Guilty Blood

by Rick Acker

  A little to Kevin’s surprise, the Lan Long operatives he had located in China hadn’t bothered securing their Internet-connected devices. They had switched to encrypted email and phones immediately after the series of attacks that began at a San Francisco Starbucks and ended near the foot of the stairs in the Fang house. Presumably, they had discovered that they had been hacked, but it didn’t occur to them that hacking wasn’t limited to phones and computers.

  It took Kevin three days to figure out that a Lan Long–affiliated colonel in Shanghai had recently purchased a Google Home device for his wife. It had a password, of course, but Kevin got past that in less than thirty minutes. Then he programmed the device to start recording and notify him anytime someone said “Lan Long,” “Ames,” “Daniels,” or “Fang” nearby.

  A week later, Kevin had discovered two things. First, the colonel’s wife and mother watched a soap opera involving the love life of a young woman named Fang Biyu and talked about it incessantly. Second, the colonel and another man had discussed Brandon Ames, something called “Los Reyes,” and a contract. They seemed to have moved around during the conversation, so the Home microphone only picked up bits and pieces of what they were saying. Also, Kevin’s Mandarin had never been great, despite ten years of Chinese school when he was younger—but even his parents couldn’t make out much more than he did.

  Kevin decided he should probably call Nate. He would have preferred to wait until he knew more about what the colonel was talking about, but maybe Nate would already know something helpful.

  “Hal, call Nate Daniels,” he said.

  He played with his Fidget Cube while the phone rang, turning the bits of information over in his mind and trying to fit them together. But it was no use. He didn’t have enough data points to see the pattern.

  The call went into Nate’s voicemail before Kevin remembered that Nate was now working out of his apartment. He had Hal hang up and dial again.

  A moment later, Nate’s voice came from the speakers on Kevin’s desk. “Hello, Kevin. What can I do for you today?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Kevin said automatically. “Do you know what Los Reyes is and how it’s connected to Brandon Ames? Do they have a contract?”

  Nate didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he cleared his throat. “Los Reyes is a criminal gang. They attacked Brandon in jail. Why do you think they might have a contract?”

  “Because I was listening to a colonel connected to Lan Long, but I couldn’t hear everything he was saying. All I could make out was ‘Brandon Ames,’ ‘Los Reyes,’ and ‘contract.’” He suddenly saw a pattern. Maybe not the pattern, but one that fit the data he had so far. “When criminals talk about a contract, sometimes they mean a contract to kill someone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You say these Los Reyes attacked Brandon. Do you think they have a contract with Lan Long to kill him?”

  “That is precisely what I think,” Nate replied. “If they kill him, this case goes away. And if the case goes away, our ability to subpoena documents and testimony also goes away. That will make it much harder for us to investigate. True, the authorities are likely to investigate Brandon’s death, but that could easily be explained as the result of a jailhouse feud.”

  “We have to do something. Maybe my dad or some of his friends could go to the jail to protect Brandon. There’s always a couple of them hanging around our house now. They seem pretty tough for old guys.”

  Nate chuckled, though Kevin didn’t find the situation at all amusing. “I’m sure they are, but I don’t think the jail will let us do that. They’ll certainly do something, though. I’m going to give them a call as soon as I get off the phone with you.”

  CHAPTER 77

  Two days later, Nate sat on the bench in Judge Oswald Whittaker’s courtroom, waiting for his motion for a continuance to be called—and trying not to be annoyed. When he’d called the warden’s office at Tassajara the day before yesterday, the deputy warden he spoke to had been skeptical and noncommittal. Was Nate aware of an imminent, concrete, and specific threat to Brandon’s life? No. Did Nate know of any individual Los Reyes members who had made credible threats against Brandon? No. Had Nate informed the DA or FBI about the alleged possible contract on Brandon? Not yet, but he was about to.

  His calls to the DA and FBI had been equally unproductive. The DA’s Office noted that Brandon was already in administrative segregation and that the jail had restricted the activities of all known Los Reyes members. That’s all they would ever do in the absence of a very specific threat made by one prisoner against another. Cole Jones and Billy Chen of the FBI were even less helpful—they only wanted to ask questions about Lan Long and how Nate knew what they were saying in China.

  And now Nate was in court, getting ready to argue a motion that would keep Brandon in jail—and close to Los Reyes—for longer. Nate didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice. Trial was only two weeks away, and he wasn’t at all sure that he would be ready without more time.

  “People v. Ames,” the clerk called.

  Nate and the assistant DA, Jason Brown, walked to the front of the courtroom and stood on either side of the lectern.

  “We’re here on the defendant’s motion for a continuance of the trial date,” Judge Whittaker said, his voice trembling slightly with age. “Do the People oppose the continuance?” he asked, looking at the assistant DA.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “All right, the motion is granted. The trial date of September six is vacated.” He looked at the calendar. “The next free trial date I have is July sixteen.”

  “That works for the People,” Brown said.

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but it doesn’t work for the defense,” Nate said. “That would require my client to stay in jail for over ten additional months.”

