She’d rehearsed, lived, breathed, and dreamed this case, and when it blew up in court, when others would have given up, she’d stuck with it. And now it was almost over.
Yuki said to the judge, “Your Honor, due to the circumstances, namely that Dr. Martin’s daughter had been violently abused and that the defendant acted to protect her daughter from further harm, we recommend a sentence of ten years.
“Because we believe that it is necessary for the good of the children to be able to see their mother, we are recommending that the first five years of that sentence be spent at San Mateo Women’s Correctional. It’s minimum-security and only eighteen miles from the children’s home, and Dr. Martin will work in the infirmary.
“If Dr. Martin’s behavior is good during that time, we agree that she be released from prison after five years and serve the rest of her sentence on probation.”
LaVan swiveled his chair a couple of times before saying to Yuki, “Sounds good to me. So ordered.”
Phil leaned toward Yuki and put out his hand.
She clasped his firm handshake and felt his respect and his sincerity when he said, “Thanks, Yuki. Congratulations.”
That’s when it really hit her.
She’d won.
Chapter 123
THE NOON RUSH was, frankly, horrible. Claire was driving because we were late and she was adamant that she didn’t want to be a passenger with a “cowgirl” at the wheel. That cowgirl she was referring to was me.
I was fine with Claire dodging traffic for a change, so I just dialed around the radio as we headed toward Sansome Street.
“If you had answered my text,” Claire groused, “we could have left ten minutes earlier. I hate to be late.”
“We’re only going to be a couple of minutes late.”
A cab swerved in front of us, then jacked around to pick up a passenger at the curb. Claire leaned on the horn. Others joined in — and then we were driving cowboy-style. I laughed at Claire.
“Giddyup,” I said.
“Am I okay on the right?”
“Go for it.”
We cleared the worst of the jam at Folsom Street and found an open lane that took us from 3rd to Kearny, a straightaway to an office building in the heart of the financial district.
“Not bad,” I said, looking at my watch. “I’d say we’re actually on time. And you didn’t even need a siren.”
The wind blew through the canyon of office buildings, practically sweeping us past the entrance to the sixteen-story granite structure casting a long shadow over the corner of Sansome and Halleck.
The lawyer’s office was on the eleventh floor, and while the elevator was swift, it took us time to find the right door and to clear reception. An attractive legal secretary in a pencil skirt and a ruffled mauve blouse walked us to a conference room and opened the door to let us in.
Avis Richardson was sitting in the seat closest to the door. She was scrubbed and dressed up, and although she looked grave, she resembled a fifteen-year-old girl more than she had at any other time since I’d met her.
I said hello to her and the Richardsons and introduced Claire, who was moving around the table to hug Toni Burgess and Sandy Wilson, the Devil Girlz we’d met in Taylor Creek, Oregon.
Correction: former Devil Girlz.
There was no sign of leather. Instead Toni was in a dress and had soccer-mom hair, and she said she was g
oing back to teaching school. Sandy just looked sweet.
More people were introduced: lawyers for both sides, and His Honor Marlon Sykes, a judge from Portland who was in town for the ABA convention.
Baby Tyler Richardson’s travel seat was in a chair pulled up to the blond-wood conference table. He was wearing a blue onesie with a duck appliqué on the front. His eyes were open. He was very little, but he was taking everything in.
I smiled at Tyler, thinking about what a very important day this was for this little boy.