YUKI SAT BESIDE the immense form of Len Parisi as Junie Moon’s sleazebag pimp-boyfriend, Ricardo “Ricky” Malcolm, was sworn in.

  Yuki was fully aware that Davis had hired a bounty hunter to drag Ricky Malcolm over the Mexican border for his court appearance, and as Malcolm swore to tell the whole truth, she wondered if Davis really thought this punked-out, tattooed, and homely creep could persuade the jury of anything. Davis’s voice was confident as she asked Malcolm her preliminary questions, getting out ahead of the prosecution by getting Malcolm to say he’d served time for drug possession.

  Then Davis started her direct examination in earnest.

  “What’s your relationship to Ms. Moon?”

  “I was her boyfriend.”

  “No longer?”

  “We’re separated,” Malcolm said drily. “I’m in Tijuana and she’s in jail.”

  Titters arose in little pockets around the gallery.

  “How long have you known Ms. Moon?” Davis asked.

  “Gotta be three years.”

  “And did there come a time last January twenty-first when Ms. Moon called you at around eleven thirty at night and asked you to come to her house because one of her clients was having a heart attack?”

  “No.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re saying Junie didn’t call to tell you she needed help with Michael Campion?”

  “No, ma’am. No, she did not.”

  “Did the police question you about the dismemberment and disposal of Michael Campion’s body?”

  “Yep. I told them I didn’t do it.”

  “Were you telling the truth?”

  Malcolm started to laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I told them the truth. I never dismembered anybody. I can’t stand the sight of blood. I eat steak well-done. It was one of the wackiest things I ever heard.”

  “I agree,” Davis said. “Pretty wacky.”

  Yuki jumped to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Ms. Davis’s opinions are totall............