YUKI WATCHED MICKEY SHERMAN put his hands in his pockets, walk toward the witness in the reflected golden glow of the oak-paneled walls of the courtroom. His smile was real enough, but the amble, the common- man language, the whole low-key act, was also a cunning cover for Mickey's talent for launching surprise attacks.
Yuki had worked with Sherman at close range before, and she'd learned to recognize his 'tell.' Sherman would touch his right forefinger to the divot in his upper lip just before he sprang for the witness's throat.
'Mr. Stringer, did Mrs. Canello or Anthony Canello do anything to provoke my client?' Sherman asked.
'No. As far as I could see, they were unaware of him.'
'And you say my client looked calm when he shot them?'
'He had a wild look about him
'When you look at him today, does Mr. Brinkley look the way he did on the
'Not really.'
'In what way does he look different?'
Stringer sighed, gazed down at his hands before answering. 'He looked mangy. I mean, his hair was long. He had a messy beard. His clothes were dirty, and he smelled funky.'
'So he looked
'That's right.'
Forefinger to the upper lip.
'So what you're saying is, Fred Brinkley looked and acted like a madman.'
Yuki shot to her feet. '
'Sustained.'
Sherman's quiet charm returned.
'Mr. Stringer, did Mr. Brinkley look sane to you?'
'No. He looked as crazy as hell.'
'Thank you, Mr. Stringer,' Sherman said.
Yuki tried to summon up a question for redirect that could cancel out the words 'madman' and 'crazy,' but what came out of her mouth was 'The People call Mr. Jack Rooney.'
Chapter 74
JACK ROONEY MADE HIS WAY up the aisle, leaning on his three-legged cane, putting his weight on his left leg, then swinging out his right hip, repeating the awkward yet mesmerizing gait all the way to the witness stand.
Rooney accepted assistance from the bailiff, who put a hand under the man's elbow and helped him up into the chair. Yuki thought that this witness was surely Mickey-proof.
'Thanks for coming all this way, Mr. Rooney,' Yuki said when the elderly man was finally seated. Rooney was wearing a red cardigan over a white shirt, red bow tie. His glasses were big and square, perched on a knobby nose, white hair parted and slicked down like that of a little boy on the first day of school.
'My pleasure.' Rooney beamed.
'Mr. Rooney, were you on the
'Yes, dear. I was with my wife, Betty, and our two friends, Leslie and Joe Waters. We all live near Albany, you know. That was our first trip to San Francisco.'
'And did anything unusual happen on that ferry ride?'
'Oh, I'll say. That fellow over there killed a lot of people,' he said, pointing to Brinkley. 'I was so scared I almost shit myself.'
Yuki allowed herself a smile as laughter rippled out over the gallery. She said, 'Will the court reporter please note that the witness has identified the defendant, Alfred Brinkley. Mr. Rooney, did you make a video recording of the shooting?'
'Well, it was supposed to be a movie of the ferry ride – the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz and so forth – but it turned out to be a movie of the shooting. Nice little camera my grandson gave me,' he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart.
'It's only the size of a Snickers bar, but it takes pictures
'Your Honor?' Mickey Sherman said wearily from the counsel table.
Judge Moore leaned across the bench and said, 'Mr. Rooney, please answer the questions 'yes' or 'no' unless you're asked for a fuller explanation, all right?'
'Certainly, Your Honor. I'm sorry. I've never done this before.'
'That's okay.'
Yuki interlaced her fingers in front of her, asked, 'You gave me a copy of the video, didn't you, sir?'
'Yep, I did.'
'Judge, permission to show a copy of this video and enter it into evidence.'
'Go right ahead, Ms. Castellano.'
David Hale slipped a disk into a computer, and as faces turned toward two large TVs in the front of the courtroom, the amateur film began.
The first of two segments showed a happy afternoon on the bay – the long pan of the landmarks, the camera eye coming to rest on a grinning Jack Rooney and his wife, just by happenstance catching an out-of-focus Alfred Brinkley sitting behind them, staring out over the water, plucking at the hairs on his arm.
The second segment was a scene of bloody horror.
Yuki watched the faces of the jurors as the gunshots and the terrified screams ricocheted around the small courtroom.
The pictures on the two screens slewed sideways, catching the shock on the little boy's face at the moment he was shot, captured his small frame blowing back against the hull before falling across his mother's body.
Yuki had seen the film many times, and still the shots were like punches to her own gut.
Red Dog was wrong. The jurors were anything but bored as they witnessed the slaughter, because this viewing of the Rooney tape was different from seeing it at home.
Some jurors covered their mouths or averted their eyes, and over the course of the two segments, every one of them peered with dismay at Alfred Brinkley.
Brinkley didn't look back. He sat motionless in his chair, watching himself mow all those innocent people down.
'I have no questions,' said Mickey Sherman, turning to whisper into Alfred Brinkley's ear, the judge saying, 'Thank you, Mr. Rooney. You may step down.'
Yuki waited for Rooney to make his long, hip-swinging return trip up the aisle before saying, 'The People call Dr. Claire Washburn.'
Chapter 75
CLAIRE FELT ALL THE EYES IN THE ROOM following her as she made her way to the witness stand. Yesterday at this time, she'd been in bed, and she hoped to God that two hours from now, she'd be there again.
Then she saw Yuki, cute little thing all of twenty-eight years old, all that passion in her face, scared half to