A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4)

by Stephen Penner

Brunelle had to laugh. “Yeah. Although he didn’t mention you by name.”

  “Who did he name?”

  “Kincaid. And everybody who works for him.”

  “Yeah, well that’s everybody here.” Westerly replied, still amused at the thought of the defense attorney. “Listen, I get that you need to have local counsel to appear here, but keep your distance from him if you can. He’s a little loopy, if you ask me. Obviously, we’re not dirty. No more than you guys in Seattle are. But I guess you gotta tell yourself something every morning if you make your living helping the worst society has to offer.”

  Brunelle nodded. He’d kind of always thought that too when dealing with the true believers. “Don’t worry,” Brunelle assured. “He agreed to sponsor me, but we’re not about to form a partnership or anything.”

  “Good,” Westerly answered. “Just stay as far away from him as you can, and you’ll be all right. So what do you know about the case?”

  Brunelle frowned slightly and shook his head. “Not much. I know it’s a murder case. I know he’s accused of murdering his wife. And I know his ex-wife is my girlfriend. After that, I’m kinda in the dark.”

  “Well, here’s the sixty-second version,” Westerly offered. “Stephenson and his missus—who’s a good ten years younger than him, and an aerobics instructor to boot—were having pretty serious financial difficulties. Then suddenly, her aerobics studio burns to the ground and she’s found dead inside. At first it looks like an accident, like she just died of smoke inhalation. But then the autopsy shows no sign of smoke in her lungs. So the medical examiner looks a little more closely and sure enough there are fingerprint bruises on her neck. Stephenson strangled her to death, then set the fire to cover his tracks. And when the detectives go to ask him some questions, he lawyers up. So here we are.”

  Brunelle nodded. It didn’t sound like that strong of a case. No confessions and no eye witnesses. Then again, motive, means, and opportunity usually meant guilty as charged.

  “You said you haven’t talked to your guy yet?” Westerly asked.

  “Right.” Brunelle nodded. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Well, it’s probably a good thing you did,” Westerly answered. “I’ll get you copies of the police reports so you can read them before you talk to him. Then when he tells you his story, you can call bullshit on him. Or not. Your choice. But at least you’ll know when he’s lying to you. Because there’s one thing you can be sure of.”

  “What’s that?” Brunelle asked.

  Westerly smiled. “They always lie to their lawyers.”

  Brunelle sighed, but smiled back. “I know.”

  Chapter 6

  The jail was on the other side of the Hall of Justice. Brunelle thought they might have been called holding cells on the cartoon. Or something cheesy like Justice-Cells or Science-Cells. He wasn’t sure. But either way, Jeremy Stephenson was in a cell, and Brunelle was going to visit him.

  It was a bit exciting to actually get to talk to a defendant directly. As a prosecutor he was prohibited from ever talking directly to a defendant. He always had to go through the defense attorney. Even when he got those voicemails from the lady at the state mental hospital who wanted to talk about a plea bargain because her assigned lawyer was too stupid to understand that she was guilty, he still had to go through her lawyer.

  But the rush wore off when his client stepped into the consultation booth and Brunelle saw through the glass partition just how bad and just how good Jeremy Stephenson looked.

  He was dressed in ill-fitting orange jail jammies. His skin was gaunt and yellowy after only a few weeks out of the sun. His cheeks were a bit sunken, suggesting he didn’t like the food on the inside. And his expression couldn’t quite hide the panic he must have been feeling at the prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison.

  On the other hand, Jeremy Stephenson was one hell of a handsome man. He looked to be an inch or so taller than Brunelle, with thick brown hair that had just enough wave to be interesting without being unruly. Large biceps stuck out of the jammies and a well-developed chest pushed against the orange fabric. His features were chiseled and he had that chin that no one had except Superman and the ex-husband of your new girlfriend.

  He sat down opposite Brunelle. There was no phone like in the movies; they could hear each other through a round metal grate embedded in the plexiglass. A small slit at the bottom was just big enough to slide papers through in case a signature was needed for court.

