16th Seduction

by James Patterson

  “Accordingly, the prosecution will treat Mr. Grant as opposing counsel. As for me, I’m going to make sure that this trial stays on track and that you receive the information you need to decide Mr. Grant’s guilt or innocence.

  “Are there any questions?”

  Mrs. Schumacher, a retired librarian, raised her hand.

  “Is there time for me to use the restroom?”

  “Yes. Anyone else? No? Bailiff, please escort juror number four to the jury room. Any other questions?”

  There were none. When Mrs. Schumacher returned to her seat, the judge asked the court officers to open the front doors. The gallery was filled noisily as people jostled for seats. Once the attendees were reasonably quiet, court officers formed a line at the back of the room, blocking the doors.

  Judge Hoffman reprised the explanation that he had given to the jury and announced that court was now in session.

  He said to the defendant, “Mr. Grant, if you’re ready, please make your opening statement.”

  CHAPTER 32

  GRANT PLACED A stack of note cards on the lectern and looked across the room toward the jury. He seemed utterly relaxed, appearing to Yuki every bit the schoolteacher in front of his class. When he spoke, his voice was clear and confident.

  “Folks, I’m shocked to be in this courtroom. I’ve been charged with killing twenty-five people, and I had absolutely nothing to do with that terrible tragedy.

  “You deserve to hear exactly what happened and I’m going to tell you. On the evening of August 3, I was walking northwest on the Embarcadero and was only a block or so away from Sci-Tron when it blew the hell up.”

  He threw his hands into the air by way of description.

  “I was stunned, caught completely by surprise. I stood on the sidewalk, a bystander, an accidental witness to this enormous and violent explosion. I was dazed by the sound and the sight of what you have probably seen on television.

  “Only, I was right there while it was happening.

  “I should introduce myself. My name is Connor Grant and I am a science teacher. I have been a science teacher since graduating from the University of Miami in ’93 and have been with Saint Brendan High School for five years now, teaching ninth-grade science.

  “I often go to Sci-Tron. I’ve taken my classes there. It was a beautiful place, and my students and I have always found it inspirational to see the exhibits, hear the lectures, and talk to other teachers and guests.

  “As I said, on the evening of August 3, I was walking along the sidewalk in the direction of Sci-Tron. Thursday night was adults only, and I wanted to stand in the observatory gallery at sunset. That’s all that was in my mind.

  “Then the shocking explosion seemed to break the sky. Glass went flying and I saw a mushroom cloud forming over the bay. The concussion of the blast seemed to make time stand still. It was like my shoes were bonded to that pavement when the bomb went off. Imagine being so close to a bomb that the sidewalk is shimmying under your feet.”

  The glow on Grant’s face was riveting. He had brought the destruction of Sci-Tron right into the courtroom. He was there. And even Yuki couldn’t look away.

  Hoffman said, “Mr. Grant? Please go on.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor.”

  Grant focused intently on the jurors, saying to them, “At some point I became aware of the screaming. People were running from the pier where the museum had been standing, and still I could not move. This was living science, and I was trying to understand what looked like spontaneous combustion.

  “Mr. Parisi has told you that I confessed to blowing up Sci-Tron to a police officer. I did no such thing. Did I comment on the explosion? Did I say that it was amazing or something? I do not know.

  “I was in a state of shock. I was also a witness. I hope you understand that within those first moments after the blast, I wasn’t thinking about people or panic or death. As a scientist with a laboratory mentality, I was mesmerized by what I had seen in the wild, and I was analyzing it, too. Trying to figure out exactly what had occurred in front of my eyes.”

  Yuki scanned the jurors’ faces. They, too, looked mesmerized. Parisi was leaning back in his seat. Watching. No doubt learning from the defendant and making a plan.

  Grant shuffled through his note cards, examined a couple of them. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. A moment later he again addressed the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the prosecution will tell you that the police discovered a science lab in my garage. That is correct, although neither the garage nor the lab was hidden. My garage is in plain sight. I do experiments in my lab, not in my house. I think that makes good sense. The police will tell you that they have found a book on explosives that I have been working on for years. That’s true, but it’s very boring, and I don’t think it will ever be published, because it’s not newsworthy. It’s a notebook. That’s how I think of it.

  “So I have a lab that takes up half of a two-car garage and a collection of notes, but more to the point, there is no way the People can connect me to this explosion.

  “I did not go into the museum the night of the explosion, and no one claims otherwise. Whatever took down Sci-Tron was a perfectly distributed blast. A highly professional job. If I had been asked to detonate that building, I couldn’t have done it. The skill involved is just way beyond my abilities, and that is a fact.

  “Here’s the prosecution’s total case: I may have said something to a police officer when I wasn’t thinking clearly. And to that I might add that this police officer may not have been thinking clearly, either. I’d ask you to give everyone involved the benefit of the doubt; we were deafened by the blast, shaken up by it, and frightened almost to death.

  “We’ll never know how or why this misunderstanding between me and the police officer took place, because no record was made of any so-called admission. If I had been taken to the hospital, doctors would have said that my hearing had been affected or that I was in shock. But I was thrown into a squad car and brought into a police station, where I was locked up overnight in a cell full of dangerous strangers. The next morning, after a sleepless night, I was interrogated without benefit of counsel.

