12th of Never

by James Patterson

  There was only one witness on Kinsela’s list. It was another of the prosecution’s former witnesses—undercover cop Lieutenant Floyd Meserve.

  Meserve was a good guy and a good cop.

  Keith Herman had tried to hire Meserve to kill his wife and child. No question about it. Their interview had taken place in Meserve’s vehicle and had been recorded on video. The video had been shown to the jury. Keith Herman had told Meserve that he wanted Jennifer and Lily killed.

  Now, as Yuki sat with Nicky at the defense table, waiting for court to reconvene, Yuki muttered to her associate, “How could Kinsela possibly use Meserve against us? How?”

  The minute hand on the big clock moved. The bailiff announced that court was in session. The judge entered the courtroom and so did the jury. The judge banged the gavel, made some general remarks, then asked Kinsela if he was ready to begin.

  Kinsela said, “Your Honor, we call Lieutenant Floyd Meserve.”

  Meserve came through the front doors of the courtroom. He wore a cheap plaid sport jacket, a starched shirt, and a wide blue tie. His pants were shiny and so were his shoes. His ponytail had been hacked off—an amateur job, as if he had done it himself.

  The lieutenant in charge of Crimes Against Persons looked pissed off as he was sworn in. He took his seat in the witness box and John Kinsela, appearing fresh and invigorated in a light gray suit and yellow tie, came toward him.

  Yuki thought Kinsela definitely had something up his sleeve, but she couldn’t fathom what kind of something it could be.

  Chapter 70

  JOHN KINSELA GREETED his witness, Lieutenant Meserve, then asked him, “Are you familiar with Lynnette Lagrande?”

  Meserve sat back in his chair and looked genuinely puzzled before he said, “I don’t understand what you mean by ‘familiar.’”

  “Let me put it this way. Do you know Lynnette Lagrande?”

  “Yes, I know her,” said the former undercover cop.

  “How would you characterize your relationship with her?”

  “Social. I go out with her. Dinner and such.”

  Yuki felt a chill at the back of her neck. What the hell was this?

  “That’s what we call in this country dating, isn’t that right?”

  “Your generation calls it dating.”

  “Well, humor me and the jury and let’s both call it dating, okay? So how long have you been dating Ms. Lagrande?”

  “I really don’t remember.”

  “Long enough to become familiar with her?”

  Kinsela snorted at his own joke. Someone in the gallery let out a high-pitched giggle, which caught on and became a wave of tentative laughter.

  Yuki stood up and said, “Your Honor, I object in the strongest possible terms to the way Mr. Kinsela is fooling around at the expense of this court and the jury’s time. And in the process, he’s taking liberties with Ms. Lagrande’s reputation.”

  Nussbaum said, “Sustained. Mr. Kinsela, this is a murder trial. Don’t do that again. This is your last warning.”

  Yuki sat down hard in her seat and tried to comprehend the bombshell that had just landed in Judge Nussbaum’s courtroom.

  Had she heard it right?

  Floyd Meserve was currently a lieutenant in the police force. A year ago, he had been an undercover cop. He had put a video setup inside his vehicle and interviewed Keith Herman, a thug of a lawyer with a reputation for child abuse and jury tampering and maybe far worse. Herman had sought out Meserve, thinking he was a hit man, a contract killer. And Herman had said he wanted to have his family killed.

  Now this good lieutenant was telling the court that he was dating Lynnette Lagrande, Keith Herman’s former girlfriend.

  How had he met Lynnette?

  And why was John Kinsela asking Meserve about dating Lynnette, anyway? What could that have to do with the case against Keith Herman?

  There was more to come, Yuki could feel it.

  Something big was about to blow.

  Chapter 71

  KINSELA STOOD SIX FEET from the witness box with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make light of the proceedings.”

  From the smile in Kinsela’s pale blue eyes, it was clear to Yuki and everyone else in the courtroom that Kinsela was enjoying himself enormously.

  The judge said, “Watch yourself, Mr. Kinsela. Don’t make me angry.”

  Kinsela apologized again, and then he continued his examination of the witness.

