Zac held the office door for Clay Warren, who leaned heavily on a cane as he came through the entrance.
Parisi stood as Yuki made the introductions, and Clay stretched out his left hand and said, “Thanks for seeing me, sir.”
“Hello, Mr. Warren. Have a seat.”
The teen was in obvious pain. Zac knew he had bandages wrapping his torso under his orange jumpsuit. He looked for and found a chair with arms, close enough to Parisi’s desk.
Zac stood and took a stance he might have used to examine a witness in court.
He said, “Clay, why are you now willing to discuss your relationship with Antoine Castro?”
“Because he’s dead, Mr. Jordan. He can’t personally hurt me, but I don’t feel exactly safe.”
“Explain what you mean.”
“He’s a gangsta, Mr. Jordan. I did nothing to Antoine, but snitches don’t live to sing. I didn’t say anything, and his crew just about destroyed my whatchacallits…organs. My stomach is punched through in about four places.”
“Why did you try to hang yourself, Clay?”
“I was afraid I was going to get killed. And I thought if I offed myself, they wouldn’t hurt my mother. My little sister is only twelve. Jesus. I can’t stand to think about those animals getting to her.”
Tears were falling now.
Yuki walked to the credenza behind Parisi’s desk and brought a box of tissues over to Clay. He took a handful and held them to one eye and then the other. His hands shook.
Zac waited for Clay to pull himself together and then said, “Can you tell Mr. Parisi how you came to be involved with Antoine Castro?”
He nodded. “I was his gofer, sir. He gave me money to get him things. Go buy him a box of Ding Dongs at the gas station. Wash his car. That’s how it started about a year ago. He’d call and tell me, do this, do that, then he’d give me money, and we needed it. I have a part-time job. Mom makes almost nothing.” He sighed and said, “I didn’t like Mr. Antoine, but he said he was watching out for me.”
Zac said, “Tell Mr. Parisi about the day Officer Morton was killed.”
Clay Warren said, “He, Mr. Antoine, needed me to make some deliveries with him.”
“Deliveries of what?” Zac asked.
“Drugs. I didn’t know what kind. They were in a suitcase. I put that into the trunk for him.”
“You knew he was a drug dealer.”
“Everyone did.”
“Go on,” Zac said.
“So he hands me the car keys and tells me, ‘First stop, South San Francisco.’ He says he’ll tell me which way to go. I said okay. I like to drive. And the car handles good. So I’m driving, and this part is all my fault,” said Clay Warren. “The light is yellow, but it turns red. No one is coming, so I gun it.
“Mr. Antoine’s laughing. Like, Good job, boy. Now there are cops following me. And the rest is a blur. Somehow I got locked into traffic. Then the cop car makes us crash. The cop comes over and I don’t have a driver’s license. I don’t have registration. Next thing I know, Mr. Antoine is over on my side of the car and he shoots the cop and steals a car.
“He’s gone, and I get arrested for everything.”
Yuki asked, “Did you know that Antoine had a gun?”
“I didn’t see it, but sure. I knew he had a gun.”
“You say you knew he sold drugs. How about the car?”
“It wasn’t his. But he didn’t tell me it was stolen.”
Parisi said, “Mr. Warren, so you knew a lot, but not everything. Here’s what I need to know now. Do you know where Castro got the drugs?”
“Yes, sir. I know his special source.”
“Do you know the names of his customers?”
“Sure. I’ve driven him before.”
“And do you know the names of his crew? People who are also participating in Mr. Castro’s criminal enterprise?”
There was a long silence as Clay more or less shut down. Yuki saw the same expression on his face that she had seen when he’d stopped talking to Zac and to her, when she’d been looking at a slam-dunk conviction for felony murder.
His expression was flat. He didn’t make eye contact.
No one was home.