  The judge’s thin lips twisted in irritation. “Then you will have to go to trial in two weeks, Counsel.”

  “Would it be possible to move the trial date even slightly?” Nate asked. “Perhaps by two weeks?”

  “I have another trial two weeks after this one,” the assistant DA interjected.

  “As do I,” said the judge. “Then I have another trial two weeks after that. The next opening long enough to accommodate this case is July sixteen. Do you want it or not?”

  Nate was undecided for a moment. Could he be ready for trial by September 6? That would take a lot of work, but it was probably possible. Barely. On the other hand, could he leave Brandon in jail for ten more months? What if something happened to him? How could Nate face Jessica? Or himself?

  “Thank you, Your Honor, but we will keep the September six trial date in that event.”

  CHAPTER 78

  Jessica had never been to Nate’s apartment before. It was a compact, neat two-bedroom place three blocks from his Financial District office. Aside from the prime location, it was a fairly ordinary apartment, except that it had a million-dollar view—quite literally, she suspected. She shuddered to think what the rent was. Compared to the cost of this place, the expense of the round-the-clock security guards in the next room must be almost nothing.

  They sat at his kitchen table, eating shrimp biryani takeout from an Indian restaurant two buildings down. The food was good, but there were too many butterflies in Jessica’s stomach for her to really enjoy it.

  This was the first time the two of them had been alone together since Nate told her about him and Jade. It was uncomfortable, of course, but at least it gave them a chance to clear the air a little. Nate kept to safe small talk while they ate, so Jessica decided to take the initiative while they cleared the table and cleaned up.

  “Nate, I want you to know that I don’t judge you for what happened between you and Jade. I was surprised—and I’m still processing it, to be honest. But I know what it feels like to be lonely after your spouse dies. I still respect you and care about you.”

  He put down the dishes he had been carrying. “Thank you, Jess.
That means a great deal to me. It was hard to tell you about it. It’s not a subject that I like to talk or even think about.”

  “I understand. We don’t need to talk about it. It’s just that we’re going to be working together in this room a lot over the next few weeks, and I thought it would be a good idea to get the elephant out of it first.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “Excellent idea,” he said as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then he picked up a notepad, and his demeanor was all business. “Speaking of work, we’ve got about two months of work to do in just under two weeks,” Nate said. “I’ve got more on my plate than I could get through even if I never slept, so I’m going to need to hand off a fair amount to you, including some things that are really lawyer’s work.”

  “What about that new public defender we were supposed to get?” Jessica asked.

  “Oh, we got him. His name is Eric Jameson, and he seems like a smart lawyer. Unfortunately, he’s got a trial starting tomorrow. And not even the promise of good food and your company could drag him away from the office.”

  “But what about Brandon’s case? Isn’t that important too?”

  “Yes, but it’s going to be at least a week before Eric has time for anything more than a five-minute phone call here or there. He thinks he’ll be available for the final push in the last few days before trial, but not until then. And we’ve got a lot to do in the meantime.”

  She sighed, feeling annoyed and tired. “What, exactly?”

  “Let’s see. I’ll need to hire and prepare a couple of new experts. We can’t put Kevin on the stand, of course. The jury would probably like him, but it would be very easy for the DA to tie him in knots on cross-examination. I’d also like to get a new DNA expert. The guy Sofia lined up is okay, but he wasn’t as decisive as I’d like. He also didn’t really make the subject simple and clear.”

  Jessica arched an eyebrow. “Is DNA science simple and clear?”

  “No. But we need to make it that way for the jury. We need someone who can explain it in a way that is crystal clear to an immigrant who has difficulty with English or a partially deaf retired poet who has been smoking pot daily for fifty years. But our expert also needs to be precise enough to satisfy a scientist for a bioengineering company.”

  “We’ll have all of those people on our jury?”

  He nodded. “Or people like them. Welcome to legal practice in San Francisco.”

  “You’re going to have your work cut out for you,” she observed.

  “That I will. And in addition to finding experts, I’ll need to draft in limines and respond to the DA’s in limines.”

  “In limiwhats?”

  “Sorry—in limine motions. They’re special motions that lawyers file immediately before trial to keep out certain evidence. For example, I’ll file an in limine to keep the DA from making any reference to the fights between Brandon and Los Reyes. In particular, I want to keep out the video of Brandon covered in blood, yelling at gangsters, and holding a homemade knife. That has no bearing on the case, but it could easily convince the jury that he’s a violent young man who is capable of killing.”

  “I can see why that would take up all your time between now and the trial,” she said.

  “I hope it doesn’t. Sofia had the case in pretty good shape, but the last weeks before trial are always busy. Losing her at an absolutely critical point makes it ten times worse. I have to learn all the little details of the case that she had been handling, plus I’ll need to write my opening statement, hammer out a set of jury instructions with the DA’s Office, and a dozen other things.”

  Unease clenched the muscles in her stomach. “Wow. Are you sure you’ll be able to get all of that done between now and September sixth?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He smiled and pointed to a large, complicated coffeemaker on his counter. “I have an espresso machine and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “I’ll need someone to take over the work Sofia was doing. I would very much like to put on the stand someone who could talk about Lan Long and human trafficking. We need to tell the jury a story, not just present them with a pile of scientific facts.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense. What do you want me to do?”

