I simply couldn’t wait until morning. I called my sister at quarter to one. Her voice was husky with sleep.
“Lindsay, of course I meant it. Come whenever you like. You know where the keys are.”
I fixed my thoughts on Half Moon Bay, but every time I nodded off dreaming of paradise, I snapped awake, my heart racing like a cyclotron. Fact was, my looming court date had taken hold of my mind and I couldn’t think about anything else.
Womans Murder Club 4 - 4th of July
Chapter 15
THUNDERCLOUDS GRAZED THE ROOF of the Civic Center Courthouse at 400 McAllister, and a lashing rain soaked the streets. Having dispensed with my cane this morning, I leaned against Mickey Sherman, attorney for the City of San Francisco, as we climbed the slick courthouse steps. I was leaning on him in more ways than one.
We passed Dr. Andrew Cabot and his lawyer, Mason Broyles, who were giving an interview to the press beneath a cluster of black umbrellas. The only blessing was that there were no cameras pointed at me.
I grabbed a quick look at Mason Broyles as we passed. He had hooded eyes, flowing black hair, and a wolfish curl to his lip. I heard him say something about “Lieutenant Boxer’s savagery” and I knew he was going to gut me if he could. As for Dr. Cabot, grief had turned his face to a mask of stone.
Mickey pulled open one of the heavy steel-and-etched-glass doors and we entered the foyer of the courthouse. Mickey was a cool old hand, respected for his doggedness, street smarts, and considerable charm. He loathed losing and rarely did.
“Look, Lindsay,” he said, furling his umbrella. “He’s grandstanding because we have a great case. Don’t let him get to you. You have a lot of friends out there.”
I nodded, but I was thinking about how I’d put Sam Cabot in a wheelchair for life and his sister in the Cabot family plot for eternity. Their father didn’t need my apartment or my pathetic little bank account. He wanted to destroy me. And he’d hired just the guy to do it.