  “Mr. Stephenson,” Brunelle started. “I’m David Brunelle. I’m going to be your lawyer.”

  Jeremy nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth but entirely failing to reach his eyes. “Call me Jeremy. And thank you, Mr. Brunelle. Kat says you’re the best.”

  “Call me Dave,” Brunelle replied, “And Kat’s full of shit.”

  That caught Jeremy’s attention. That smile reached his eyes after all. No doubt he’d thought the same thing many times over the years.

  “I’m not a defense attorney, Jeremy,” Brunelle explained. “I’ve never been one and I don’t ever want to be one. Not even now. I’m doing this because Kat asked me to. There are undoubtedly better attorneys for this. I don’t know California law. I don’t know the local procedures. I don’t know the local judges. I’m not the best prosecutor there is, so I’m definitely not the best defense attorney there is. But I promise you I will do everything I can to get you acquitted and back out on the street again.”

  Jeremy stared at Brunelle for a several seconds, processing what he’d said. Finally, he asked, “Why?”

  “I told you.” Brunelle nodded. “Kat asked me to.”

  And that same look of understanding sparked in Jeremy’s eye. No doubt he’d done things for her for the same wholly inadequate and completely sufficient reason. “Okay,” he said. “That’s good enough for me.”

  Brunelle smiled. They understood each other.

  “Tell me everything,” he said.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. My wife is dead. I’m in jail. I don’t know any more than that.”

  “I’m sure you know a lot more than that,” Brunelle replied. Actually, he was glad for Jeremy’s answer. It seemed like the kind of thing a truly innocent man might say. He didn’t start with his alibi or a justification. He started with not knowing what the hell was going on. “Let’s start with your wife. Tell me about her.”

  Again, Brunelle got a reaction he liked. Jeremy started to cry. Not that fake cry he’d seen defendants try to pull off in court, big on high-pitched sobs and low on tears. This was just the opposite. No noise, but eyes glistening and a tensing of the jaw as he fought off a quavering lip.

  “Vanessa was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Jeremy said. Then he raised a finger. “No, the best thing that ever happened to me was Lizzy. And maybe Kat for giving me Lizzy. But that’s complicated. But after Kat and I split up, well, I was in a bad place and Vanessa rescued me from it.”

  “A blond California aerobics instructor ten years your junior,” Brunelle pointed out. It had to be said. Westerly was sure as hell going to say it as many times as possible during the trial.

  Jeremy grinned and looked down. He suddenly looked every bit as old as Brunelle, despite the muscles and the tan. “Yeah, I know. Actually, she taught dance. And she was fifteen years younger. That probably just makes it even worse.”

  Brunelle shrugged. “Probably. But it’s also understandable. It doesn’t mean you killed her. Maybe just the opposite. Did you have a pre-nup?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “No. I didn’t care about that. I was doing well with my practice, but nothing spectacular. She didn’t marry me for the money. And by the end, there wasn’t any anyway.”

  “That’s what I heard,” Brunelle confirmed. When Jeremy looked askance at him, he explained, “I already met with the prosecutor.”

  “Ah,” Jeremy nodded. “Of course you did. Old dog, new tricks, right? Well, then you know tha
t we were pretty much tapped out.”

  “Is that why she was going to leave you?” Brunelle tried to pull a detective trick. It didn’t work.

  “She wasn’t going to leave me, Dave,” Jeremy replied. “But nice try. Are you sure you’re on my side?”

  Brunelle nodded. “I’m sure. I just wanted to see what you’d say. Not all clients tell their lawyers the truth. One of the true joys of my job is pointing out to defense attorneys during plea bargaining how their clients totally lied to them. I don’t want that happening to me. Everything you tell me is confidential. I won’t tell anyone—not even Kat. I don’t want to sound harsh, but you’re not worth losing my license over, so if you tell me something, I’m not going to risk my career by violating the attorney-client privilege. So you might as well tell me the truth. The truth usually comes out anyway. I’d rather not be surprised when it does.”

  Jeremy nodded for a few seconds. “The truth, huh?”

