Mickey and I took the back stairs and slipped into courtroom C on the second floor. In a few minutes it was all going to happen inside this small, plain room with gray-painted walls and a window looking out onto an alley.

I’d stuck an SFPD pin in the lapel of my navy blue suit so I’d look as official as possible without wearing a uniform. As I took a seat beside him, I reviewed Mickey’s instructions: “When Broyles questions you, don’t give long explanations. ‘Yes, sir; no, sir.’ That’s it. He’s going to try to provoke you to show that you’ve got a quick temper and that’s why you pulled the trigger.”

I had never thought of myself as an angry person, but I was angry now. It had been a good shoot. A good shoot! The DA had cleared me! And now I felt like a target again. As the rows of seats filled with spectators, I was conscious of the chatter building behind me.

That’s the cop who shot the kids. That’s her.

Suddenly there was a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I turned, and my eyes watered when I saw Joe. I put my hand over his, and at the same time my eyes caught those of my other lawyer, a young Japanese American woman with the unlikely name of Yuki Castellano. We exchanged hellos as she took her place beside Mickey.

The rumble in the courtroom cut out suddenly as the bailiff called out, “All rise.”

We stood as Her Honor Rosa Algierri took the bench. Judge Algierri could dismiss the complaint and I could walk out of the courtroom, heal my body and soul, resume my life. Or she could send the case forward and I’d be facing a trial that could cost me everything I cared about.

“You okay, Lindsay?”

“Never better,” I said to Mickey.

He caught the sarcasm and touched my hand. A minute later, my heart started hammering. Mason Broyles rose to make his case against me.