Accomplice Liability

by Stephen Penner

  Brunelle took a moment to gather himself. “Look, this is pointless. We can argue that shit to the jury. I’m trying to avoid having to do that. Do you really want to put your client’s fate in the hands of twelve people too stupid to get out of jury duty? I don’t want to go forward on Wilkins’ story either. And Fuller won’t help, apparently. Amanda Ashford says she wasn’t there and Josh Rittenberger was too high to remember his name, let alone who shot Derrick Shanborn. That leaves your gal.”

  Robyn paused. “I know.”

  “I need her,” Brunelle pressed.

  “I know that too. I’ve known that since I read the first police reports. Wilkins actually makes you need her more.”

  “So make a proffer,” Brunelle practically begged. “Tell me what happened. What really happened.”

  Robyn thought for a few seconds. Brunelle could hear her clicking her tongue. “If she does testify, what’s the offer? Rendering criminal assistance? Credit for time served?”

  But Brunelle shook his head. “No offer until after the proffer. I need to hear what she has to say.”

  “That’s not gonna work,” Robyn replied. “I need to go to her with some reason to do it, not just a kiss and a promise.”

  Brunelle was reminded of some of his own previous kisses and promises. “I’m sorry, Robyn. That’s not how I do these. I always get the information first, then formulate an offer. I need to judge her credibility, see how she comes across, see if she’s really going to be helpful. That’s my standard operating procedure.”

  “Come on, Dave. This is me you’re talking to,” Robyn lowered her voice a half-notch. “I know you can do stuff you don’t normally do. And I know you can like it.”

  Brunelle could feel his cheeks burn. He was suddenly very glad he had called her and not stopped by her office. “Look, Robyn…” he started.

  “No, you look, Dave,” Robyn interrupted, her voice suddenly strict. Brunelle felt the blush deepen. “Samantha has no criminal history. You cut her a rendering criminal assistance and a first time offender waiver and she’s out by the weekend. You do that, and she’ll talk to you. I guarantee it. But if not, well, you can stop calling.”

  Brunelle was taken aback. “I didn’t know you’d become such a hard ass since leaving the public defender.”

  Robyn offered that smoky giggle of hers. “We both know my ass is neither hard nor soft. It’s just right. The only question is: are you man enough to do anything about it?”

  Brunelle had no reply ready.

  “Think about it,” Robyn said, not clarifying if she meant her proposal or her ass. “Call me if you change your mind.”

  Robyn hung up and Brunelle was left with the receiver in his hands and his gaze on the city, completely not seeing it in favor of the images rolling past his mind’s eye.

  After several moments he recovered himself and hung up the phone again. He returned to the window and focused on the peekaboo glimpse of Elliot Bay as he considered how to proceed.

  His phone rang. He turned and wondered if it was Robyn calling him back with a new proposal. He almost hoped not. Almost. He was of a mind to accept whatever proposal she might make.

  But it wasn’t Robyn Dunn. It was Barbara Rainaldi.

  “Mr. Brunelle,” she got right to the point. “Josh Rittenberger is ready to talk.”

  Chapter 21

  Brunelle and Carlisle walked over to the King County Jail together. The sun was out and it was only a few blocks away from their offices. Brunelle wasn’t always the most social person—he could get caught up in his work or whatever else was occupying his thoughts—but he found he liked spending time with Gwen Carlisle. It was like he was still alone with his thoughts, but had a friend there too. It was almost like having a girlfriend, but without having all that extra girlfriend stuff.

  “Dave,” she said as they waited for a traffic signal to change, “we need to talk.”

  Or not.

  “Uh,” he replied slowly, “okay.”

  Which was what he usually said to his girlfriends when they started a conversation that way.

  “I just wanted to say,” Carlisle started, “that I’ve noticed you’ve been making some decisions and doing some things on the case without always checking in with me. And I wanted you to know I’m okay with that. You’re lead, and I get that. That’s all.”

  Brunelle nodded. That was way better than what usually followed a ‘we need to talk.’

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “If I’m doing stuff without consulting you, it’s just that I’m not always used to working with another prosecutor. But I’m not lead. We’re partners. Equals.”

