“Tell me.”
“You should talk to Paul Yates. He’s a copywriter at the Ad Shop. We’re only casual friends, but I think something happened with him and Briana.”
“Really? Something sexual?”
“I don’t know,” said Christopher. “I’m pretty sure they dated. They seemed friendly around the shop, then the big chill.”
“There’s no record of him speaking to Sex Crimes.”
“No, I don’t think he talked to them or anyone. I would have heard.”
“Paul Yates,” Yuki said. “I’ll get in touch with him. Marc, stay strong.”
His smile was shaky when he got into the elevator car.
Yuki stood in place as the doors closed, then headed back to her office. She wasn’t confident that Marc would hang tough, and she couldn’t blame him. In his place, she would feel conflict and fear, too. But the key facts in the case against Briana Hill were incontrovertible: Marc had recorded the rape, and Briana always carried a gun. Marc’s testimony would bring those facts to life for the jurors.
CHAPTER 4
TWO DAYS AFTER her last meeting with Marc Christopher, Yuki got a call from James Giftos, Briana Hill’s defense attorney.
“Ms. Castellano. James Giftos here. My client wants to speak with you. By chance do you have a gap in your schedule sometime this week?”
“Oh? What’s this about?”
Yuki’s laptop was open and she began making notes as Giftos spoke.
He said, “Ms. Castellano, uh, Yuki—my client wants to tell you her side of the story. She hopes that when you hear what really happened, you’ll see that Mr. Christopher’s allegations have no basis in fact. She’s willing to apologize if there’s been a misunderstanding, and then, she hopes, Marc can drop the drama and they can go on with their lives.”
So James Giftos wanted a “queen for a day” interview, a proffer agreement. In this meeting Ms. Hill would attempt to convince Yuki that she should drop the case because of insufficient evidence.
The rules of engagement for these interviews were clear. Briana Hill and her attorney would come to Yuki’s office, where Hill would be sworn in, then submit to Yuki’s questions, her answers transcribed by a court reporter. Hill would not be allowed to invoke the Fifth Amendment, and most importantly for Yuki’s purposes, if the DA decided to proceed with the case, nothing Hill said could be used against her in the grand jury hearing or at trial.
However, and it was a big however, if Hill took the stand and her testimony differed from what she’d told Yuki under oath, all bets would be off. Her formerly privileged testimony would no longer be privileged, and Yuki could use anything she’d said in her proffer interview against her.
It was a good deal for the prosecution.
Briana Hill would give her side of the story, meaning that Yuki would learn the basis for the opposition’s case.
Yuki said to Giftos, “Turns out I have an opening at two today.”
“Sold,” he said.
Yuki hung up with Giftos, made notes to add to the file, and then walked down the hallway for a pickup meeting with Len.
CHAPTER 5
YUKI GREETED BRIANA Hill and James Giftos at two that afternoon and walked them to the conference room where the court reporter was waiting.
Hill was petite, her dark hair blunt-cut to her shoulders, and she wore a modest silk blouse and sharp gray suit.
She was very pretty, and Yuki knew that she was also plenty smart. Born and raised in Dallas, Briana Hill had a film degree from USC and an MBA from NYU. She had gotten her first job at a production company, and a few years later was hired by the Ad Shop, where she rose quickly to head of TV production.
As head of TV, Hill reported to the agency president and was responsible for millions per year in TV commercials for big-name clients.
Briana looked the part of a highly placed young executive. She appeared cool and confident, but Yuki noted the dark circles under her eyes and the way Hill clutched at the silver crucifix hanging from a long chain around her neck.
Giftos turned off his phone, Hill was sworn in, and the court reporter typed at her console in the corner of the room.
Yuki said, “Ms. Hill, do you understand that this interview means that we have a binding agreement, that you are required to answer all of my questions truthfully, and if you don’t tell the truth, our agreement is void?”
“I sure do,” said Hill. “I asked for this meeting. I want to tell you what happened. I swear to tell the truth.”
