“Oh, right, right,” Rittenberger said. “Yeah, there was blood everywhere, man. Just everywhere.”
“Where, Josh?” Chen asked. If they knew where the murder had actually taken place, they could find that judge and get that warrant. There would be trace amounts of Derrick’s blood there still. It was next to impossible to completely clean up a murder scene. That would require a lot of planning beforehand, and an amazing attention to detail afterward. There was no way a couple of drug addicts like Josh Rittenberger could have pulled that off.
“We were at Burner’s place, man. He lets us crash there sometimes when we’re tripping.”
“Who would crash there?”
“Everybody, man. Me. Lindsey. Derrick. Whoever.”
‘Lindsey’ was likely the woman who was screaming at him in the lobby, Brunelle figured. Hopefully, Rittenberger was too high to remember what she’d been screaming, but his face had that same gears-turning expression as earlier. Chen didn’t have much time left.
“Why, Josh?” he pressed. “Why did Burner shoot Derrick?”
Rittenberger’s face clenched up in concentration. Those dinner-plate eyes narrowed to fat slits. Then they flew wide again. “Derrick was a snitch, man! Holy shit. Derrick was a snitch. He was working with the cops.” Then clarity really set in for Josh Rittenberger. “Oh, shit. I just talked to the cops too. Oh, fuck, I just snitched out Burner. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit!”
Rittenberger lurched to his feet. Chen and Jackson sprang to theirs. “Calm down, Josh,” Chen said, placing a hand on Rittenberger’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”
But Rittenberger shook himself away from the detective’s grasp. “No, man, it’s not. Oh, shit. Burner’s gonna kill me. Just like Derrick.” Then he grabbed his hair, and those eyes darted all around. “Oh, shit! I just did it again. I just snitched again. Oh, shit. Fuck. Shit.”
“Josh,” Jackson tried, but Rittenberger would have none of it.
“No way, man! I ain’t saying shit more, man. We’re done. We’re done, man. I want a lawyer, or whatever. I don’t wanna answer any more questions. I’m done, man. I’m done.”
He stopped bouncing around the room and dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, shit,” he murmured. “I’m so fucking done.”
Brunelle could hardly disagree. Hernandez wasn’t going to be happy once he found out Rittenberger had implicated him. It seemed unlikely that Hernandez would give him a pass because of the whole high-as-shit thing. But that was Rittenberger’s problem. Mostly. They finally had confirmation Burner was guilty of the murder. But they were going to need to keep Rittenberger alive until the trial.
“Book him for rendering criminal assistance first degree,” Chen told the patrol officer who had just returned with Rittenberger’s new, not blood stained coat. “You can put the coat in his personal property, for whenever he gets out again.”
The officer nodded and took Rittenberger out by the arm. Rittenberger didn’t resist. He was too relieved the interview was over.
Brunelle exited the observation room and joined Chen in the hallway. Jackson was a few steps away, talking with another patrol guy. “That was helpful,” Brunelle remarked.
Chen shrugged. “It was a good start. We know who, where, and why. When isn’t hard to figure out either. But he’s scared to death of Hernandez, like all of them.”
“Rational, I suppose,” Brunelle said. “They saw him kill Shanborn for being a snitch.”
Chen frowned but nodded. “Well, maybe the girl will talk now that she’s had time to calm down.”
But Jackson nixed that idea. “That’s a no go. She tried to kill herself in the bathroom. Smashed her head against the toilet bowl.”
Brunelle shook his head. “That’s never going to work.”
Jackson shrugged. “No one said she was smart. But she was injured. They took her to the jail infirmary.”
“Fuck,” Chen sighed. “I don’t think we can even book her. Rittenberger said there was a Lindsey present, but he didn’t say she helped.” He frowned and looked to Brunelle. “What do you think, Dave? We got enough to prosecute anyone?”
Brunelle frowned as well and considered. “We have the intoxicated ramblings of a drug addict who will likely refuse to testify against anyone.” He shook his head. “No. We don’t have enough. We have enough to know Hernandez did it, but not enough to hold him responsible.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, Chen came to Brunelle’s office, to discuss successes, failures, and strategy.