  “Eh…” Carlisle responded as the light changed and they started across the street. “I’m not so sure about that. If you talk to lawyers or set up proffers without checking with me, that’s cool. But if I did it without checking with you, not cool.”

  Brunelle wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. But he could show her some retroactive respect. “Do you think we shouldn’t talk to Rittenberger?”

  But Carlisle shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Of course we should talk to him. If he’s willing to tell us more, then great. But if it’s good, maybe let’s you and I meet to discuss it before we extend any solid offers to Rainaldi.”

  Brunelle smiled. She knew him pretty well already. “Okay. Deal.”

  Carlisle smiled. “And bring me along sometimes. I’d love to see Lannigan’s or Robyn’s offices.”

  “I didn’t go to Robyn’s office,” Brunelle pointed out as they reached the entrance to the jail, located in the middle of downtown Seattle, just up James Street from the courthouse—and the tourists on the waterfront.

  “Plenty of time for that, I’m sure,” Carlisle replied with an enigmatic grin. “But come on, let’s go see what Mr. Rittenberger claims to remember now.”

  Chen and Jackson were already waiting in one of the conference rooms on the lower level. They’d pulled Rittenberger from his cell. Rainaldi was there already too. Brunelle and Carlisle took their seats around the table and they were ready to begin.

  Rainaldi started things off with an apology. “Sorry it took so long to get this set up.” She rested a hand on her client’s shoulder. “Josh got pretty dope sick when he was booked in. It took a while until he was well enough to talk with me about options.”

  Brunelle nodded. “Heroin withdrawal is a bitch,” he agreed. “Are you feeling well enough to proceed today?” he asked Rittenberger directly. Generally speaking, a prosecutor couldn’t talk directly to a represented defendant. But this was different. Rainaldi was there, and the whole point of the meeting was for Rittenberger to talk to them. Plus, it was an ice-breaker; it communicated to Rittenberger that Brunelle cared about him, at least a little bit. That might help Rittenberger feel more at ease about opening up to a room full of prosecutors and cops.

  But Rittenberger’s nerves weren’t going to be soothed quite so easily. He was sober enough to talk to them. That meant he was also sober enough to know who he was about to throw under the bus. And what happened to the last guy to do that. “I, I think so,” he answered. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”

  He looked like shit. Deep, dark bags still under his eyes and messy long hair. Plus his skin looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in years, which it probably hadn’t. If he still looked like that at trial, the jury would believe he was a drug addict at least. As for the rest of the story, well, it depended on what the story was.

  “Let’s get started then,” Chen interjected. It was his show, after all. Brunelle (and Carlisle, he reminded himself) needed to be present to judge Rittenberger’s credibility, but Chen (and Jackson, Brunelle supposed) were the expert interrogators. “Tell us what happened.”

  Brunelle smiled to himself. Quite the expert question. But it had a purpose: to get Rittenberger to start thinking about where he was then, and forget about where he was now.

  Rittenberger took a deep breath. “Okay. I was pretty high. I’d been on a bender, s
o the days kind of blur together. I was always high back then. I had a maintenance level. If I didn’t keep it up, well, I’d get sick, real sick, like I did in here.”

  “Sure,” Chen encouraged.

  “I knew Derrick,” Rittenberger went on. “He was a good guy. I mean, good enough, you know? I mean, he could be kind of irritating sometimes. He was always mooching. Food, money, drugs, whatever. You had to watch your stuff around him. I’m pretty sure he stole some of my stuff to trade for drugs. So yeah, that kind of sucked, but, you know, overall, he was a good enough guy.”

  “Did you know he was working as an informant?” Jackson asked.

  Rittenberger shook his head, a little more than might be normal. “No way, man. Like I said, Derrick was a hardcore druggie, always stealing your shit and never paying you back. I never would have thought the cops—I mean, you guys—I never thought you guys would trust a guy like that to be an informant.”

  Brunelle nodded to himself. Good point. But then again, Rittenberger didn’t know Jackson had coached Shanborn’s little league team.

  “So what happened that day?” Chen tried to get Rittenberger back on track.