  Brunelle nodded back.

  “Okay,” Jeremy looked down again. “The truth is, I think she was cheating on me.”

  Fuck, thought Brunelle. “That’s a pretty classic motive for murder.”

  “I know,” Jeremy replied, looking back up. “Why do you think I didn’t talk to the cops? I wasn’t going to lie to them, but I couldn’t tell them the truth either.”

  “Any idea who she was cheating with?”

  Jeremy sighed. A deep, pained, fully betrayed sigh. “My business partner, Gary Overstreet. He did her breast augmentation. I think it started after that.”

  Of course it did. Welcome to Cali, Mr. Brunelle.

  He didn’t want to overwhelm Jeremy on their first meeting, but he did need to know at least one thing before he left. “Where were you the night Vanessa died?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I was home.”

  Brunelle frowned. “Was anyone with you?”

  Jeremy raised an indignant eyebrow. “No,” he protested a bit too loudly.

  Brunelle waved away the suggestion. “I didn’t mean it that way. I was just hoping you might have a witness to verify your alibi.”

  “Oh,” Jeremy relaxed a bit.

  “There are other ways to confirm that stuff,” Brunelle said. “Did you do anything online? Maybe we can get a search history or something to show someone was using the computer that night.”

  Jeremy thought for a moment. “No. I watched some TV then went to bed early and read until I fell asleep.”

  Brunelle frowned. “Kindle?” Maybe they could get some records for that somehow.

  Jeremy shook his head. “No. Just a regular old-fashioned book. Paper and ink.”

  “Well, that’s no help at all,” Brunelle replied.

  He tapped the counter and frowned. He decided he didn’t feel like discovering more unhelpful information just then. There was really only one more question he needed an answer to.

  “Did you kill your wife, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy looked Brunelle straight in the eye. “No, sir.”

  Brunelle nodded. Yep, he thought. They always lie to their lawyers.

  Chapter 7

  After dinner at one of the seafood joints on the Fisherman’s Wharf strip, Brunelle, Kat, and Lizzy went for a walk along the beach. Eventually, Lizzy strayed off toward the lapping waves and Brunelle could finally bring up the one thing they hadn’t talked about during the meal—which was ridiculous, given that it was the reason they had all traveled a thousand miles down the coast.

  “Jeremy looks like he’s holding up okay.”

  Kat let out a large exhale that Brunelle didn’t even know she was holding in. She squeezed his hand. “Good. That’s good to hear.”

  He smiled slightly and looked down at her. “All things considered,” he added.

  She laughed slightly. “Yeah.”

  “Sorry you couldn’t come today,” he went on. “Visiting hours are tomorrow, but the lawyer can visit any time.”

  “No worries,” she answered. “I think Lizzy needed a day to get ready anyway. No one wants to see their dad behind bars.”

  “Well, technically, he’s behind glass,” Brunelle corrected. “But yeah.”

  Kat squeezed his hand and looked up at him. “Thanks for being exact,” she teased.

  He grinned. “It’s another one of my charms.”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied dubiously. “So, what did he have to say?”

  Brunelle cocked his head. “What?”

  “What did he say?” Kat repeated. “About the case?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Brunelle gasped, half-laughing at the very question.

  Kat pulled up short, still holding his hand. “What do you mean you can’t tell me?”

  “Attorney-client privilege,” Brunelle answered. He resisted the urge to add, ‘duh.’

  Kat thought for a moment. “Well, I think I’m your client. I’m the one paying you.”

  Brunelle smiled and pulled her back into a walk. “First of all, you’re not paying me anything. I’m doing this pro bono, remember? Second, it wouldn’t matter if you did. If some kid gets in trouble and his parents hire a lawyer, the kid’s still the client. The lawyer can’t tell the parents anything the kid doesn’t want them to know.”

  “Well, Jeremy’s not my kid,” Kat replied. “He’s my ex.”

  “Exactly. If I couldn’t tell a paying parent what their kid told me, how could I possibly tell a non-paying ex-wife?”

