YUKI WISHED ALL of her witnesses were as good as Rich Conklin. He was solid. He was believable. Made you think of a young military officer, a mother’s good son. It didn’t hurt that he was also good to look at. In answer to her questions, Conklin affably told the jury that he’d been with the SFPD for five years and that he’d been in the homicide division for the last two.

  “Did you interview the defendant on the night of April nineteenth?” Yuki asked Conklin.

  “Sergeant Boxer and I talked with Ms. Moon together.”

  “Did you have any preconceived notions about her guilt or innocence before you talked to her?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Did you read Ms. Moon her Miranda rights?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “As I understand it, Ms. Moon wasn’t in custody when you Mirandized her, so why did you warn her that anything she said could be used against her?”

  “It was a gamble,” Conklin told Yuki.

  “When you say it was a gamble, could you explain what you mean to the jury?”

  Conklin brushed his forelock of brown hair away from his eyes. “Sure. Suppose I say to a suspect, ‘I want to interview you. Can you come down to the station?’

  “And the suspect comes in of his or her own volition. That person doesn’t have to answer our questions and can leave at any time. I don’t have to Mirandize that person when we sit down to talk because they&rsq............