Page 58 of The 24th Hour

“Linds. When I got to the scene, there were ten people inside the perimeter—say, a hundred square feet. And twice as many true crime addicts were outside the tape, taking pictures, shouting questions. Fricke was lying face down in pooling blood. We got him into the van quick—”

I said, “No, it’s okay. I’m feeling some hope …”

“Me, too,” said Claire. “Some. But I’d advise you to keep it in check.”

And then we were at Susie’s front door.

I pulled it open and the aroma of spice billowed out to the sidewalk along with light, laughter, and the jazzy beat of steel drums. I held the door for Claire and she smiled as the Yellow Bird Band launched into an original tune. The room itself calls up the image of a yellow bird. The walls are the color of ripe mangoes and hung with hand-painted market scenes in the Jamaican style.

Susie was setting up the main floor for the limbo competition and the long bar to our right was packed with regulars who were tossing ’em back without falling off their stools. The barkeep was half-past thirty, played trombone, had a mop of yellow hair, and was wearing a flowered shirt with a name tag reading “Fireman.”

He waved and called out to us as Claire and I pushed through the main room, then took the corridor that skirts the kitchen’s pass-through window and opens into a smaller, quieter dining area.

Susie’s back-room waitress, our friend Lorraine O’Dea,whistled to get our attention and pointed to “our” booth. Yuki was already seated there, scrunched back in the corner wearing a designer suit and a smile that fell short of happy. Claire slid into the booth next to her. I took the bench seat across from them.

Claire said, “Let’s get something to drink. I’m ready.”

Lorraine read our faces. She brought over menus and a pitcher of draft plus three frosty beer mugs, and asked Yuki if beer was okay.

Yuki’s “go wild” drink is a fruity margarita—she downs tequila like soda water. Then she giggles and sings. I was glad when she said “Sure” to the brew.

I said, “Lorraine, chips and dip until Cindy gets here?”

“You bet.”

Claire waited for Yuki to put down half her beer, then placed her hand on Yuki’s arm and asked, “You got something to share, sweetie?”

Yuki said, “Oh, boy. I hate to have to say this.”

I said, “This is about Mary Elena?”

Yuki nodded. “Wasn’t her fault. It was all going well. She was fine in court and on the stand. Then Tyler Cates, that SOB, jumps up and says that heknewher.That they were in a mental institution together.Brookside Psychiatric. And he hadn’t been sworn in. He was at the counsel table when he got to his feet and bellowed this crap out to the jury.”

CHAPTER 75

MY JAW ACTUALLY dropped as I pictured Tyler Cates blowing up Yuki’s case with his news that he and Mary Elena had both been patients at Brookside Psychiatric.

Then I sputtered, “That’s bull, right?”

“We don’t yet know,” Yuki groaned. “It’s near impossible to get hold of medical information. But I googled it. There’s a Brookside Psychiatric in Bangor, Maine; in Louisville, Kentucky; and in Pensacola, Florida. Also a Brookside Wellness—a chain of clinics—and a couple of Brookside Mental Health Spas. Those are all in different states, with different laws, and given HIPAA rules, the patient has to sign on the dotted line or you can’t find out beans.”

I heard myself say “Oh, man” just thinking of the legal hurdles that would have to be cleared to get protected information.

Claire said, “Hold up a second. Just so I understand. If Cates really did know Mary Elena—just sayin’—how does that affect the charges of an obvious violent rape and beating?”

Yuki said, “Mary Elena’s credibility is at stake. There were no witnesses to the crime, so it’s ‘he said, she said.’ Yes, she was brutalized, but she also said she didn’t know Cates. She said under oath that a stranger demanded sex. He said she’s the one who asked for it. So. If she demanded sex from someone she used to know, some people would say it wasn’t rape. Aggravated assault? Very possible. Still. One vote could hang the jury, and Cates could get a hall pass.”

I asked, “Can Cates document his time at Brookside?”

“No idea,” Yuki said.

“And what about Mary Elena?”

“She says it never happened. No way.” Yuki went on. “Red Dog would have to move mountains to get this information if Brookside was in San Francisco. Even then, he’d have to pull a million strings. He’s barely speaking to me because he said this case sucked from the beginning.”

Yuki, Claire, and I had all been at the scene of the crime. This was a case that had to be tried and won, and I said so.

Yuki continued, “Our best chances are with Judge St. John. He’s fierce and he’s furious. He also doesn’t want to lose this jury and have to start over. We’re hoping he instructs the jurors to ignore all references to Brookside, as there’s no actual evidence or sworn testimony.”

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