  “Lieutenant, were you dating Ms. Lagrande at the time you met with Keith Herman?”

  “You mean at the time when Keith Herman asked me to kill his wife and kid?”

  “If that’s what he actually did. But let me be more precise. Were you dating Ms. Lagrande before February of last year?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Please answer yes or no.”

  “I don’t keep a date book, for Christ’s sake. What do you think I am? A fifteen-year-old girl?”

  Kinsela said, “Your Honor. Please tell the witness to answer the question.”

  The judge spoke to the witness. “Lieutenant Meserve, you will either answer Mr. Kinsela’s questions truthfully or you will be held in contempt of court. You will be fined and jailed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, Your Honor.”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Kinsela.”

  Kinsela let the moment drag out for a second or two, then said, “Who was the informant who referred Keith Herman to you, Lieutenant?”

  “I can’t reveal my sources.”

  Kinsela put his hand on the witness stand and leaned toward the witness. “Let me help you, Lieutenant. Lynnette Lagrande sent Keith Herman to you for the purpose of arranging the murder of Jennifer and Lily Herman, isn’t that right? Lynnette Lagrande was your so-called confidential informant.”

  “I—I—I refuse to answer on the grounds of the Fifth Amendment.”

  “You’re afraid you’ll incriminate yourself, Lieutenant? Is that because Lynnette Lagrande conspired with you to put Keith Herman up to contracting hits on his family? Isn’t it true that it was Lynnette who wanted Jennifer and Lily Herman dead? She wanted to marry Keith Herman for his money, and then Keith would have an accident. The fatal kind.”

  “I take the Fifth. Didn’t you hear me—”

  Kinsela kept going, ran right over what Meserve was saying. “And then, after Keith Herman was in the ground, and Lynnette was a wealthy widow, she could share her life and her new fortune with you. Isn’t that the way it was supposed to go? Isn’t that why you refuse to answer my questions?”

  Meserve’s face was florid and yet the skin around his eyes had gone white. He shouted, “Killing Lily was Keith’s idea.”

  “Is that so?” Kinsela said. “You’re saying Mr. Herman wanted his daughter killed, and yet Lily is alive, isn’t she? And Jennifer Herman is quite definitely dead.”

  Chapter 72

  JOHN KINSELA WAS in his glory and he was basking in it.

  Yuki shot to her feet, saying, “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “On what grounds, Ms. Castellano?”

  She made sure to modulate her voice so that she didn’t sound as furious as she felt. “On the grounds that Mr. Kinsela brought in this so-called rebuttal witness for one reason—to discredit him and to confuse the jury. He’s confused me. It’s absurd. It’s insane. It’s total bull.”

  The judge said, “He’s entitled to question the witness, and you’re entitled to cross-examine the witness—”

  “I’m turning state’s evidence,” Meserve shouted. “I’ll testify that Lynnette Lagrande was behind everything. Judge, I haven’t perjured myself. I didn’t kill anyone. Lynnette wanted Keith dead, that’s true, and I was seeing her, but that’s not important because I did nothing wrong—”

  Meserve’s speech was cut off by the word “Liar,” screamed from the back row of the courtroom. Lynnette Lagrande was on her feet, shouting at Meserve, “You l
iar. You bastard. You weak, lying murderer!”

  It was as if someone had shouted “Fire” inside a circus tent.

  Yuki saw Jacobi stand up in the back of the gallery. He edged out to the aisle, then walked rapidly toward Lynnette Lagrande. He said her name and she whipped her head around, her face still twisted in anger.

  “Ms. Lagrande, we’re gonna hold you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder. You, too, Lieutenant Meserve,” Jacobi said loudly. “We’re going to have some questions for both of you.”

  The judge looked stunned. His eyes darted around the court-room as outbursts flared like fireworks going off on all sides. People in the gallery panicked and rushed for the aisle and the exit even as police poured through the courtroom doors.

  Kinsela stood at the defense table with his client and shouted, “Judge Nussbaum, I move to dismiss. There is no case against my client. Lily Herman is alive. There is no evidence tying Keith Herman to the death of Jennifer Herman. Lynnette Lagrande is the responsible party—”

  Lynnette Lagrande had become a wild woman. She screamed at Jacobi, “Get away from me,” and lashed out at him with her nails. Jacobi was almost thirty years older and weighed a hundred pounds more.

