eye contact with each of the jurors and alternates. She stopped at Sam Winsted, moved on to Pearl Harvey, lifted her eyes to Mary Savino, moved on to Doris Caro, who’d recovered from her collapse in the courtroom during distressing testimony from Barbara. She felt that she’d reached them all, even Pierce Rodman, juror number four, who seemed to enjoy the hell out of Switzer.
Yuki said, “Did Barbara call Lewis names? Say she did. Did she threaten him with a knife in the laundry room, as Lewis claims? It was self-defense. Barbara and Lewis have different recollections of the altercation with the knife. That’s common in traumatic situations. And while we can’t know what went through the minds of these two people, we do know that Lewis Sullivan suffered no injuries, not a scratch. And we can look at the evidence, which is not in dispute. Lewis Sullivan incapacitated Barbara and beat and kicked and tortured her until she blacked out. Without police and medical intervention, Barbara would have bled out and died on the basement floor.
“We know this from the police officers who arrived at the scene and gave their testimony. We know this from the EMTs who kept Barbara Sullivan alive until she was delivered to the emergency room. Dr. Parker, the ER attending physician, testified that he had never seen injuries like Barbara’s on a living person.”
Yuki turned and signaled to her number two.
Nick Gaines brought a long cardboard tube to the whiteboard and withdrew a five by eight color photo. He unfurled it and taped it to the whiteboard that was angled so it could be seen throughout the small courtroom. The image was of Barbara Sullivan, half nude, bleeding from every part of her body, restrained by chain and tape.
Yuki thanked Gaines and gave the jurors a long minute to take it in. There were gasps and quiet “oh, my Gods” from jury and gallery alike. Lewis Sullivan lowered his head and Switzer put an arm around his client.
After a minute of silence, Yuki continued. “This photo was taken by Sergeant Birney. It was entered into evidence. We’ve had it enlarged, but it has not been enhanced in any way.
“As you’ve heard and can see, Barbara Sullivan was immobilized. She was raped and suffered severe vaginal tearing. The DNA from her rape kit matches one man and one man only. Lewis Sullivan. You’ve heard the litany of her injuries, internal and external, including eight broken bones, cranial factures, a concussion, and the loss of her left eye.
“Where was Barbara’s husband at the time this photo was taken? Lewis had taken the boys out to lunch. If the police and EMTs had reached Barbara ten minutes later, she would have been dead.
“What was his intent? Lewis Sullivan spent twenty-four hours cutting, punching, raping, and kicking his wife. Did he intend to kill her?
“He denies this, but then here’s what Lewis Sullivan didn’t do. He didn’t call the police. He didn’t call an ambulance. He didn’t ask his neighbors or anyone for help. He didn’t untie his wife or attempt to give her succor. No. He took the kids to Arby’s.”
Yuki turned to the photo, giving the court another uninterrupted look at the gripping image of Barbara Sullivan’s battered and broken body with a large pool of blood spreading outward from her head.
Yuki asked the jurors, “Did Lewis Sullivan want his wife to live?
“No. He did not. The people rest, Your Honor.”
CHAPTER 58
YUKI’S PULSE WAS still pounding when she returned to the prosecution table. She was also winded and filled with a feeling of deep satisfaction. Gaines muttered, “I want to be you when I grow up.”
Yuki patted his hand in acknowledgment. She was aware that eyes were on her from all sides, but she looked only at the judge.
Judge Karen Froman, both stern and patient, took her time charging the jury with their duties. Court was adjourned pending the return of a verdict. The gallery emptied and two court officers went to the defendant, each taking one of his arms. They were about to escort Lewis Sullivan back to his cell when he pulled an arm free and turned to Yuki, shouting, “I have something to say!”
The judge instructed the bailiff to accompany the jurors to the deliberation room. After they’d left through the side door, the defendant stood in the aisle between the guards and spoke to Yuki in a determined tone of voice: “Against advice of counsel, I will plead guilty to the charge of child endangerment. I admit I was oblivious to the kids hearing us fight and the effect of that. I’ll take the hit for aggravated assault. I was aggravated. I did assault Barbara and I seriously hurt her. She may have permanent physical and mental damage and I’m going to suffer for that for the rest of my life.
“Ms. Castellano. Right now, I will plead guilty to the lesser charges if you drop ‘attempted murder.’”