The conference room door opened and Len Parisi entered. The DA was a big man, tall, over three hundred pounds, and had coarse red hair. He was known for his sharp legal mind, his tenacity, and his impressive record of wins.
Parisi was taking special interest in this case, among hundreds under his purview, because The People v. Hill would be a media supermagnet: a sex scandal with radical social implications. Before his office asked for an indictment, Parisi wanted to get his own sense of Briana Hill.
He shook hands with Hill and Giftos and sat down heavily in the chair next to Yuki. He clicked a ballpoint pen a few times with his large thumb and tapped the point on a pad of paper in front of him. He looked across the table, smiled, and said, “Ms. Hill, this is your meeting. As long as you tell the truth, nothing you say can be used against you.”
“I’m aware,” said Hill.
Yuki kept a poker face, but she was excited to be facing off against James Giftos on such an important case. This was why she loved her job with the DA.
CHAPTER 6
BRIANA HILL CLASPED her hands in front of her and said, “This is a pretty grim story, but it needs to be told. Where should I start, James? With the so-called incident—or with what led up to it?”
Her attorney said, “Give us the background first.”
“Okay. Mr. Parisi. Ms. Castellano. The first thing you should know is that Marc had been working for me for about six months when he let me know he was interested in me. He sent flowers to my apartment on my birthday, and I wouldn’t say he was stalking me, but he was just there when I’d leave the office, go over to Starbucks, like that. He bought me coffee, and the next time I bought coffee for him. Takeout.
“Then he asked me out.
“I said no. I wasn’t thinking of him that way. If the thought even crossed my mind, I shut it down. It was possible that going out with Marc could screw up the chain of command and make people in the creative department uncomfortable.”
Yuki said, “What changed your mind?”
Said Hill, “I’m getting to it. Coming right up. Anyway. I fended Marc off, but he persisted and I realized that I was starting to like him. He was funny. Very charming, and by the way, a good producer. So I said okay to lunch. It’s just lunch, right?”
Yuki noted a couple of things as Briana spoke. One, she was an accomplished presenter. Two, according to Hill, Christopher had made the advances. That meant nothing in terms of her guilt or innocence, but it was good for the defense version of the assault.
“I liked Marc,” Hill said, “but this was just a flirtation until—cue the dramatic music—the Chronos Beer shoot in Phoenix four months ago. It was a great shoot, big budget, terrific director, and all of us, the production company and the agency people, were staying in a nice hotel. So we wrapped the shoot and went for dinner and drinks at the hotel bar and grill at the end of the last day.
“I was very happy,” Hill said. “Everyone was. It was a celebration, and Marc and I closed the bar. It was like we were alone on a desert island. He invited me back to his room. I went.”
Hill clamped her mouth shut. She swallowed hard. She seemed to be remembering what had transpired that night. It looked to Yuki that she was unhappy with the memory.
Giftos said, “Go on, Briana. What happened when you came back to town and reentered the atmosphere of everyday life?”
Hill sighed, then seemed to steel herself for the sordid tale of her new relationship with Marc Christopher.
CHAPTER 7
BRIANA HILL HAD been talking for half an hour, and her confident demeanor was starting to sag. She sounded resigned when she said, “Marc and I started dating.
“I wasn’t in love with him, but I wasn’t seeing anyone else. Eventually, though, I started losing interest, and Marc was getting the message. He got needy and borderline aggressive. One night he stopped by my office at the end of the day, and when he said, ‘Let’s grab a bite,’ I said okay. I thought we’d have a discussion about how the relationship wasn’t working out and probably agree to call it off.
“But that’s not what happened.
“We went to our usual place, a restaurant called Panacea, a short walk from Marc’s apartment. I started with a predinner drink. Actually, I was drinking before, during, and after dinner.
“I think Marc was talking about politics, but I wasn’t really listening. I was trying to decide whether to break up with him that night or to give it more time, weighing the pros and cons. After dinner we moved to the restaurant bar. That’s when Marc pitched his big idea.”
