said. “This could be the most important work of your entire lives.”
That afternoon one of the jurors had a heart attack and was evacuated. A second juror, a primary caregiver for a dependent parent, was excused. Alternates, who were also in our emergency jury lockup, moved up to full jurors.
When I was getting ready to leave after my twelve-hour day, Brady told me that an ambitious defender, Jake Penney, had spent the last four days with Jorge Sierra and had said that he was good to go.
The countdown to Sierra’s trial had begun again.
Chapter 24
I was sleeping when Joe called.
The time on my phone was midnight, eight hours before the trial was to begin.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Julie’s fine. The SFPD website is down. The power is out at the Hall.”
I turned on the TV news and saw mayhem on Bryant Street. Barricades had been set up. Reporters and cameramen shouted questions at uniformed officers. The Hall of Justice was so dark it looked like an immense mausoleum.
I nuked instant coffee and sat cross-legged in Joe’s chair, watching the tube. At 1:00 a.m. fire could be seen leaping at the glass doors that faced the intersection of Bryant and Boardman Place.
A network reporter said to the camera, “Chet, I’m hearing that there was an explosion inside the lobby.”
I couldn’t take this anymore. I texted Brady. He was rushed. He typed, Security is checking in with me up and down the line. Don’t come in, Boxer.
Then, as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights in the Hall came back on.
My laptop was on the coffee table and I switched it on. I punched in the address for the SFPD site, and I was watching when a title appeared on our own front page: This was a test.
It was signed Mala Sangre.
Kingfisher’s cartel.
This had been their test for what? For shutting down our video surveillance? For sending out threatening messages? For disabling our electronic locks inside the jail? For smuggling bombs into the Hall?
It would have been a laughable threat if Kingfisher hadn’t killed two people from the confines of his windowless cell. How had he pulled that off? What else could he do?
I called Cat. She said, “Lindsay, she’s fine. She was in sleepy land when the phone rang.”
I heard Julie crying and Joe’s voice in the background saying, “Julie-Bug, I’m here.”
“Sorry. Sorry,” I said. “I’ll call you in the morning. Thanks for everything, Cat.”
I called Jacobi. His voice was steady. I liked that.
“I was just going to call you,” he said. “The bomb was stuck under the lip of the sign-in desk. It was small, but if it had gone off during the daytime…” After a pause Jacobi began again. “Hounds and the bomb squad are going through the building. The trial is postponed until further notice.”
“Good,” I said. But I didn’t feel good. It felt like anything could happen. That Kingfisher was in charge of it all.
My intercom buzzed. It was half past one.
Cerrutti, my designated security guard, said, “Sergeant, Dr. Washburn is here.”
Tears of relief filled my eyes and no one had to see them. I buzzed my friend in.
Chapter 25
Claire came through my door bringing hope, love, warmth, and the scent of tea roses. All good things.
She said, “I have to crash here, Lindsay. I drove to the office. It’s closed off from both the street and the back door to the Hall. It’s too late to drive all the way home.”
I hugged her. I needed that hug and I thought she did, too. I pointed her to Joe’s big chair, with the best view of the TV. On-screen now, a live report from Bryant Street.
Wind whipped through the reporter’s hair, turning her scarf into a pennant, making her microphone crackle.
She squinted at the camera and said, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the mayor’s office and can confirm reports that there are no fatalities from the bomb. The prisoner, Jorge Sierra, also known as Kingfisher, remains locked in his cell.
“The mayor has also
That afternoon one of the jurors had a heart attack and was evacuated. A second juror, a primary caregiver for a dependent parent, was excused. Alternates, who were also in our emergency jury lockup, moved up to full jurors.
When I was getting ready to leave after my twelve-hour day, Brady told me that an ambitious defender, Jake Penney, had spent the last four days with Jorge Sierra and had said that he was good to go.
The countdown to Sierra’s trial had begun again.
Chapter 24
I was sleeping when Joe called.
The time on my phone was midnight, eight hours before the trial was to begin.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Julie’s fine. The SFPD website is down. The power is out at the Hall.”
I turned on the TV news and saw mayhem on Bryant Street. Barricades had been set up. Reporters and cameramen shouted questions at uniformed officers. The Hall of Justice was so dark it looked like an immense mausoleum.
I nuked instant coffee and sat cross-legged in Joe’s chair, watching the tube. At 1:00 a.m. fire could be seen leaping at the glass doors that faced the intersection of Bryant and Boardman Place.
A network reporter said to the camera, “Chet, I’m hearing that there was an explosion inside the lobby.”
I couldn’t take this anymore. I texted Brady. He was rushed. He typed, Security is checking in with me up and down the line. Don’t come in, Boxer.
Then, as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights in the Hall came back on.
My laptop was on the coffee table and I switched it on. I punched in the address for the SFPD site, and I was watching when a title appeared on our own front page: This was a test.
It was signed Mala Sangre.
Kingfisher’s cartel.
This had been their test for what? For shutting down our video surveillance? For sending out threatening messages? For disabling our electronic locks inside the jail? For smuggling bombs into the Hall?
It would have been a laughable threat if Kingfisher hadn’t killed two people from the confines of his windowless cell. How had he pulled that off? What else could he do?
I called Cat. She said, “Lindsay, she’s fine. She was in sleepy land when the phone rang.”
I heard Julie crying and Joe’s voice in the background saying, “Julie-Bug, I’m here.”
“Sorry. Sorry,” I said. “I’ll call you in the morning. Thanks for everything, Cat.”
I called Jacobi. His voice was steady. I liked that.
“I was just going to call you,” he said. “The bomb was stuck under the lip of the sign-in desk. It was small, but if it had gone off during the daytime…” After a pause Jacobi began again. “Hounds and the bomb squad are going through the building. The trial is postponed until further notice.”
“Good,” I said. But I didn’t feel good. It felt like anything could happen. That Kingfisher was in charge of it all.
My intercom buzzed. It was half past one.
Cerrutti, my designated security guard, said, “Sergeant, Dr. Washburn is here.”
Tears of relief filled my eyes and no one had to see them. I buzzed my friend in.
Chapter 25
Claire came through my door bringing hope, love, warmth, and the scent of tea roses. All good things.
She said, “I have to crash here, Lindsay. I drove to the office. It’s closed off from both the street and the back door to the Hall. It’s too late to drive all the way home.”
I hugged her. I needed that hug and I thought she did, too. I pointed her to Joe’s big chair, with the best view of the TV. On-screen now, a live report from Bryant Street.
Wind whipped through the reporter’s hair, turning her scarf into a pennant, making her microphone crackle.
She squinted at the camera and said, “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the mayor’s office and can confirm reports that there are no fatalities from the bomb. The prisoner, Jorge Sierra, also known as Kingfisher, remains locked in his cell.
“The mayor has also
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