20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20) - James Patterson Page 0,85
the lab pickup box downstairs. I’m hanging up now.”
Again Dave yelled, “Wait.”
“I have things to do, Dave. You should have your lawyer send the check to the doctor, but I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to show remorse so that the judge doesn’t put your sorry ass away for the full three years—”
“That’s not … it. Listen.”
“Make it quick.”
“I took pills. I don’t … have much … time. I wrote … an apology to you, too. And I brought you … a gift. My mother painted a … a small oil. Could be worth … more than … twenty … thousand. My way of saying … I’m sorry.”
“What kind of pills did you take?”
Dave’s laugh was a croak.
“I took ’em all. Sleep. Heart. BP …”
“Digoxin?”
“Yeah. If he had it, I took it. I barfed some. But he had spares. I’m drinking … Dad’s best wine.”
“How much of the digoxin?”
“I wasn’t, uh, counting.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m … passing … out.”
“Where are you?” Atkins asked.
“Out … side. The van. Channing Winery …”
Blinds were cracked open on the second floor. Then Atkins hung up the phone.
Dave watched the lights in Murray’s office go out. He took his phone out of his hip pocket and placed it on the dash. He took another swig of the wine he’d helped grow and bottle.
Then he laid his head back. Waiting. Waiting.
CHAPTER 107
I BADGED THE court officer and he opened the door to courtroom 6A.
There was standing room behind the last row of chairs in the gallery. I took a spot on the aisle and watched Zac Jordan make his closing argument. I was relieved that the case hadn’t yet gone to the jury. Maybe I could speak to the judge, hand off the bombshell of Antoine Castro’s death, and buy some time for Yuki and Zac to talk to the defendant.
Zac Jordan was wearing red-framed glasses, camel hair over plaid and khaki, finishing with cordovan cap-toes. It was a look that said, I’m a good guy. I knew he was.
I listened intently to his closing statement.
He said, “Clay Warren is guilty of trusting someone he didn’t know in exchange for an adventure, a road trip, and—just guessing here—a small amount of cash. It turned out to be a catastrophic error, the biggest mistake of his young life.
“It’s also possible that the man who shot Officer Morton put a gun to Clay’s head and forced him to drive. We have seen in the video that this killer also aimed his gun at Jonas Hunt and made off with his car.
“I have to answer these questions hypothetically because Mr. Warren won’t tell me. He won’t tell you, either.”
Zac paced a little. His brow was furrowed, and I watched the jurors’ rapt expressions as they followed him with their eyes.
Zac stopped and faced the jury, saying, “But when he was first arrested, Clay thought he might know who’d convinced him or forced him or paid him to get into the car. He mentioned the name of a notorious criminal, but he said that he couldn’t make a 100 percent ID. And now I know why he wouldn’t cooperate or help himself. He was afraid of retribution—and he got it. He was brutally attacked in jail, stabbed multiple times in the gut, and came this close to dying.
“You heard Ridley Sierra, Clay’s best friend since grade school, swear under oath that in his opinion Clay is naive and younger than his years. He described Clay as ‘gullible.’
“I believe that Mr. Sierra is right.”
My heart twisted thinking about Clay Warren, the poor dope, and I wanted to tell him, “Help is on the way.”
Zac was wrapping up and time was running out. I saw where Yuki was sitting beyond the railing. I texted her, but she didn’t respond. I was desperate to reach her, so I took a chance and crept up the aisle to the bar, reached over, and tapped her on the shoulder.
She spun around, annoyed, but then she read the expression on my face. She mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
I stepped on some feet, bumped knees, but I got close enough to Yuki to whisper in her ear.
“Antoine Castro is dead.”
She whispered back, “How do you know?”
“He’s in a drawer at the ME’s office.”
Yuki grabbed my hand and squeezed, then stood up.
She said, “Your Honor, Mr. Jordan, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have new information from the SFPD. If we may approach the bench?”
“This had better be good, Ms. Castellano. It had better be brilliant.”