  “Days later I was charged and held without bond.

  “Think of that,” said the science teacher. “The police had me in custody, an innocent man, a victim of circumstances, and because they had no evidence at the time that this tragedy was caused by a terrorist group, they never looked any further than me, although apparently, GAR has taken credit.

  “So the prosecution has me and no one else. That’s why they are desperate to pin the tail on the donkey. Me. Because it’s better than having no donkey at all.

  “Here’s the simple, honest truth,” Connor Grant said to the rapt jurors. “Something or someone blew up Sci-Tron. But I give you my word. I swear on the Bible, I didn’t do it.”

  Grant returned to the defense table. Yuki lowered her eyes and made notes on her tablet so that no one, not the defendant and not, God forbid, the jury, could see how amazed she was by Connor Grant’s opening remarks. He’d been unbelievably articulate. He hadn’t whiffed a line. And he’d come across as truthful and sincere with just the right amount of indignation, so much so that Yuki could see on the jurors’ faces that they were identifying with him.

  And she was questioning her own certainty that he had bombed Sci-Tron.

  She canceled the thought as she heard Parisi say to the judge, “The People call Sergeant Lindsay Boxer.”

  CHAPTER 33

  THE INFLUX OF media was creating dangerous traffic conditions on Bryant Street. Satellite trucks from network, cable, and foreign news outlets were double-parked, blocking the grid and narrowing the lanes in front of the Hall.

  Camera crews had set up on the sidewalk. Reporters sat in tall director’s chairs under silk shades and spoke to their viewers. Others put microphones up to the faces of anyone who would stop, and they did impromptu interviews on the Hall of Justice steps.


  I dodged the mob scene by using my customary route: on foot from Harriet Street, along the breezeway, and through the back door.

  I’d taken time to look my professional best. I wore my gray Ralph Lauren blazer and blue trousers, a man-tailored white shirt, and sturdy, polished Cole Haan flats. My blond hair was pulled back in a pony, as usual, and I’d worn makeup for the occasion. My badge hung from a long ball chain around my neck. And I arrived ahead of time in the hallway outside courtroom 2A, where I waited to be called.

  The testimony I was prepared to give against Connor Grant was pretty much the heart of the prosecution’s case. I wasn’t nervous exactly, but I was keyed up. A lot of people were depending on me.

  The door to the courtroom opened, and the bailiff said to me, “Sergeant Boxer? You’re up.”

  He held the door open, and I strode into the courtroom and up the aisle, passing many people who were turning to look at me as if there were music playing “Here Comes the Bride.”

  I nodded at Yuki as I went through the gate, then continued to the witness box, where I placed my hand on the Bible and swore to tell the whole truth, so help me God.

  When I was seated, my dear friend Yuki approached me.

  She asked me a series of questions, establishing my occupation and expertise: how long I had been with the SFPD, what department, how many commendations, and if I had arrested Connor Grant on the night in question.

  Yuki is a fast talker, but I’m used to her pace. She snapped out the questions, and I answered without hesitation or embellishment.

  She said, “Sergeant Boxer, were you working at 7:23 p.m. on August 3, the night of the Sci-Tron incident?”

  I said “No, I was having dinner with my husband in a restaurant on Pier 9 directly opposite Pier 15. We had a clear view of Sci-Tron.”

  She asked me to recount the events, and I did so, starting with our window on the explosion, our departure from the restaurant, and our race to the scene a short way up the street.

  I said, “Crowds were fleeing the site of the bomb, running past where my husband and I were standing at the edge of the sidewalk. My husband—his name is Joe Molinari—was calling for emergency support, and I was waiting with him when I noticed a man standing stock-still in the middle of the moving crowd.”

  “Do you see that man in the room now?”

  “Yes. I saw the defendant.”

  “Okay,” Yuki said. “Please tell the jury what happened next.”

  I recalled my very vivid memories of speaking to Grant, and I repeated what I had said to him, what he had said to me.

  “I took him to be a witness and I asked him to tell me what he had seen. My husband was standing with me, and we both heard Mr. Grant take full and individual credit for blowing up the museum.

  “He told me that he hadn’t simply witnessed the explosion, he had created it,” I told the court. “He said that it was beautiful and that he awarded himself an A-plus with extra points for the sunset.”

  “And did you find this answer believable?”

  “I didn’t know what to think at first. So I asked him to tell me again what had happened. He again insisted that he had exploded the bomb, and he elaborated on his original statement, essentially boasting about what a beautiful work of art he had created.”

  “What happened next, Sergeant Boxer?”

  “I arrested Mr. Grant for destruction of public property. After I read him his rights, I brought him over to a squad car and gave one of the officers orders to take him to booking and to turn him over to Lieutenant Brady of Homicide, my CO.”

  Yuki asked, “And how did Mr. Grant appear to you?”

  I said, “He was lucid. He seemed to have full awareness of the events and his role in them.”

  “Did you offer medical treatment?”

  “I asked him how he felt. He said he was fine.”

  Yuki asked, “What happened after that?”