“It was his big idea?” Len said.
“Yeah. He knew I carried a gun, and he said that it really turned him on. He said that he wanted me … to pretend to rape him. He said I should hold the gun on him and order him to tie himself to the bed and follow my directions, or I would kill him. Something like that.
“It was ridiculous, but I’d never played out a fantasy like that. He kept saying it would be fun, with this big grin on his face. And he said it would be good for our relationship—he wanted me to ‘gut-feel’ how much I wanted him. I think that’s how he put it.
“We went to his apartment. That’s where we always went,” Hill said. “I unloaded my gun, put the shells in my bag, then I followed his script and tried to get into the role. It was kind of fun, but also kind of weird, what I remember of it.
“After the sex was over, I fell asleep. We both did. Passed out is more like it. I woke up at about five and untied his hands. He was still sleeping, so I went home. I didn’t like how I felt and I didn’t like him, either. I knew that we’d crossed a line. There was no way back.
“I avoided him at work,” Hill continued, “but he called and left messages saying he wanted to get together. I told him no. ‘Sorry, Marc, but it’s over.’ He didn’t like that, but I thought he’d move on. Instead he came to my office after work a couple of days later and shut the door. That’s when he told me that he’d recorded our sex play—recorded it! And that he wanted a quarter of a million dollars or he was going to post the video online.”
Yuki asked, “You took this to be a serious threat?”
Hill’s expression crumpled. “Yes,” she said. “It was believable that he had a hidden camera. He’s a film producer. He knew that my grandma had died and that she had left me a big pile of money. I told him to go to hell, but I was scared.
“I was also in shock. I’m still in shock.”
Yuki found Briana utterly credible. Was she a world-class actress? Or was her version of the story true? One of them was lying.
Giftos put his hand on Briana’s shoulder and told her to take a minute.
After she’d collected herself, but still noticeably distressed, she said, “I remembered some of what we did in his bedroom but very little of what was said. Still, I’m positive that everything I did and said was entirely scripted by Marc. I never ever thought of rape as a turn-on. And I surely never knew that he was recording … this game.”
Hill went on, “I’ve always known the only way to defeat a bully is to stand up to him. Marc Christopher is a bully. He’s also insecure and vengeful, and that’s being kind. I did not rape him. It was all his idea. He set me up. And that’s the whole truth.”
CHAPTER 8
YUKI HAD QUESTIONS. Lots of them.
Sitting across the conference table from Briana Hill and her attorney, Len and Yuki fired away.
Yuki stuck to the workplace relationship between Hill and Christopher.
Did management at the Ad Shop prohibit relationships at the agency? Was Ms. Hill in a position to influence Mr. Christopher’s promotions and raises? Why was his performance review poor after the incident in Mr. Christopher’s apartment?
Hill told them that there was no explicit rule prohibiting relationships within the agency. Yes, she could influence his raises, but she explained that after the so-called rape incident, “Marc was defiant and threatening. He walked away from an assignment, leaving the team to scramble and endangering an account. Naturally, his crummy attitude and insubordination were reflected in the one performance review I conducted with him.”
Len’s questions were about the gun and the sex. Was her gun registered? Did she have a concealed carry permit? Where exactly did she keep the gun? Did she ever have it out during sex with Christopher—or anyone else—prior to the event they were discussing? Would she describe her sexual preferences as nontraditional or “kinky”?
Hill asserted that she lived alone, traveled often, had obtained a concealed carry permit, and had carried a gun for most of her adult life. Her gun was registered, and she kept it in her handbag at all times for protection.
She added, “I don’t know what you would call kinky, Mr. Parisi, but until this encounter with Marc Christopher, I’d never experimented with aggressive sexual role-playing.”
Len said, “And you claim you don’t know what you said or did during this sex act?”