CHAPTER 59
DA LEONARD “RED DOG” Parisi was wearing a charcoal-gray suit with a red tie that highlighted his wild red hair. Three hundred fifty pounds of prosecutorial muscle, Len had been in the courtroom’s back row all morning and was now waiting in the corridor for Yuki and Nick.
“My office,” Parisi said when they came through the doors.
Although Yuki was dying to know his thoughts, Len had an unbreakable rule. Don’t discuss the case in public areas.
The prosecution team didn’t speak during that short walk to their department. The District Attorney’s offices, as well as the courtrooms, were on the second floor. Press crowded and surrounded them, pushing mics and cameras forward, shouting questions, but Parisi was like a bulldozer, shoving rubbish off the road.
At times like this, the big man’s office was a refuge. Furnished in dark leather, carpeted in Oriental rugs, with heavy curtains closed against the glare and noise of Bryant Street just below, it was dimly lit and quiet.
Yuki took a seat on the tufted love seat opposite Len’s large hand-carved desk. Nick sat in a matching armchair at right angles to the sofa. Yuki glanced at the clock on the wall above Parisi’s desk. Its face was a graphic design of a red pit bull, a reference to Parisi’s nickname, earned by his ferocious prosecutions before he was promoted to the corner office.
Len’s chair wheezed as it took his weight. Katie, Len’s assistant, brought in a folder of phone messages. He thanked her and without looking, put the call sheet on the stack of memoranda.
Looking at Yuki, Len said, “Great job, Yuki. You, too, Nick. I know this case was painful for all concerned. Your star witness was outstanding. Your summation was letter-perfect. Your voice broke during your closing, Yuki, if you didn’t know. A goddamn great touch.”
Yuki said. “That picture … I hadn’t seen the enlargement.”
“I know your emotion was authentic,” Red Dog said. “That’s what notched your closing up to one of the best I’ve heard in this Hall.”
Yuki thanked Parisi. Still, a “but” hung in the air. The “but” was a question: Should the prosecution let Sullivan plead guilty to the lesser charges and drop “attempted murder”?
The answer would be a calculated guess. Having heard the evidence, the testimonies and the arguments, what did the jurors believe? How would they decide their verdict?
Parisi said to Yuki, “What’s your gut tell you? Make the deal on a sure thing? Or roll the dice on attempted murder?”
Yuki said, “Intent is the sticking point. Does the jury believe that Lew Sullivan meant to kill Barbara? If there’s doubt in one juror’s mind, we could lose on attempted murder and still get a conviction on assault and for scaring the kids. The lesser charges will still get Sullivan forty years in prison.”
“On the other hand,” Parisi said, “if we’ve proved intent to kill Barbara and he’s guilty on all charges, he could get life, no possibility of parole.”
Parisi asked Gaines for his thoughts. Gaines had grown up under Parisi and Len respected him. Nick was a notetaker and knew every word spoken during trial. He was not afraid of grunt work and not afraid of the DA.
Nick said, “It’s that old saying, ‘Half a loaf is better than none.’”
“So,” said Parisi. “You’d drop ‘attempted murder’? Tell us why?”
“Forty years in jail is a substantial term,” Nick said, “I’m comfortable there. If we lose on attempted murder, it might have a cascading effect. Jurors raising issues. Other verdicts of not guilty on the lesser charges.”
Parisi said, “I see. Yuki?”
“I’m thinking about bread. Half a loaf. Whole loaf. Or none.”
Nick was nodding. Len was looking at Yuki.
Yuki said, “You know what? I’m going to take what’s left of the lunch recess and give myself some air. I’ll be ready when Froman reconvenes.”
CHAPTER 60
IT WAS TIME to meet with Judge Froman, and Yuki was swamped by a monster wave of anxiety.
Red Dog had said, “Your case. Your decision.”
He held the door for her and Yuki entered the Judge’s cramped chambers with Parisi behind her. Mo Switzer had preceded them and was already seated at the mini-sized meeting table. Parisi stood with his back to the wall, his hands in his jacket pockets, his XXXL size dwarfing Froman’s chambers to dollhouse proportions.
The judge was behind her desk, signing papers. She looked up and smiled as Yuki took the chair across from Switzer.
