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CHAPTER 15

THE ELECTRIC CLOCK on the eastern wall of courtroom 2A read 9:34, about a half hour before go time. Yuki and Nick Gaines sat at the prosecution table, Yuki mentally rehearsing the first lines of her opening statement while Gaines scrolled through emails on his phone.

She and Nick had tried dozens of cases in 2A, as they had inside each of the five other identical oak-paneled courtrooms along the second-floor corridor. Yuki usually felt like these courtrooms were extensions of the DA’s office suite at the far end of the floor. But now, as she silently went over her opening statement, she felt less like she was in familiar territory and more like a young girl in a smart, gray, grown-up pin-stripe suit and three-inch heels about to be tried for imposter syndrome.

Yuki straightened her lapels again and scrolled through the notes on her phone, doing her best to steady herself for what the media was calling “The made-for-feature-film face-off between the law and the lawless.” Yuki understood that, win or lose, she would be known for the Dario verdict.

And her mentor and superior, District Attorney Leonard Parisi, recently returned from medical leave after a heart attack, was still projecting onto her his doubts about the odds of winning this case.

Which was not helpful.

DA Parisi was known around the Hall as Red Dog for his grizzled red hair, his 3XL size, and his ferocity at trial. He had acquired an impressive record of wins during his career. He was a damned good prosecutor, and Yuki owed him a lot. Still, his recent heart attack was not his first. This one was “massive.” Yet even after being discharged from the hospital, he had been coming into the office regularly and refused to stay at home.

Yuki took her briefcase from the table and placed it on the floor beside a table leg, glancing across the aisle at Dario’s defense attorney, Jon Credendino.

Jon Credendino was a “bomb” from Los Angeles. He was tall. Photogenic. A Harvard Law graduate. And after thirty years spent defending the worst of humankind, he no longer needed the attention of the fourth estate. He didn’t need the money, either. So why was Credendino representing the suspected killer Dario Garza?

Why? He was doing it for the challenge. For the glory of getting another high-profile client off without jail time.

Credendino looked unworried. He and his second chair, Donna Villanova, were chatting and softly laughing together. Then they both half turned and smiled at her.

Yuki wished she felt as blasé as Credendino looked. She shot the defense a fake smile of her own and turned away.

Gaines texted her without looking up: He’s scared of us. Terrified.

Yuki side-kicked his leg, making him laugh. Well, if Credendino expected to destroy her case, he was going to have to work hard to discredit the prosecution’s star witness.

The courtroom had filled with spectators. As Yuki glanced at the clock and saw it was now ten, Judge Martin Orlofsky entered the courtroom through the door behind the bench. The bailiff walked to the front of the courtroom and called out, “All rise.”

All did.

Judge Orlofsky was a boyish-looking forty-five-year-old with rumpled brown hair, rimless glasses, and a Wounded Warrior pin on the collar of his robe. He was new to the criminal court division. Yuki had never tried a case before Orlofsky and knew little about him except his reputation for being lenient and compassionate. Not qualities she would have wished for under these circumstances—at all.

Once Orlofsky was seated at the bench, the bailiff swore in the jurors and directed them to sit also. Then the judge introduced himself to the jury, as well as Credendino and Villanova, the counsels for the defense, and Yuki and Nick for the State.

Yuki gripped the edge of her chair. Only one person was missing.

Where was Dario?