“Did you pick anybody else up after I left?” Brunelle asked. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer. If they’d had success there, they would have called him. Silence equals failure.
“No,” Chen confirmed with a shake of his head. “We shook down some more dopers, but nobody had any info. Nothing of value anyway. Word spreads fast. They knew we had Hernandez, and of course everyone knew what happened to Shanborn.”
“Of course,” Brunelle agreed. “That was the point.”
“So now what?” Chen asked. “Are you going to charge Hernandez based just on Rittenberger’s statement?”
Brunelle offered a lopsided frown. “I’m inclined not to. Hernandez got booked yesterday. That means he’s going in front of a judge at one-thirty today. I’ve got three choices: charge him based on Rittenberger’s drug-addled allegations, don’t charge him and he walks out of custody, or ask the judge to hold him for forty-eight more hours to give us a chance to get more evidence. I don’t think we win a trial based on Josh Rittenberger alone, but it would probably be enough, barely, to establish probable cause for murder so the judge would hold him. “
“So why not just do that?” Chen asked. “That’d give us more time to try to find another witness.”
But Brunelle didn’t like the idea. “I’m not supposed to ask a judge to hold someone short of actual charges unless I really think there’s additional evidence coming in, and right away. Like some forensic testing that takes an extra day or two before we get the results. Not just more time for a fishing expedition, hoping we find someone who knows something.”
“I could make another run at Lindsey Fuller,” Chen suggested. “She was too doped up on painkillers last night to talk to. She’s probably got a hell of a headache this morning but I bet she’s conscious. That’s not a fishing expedition. Rittenberger said she was there.”
Brunelle wasn’t so sure. “That’s still pretty fishing-y,” he started. Then his phone rang and he took a moment to read the caller ID. If it was Duncan, he’d interrupt the meeting to take the call. He’d always interrupt a meeting for his boss. He probably would’ve answered if it were Jackson as well, since a call from him would probably mean more info on the case. But it wasn’t a number he recognized. He let it go to voicemail.
“She was pretty clear,” Brunelle returned his attention to Chen, “that she doesn’t support cooperating with the authorities. I’m not sure I can represent to the judge that I expect that to lead anywhere.”
“We’re getting that search warrant today,” Chen tried again. “What if we find something at Hernandez’s house that ties him to the murder?”
“That’s not bad,” Brunelle admitted. “Murder victim blood in your house is pretty good evidence you were involved. But I won’t have it by one-thirty.”
The phone rang again. Brunelle checked the caller ID. It was the same number as before. He let it go to voicemail again.
“I hate just letting Hernandez walk,” Brunelle said, “but there’s another consideration. As soon as I charge him, he has a right to read all the police reports, everything we have against him. If this investigation is going to take a while, which it looks like it is, giving him copies of everything done to date could compromise the investigation. If I don’t charge him, well, then he doesn’t have any right to see the reports. He’s just a suspect, not a charged criminal defendant with constitutional trial rights. And Rittenberger is safer if Hernandez doesn’t get his hands on th
at interview until Hernandez is charged, arraigned, and held on a million dollars bail.”
“He might be able to post a million,” Chen warned.
“Fine. Two million,” Brunelle replied. “Anyway, the point is, there are reasons to hold off charging, and I really don’t have enough evidence right now to justify charging him. Maybe you’ll turn up something in that search that we can use against Hernandez.”
“Yeah,” Chen agreed, “but they won’t be done processing that scene until late tonight. I told them to check for blood in every crack and crevice.”
“Yeah, tonight is too late,” Brunelle confirmed. “I need something that can be done in the next three hours.”
The phone rang a third time. It was the same number. Brunelle rolled his eyes and sighed. “Hold on, Larry. Whoever this is, they keep calling. Let me just make sure it’s not some kind of emergency. “
He grabbed the receiver impatiently. “Brunelle.”
