Yuki thought of what Lindsay had told her, that Brady was married, and dammit, she didn’t want to go through another doomed relationship with another unavailable guy. She wanted stability, a home life …
“Yuki, I’m glad I caught you,” Brady said, pulling up alongside her. “Have dinner with me?”
“Okay,” she said.
Now they were at Town Hall in SoMa, the former Marine Electric Building, one of the best places around for casual dining with a sophisticated twist.
The interior was dark, with exposed brick, hardwood floors, and subdued lighting. Jackson Brady’s hair seemed to draw light from the overhead starburst fixtures that had once hung in the ceiling of a theater in Spanish Harlem.
Yuki was having a margarita, a drink that she loved and that took her out of her misery — and, if she had more than one, out of her mind as well. If she’d ever earned a margarita, today was the day.
“A suspension of the case isn’t the worst thing,” Brady was saying. He was working on the Cajun shrimp appetizer along with his beer.
“No, it’s not the worst thing,” Yuki agreed, “but it’s still a disaster. You know how many hours I put into that case?”
“Seven thousand?”
Yuki laughed. “Not seven thousand, but a whole hell of a lot, and now it looks like that bitch is going to go free.”
“Unless you find more evidence.”
“Yeah. If we find more evidence, we can still try her with a new jury, but you know, the world turns, the files stack up, some other heinous piece of crap is caught, and we mount another case.”
“I’ll keep the Candace Martin file on my desk.”
“Thanks, Jackson. Even if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it.”
“Now, tell me you don’t lie, why don’t you?”
“I lie sometimes.”
Yuki laughed again. “Well, don’t lie to me.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious. I’ve been told that you’re married. What’s the story?”
“I’m still married.”
“Fuck,” Yuki said. “Waiter.”
Brady took her arm out of the air. “I’m still married. But I hope not for long.”
Yuki took a slug of her margarita, set the glass down, and as the waiter came by, said to him, “Could you take this drink away? Thanks.” Then she said to Brady, “Tell me the whole story. I’m listening.”
“You remember that shooting incident I told you about?” Brady asked her.
Yuki said, “You shot the guy who came up out of the crack between the bed and the wall holding a semiautomatic.”
“Yeah. So Liz and I were already heading our separate ways, and that deal that went down — almost getting whacked, killing the guy, the IAB, the media on our lawn — all that tore it. Whatever thin connection we had left.”
“Because you’re a cop?”
“Yep. Because I’m a cop,” he said. “She wouldn’t be the first woman who said, ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’ So after a year, we separated and I moved to San Fran. Alone. Divorce is pending. Pending on how much she can make me beg for it.”
“You have kids?”