7th Heaven

“I agree,” Davis said. “Pretty wacky.”

Yuki jumped to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Ms. Davis’s opinions are totally irrelevant here.”

“Sustained.”

Davis spun on her heels, took a few paces toward the jury, then turned back again. “And yet,” Davis said, her voice ringing out across the oak-paneled courtroom, “according to police testimony, Ms. Moon said that she called you because Mr. Campion was having a heart attack, and that when you arrived at her place, Mr. Campion was dead.”

“It’s totally bogus. Never happened,” Malcolm said, clearly enjoying himself.

“The police further testified that Ms. Moon told them that you dismembered Mr. Campion with a knife and that you and Ms. Moon then transported Mr. Campion’s remains and disposed of them in a Dumpster.

“Did that happen?”

“No way. Crock a’ shit. Plus, I’ve got no skill with anything but power tools.”

“Okay, Mr. Malcolm. So, in your opinion, why would Ms. Moon say such a thing if it isn’t true?”

“Because,” Malcolm said, looking at Junie with his spacey green eyes, “she’s simple, you know, like a special ed kid. She sucks up romance novels, daytime soaps -”

“Move to strike, Your Honor,” Yuki said. “This whole line of questioning calls for speculation.”

“Your Honor, Mr. Malcolm’s testimony goes to the credibility of the defendant.”

“I’ll allow it. Go on, Mr. Malcolm.”

Yuki sighed loudly, took her seat again between Gaines and Red Dog as Malcolm continued.

“Like I was saying, in my opinion, right? When the cops asked her if she’d done the deed with the famous Michael Campion, that was like lighting up a wide-screen, three-D fantasy starring Junie Moon, stupid little whore -”

“Thanks, Mr. Malcolm. Were you charged as an accessory in this crime?”

“The cops tried, but the DA knew they couldn’t indict me on Junie’s flaky confession, especially since she, whatcha-callit, recanted.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malcolm. Your witness,” Davis said with a smirk to Yuki.

Chapter 75

YUKI READ LEN’S NOTES to her, his suggested line of questioning exactly what she pla

Yuki stood, walked toward the witness stand, saying, “Mr. Malcolm, are you here today of your own volition?”

“Not exactly. The long arm of the law reached out and grabbed me out of a nice little titty bar in Tijuana.”

“You have friends in Mexico, Mr. Malcolm?” Yuki asked over the laughter in the gallery. “Or was this a case of ‘you can run but you can’t hide’?”

“A little of both.” Malcolm shrugged, giving the jury a glimpse of his terrible, gappy smile.

“A few minutes ago you swore to tell the truth, isn’t that right?”

“I got nothing against the truth,” Malcolm said.

Yuki put her hands on the railing in front of the witness, asked, “How do you feel about the defendant? Ms. Moon.”

“Junie’s a sweet girl.”

“Let’s see if we can refine that answer, okay?”

Malcolm shrugged, said, “Refine away.”

Yuki allowed a smile to show the jury she was a good sport, then said, “If you and Junie Moon were both free to walk out of here, Mr. Malcolm, would you spend the night with her?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“And if she needed a kidney, would you give her one of yours?”

“I’ve got two, right?”

“Yes. Odds are you have two.”

“Sure. I’d give her a kidney.” Ricky Malcolm gri

“During your three-year-long relationship with the defendant, did you share things with her? Enjoy doing things with her?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“And how do you feel about her now?”

“That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

Davis called out, “Your Honor, is this the Dr. Phil show? There’s no relevance -”

“If the court would give me a moment to show relevance,” Yuki interrupted.

“Overruled, Ms. Davis. Proceed, Ms. Castellano.”

“Thanks, Your Honor,” Yuki said. “Mr. Malcolm, your feelings aren’t a secret, are they? Would you please roll up your right sleeve and show your arm to the jury.”

Malcolm hesitated until the judge asked him to do it. Then he exposed his arm to the jury.

Called a “full sleeve” by tat aficionados, a dense collection of tattoos ran up Ricky Malcolm’s pale skin from his wrist to his shoulder. Among the snakes and skulls was a red heart branded with the initials R.M. hanging from the hook of a feminized crescent moon.

“Mr. Malcolm, could you tell us what the letters underneath that heart tattoo mean?”

“You mean T-M-T-Y-L-M-J-M?”

“That’s right, Mr. Malcolm.”

Malcolm sighed. “It stands for ‘Tell me that you love me, Junie Moon.’ ”

“So, Mr. Malcolm, is it fair to say that you love the defendant?”

Malcolm was looking at Junie now, his face heavy, having lost its wiseass expression, Junie looking back at him with her huge slate-gray eyes.

“Yes. I love her.”

“Do you love her enough to lie for her?”

“Sure, I’d lie for her, what the hell?”

“Thanks, Mr. Malcolm. I’m done with this witness, Judge,” said Yuki, turning her back on Ricky Malcolm.

Chapter 76

JACOBI CALLED THE MEETING to order at the crack of eight a.m. He asked me to come to the front of the room to brief the troops on our arson-homicide case and where we were with it – that is to say, nowhere. I was wearing jeans and a beaded tank top, a pair of moccasins, and a faded denim jacket that I’d left at Joe’s place before the fire.

It was all that I had.

I got whistles, of course, one beefy old-timer shouting out, “Nice rack, Sarge.”

“Shut up, McCracken,” Rich shouted back, making me blush, extending the moment as my fellow cops laughed and made raunchy comments to each other. After Jacobi kicked a desk so that a hollow boom silenced the room, I filled everyone in on the Meacham and Malone homicides.

Assignments were divvied up, I got into the car with Conklin, and we drove to one of the dark and grubby alleys in the Mission. We were doing it again, more down-and-dirty detective work, hoping for clues in the absence of a single hard lead.

Our first stop was a pawnshop on Polk called Gold ’n’ Things, a shop piled high with outdated electronics and musical instruments, and a half-dozen glass cases filled with tacky bling. The proprietor was Rudy Vitale, an obese man with thick glasses and thin hair, a marginal fence who used the pawnshop as his office while making his real deals in cars and bars, anywhere but here.

I let Conklin take the lead because my insides were still reeling from the sharp turn my life had taken only twelve hours before.

My mind was stuck in a groove of what the fire had cost me in emotional touchstones to my past: my Willie Mays jacket, my Indian pottery, and everything that had belonged to my mother, especially her letters telling me how much she loved me, a sentiment she’d only been able to write when she was dying but was never able to actually say.

As Conklin showed insurance photos to Vitale, I glanced at the display cases, still in a daze, not expecting anything, when suddenly, as if someone yelled Hey in my ear, I saw Patty Malone’s sapphire necklace on a velveteen tray, right there.

“Rich,” I said sharply. “Take a look at this.”

Conklin looked, then told Vitale to open the case. Baubles clanked as Vitale pawed through them, handed the necklace up to Conklin with his catcher’s mitt of a hand.

“You’re saying these are real sapphires?” Vitale said i

Conklin’s face blanched around the eyes as he placed the necklace down on the photograph. It was clearly a match.