“Mr. Brunelle, hello,” came a smooth male voice on the other end of the line. “It’s nice to speak with you again. This is William Harrison Welles. I’m a local criminal defense attorney. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but we had a case against each other some time ago—”
“Oh, I remember,” Brunelle interrupted. “I couldn’t forget that case. Or you, Mr. Welles.” Brunelle made a thumbs-down gesture to Chen, who nodded in agreement. “What can I do for you?” Brunelle asked his caller.
“Actually,” Welles replied, “I think it’s more a matter of what I can do for you.”
Brunelle rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for games. If he was going to charge Hernandez, he’d need to get busy on the paperwork. If not, he and Chen needed to come up with a game plan. “I don’t really have time for riddles, Mr. Welles. I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Brunelle,” Welles answered. “No doubt you’re examining your evidence and trying to decide whether you have sufficient probable cause to charge Elmer Hernandez with murder.”
Brunelle was stunned, but just for a moment. Then irritated. “What do you know about the Hernandez case?”
“It’s not what I know, Mr. Brunelle,” Welles oozed over the phone. “It’s what my client knows. And she knows a great deal. A great deal, Mr. Brunelle. Interested?”
Brunelle put his hand over the receiver. “He claims he has a client who has info on the murder,” he whispered.
“Is it Lindsey Fuller?” Chen whispered back.
“Is it Lindsey Fuller?” Brunelle asked Welles.
“Oh, no,” Welles chuckled. “It is definitely not Lindsey Fuller. Although my client knows her as well, and her role in all this. But no, Ms. Fuller is well known in the relevant community as being mentally unstable. My client, on the other hand, is intelligent and articulate, with a spotless record. I believe she could be of significant value to your prosecution.”
There was that saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. On the other hand, the Trojans got tricked by a gift horse. “Why would your client want to help my prosecution of her friends?”
“Careful, Mr. Brunelle. Don’t try to trick me. I’m not one of your public defenders there. I never said the people responsible for this were her friends.”
Yeah, there was no way Brunelle could forget this pompous ass. “The question stands. Why would she help me?”
“Simple self-interest,” Welles answered. “She is not without potential criminal liability in all this. She’d like to tell her version first, before someone else tells a less accurate version that implicates her unfairly.”
Brunelle nodded. “And let me guess, she wants full immunity, right?”
“Please, Mr. Brunelle. I’m no fool. And as I recall, neither are you. I don’t expect you to give her full immunity right out of the gate. You need to hear what she has to say. I can assure you that she has valuable information and she is willing to testify for the state when the matter goes to trial. But I know you can’t take my word for it. You need to hear it from her directly. Simply give her transactional immunity for the statement. Nothing in it can be used against her, so you can’t listen to her and then charge her. If I let that happen, I’m quite sure the bar association would, and should, revoke my license. If you find what she has to say valuable—and I believe you will—then we can discuss a mutually agreeable resolution for my client. If you don’t like it, you can walk away and my client doesn’t have to worry about being charged with a crime in exchange for her effort to do the right thing.”
Brunelle couldn’t help but laugh at that last bit. “The right thing? We’re talking about drug addicts and murderers, Mr. Welles. Throw in a couple of lawyers and a cop and we won’t get anywhere close to the right thing.”
Welles didn’t return the laugh. “Well, then, the right thing for my client. Are you interested in speaking with her?”
Brunelle looked for a cue from Chen. He’d heard enough of the conversation to get the general idea. He shrugged and nodded.
“Be at the Seattle P.D. main precinct in one hour,” Brunelle instructed. “Ask for Detective Larry Chen.”
“Ah, Detective Chen,” Welles replied. “This is turning into a regular reunion.”
“One hour,” Brunelle repeated. “See you then.”
He hung up the phone and sighed.
“We got another snitch?” Chen asked.
“Yes,” Brunelle answered. “But one smart enough to hire a lawyer before snitching.”
“Well, let’s hope she fares better than Derrick Shanborn.”