“I remember enough,” she said. “I remember the pitch he threw me in the bar but not much of what I said or what he said during the act itself. It was role-playing. We were having sex. I’d had a lot to drink. I wasn’t trying to remember what we said. Wouldn’t that have been crazy? When I think about it, I see flash images, as if the bed was under a strobe light. As soon as it was over, I wanted to forget it had happened.
“I have some questions for you. Mr. Parisi. Why didn’t Marc grab my gun? Run for the hills? Call the cops? Did you ask him?”
Parisi said mildly, “If you know, had Marc been drinking, too?”
“Sure. I don’t remember what or how much.”
Parisi asked, “Before or during the sex, did Marc tell you to stop? Did he say no to you at any point?”
“He may have,” said Hill. “But that was the point of the script he laid out for me. He was supposed to be the victim and I was supposed to take him by force. That was his game.”
Yuki said, “Ms. Hill, can you prove that Mr. Christopher set up this game?”
“How? We had a conversation in a bar.”
“I have the recording Mr. Christopher made of your sexual encounter,” said Yuki. “We’ll have a copy sent to Mr. Giftos’s office this week. It’s video with sound, Ms. Hill. You can see and hear it all.”
After Briana Hill and James Giftos left, Yuki went to Len’s office. They sat at right angles to each other in his sitting area, surrounded by bookshelves, in view of the clock with a red bulldog face on the wall behind his desk.
“What did you think of the defense?” Yuki asked.
“Hill is credible,” said Len, “and a very accomplished presenter. But her defense of the rape, saying that Marc gave her the script and she performed to his direction, that’s her word against his. We don’t have the script discussion recorded. The video only shows and tells what happened in the bedroom, and even then, while the act was in progress.”
Yuki asked, “Does the fact that they’d slept together before the rape hurt his case?”
Parisi said, “Not legally, but it could make a juror wonder what the hell he was complaining about. Unless you can turn up more evidence, we’re pinning everything on the video. He said no and she kept the gun on him. He says it was loaded. She says it was not. He said, she said.
“But she asks good questions,” Parisi said. “Why didn’t he call the cops when he woke up? Why did he wait two weeks to do that? That’s going to come up. And I don’t like this story that he tried to blackmail her. Did that ring true to you?�
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Yuki said, “This is the first I’ve heard of extortion. I’ll ask him.”
“Unless he puts that in writing, it’s more of his word against hers.”
Yuki nodded in agreement. “They have colleagues in common. I interviewed three people at the Ad Shop. I’ll review their notes again.”
Yuki went back to her office and made notes to file on the meeting with Briana Hill. Hill had sounded truthful, but Yuki had seen the video. Marc Christopher said no, and Briana Hill didn’t stop. And that was what mattered in the eyes of the law.
CHAPTER 9
AT A QUARTER to eight on a hazy Friday morning, I parked my Explorer in the All-Day Parking lot on Bryant Street across from the Hall of Justice, where I work in Homicide.
I crossed the street between breaks in the traffic and jogged up the steps to the main entrance of the gray granite building that housed not only the Southern Station of the SFPD, but also the DA, the municipal courts, a jail, and the motorcycle squad. I was reaching for the handle of the heavy steel-and-glass front door to the Hall when I heard someone call out, “Sergeant? Sergeant Lindsay Boxer.”
I turned to see a middle-aged woman with graying blond hair, who was wearing a dirty fleece hoodie and baggy jeans, hurrying up the steps toward me. I wasn’t surprised to be recognized. My last case had been high profile. A murdering psycho had blown up a museum, killing and injuring dozens of people, including my husband. For weeks after the bombing and all during the bomber’s trial, my picture had been on the front page of the San Francisco papers and on the local TV news. Months later memories of that unspeakable crime still rippled through the public consciousness.
From the woman’s dress she looked to me like she was living on the street. I had change from a ten in my jacket pocket, and I pulled out some bills, but she waved them away.
“I don’t need any money. Thank you, though. What I need is your help, Sergeant. I want to report a murder.”
The 17th Suspect Page 2