  “Well, the only witnesses we’ve been able to find who can tell that story have come through Jade. I’d be grateful if you would contact her and ask if she could help us find someone—preferably a Lan Long trafficking victim—who would be willing to testify.”

  She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I don’t know, Nate. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “No, but I don’t have a better one.” He bit his lower lip for a moment, then looked her in the eye. “Look, Jess, I know this will be uncomfortable for you, and I’m truly sorry. That’s entirely my fault. If you’d rather I made the call, that’s fine.”

  “That’s not it at all, Nate.” Which wasn’t entirely true. “I’m just worried that she might set us up. How do we know she’s not working for Lan Long?”

  “We don’t,” he admitted. “But if she had wanted to set a trap for us, she had other opportunities—that first interview, for example. She picked the location, and you and Sofia didn’t have a bodyguard.”

  “But some guys saw her let us in,” Jessica countered. “So there would have been witnesses if she killed us. And isn’t it suspicious that she wasn’t there when we were attacked? It’s like she knew what was going to happen.”

  “I thought she wasn’t there because you didn’t need a translator,” Nate said.

  “That’s true,” Jessica conceded. “But why was she translating for us in the first place? Why has she been doing any of this? Somehow I don’t think it’s out of the goodness of her heart.” An ugly thought occurred to her. “Is there anything I should know about the two of you, Nate? Anything, um, current?”

  There was an immediate flash of indignation in his face, but it was quickly replaced by regret. “No, there isn’t, but I can’t say I blame you for asking.” He rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what’s motivating her, to be honest. I’d feel better if I did. My best guess is that she’s working for someone who doesn’t like Lan Long and knows I was her customer years ago and thinks that will give her influence over me. One of Lan Long’s competitors, perhaps.” He shrugged. “But that’s just a guess. I wish we didn’t have to trust her, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

  Jessica felt tired. But she knew he was basically right. A sympathetic witness would undoubtedly help Brandon, and their only hope of finding one quickly was to go through Jade. “Me too. I guess we don’t have a choice, though. I’ll give her a call, and I’ll be very careful if she does find someone for us.”

  CHAPTER 79

  The riot started at just after three o’clock on August 29.

  It was a bright, hot day, and the dry air shimmered as Brandon walked down the Alley—the name the prisoners gave to the long, narrow walkway that led from the ad-seg pods to the administration building that held the visitation rooms.

  Fortresslike cement buildings lined the Alley, a cement sidewalk flanked by two thin strips of what might once have been grass, but which was now baked dirt with a scattering of yellow weeds. The Alley appeared to have been designed with security in mind—no more than twenty or thirty prisoners could fit in it, and it turned right just before it reached the admin building, making it impossible to build up a head of steam before ramming into the admin-building door. But that also meant it could be a death trap for anyone caught in it.

  Brandon was on his way to see Father Vicente when it happened. Two guards flanked him, the one on his right walking slightly behind and the one on his left slightly ahead. They were in the middle of the Alley, passing between the B and D buildings, when the guards’ radios squawked, “Ten thirty-four! Ten thirty-four! B and D!”

  The two guards exchanged a wide-eyed look and broke into a run. Brandon stood
bewildered for a few seconds, then warily jogged after them. He had no idea what was going on, but if the guards were scared, maybe he should be too. He heard a door open and shut in the direction of the admin building.

  When he reached the end of the Alley, he found the door to the admin building closed and locked. That wasn’t a surprise—but the absence of any guards was. Adrenaline poured into his blood, and fear tensed every muscle in his body. Sweat trickled down his spine.

  Doors opened behind him, and he heard shouting in Spanish. He turned, went back to the corner, and looked around it. The doors to the B and D buildings were open, and prisoners were pouring out. Both buildings housed significant Los Reyes populations. One of the men spotted him and shouted, “¡Aquí está!”

  Brandon retreated to the admin-building door and pounded on it. It didn’t open. He pulled at the handle, but it was locked.

  He heard steps behind him and whirled, automatically backing into a corner and dropping into a fighting stance. Two inmates ran into view. One carried a shiv and the other had a leg torn from one of the plastic chairs in the pod common areas.

  The space by the door was too cramped to swing a club, so the chair leg wouldn’t be an effective weapon. Plus, it didn’t appear heavy enough to do much damage. The shiv looked much more lethal. It was a long piece of metal filed to a nasty point.

  Brandon launched himself at the man with the shiv, catching him in the right side and driving him into the other inmate. The man tried to bring the shiv into position to stab Brandon, but his arm was trapped. His companion stumbled and flailed with the chair leg, landing only weak and glancing blows. Brandon ignored him and punched the shiv wielder in the jaw, but didn’t have the leverage to put much power behind the blow. Still, it knocked the man’s head against the cement of the sidewalk, dazing him for the seconds it took for Brandon to kneel on his wrist and pry the shiv from his hand.