“A lot of stuff happened,” Sam said. He sucked at the tube and continued. “But I don’t remember . . . all of it. I know we took Dad’s car . . . and we got scared. . . . We heard the sirens coming. . . . Sara didn’t have her license. Then the air bag burst. . . . All I remember . . . is seeing that woman . . . shoot Sara. . . . I don’t know why she did it.”
“That’s okay, Sam. That’s fine.”
“I saw a flash,” the boy continued, his eyes fastened on me. “And then my sister . . . she was dead.”
“Yes. We all know. Now, Sam. Do you remember when Lieutenant Boxer shot you?”
Within the small arc permitted by his restraints, Sam rolled his head from side to side. And then he started to cry. His heart-wrenching sobs were interrupted by the sucking of air and enhanced by the mechanical translation of his wails through the voice box.
It was an unearthly sound, unlike anything I’d ever heard before in my life. Chills shot up my spine and, I was quite certain, everyone else’s.
Mason Broyles quickly advanced across the floor to his client, whipped a hankie out of his breast pocket, and dabbed at Sam’s eyes and nose.
“Do you need a break, Sam?”
“No . . . sir. . . . I’m okay,” he brayed.
“Your witness, Counsel,” said Mason Broyles, shooting us a look that was as good as a dare.
Chapter 91
YUKI APPROACHED THE thirteen-year-old killer, who looked even younger and more pitiable now that his face was red from weeping.
“Are you feeling a little better, Sam?” Yuki asked, putting her hands on her knees and stooping a little so that her eyes met his.
“Okay, I guess . . . considering,” said Sam.
“Glad to hear it,” said Yuki, standing, taking a few steps back. “I’ll try to keep my questions brief. Why were you in the Tenderloin District on May tenth?”
“I don’t know . . . ma’am. . . . Sara was driving.”
“Your car was parked outside the Balboa Hotel. Why was that?”
“We were buying a newspaper . . . I think. . . . We were going to go to the movies.”
“You think there’s a newsstand inside the Balboa?”
“I guess so.”
“Sam, you understand the difference between a lie and the truth?”
“Of course.”
“And you know that you promised to tell the truth?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. So, can you tell all of us why you and Sara were carrying guns that night?”
“They were . . . Dad’s guns,” the boy said. He paused for breath and maybe for thought as well. “I took a gun out of the glove compartment . . . because I thought those people . . . were going to kill us.”
“You didn’t know that the police were trying to pull you over?”
“I was scared. . . . I wasn’t driving, and . . . everything happened fast.”
“Sam, were you on crank that night?”
“Ma’am?”