  Kat stopped them short again. “So, wait a minute. You’re telling me that my ex-husband could have confessed to the entire murder to you and you wouldn’t tell me?”

  Brunelle drew a pretend zipper across his lips. “Attorney-client privilege.”

  He could see the irritation in Kat’s eyes. But he could see something more. Something that hurt his heart.

  “He didn’t confess to anything, Kat,” he said. “He said he didn’t do it.”

  He watched the flicker of fear in her eyes die out and she started walking again. She laid her head against his arm. “Thanks, David.”

  He didn’t say anything. Jeremy wasn’t worth violating his ethical duties, but apparently Kat was. And apparently, he was okay with that.

  “So he’s looking okay?” she asked. Lizzy had taken off her shoes and was ankles deep in the water.

  “Oh yeah,” Brunelle replied. “He’s a good looking guy, even after being inside for a bit.”

  “A good looking guy?” Kat repeated with a chuckle. “My goodness, Mr. Brunelle, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

  Brunelle surrendered a nervous laugh. “Not at all, madam. I’m just making an observation. He’s a good looking man. He obviously takes pride in his appearance, and it shows.”

  “Yep,” Kat laughed. “Jealous.”

  “Now why would I be jealous?” Brunelle asked. “He’s in jail and I’m walking along the beach with a beautiful woman and her delightful daughter.”

  “How about because that particular delightful daughter is his, and the reason she exists is because of things he did with that particular beautiful woman?”

  Brunelle forced a nod. “Thanks for helping me think of that. I hadn’t quite gotten the visual down.”

  Kat laughed. “Oh, please. Like you’ve never been with anyone else.”

  “That’s not what I said. I said, I wasn’t jealous.”

  Kat was silent for a few moments. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

  Brunelle shrugged but didn’t reply.

  She hugged his arm and laid her head against it again. “Thanks.”

  “For helping your murderous ex-husband who fathered your child?”

  “No,” she replied softly. “For being jealous.”

  Chapter 8

  A week later found Kat and Lizzy ready to head back north and Brunelle ready to head into the lion’s den for the first pretrial conference. As much as Kat wanted to stay for the whole case, there was no way she could miss work for three months. And even if she could have, Lizzy couldn’t be out of school that long. But it
wasn’t all bad news. The night before had been memorable, with Lizzy in her adjoining suite behind the closable door. And now he could focus on his case with minimal interruptions. He transferred from the expensive tourist hotel on the water, to an extended stay hotel halfway between downtown and whatever the worst neighborhood in San Francisco was named. It didn’t matter; it was close to the courthouse. Or rather, the Hall of Justice.

  Pretrials were pretrials, whether in Seattle or San Francisco. The building was different, the courtroom was different, the lawyers and the statute numbers were different, but the basic purpose was the same: defense attorneys trying to get a deal. Brunelle found the courtroom for the pretrial on People v. Stephenson and walked into the adjoining conference room. Just like in Seattle, the room was full of prosecutors and defense attorneys, wheeling and dealing between jokes and showing off kid pictures and telling stories about what they did that weekend. The only difference for Brunelle was that, up north he knew everyone. And down south, he was a defense attorney.

  He spied Westerly sitting at a table against the far wall, talking with a woman who was obviously a lawyer, but not obviously on one side or the other. He walked over and interrupted their light banter.

  “Hey, Jim,” he said. “Dave Brunelle. I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m handling the Stephenson murder case.”

  ‘Handling.’ He still couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘defending.’

  “Oh, right. Hi, Dave,” Westerly replied. He pointed toward the woman he was speaking with. She reminded Brunelle a bit of Jessica Edwards, one of the public defenders he routinely went up against back home. This woman also had straight blond hair, a dark suit, and minimal make up. So for some reason Brunelle was surprised to hear she was a prosecutor. “This is Natalie Halvorson. She’s in our drug unit. I was just telling her about our case.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Halvorson answered. “Are you really representing this guy because your girlfriend asked you to?”

  Brunelle sighed inside, but kept a pleasant smile plastered to his face. “Something like that. It’s kind of complicated.”