The 6th Target

Chapter 119

FRED BRINKLEY SAT ON THE HARD BED in his ten-by-six-foot cell on the tenth floor of the Hall of Justice.

There was noise all around him, the voices of the other prisoners, the squealing of the wheels on the meal cart, the clang of doors shutting, echoing along the row.

Brinkley's di

He wiped his mouth with the brown paper napkin, balled it up until it was as tight and as round as a marble, and then dropped it right in the center of the plate.

Then he arranged the plastic utensils neatly to the side, got up from the bed, walked two paces, and slid the tray under the door.

He returned to his bunk bed and leaned back against the wall, his legs hanging over the side. From this position, he could see the sink-commode contraption to his left and the whole of the blank cinder-block wall across from him.

The wall was painted gray, graffiti scratched into the concrete in places, phone numbers and slang and gang names and symbols he didn't understand.

He began to count the cinder blocks in the wall across from him, traced the grouting in his mind as if the cement that glued the blocks together was a maze and the solution lay in the lines between the blocks.

Outside his cell, a guard took the tray. His badge read OZZIE QUINN.

"Time for your pills, Fred-o," Ozzie said.

Brinkley walked to the barred door, reached out his hand, and took the small paper cup holding his pills. The guard watched as Brinkley upended the contents into his mouth.

"Here ya go," Ozzie said, handing another paper cup through the bars, this one filled with water. He watched as Brinkley swallowed the pills.

"Ten minutes until lights-out," Ozzie said to Fred.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Fred said.

He returned to his mattress, leaned back against the wall again. He tried singing under his breath, Ay, ay, ay, ay, Mama-cita-lindo.

And then he gripped the edge of the bunk and launched himself, ru

Then he did it again.

Chapter 120

WHEN YUKI REENTERED THE COURTROOM, her boss, Leonard Parisi, was sitting beside David Hale at the defense table. Yuki had called Len as soon as she'd heard about Brinkley's suicide attempt. But she hadn't expected to see him in court.

"Leonard, good to see you," she said, thinking, Shit! Is he going to take over the case? Can he do that to me?

"The jurors seem okay?" Parisi asked.

"So they told the judge. No one wants a mistrial. Mickey didn't even ask for a continuance."

"Good. I love that cocky bastard," Parisi muttered.

Across the aisle, Sherman was talking to his client. Brinkley's eyes were black-and-blue. There was a large gauze bandage taped across his forehead, and he was wearing a pale-blue cotton hospital gown over striped pajama bottoms.

Brinkley stared down at the table, plucking at his arm hair as Sherman talked, not looking up when the bailiff called out, "All rise."

The judge sat down, poured a glass of water, then asked Yuki if she was ready to close.

Yuki said that she was.

She advanced to the lectern, hearing the soft ka-dum, ka-dum of her pulse pounding in her ears. She cleared the slight croak in her throat, then greeted the jurors and launched into her summation.

"We're not here to decide whether or not Mr. Brinkley has psychological problems," Yuki said. "We all have problems, and some of us handle them better than others. Mr. Brinkley said he heard an angry voice in his head, and maybe he did.

"We can't know, and it doesn't matter.

"Mental illness is not a license to kill, Ladies and Gentlemen, and hearing voices in his head doesn't change the fact that Alfred Brinkley knew what he was doing was wrong when he executed four i

"How do we know that Mr. Brinkley knew what he was doing was wrong?" she asked the jury. "Because his behavior, his actions, gave him away."

Yuki paused for effect, looked around the room. She noted Len Parisi's hulk and pinched expression, Brinkley's crazy glower – and she saw that the jurors were all tuned in, waiting for her to continue…

"Let's look at Mr. Brinkley's behavior," she said. "First, he carried a loaded Smith amp; Wesson Model 10 handgun onto the ferry.

"Then he waited for the ferry to dock so he wouldn't be stuck in the middle of the bay with no way out.

"These acts show forethought. These acts show premeditation.

"While the Del Norte was docking," Yuki said, keeping her eyes on the jury, "Alfred Brinkley took careful aim and unloaded his gun into five human beings. Then he fled. He ran like hell," Yuki said. "That's consciousness of guilt. He knew what he did was wrong.

"Mr. Brinkley evaded capture for two days before he turned himself in and confessed to the crimes – because he knew what he'd done was wrong.

"We may never know precisely what was in Mr. Brinkley's head on November first, but we know what he did.

"And we know for certain what Mr. Brinkley told us in his own words yesterday afternoon.

"He lined up the gun sight on his victims," Yuki said, making her hand into a gun and slowly swinging it around in a semicircle, shoulder high, sweeping the gallery and the jury box.

"He pulled the trigger six times. And he warned us that he's a dangerous man.

"Frankly, the best evidence of Mr. Brinkley's sanity is that he agreed with us on both points.

"He's guilty.

"And he should be given the maximum punishment allowed by law. Please give Mr. Brinkley what he asked for so that we never have to worry about him carrying a loaded firearm ever again."

Yuki felt flushed and excited when she sat down beside Len Parisi. He whispered, "Great close, Yuki. First class."

Chapter 121

MICKEY SHERMAN STOOD IMMEDIATELY. He faced the jury and told them a simple and tragic story as if he were speaking to his mother or his girlfriend.

"I've gotta tell you, folks," he said, "Fred Brinkley meant to fire his gun on those people, and he did it. We never denied it and we never will.

"So what was his motive?

"Did he have a gripe with any of the victims? Was this a stickup or drug deal gone bad? Did he shoot people in self-defense?

"No, no, no, and no.

"The police failed to find any rational reason why Fred Brinkley would have shot those people because there was no motive. And when there's zero motive for a crime, you're still left with the question – why?

"Fred Brinkley has schizoaffective disorder, which is an illness, like leukemia or multiple sclerosis. He didn't do anything wrong in order to get this illness. He didn't even know he had it.

"When Fred shot those people, he didn't know that shooting them was wrong or even that those people were real. He told you. All he knew was that a loud, punishing voice inside his head was telling him to kill. And the only way he could get the voice to stop was to obey.

"But you don't have to take our word for it that Fred Brinkley is legally insane.

"Fred Brinkley has a history of mental illness going back fifteen years to when he was a patient in a mental institution.

"Dozens of witnesses have testified that they've heard Mr. Brinkley talking to television sets and singing to himself and slapping his forehead so hard that his handprint remained visible long afterward – that's how much he wanted to knock the voices out of his head.