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By Root 1033 0

my mind of what a blood criminal looked like ran a continuum, from the sublime to the horrific. During the summer of the bloody glove and the O. J. trial, a trio of Italian bank robbers stole a couple of watts of the media spotlight after helping themselves to five-figure sums from more than ten Turin banks. Up through their capture, their brazen acts won them cheers, especially from people with HIV, for these Bonnie-less Clydes had AIDS and a legal loophole on their side. A 1993 “compassionate release” law in Italy prevented the terminally ill from serving jail time. In those days before effective drug cocktails, the three’s spree demonstrated a fearlessness that, here in San Francisco, raised a few spirits and felt downright therapeutic. Silenzio = Morte!

No smiles surfaced two years later for Nushawn Williams. This nineteen-year-old, arrested in 1997 in New York State, became the face of criminal HIV transmission when he was accused of deliberately infecting thirteen young women, including an eighth-grader, through unprotected sex. Each new revelation added to the horror. He traded drugs for sex. He kept records of his exploits. He may’ve exposed nearly fifty individuals. He said he didn’t believe the social worker who’d told him the previous year that he was HIV positive. Williams later pleaded guilty to four sex-related felonies, including statutory rape and reckless endangerment. He was sentenced to four to twelve years in state prison, where he’s currently doing time. His parole was denied in 2001, and again in 2003.

Now joining this rogues’ gallery was Elaine Giorgi.

Steve and I woke early to make the drive to San Jose for the 8:45 A.M. court date. Mile after mile down Highway 101, traffic to our right was a clogged artery as we zipped by in the diamond lane. We arrived with a couple of minutes to spare, only to find the doors of the third-floor courtroom locked, which caused us some distress but seemed not to worry any of the people seated in the hallway. We sat down on the banquette that stretched the length of the windows. After all the trial delays, it now struck me as silly to have thought the sentencing would start on time.

I tried to figure out who all these folks were—the solitary older gentleman dressed in khakis and a T-shirt; the two younger men in navy-blue suits down to the right, lawyers presumably; the man and woman across from us, knotted in conversation. The brittle, waiting-room atmosphere changed in a snap when two more besuited lawyers strode from a courtroom down the hall—both wearing the grin of a happy verdict—and paused to talk to the couple opposite us.

Steve leaned in close. “Do you think that’s her?” he whispered. Beside the doughy man in his midthirties sat an unremarkable silver-haired woman, fifty-something, in a black pantsuit.

“No, I don’t think so.” Over the yawn of months, I’d constructed a mental image of the phlebotomist, or at least a rough outline. In my head she was tall and fleshy and robust. Her sheer physicality accounted, in part, for her ability to deceive and frighten so many people, to inflict such damage. By contrast, the hunched woman seated a few yards away looked tiny and frail. Her shoulder blades jutted from her suit jacket, as if she’d forgotten to remove the clothes hanger when she’d dressed.

“It is her,” Steve said, his voice soft but insistent. “She’s with her attorney. Matthews, right? One of those lawyers who just walked up said his name. That’s got to be her.”

“I . . . I think you’re right.”

Steve’s face said pure relief and I knew why: He did not recognize her. For three years, he’d been worrying about the two phlebotomists who’d regularly drawn his blood at the San Francisco lab. Though he couldn’t remember their names, he could picture their faces. This lady was neither of them. Which meant that his blood had, in all likelihood, never caused anyone harm. His phew was a lovely sound.

Just then, a deputy emerged from the courtroom and propped open the door. Joining the queue, we followed Elaine Giorgi, her attorney, and a handful of others into