  He put his hand on her shoulder so that she couldn’t touch him, then said in a booming voice, “Now you’re also under arrest for assaulting a police officer. Put your hands behind your back.”

  Kinsela shouted to the judge, “Your Honor, I strongly urge you to dismiss the charges and release Mr. Herman—”

  A juror sitting in the front row of the jury box, a woman in her sixties named Nina Tancho, stood up abruptly and shouted, “I can’t take this anymore. You people are all insane.”

  The judge slammed down his gavel again, bam, bam, bam.

  “Everyone freeze.”

  There was a moment of relative silence into which Judge Nussbaum said, “I’m declaring a mistrial. Mr. Herman, you will be returned to your cell for now. Bailiff, please take the jury back to their room. Sheriff Calhoun, clear the court-room.

  “Mr. Kinsela, Ms. Castellano, please stay where you are.”

  Cops pushed and pulled a handcuffed Lynnette Lagrande toward the exit. Her pretty face was unrecognizable as she screamed, “I did nothing wrong. This is slander. I’m going to sue you, Mr. Kinsela. I’m going to sue—everyone. I’m innocent.”

  Floyd Meserve called out to Kinsela, “I need representation, Mr. Kinsela. I need you right now.”

  Kinsela said, “You can’t afford me, Mr. Meserve. But here’s some free advice. Shut the hell up.”

  The golden-haired little girl who had been sitting in the courtroom beside Lynnette Lagrande darted through the crowd and ran to her father. She was bawling as she grabbed him around his waist and cried out, “Daddy, let’s go home.”

  Nicky Gaines went to the little girl and peeled her away from Keith Herman. “Lily, you’ll see your dad again soon. You just have to stay with your grandma for another few days.”

  Yuki stood in one place and stared inward.

  What had just happened?

  Had Lynnette Lagrande, the beautiful and prim school-teacher, just sprouted hair on her palms? Was Floyd Meserve, the good cop, a simpleminded dick who had in fact killed Jennifer Herman because he loved Lynnette Lagrande? Who had kidnapped the child—and why? And what did Keith Herman have to do with all of the above?

  All that Yuki knew for sure was that if the judge hadn’t declared a mistrial, Keith Herman would have gotten off. Because reasonable doubt of this magnitude hadn’t been seen in San Francisco in the last fifty years.

  Chapter 73

  RICH CONKLIN WAS shaving in the men’s room when Brenda, the squad assistant, pushed open the door and stuck her face in.

  “Hey. Could you knock, maybe?” Conklin said. He pulled paper towels out of the collar of his shirt, dried his face.

  “Here you go,” Brenda said. She knocked on the open door.

  Conklin laughed. “What is it, Brenda? What do you need?”

  “There’s been a shooting at the aquarium.”

  “You don’t mean the Aquarium of the Bay?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Shit,” Richie said. “Tell Brady about this.”

  “He’s the one called me, told me to find you and tell you to get down there.”

  “Is Morales in?”

  “She’ll be in later. Sergeant Boxer is taking the day off. It’s all on you and about a hundred uniformed cops until the day shift comes in.”

  Conklin went to his desk, collected his weapon, and put on his jacket. Then he jogged downstairs and checked out an unmarked car from the lot outside the ME’s office.

  He drove north through the morning rush on the Embarcadero. It was a twenty-minute drive to the Wharf even with the siren on and a clear lane. Which he didn’t have.

  As he wove through traffic, Conklin thought about Professor Judd, how he’d come in yesterday morning wearing a cashmere overcoat on top of his pajamas, how he’d bulled his way into the squad room, then demanded that Conklin listen to his dream.

  Conklin had said, “Let’s hear it, Professor. Did someone get whacked? Or should I say, is someone about to get whacked?”

  Judd had dragged out the story, talking about the arc of light, the watery eclipse, the moving walkway, and the gradual realization that he was dreaming, until Conklin had shouted, “Will you get to the fucking point?”

