10th Anniversary - James Patterson [10]
They settled in at the prosecutors’ table behind the bar. Yuki straightened her jacket and her hair and then squared her notebook computer with the edge of the table.
“If I get stuck, just smile at me,” Yuki said to her second chair.
Gaines grinned, gave her a thumbs-up, and said, “You’ve heard of Cool Hand Luke? When you see this, it means Cool Hand Yuki.”
“Thanks, Nicky.”
Yuki was always prepared, but she’d lost a number of cases she had been favored to win. And that losing streak had taken a bite out of her confidence. She’d won her last case, but her opponent had given her a parting shot that still stung.
“What’s that, Yuki?” the jerk had said. “Your first win in how long?”
Now she was going up against Philip Hoffman, and she’d lost to him before. Hoffman was no jerk. In fact, he was a gentleman. He wasn’t theatrical. He wasn’t snide. He was a serious dude, partner in a law firm of the highest order, and he specialized in criminal defense of the wealthy.
Hoffman’s client, Dr. Candace Martin, was a well-known heart surgeon who’d killed her philandering louse of a husband.
Candace Martin was pleading not guilty. She said she didn’t kill Dennis Martin, but that was a monumental lie. There was enough evidence to convict her a few times over. And yes, the People even had the smoking gun.
Yuki’s nervousness faded.
She knew her stuff. And she had the evidence to prove it.
Chapter 9
CINDY THOMAS was one of two dozen people in the editorial meeting in the big conference room at the San Francisco Chronicle. The meeting had started an hour ago and it looked as though it could go on for another hour.
Used to be that these meetings were collegial and fun, with people making cracks and busting chops, but ever since the economic downturn and the free-and-easy access to the Internet as a news source, editorial meetings had a scary subtext.
Who would keep their job?
Who would be doing the job of two people?
And could the paper stay in business for another year?
There was a new gunslinger in town: Lisa Greening, who had come in as managing editor under the publisher. Lisa had eight years of management experience, two years at the New York Times, three at the Chicago Tribune, and three at the L.A. Times.
Her claim to fame had been an investigative report for the latter on the PC Killer, a smooth con man with a foot fetish who’d terrorized the Pacific Coast, luring women, killing them, and keeping their feet in his freezer as trophies.
Greening had won a Pulitzer for that story and had parlayed it into her new post at the Chronicle.
Since Cindy was the Chronicle’s crime desk reporter, she felt particularly vulnerable. Lisa Greening knew the crime beat as well as Cindy did — probably better — and if she failed to live up to a very high standard, Cindy knew she could become a budget cut. Greening would pick up her territory, and Cindy would become a freelancer working for scraps.
Half the editors in the room had given status reports, and Abadaya Premawardena, the travel editor, was up.
Prem was talking about cruise ship packages and discounts on Fiji and Samoa when Cindy got up and went to the back of the room and refilled her mug at the coffee urn.
Her last big story, which was about Hello Kitty, a jewel thief who preyed on the rich and famous, had been a huge and splashy success. The thief had either skipped town or retired, probably due to the work Cindy had done. But that was old news now, and the next big story, the kind that sold newspapers, had yet to appear.
Cindy sat back down as Prem finished his report, and Lisa Greening turned her sharp gray eyes on Cindy.
“Cynthia, what’s coming up for us this week?”
“My ATM mugger story is wrapping up,” Cindy said. “The kid was arraigned and is being held without bond.”
“That was in your column yesterday, Cynthia. What’s up for today?”
“I’m working on a couple of ideas,” she said.
“Speak up if you need assistance.”
“I’m good,” said Cindy. “Not a problem.”
She flashed a smile at Greening, a smile that