“He wasn’t forthcoming.”
“Well, I think this is a question of weight versus admissibility. I’m going to allow the testimony, Mr. Giftos. It’s admissible and you can cross-examine as to its weight.”
When James Giftos returned to his counsel table, his face was stormy.
Yuki remained standing near the witness box, keeping her elation under wraps. She’d won the very valuable point, the admission of Paul Yates’s testimony. But she’d also seen that Yates was high strung. Even now he looked ready to bolt for the exit. She asked him if he needed to take a short break.
“No. I’m okay.”
Yuki nodded and asked, “Do you remember what you were feeling when the defendant pointed her gun at you?”
“Terror,” said Yates. “Stark terror. It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. I froze. I could hardly hear what she was saying. My mind was jumping all over the place. The phone. The door. Pop her in the face with my fist. Was she jerking my chain or was she totally psycho? Fuck. I didn’t know what to do. She told me to take off my pants. At the moment that seemed like the best thing to do.”
“Did you take off your pants, Mr. Yates?”
“I dropped them to the floor.”
“What did the defendant say to you, Mr. Yates?”
“She said something like ‘We’re going to, you know, fuck.’ And then she opened her hand and showed me the two blue pills. It was Viagra. She told me to take the pills. I said, ‘Sure,’ and as she held them out, I took a chance and batted her gun away. When she went after it, I pulled up my pants and ran out the door.”
“And what happened after that?” Yuki asked.
“I went down to the basement, where I stayed until I thought it was safe to come out.”
“Paul. Is the woman who assaulted you in this courtroom?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Please point her out for the jury.”
For the first time since he’d taken the stand, Paul Yates looked at the defense table. He pointed to Briana Hill.
Yuki said, “Let the record show that the witness has indicated the defendant.”
The judge said, “The record will so reflect.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yates. Your witness,” Yuki said to James Giftos.
CHAPTER 48
GIFTOS STOOD, BUTTONING his jacket. He kept his eyes on Paul Yates as he crossed the courtroom’s polished wood floor. Giftos greeted him, then launched into preliminary questions about his work as an advertising copywriter.
Yates described his job. “I write ads and campaigns. Print and TV commercials, et cetera.”
“Do you do other kinds of writing other than advertising?”
“You mean for myself?”
“That’s right,” said Giftos. “Do you write poetry? You know, creative writing.”
“I’ve written some screenplays,” Yates said tentatively.
“So, fiction. You’d call yourself—in fact, many people would call you—a creative person, isn’t that right?”
“I haven’t sold any of my scripts.”
“Well. Maybe your luck will change. Mr. Yates. The events you just described taking place in your apartment. You said that you and Ms. Hill were making out and you stopped the action.”
“That’s right.”
Giftos stood close to the witness without blocking the jurors’ view. He said, “And your testimony is that she pulled a gun. You were terrified. Is that correct?”
Yates straightened his posture and answered, “Yes.”
“Did that really happen, Mr. Yates, or did you make this all up once you heard the fantastic story Mr. Christopher spread around?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
Giftos said, “Is this one of your creative ideas? Trying it out for your next script?”
Yuki jumped to her feet. “Objection. Counsel is badgering the witness.”
Rathburn said, “Sustained. Don’t do that, Mr. Giftos. Do you understand me?”
Unruffled, Giftos said, “Sorry, Your Honor. I’ll rephrase. Mr. Yates, is it true that Ms. Hill pulled a gun on you?”
“Absolutely.”
Giftos walked back to his table. Ms. Benson, his second chair, handed him a manila envelope, and Giftos brought it back with him to the witness stand.
He said, “You said you were really scared of that gun, Mr. Yates. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You must have been staring at it the whole time it was pointed at you,” said Giftos. “I’ll bet you’d say it was etched in your memory, right?”
“I guess it was,” Yates said.
Giftos asked, “What kind of gun was it, Mr. Yates?”
“A .38-caliber Smith and Wesson.”
“Very good. It’s common knowledge that’s the type of gun Ms. Hill carried, right?”
“I guess.”
Giftos said, “Mr. Yates, what I’m going to do is show you pictures of various handguns. Please point out the .38 Smith and Wesson, the type of gun that you’ve testified Ms. Hill used to terrify you.”
Giftos started slapping eight-by-ten photos down on the arm of the witness stand, one after the other, and asking, “Like this one? How about this one, Mr. Yates? Was it like this one? This?”
Yuki watched as Giftos worried Yates like he was a dog with a bone. “Is it this? This? This?”
Paul Yates shook his head, saying, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think so. No.”
Giftos picked up the last photo of a handgun that Yates had dismissed and turned it over.
“Will you please read the notation on the back of this photograph?”
Yates said, “This isn’t fair.”
“Your Honor?” Giftos said to the judge.
“The witness will read the caption.”
Yates glanced down, then turned his eyes back to James Giftos, saying, “It says that it’s a Smith and Wesson .38-caliber handgun.”
Giftos gathered the photos together, handed them to Yuki, and said, “Let the record show that the witness failed to identify the gun of the type he testified was used in his terrifying encounter with the defendant.”
Yuki glanced through the photos, then handed them back to Giftos, and he entered them into evidence. Just when Yuki thought Giftos was going to say that he had no more questions, he turned back to Yates and said, “One more thing, Mr. Yates. When you decided to come forward with this story, did you check out the statutes? Do you understand that perjury is a crime?”
Yuki objected. Paul Yates looked like he’d been punched.
Rathburn said, “Sustained, and I want that stricken from the record.”
“Withdrawn. I’m done with this witness,” Giftos said, turning his back, again returning to the counsel table. Once seated, he took the defendant’s hand.
Judge Rathburn said, “Mr. Yates. You are excused.”
CHAPTER 49
TWELVE HOURS HAD passed since an unarmed middle-aged woman was shot dead on Geary Street for no apparent reason.
Conklin and I were thinking about the victim as we faced each other across our desks that morning, trying to get a handle on the why in the hope that it would lead to a who.
Why? She hadn’t been robbed. She hadn’t put up a fight. She’d simply been shot to death at close range.
Who did it?
We had no witnesses, no forensics, no motive, no videotape, and it wasn’t our case. But we did have our CI, Millie Cushing, the most productive confidential informant with whom I’d ever had the pleasure of working.
Millie had called me last night within minutes of the murder, and it was her call that had sent me and my partner out into the night.
“It’s the same pattern, Lindsay,” Millie had said. “It’s another execution. Lou was homeless. She frequented Union Square. Someone is trying to rub us out,” Millie said before her voice melted into sobs.
“Millie? Does Lou have a last name?”
“I don’t know it.”
And then she hung up.
Dressed for work with a gun, a weatherproof jacket, and sturdy shoes, I kissed my family good-bye. Conklin was waiting for me outside his apartment in the rain and the dark, and we sped off to 77 Geary with lights and sirens.