  Rittenberger thought for a moment, frowning. “I don’t really remember Derrick coming over. I was pretty out of it. I was a little low on my maintenance level, so I took a bigger dose than normal. Burner and Sammy let me crash there sometimes when I tripped, so I was just crashed out on a mattress in the living room.”

  “And the living room is connected to the kitchen?” Chen confirmed.

  “Yeah, it’s all one big open room, except for the bedrooms in the back. And the bathroom. But I was out front, in my own little world.”

  “Then what happened?” Chen followed up.

  “I heard some yelling,” Rittenberger answered, frowning at the effort of remembering. “I looked up and I saw Burner yelling at Derrick. He was like pushing him back toward the wall and was right in his face, yelling something.”

  “What was he yelling?” Jackson asked.

  Brunelle looked to see if Chen was getting irritated by Jackson interrupting with his own questions, but it didn’t appear so. They had probably coordinated the good cop/bad cop thing before everyone else had arrived.

  Rittenberger shook his head. “I don’t really remember, man.” He looked to Rainaldi and shrugged. “Sorry. But like I said, I was pretty out of it. I noticed how loud he was, and how angry he was, but his exact words? Yeah, I don’t remember. But he was pissed. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him that angry, and I’ve definitely seen him angry before.”

  “Was anyone else there?” Chen asked. It was his turn, apparently.

  Rittenberger thought for a moment then nodded. “Oh yeah. But I’m not exactly sure who.”

  “Nate Wilkins?” Chen asked. So maybe he wasn’t just trading off every other question with Jackson.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Rittenberger answered. “Yeah.”

  Jackson’s turn. “Samantha Keller?”

  Rittenberger thought for a moment. “Probably. Sammy was always there. Yeah, she was the one who let me crash there. So yeah. Unless she left.”

  Brunelle stifled an eye roll. He wasn’t having any trouble believing Rittenberger so far, but he wasn’t sure how helpful the proffer was going to be after all. All the guessing was unlikely to survive a speculation objection at trial.

  “What about Amanda Ashford?” Chen’s turn.

  “Ya know,” Rittenberger shrugged, “I didn’t really know her that well. She was kind of a bitch to me. Like stuck up, you know. Everybody knew she was fucking Burner.” Rittenberger looked around at the rest of the room, “I mean, she was his girlfriend, or whatever. So she kind of strutted around like she was important or something.”

  “So was she there?” Chen pressed.

  Rittenberger thought again, then blew out a breath of air. “Fuck, I don’t know, man. It seemed like she was always around. Sammy didn’t like her, but she kind of liked that too, I think. So yeah. Sure, she was there.”

  Brunelle felt the need to interrupt. “Look, Josh,” he said. “I don’t want you guessing, okay? If you remember someone was there or something happened, fine. But guessing doesn’t help anyone. You won’t be allowed to guess in court, and if you guess wrong now, the other attorneys will use that against you.”

  Chen frowned at Brunelle. Whatever success the detective had had in getting the witness to think about the event, the prosecutor had just undone by reminding the witness that he was going to have to go into open court and testify against a murderous drug dealer. Rittenberger’s body language said it all: he crossed his arms and retreated backward into his chair, eyes staring at the floor.

  “What about Lindsey?” Chen tried to coax the heroin-addicted turtle back out of his shell.

  “Lindsey?” Rittenberger replied without looking up.

  “Lindsey Fuller,” Chen confirmed. “Was she there?”

  Rittenberger shook his downcast head. “Uh, no. Lindsey wasn’t there.”

  Chen shot another glance at Brunelle. Jackson’s expression echoed Chen’s. Brunelle decided not to turn to see what Carlisle’s looked like.

  “Look, Josh,” Chen tried to soothe him. “I know Lindsey’s your girlfriend, but you can’t protect her. You can’t lie to protect her. That won’t help anyone. If you lie, we can’t help you, and if we can’t help you, you can’t help Lindsey.”

  Rittenberger didn’t reply. He just stared at the floor. After a moment, Rainaldi put her hand back on Rittenberger’s shoulder and held up a finger to the others. “Give us a minute, okay?’

  Brunelle was quick to agree and a few moments later, Rainaldi and her client were huddled at one end of the room, with Brunelle, Carlisle, Chen, and Jackson at the other.