“Agreed,” Brunelle sneered. “If anyone else ends up bleeding in a ditch, let’s hope it’s William Harrison Welles.”
Chapter 8
“Welles is here,” Chen announced as he hung up the phone in the conference room where he and Brunelle had been waiting. It was considerably nicer than the interrogation room they’d used for the other interviews. There were still no windows, but there also wasn’t a two-way mirror or table full of Miranda rights advisement forms. That was for cops and criminals. Lawyers and clients needed a conference room. They could at least pretend to be civil. “I’ll go get him.”
Brunelle nodded in assent and waited while Chen fetched their guests. The clock on the wall said 10:30. He guessed the interview would take about an hour. Everything seemed to take about an hour. That would give him two hours to get the paperwork ready to charge Hernandez with the first degree murder of Derrick Shanborn. Assuming Welles’s client was as good as Welles had promised.
But Brunelle knew what happened when you assume...
Chen entered first, followed by Welles, then Welles’s client. Welles was the same well-suited, gray-pony-tailed attorney Brunelle remembered from when they’d last tangled. That is, typical Seattle attorney, nothing remarkable. His client’s appearance, however, was striking, and Brunelle couldn’t decide if it was in a good way.
She was tiny—maybe five feet tall, if she stood on her toes—and thin as a rail, with a black pixie haircut. She wore a red tank top and jeans, both hanging loosely from her bird-like frame. She looked like an eighth grader. A small, skinny eighth grader. The only thing that made her look old enough to be involved with a pack of murderous druggies were the tattoos completely covering her arms, chest and neck. Then again, Brunelle supposed that might be all the rage in middle school any more. The universe seemed to have no limit to its ways to make a man in his mid-40s feel old.
“Mr. Brunelle,” Welles presented his client. “This is Amanda Ashford.”
Brunelle extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Ashford stuck her hand in Brunelle’s. If it were possible for one hand to swallow another one, that’s what it would have felt like. Ashford avoided eye contact and pulled her tiny hand back quickly.
“Let’s get started then, shall we?” Welles said as he selected seats at the conference table for himself and his client. He opened his briefcase and took out a file. “I’ve prepared a written immunity agreement—”
&n
bsp; “Whoa, whoa,” Brunelle interrupted. “Slow down there. First of all, we’ll use my agreement. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. My agreement is fair. I don’t know what yours says and I don’t have time to read it looking for the ways you’re going to screw me over later.”
Welles grinned. “I’ve put all of those in section six,” he quipped. “But seriously, I’m familiar with your office’s standard agreement. I believe mine is superior in its draftsmanship and cogence, but I believe we can deign to sign yours.”
Brunelle pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have time to get sucked into a verbal joust with Welles. “Great. It’s the standard deal. Transactional immunity for this statement and this statement only. Anything she says can’t be used against her unless she testifies differently at trial. Sign at the bottom and let’s get started.”
Welles made another remark but Brunelle ignored him as he and Chen took their spots around the conference table. Chen placed a digital recorder in the middle of them all and the interview began.
“This is Detective Larry Chen of the Seattle Police Department. I’m present with Assistant D.A. David Brunelle of the King County Prosecutor’s Office, Amanda Ashford, and Ms. Ashford’s attorney, William Harrison Welles. Ms. Ashford, why don’t you just tell us what you know about the death of Derrick Shanborn? Then we can go back over any details we have questions about.”
Ashford looked to Welles. He nodded. “Go ahead, Amanda.”
She turned back and lowered her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Okay, I didn’t actually see him get shot, but—”
“Wait. What?” Brunelle interrupted. “You didn’t see the murder?” He turned to Welles. “Why are you wasting our time?”
But Welles raised a calm hand. “Patience, Mr. Brunelle. We are not wasting anyone’s time. Least of all our own. I too have other cases and clients to attend to. I wouldn’t have contacted you if I wasn’t both aware of your time constraints and certain of the value of the information Ms. Ashford can provide you.”
Accomplice Liability Page 4