  “The squad car left and my husband ran into what was left of Sci-Tron to see if he could help any survivors. He was hit by debris in the second blast.”

  “Sergeant Boxer, was he injured?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you interview Mr. Grant the next morning?”

  “I did, along with Lieutenant Brady.”

  “Can you describe that interview for the court?”

  “Yes. The defendant was uncooperative. He denied confessing to the bombing and refused to answer further questions.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Boxer,” said Yuki. “Mr. Grant, your witness.”

  CHAPTER 34

  YUKI WATCHED AS Grant got up from his seat and approached Lindsay. He stuck his hands into his pant pockets, giving him the insouciance of a popular college kid. Yuki found his demeanor damned creepy.

  Grant said, “Hello again, Sergeant Boxer. I have just a couple of questions for you, unlike the punishing drubbing I’ve suffered at your hands.”

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

  Hoffman said, “Sustained. Mr. Grant, no personal comments to the witness. Just ask your questions.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor. Uh … Sergeant, did you see me coming out of Sci-Tron that night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find any bomb implements, control devices, or anything of that nature when you frisked and cuffed me?”

  “No.”

  “Did you record my so-called confession when you questioned me on the sidewalk between Piers 9 and 15 that evening?”

  “No. I didn’t have to record—”

  “No. Your answer is ‘no.’ You didn’t record any so-called admission. You didn’t see me in the building, and you found nothing bomb-related on my person, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your Honor,” said Grant. “I’m done with this witness.”

  Yuki saw the flash of anger in Lindsay’s face and understood exactly how she felt. Furious because she had no opportunity to redress the insult.

  The judge asked the prosecution if they had questions on redirect, and Len said, “No, Your Honor. But we reserve the right to recall this witness.”

  The judge asked Lindsay to step down, and once she had left the courtroom, he made an announcement.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to attend to some important court business. I’m calling a recess. Short one. Court will resume in one half hour.”

  Doors opened. The jury returned to their room. Some people in the gallery left their seats, and Parisi said he wanted to make some calls and he’d be back in a few.

  Yuki stayed at the prosecution table, made notes, and thought about Joe. His recovery had been touch and go; she and Len had worried for weeks about his ability to testify. He was still weak and visibly changed from the way Yuki had always known him—physically strong, mentally sharp.

  Could he retell Grant’s confession convincingly now?

  Yuki could only hope so.

  If Joe failed to corroborate Lindsay’s testimony, a canyon of reasonable doubt would open in their case, and it would be almost impossible for the prosecution to bridge it.

  CHAPTER 35

  AFTER MY TESTIMONY I left the courtroom and went to the fire stairs, taking a seat on a step about midway between the second and third floors. I got a pretty good signal here, and no one using the stairway ever bothered me.

  I called Joe, listened to the phone ring through, counted the number of rings, hoping he would answer.

  “Lindsay?”

  “Hi. How are you feeling, Joe?”

  “Good. Pretty good.”

  He sounded like he wasn’t sure.

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re on Seventh Street. About five minutes away, right, Kevin? We hit some traffic.”

  Five minutes away? He was cutting it very close. If Hoffman hadn’t called a recess, Joe would have been a no-show, leaving Yuki and Len to tap-dance for more time. I flicked that disturbing thought away.

  I asked, “Is Kevin your driver?”
/>   “That’s right. You okay, Linds? It’s hard to hear you.”

  “I’m in the fire stairs. I don’t want anyone to hear me. I just want to tell you, I just got out of court. Grant is a beast.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “He cross-examined me with a scalpel. Or a chain saw. Not sure. But it was brutal.”

  “Yeah. Well.”

  Joe’s voice sounded like he was floating away.

  “Joe. Joe. Can you hear me?”

  “I can now.”

  “Do you remember when we talked to him right after the explosion?”

  “Sure. He said he did it. He had a cockeyed story.”

  I tried not to sigh loudly into the mouthpiece. A couple of people ran past me down the stairs.

  “You still there, Joe?”

  “Yep. We’re on Bryant. I can see the Hall.”

  I said, “Is Kevin bringing you into the building?”

  I heard Joe ask, “Kevin, you’re taking me inside?”

  Then Joe said, “It’s the second floor?”

  “Right. That’s right. Court starts again in fifteen minutes.”

  The phone clicked off. I looked. I still had battery life. Joe’s phone had disconnected, not mine.

  I went online and looked up Connor Grant on the Chronicle’s website and read Cindy’s update on the trial. She had written that the defendant was a pretty decent lawyer for a schoolteacher and that the witnesses for the prosecution would be questioned today.

  She wrote, “The prosecution called their first witness this morning, Homicide sergeant Lindsay Boxer. Sergeant Boxer testified that Mr. Grant confessed to her at the time of the explosion that he had bombed Sci-Tron. He denied this admission in his opening statement.

  “Earlier, DA Len Parisi told this reporter that he is confident that the jury will find the defendant guilty. As in all trials, the burden of proof is on the prosecution, who must convince the jury of the defendant’s guilt beyond a shadow of doubt ….”

  As I sat in the stairwell, shadows of doubt in all colors and shapes crossed my mind. Most of them pointed to Joe.