  “You,” Chen pointed at Brunelle’s chest, “need to shut up. Tim and I have this.”

  Brunelle raised his hands in surrender. “Right. Got it. Sorry. But if he’d just gone on like Fuller wasn’t there, his proffer would’ve been worthless.”

  “I know that,” Chen replied.

  Brunelle nodded. “And you would have brought him around.”

  “Yes, I would have,” Chen answered. “And without this attorney-client intermission. If he lawyers up again, we have nothing to show for today’s little field trip.”

  Before Brunelle could offer up any more contrition, Rainaldi called out, “Okay. I think we’re ready to go again.”

  Once they were all seated again, Rainaldi confirmed they were able to go forward. “I spoke with Josh. He understands that Nate Wilkins claims Lindsey shot Derrick. He wants you to know the truth and he knows the best way to help Lindsey is to tell you the truth about what happened.”

  Brunelle let out a sigh of relief. It was one thing if Rittenberger had never agreed to talk to them in the first place. It was another if he—he and Carlisle—had to go to trial on Wilkins’ story because he—not Carlisle—had screwed up Rittenberger’s proffer.

  “So,” Chen led him back in, “Lindsey was there, wasn’t she?’

  Rittenberger let out his own sigh. “Yeah. She was there. But she didn’t shoot anyone. She’s not like that. She’s not violent.”

  Brunelle recalled Fuller’s display in the lobby of the police precinct on the day of their arrest. She seemed pretty capable of violence then, at least in Brunelle’s estimation.

  “Well, not like that,” Rittenberger clarified. “I mean, don’t steal her shit.” He laughed lightly at some memory. “She’s kicked my ass more than once. But no, she would never shoot anyone. That’s hardcore shit. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “So you didn’t see her shoot anyone?” Jackson asked.

  “She didn’t shoot anyone,” Rittenberger clarified.

  “Are you sure?” Jackson followed up. “You just said you were pretty out of it.”

  Brunelle wasn’t sure he wanted them to challenge Rittenberger on this particular point, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt if Rittenberger stayed consistent.

>   “She was there,” Rittenberger repeated, “but she didn’t shoot anyone. I would have noticed that. I may not have been paying a lot attention to what was going on, but I always paid attention to Lindsey. I always knew where she was. She was my anchor, man. I know she didn’t shoot nobody.”

  “So who did?” Chen asked. “Who shot Derrick?”

  Rittenberger took several moments to reply. Finally he shrugged. “It was either Burner or Nate.”

  “You’re not sure?” Jackson asked

  “I was really high, man,” Rittenberger defended. “I know I was a dude and I know it wasn’t me. That leaves Burner and Nate.”

  Brunelle ran a hand over his head. His right hand. The left had graduated to a smaller, adhesive bandage on his palm, but he had gotten used to favoring it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to interrupt Rittenberger again, but he looked to Rainaldi. “Barbara…”

  But Rainaldi raised a hand of caution. “Don’t ask him who shot. Ask him what he saw. It’ll make sense.”

  Brunelle looked to Chen, who shrugged in reply. “What did you see?” the detective asked.

  Rittenberger looked to Rainaldi for encouragement, then nodded. “Like I said, I was really high. At first, I didn’t even notice Derrick was there. I didn’t notice anyone. Except Lindsey. She was checking in on me. But then I realized someone was yelling. That kind of brought me to the surface and I looked over toward the yelling. Burner and Nate were in the kitchen with Derrick, right by the door.”

  “What about Sammy or Lindsey or Amanda?” Jackson asked. “Where were they?”

  Rittenberger thought for a moment. “Lindsey was checking in on me, but I’m not sure where she was right then. She wasn’t in the kitchen though. It was just the guys. They were really angry. I mean, you could tell there was gonna be a fight or something. The only reason a girl would’ve been there was to try to break it up, but nobody would try to break up a fight with Burner.”

  ‘So what happened?” Chen encouraged.

  “So okay, I heard yelling. When I looked over, I realized it was two people yelling: Burner and Derrick. Nate was just standing there, next to Burner, but Burner was the one yelling. And Derrick was yelling back, but it wasn’t angry yelling. It was scared yelling. Screaming more like. Like he was begging for his life.”