Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (100 best novels of all time txt) 📗

every week, Phoenix had a closet full of business dresses, tailored suits with pants and skirts, and stylish blazers. But I was used to seeing Mira in a lab coat or scrubs at work, or in jeans and sweatshirts or tees at home, glasses perched on her upturned nose and eyes lost in thought. A deputy medical examiner, she was accustomed to testifying in criminal cases but as far as I knew had only a handful of appropriate outfits. Today’s outfit looked new, though she hadn’t come to take the stand. She was seated on my left for moral support and to thank the criminalist she had asked to evaluate the physical evidence. A freckled redhead who looked more like a college kid in an off-the-rack suit than a veteran CSI in his thirties, Justin Battles occupied the last space on the bench. On his lap was a document case I assumed held any photographs, charts, or diagrams he would need. Like testimony, forensic presentations were rare in preliminary hearings, but Mira had assured me Battles had enough to support my version of events. Because the evidence was to be presented before a judge and not a jury, there was no need for video or an easel and poster display.

The other witnesses scheduled for the hearing—Larry Winnicki, Corey Parker, and Officers Khalid McKelvey and Ty Moss—were in separate waiting rooms.

On Friday Phoenix and I had met with ADA Adam Caster III, whose nickname was Tripp—from Triple Play—partly because both his grandfather and father had been district attorneys and partly because he had played shortstop well enough in college to spend three years in the minors before law school. Tripp Caster was about fifty, tall and rawboned, with thinning sandy hair, wire glasses, and a shameless Wilford Brimley mustache. In a paneled office with baseball memorabilia alongside diplomas, proclamations, and certificates, he greeted us with a smile that seemed to involve only his lower lip. He explained it was the defense’s request to have witnesses for the hearing instead of statements and walked us through our testimony. Phoenix would take the stand before me, once the responding officers were done. I would be called next. We could remain in court for the remainder of the hearing for the testimony from Larry Winnicki and Corey Parker. Justin Battles was scheduled last, to underscore our testimony and that of the police.

After Phoenix disappeared inside the courtroom, Mira followed her past the swinging door. A few minutes later, she returned to the bench and exchanged a few quiet words with Justin Battles. Then she turned back to me. “She’s doing fine.”

“Well, she does know a thing or two about the law,” I said.

“Hey, where’s Bobby? I didn’t see him inside. We haven’t talked since Friday, but I was sure he’d be here today.”

“He’s got one of his board meetings.”

“Then I’ll sit with Phoenix when you’re up,” she said. “How many boards is he on?”

I shrugged. “I think this one is APP.”

“APP?”

“The Alliance for Public Progress, a kind of community development think tank.”

Gazing across the corridor, she shook her head. “Bobby’s the poster child for how not to retire.” She turned back to me. “Then again, you’re a terrible example in that department yourself. A full army pension and you decide first to keep being a cop and then when things get too heavy to go private.”

“I was too young to do nothing.”

“Coulda gone fishing.”

“Fish turns my stomach. Seems wrong to kill something I can’t eat.”

Mira crossed her arms and scrunched her deep brown face into that determined look I first saw when she was a child who came to live with us after her parents died in a South Asian plane crash. “When I reach my payoff day and put down my scalpel and shears for good, look for me on a beach with canopies over lounge chairs and a steady flow of food and drink.” After a moment she unfolded her arms and cocked her head. “When was the last time you testified?”

“Some years back.” I took a deep breath. “Hellman.”

She nodded. “I thought that might be it.”

“I gave a deposition when he tried to sue me.”

“I remember.” She snorted. “Pain and suffering my ass!” She was quiet for a few seconds before adding, “Didn’t he send you a threatening letter after you were shot?”

“A wish I’d end up with a colostomy bag too.”

“He’s really got a hard-on for you.”

“I’m the one who left him without enough bowel for a resection.”

“Because you’re a good shot. Think he’ll try to get somebody else to go after you?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But I don’t think you need to worry, for yourself or Shakti. Our relationship isn’t a matter of public record, not even on Facebook.” I turned to her, suddenly concerned for her son. “Shakti’s not on Facebook, is he? Talking about movies and games with Uncle G?”

“In third grade?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t have a phone and I monitor the hell out of his screen time. Julie has strict instructions: no computer or iPad when I’m not home.”

A grad student working toward a Ph.D. in mathematics, Julie Yang was Shakti’s live-in nanny.

“He won’t even have a picture on social media till he’s eighteen and has a black belt,” Mira said.

“That’s a relief. I thought he might be swiping right on Tinder during recess.”

She swatted my arm and laughed. “Smartass.” Her laugh ended abruptly. “There’s no need to worry about us. Bobby maybe—you both do live under the same roof.”

“But not in the same apartment,” I said. “All public records show is Bobby’s my landlord, not the godfather who raised us.”

“What about Phoenix? A high profile attorney. You’re together all the time.”

“Mainly weekends.”

“Please!” Mira sucked her teeth. “You two are a very public item. P and G can mean you as easily as Proctor and Gamble.” She ticked off items on her fingers. “Restaurants, movies, plays, concerts, art galleries, political events, Black cultural events, Latino cultural events, legal gatherings.” A thumb remaining, she