  “There was a shooting,” Judd had said.

  “Who got shot?” Conklin asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know? How is that? Weren’t you there?”

  “I didn’t see a person go down, and I didn’t see the shooter.”

  “So let me get this straight. You had a dream. You essentially left your body, materialized at the aquarium, and that’s where you heard a shot.”

  “That’s right.”

  The little professor had stuck out his jaw, daring Conklin to argue with him. He had crumbs on his chin and on the collar of his pin-striped pj’s.

  Conklin said, “Nobody has called in a shooting. So you didn’t see a victim in your dream, and there’s no victim in real life, either. I can’t do anything with this, Professor.”

  Judd had said, “I guess I’m going to have to be my own detective.” He patted his hip, as though he were packing a gun. “I’ve got a license to carry.”

  Conklin had said, “Thanks for coming in, Professor.”

  Now there had been a shooting at the aquarium. Had the professor’s dream been another fulfilled prophecy? Or had the professor gone and shot someone?

  Conklin called Inspector Paul Chi.

  “Chi, it’s Conklin. Do me a favor. You and Cappy go pick up Professor Judd and bring him to the Hall. Just hold him for questioning. You don’t have to tell him anything. Just nail him down. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Chapter 74

  CONKLIN PULLED HIS car up to the command post—three black-and-whites and a clump of cops standing in front of barricades blocking the entrance to Pier 39. Conklin leaned out of his window, signed the log, and asked the sergeant what was up.

  The sergeant told him, “One victim, shot through the head. It’s a mess in there. Put your waders on.”

  Conklin drove straight ahead to the turnaround in front of the Aquarium of the Bay, a tacky-looking white building with peaked roofs, awnings, flags, and a large blue cutout of a shark on the wall.

  He parked his vehicle, then called Brenda to say that he had arrived at the scene. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, feeling that whatever had happened inside the aquarium was his fault. That he should have paid more attention to that twerpy professor. That instead of posting a team at the aquarium, which he could have done, he’d told Professor Judd that there was nothing he could do.

  Now someone was dead, and Conklin was 99 percent sure that the professor had done the shooting and that he would have an alibi. Not just an alibi, but a rock-solid, airtight, unimpeachable
alibi.

  Conklin rummaged in the glove compartment and located half of a packaged brownie. He gobbled it down, then got out of the car and headed to the staircase outside the aquarium building. He climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  He entered the building on the second floor, badged the cop at the door, and took a left past some exhibits, including a cylindrical tank full of shiny, swirling fish. Another cop was guarding the elevator.

  “You’ve got to take the fire stairs, Inspector. The elevator is out.”

  Christ.

  Conklin took the fire stairs down, opened the fire door, and stepped into eight inches of cold seawater. He passed the 725 gallons of illuminated moon jellies, then slogged along the dimly lit corridor, following signs to the three-hundred-foot-long moving walkway that had been tunneled under the bay.

  Conklin stopped at the head of the walkway, which was no longer moving, and tried to get his bearings. The aquarium arced overhead. Sharks and other large fish, schools of anchovies, and various slimy creatures from the deep swam over and around him. It was like surround sound for the eyes—and it wasn’t comfortable.

  Halfway down the tunnel, a stream of water poured onto the walkway through a hole about six feet up the wall. At best, the spray was destroying evidence. At worst, the entire exhibit was in danger of becoming like a submarine with a breached hull.

  Feeling suddenly sick from the underwater effect, Conklin held on to the railing. He really didn’t want to puke in the crime scene. He steadied himself, took some deep breaths, then he pushed off and sloshed over to where the CSIU team was processing the scene.

  The victim’s body was facedown on the walkway, and the rising water was almost to the point where it would cover the hole in the back of his head.

  Charlie Clapper, longtime head of the CSIU, was stooped over the body, lifting a pocket flap with his gloved hand.

  Conklin said, “Hey, Charlie. What’s the story here?”

  “Well, Rich, we’ve got a white male, fifty or so, shot through the back of the head, as you can see. Hold on, I’ve got his wallet. Crystal, can you shine a light on this?”