“I told you no deals,” Jeremy snapped. “Don’t you listen?”
“I listen fine,” Brunelle replied evenly. “I also have an ethical obligation to communicate every offer to you.” He slid the offer sheet through the thin slot at the bottom of the glass.
Jeremy pulled it through and barely glanced at it. “You know I’m going to reject it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Brunelle slid the C.Y.A. letter through the slat too. Then he took a pen from his suit coat pocket, unscrewed it, and slid just the interior ink-tube and point through the slat too. “So read and sign this letter and I’ll be going.”
Jeremy picked up the C.Y.A. letter and started reading. “What’s this?”
“It’s a letter that says you understand the prosecutor offered you ten years, you understand you’re looking at life without parole, you understand that your attorney is advising you to accept the offer—and I am, by the way; you should take this deal—but understanding all that, you’re rejecting the offer and proceeding to trial.”
“And I’m supposed to sign this?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because after you’re convicted of first degree murder and sent off to prison, you’re going to have a lot of time on your hands to think about how you should have taken this offer. This will protect me when you file a bar complaint saying you wish you’d taken that offer but your idiot lawyer told you to reject it because you’d win at trial.”
Jeremy frowned. “But you’re not saying that.”
“I know,” Brunelle replied. “But memories can shift when you’re bored and hopeless. Besides, based on our interactions so far, I don’t have a lot of faith in your honesty. Just sayin’.”
Jeremy looked down at the letter then back up at Brunelle. “Whose side are you on?”
“Honestly?” Brunelle said, with a small shrug. “I’m on my own side. Remember, you’re not worth my bar license. You don’t have to sign it, but I’ll have proof you at least looked at it and knew what you were doing.”
Jeremy stared at Brunelle for a few seconds, then down at the letter for several seconds more. Finally he picked up the makeshift pen. “I’ll sign it, Brunelle. But it really burns me up to do it.”
Jeremy slid the signed letter and ink-tube back to Brunelle. Brunelle took them, reassembled the pen, then stood up to leave. The bad news was that he was going to have to try the case after all. The good news was that Jeremy’s last comment had made Brunelle realize what was wrong with Westerly’s case.
Chapter 20
It was time for a strategy session. In his usual job, Brunelle would have called the lead detective and another homicide prosecutor or two into his office. But he wasn’t at his usual job. The lead detective and other prosecutors weren’t going to help him. He had a new team—smaller, but dedicated. So by four o’clock Friday afternoon, he was in Dombrowski’s office, along with Sophia the Great and Kylie the Suspicious.
Kat would meet him there at five to start their night on the town. He hoped Sophia and Kylie would be gone by then, although he knew he should give Kat more credit than that. She wouldn’t be jealous. He’d just feel like she should be.
“Let’s get started,” Brunelle glanced at his watch. Dombrowski was looking out the window, a beer already in his hand. Sophia was typing something into her phone. Kylie was at the front desk; she wouldn’t be directly involved, but Brunelle was still glad to see her. It reminded him, pleasantly somehow, of his mostly-healed facial bruise. “Thanks for letting me come over, Andy.”
Dombrowski turned from the window. “Sure. I’m your local associated counsel, right? I suppose I ought to know something about the case.”
Sophia didn’t say anything. She just tapped her phone dark and put it her purse. She was brunette again, only jet black instead of her initial dark brown. Her ensemble was all black, mostly leather, and mildly distracting. It made Brunelle glad Det. Chen was a guy.
“What’s up?” Dombrowski prompted.
“They offered him a manslaughter,” Brunelle started. “Man One and Arson One. Ten years.”
Dombrowski lifted his beer bottle. “Congratulations. That’s a great resolution.”
“It would be,” Brunelle agreed, “but my guy rejected it.”
Sophia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Dombrowski was less subtle. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with him?”
Brunelle shrugged. “He says he’s innocent.”
“Who gives a fuck?” Dombrowski said. “He’s facing life. You got him ten years. The prisons are full of innocent people. But at least he’d get out before he dies.”
Brunelle decided to ignore the jab about innocent people in prison. “Yeah, he gets that. But he’s insistent. And I don’t really feel like arguing with him any more.”
Dombrowski took a swig of beer. “Well, you did your job. If you lose now, it’s all on him. What did you do to get such a great offer?”
“That’s just it.” Brunelle raised his hands palm up. “Nothing. Sophia and I talked to a couple of people, but we didn’t learn anything terribly helpful. Even if we had, Westerly had his offer all typed and prepared before I could say anything.”
Dombrowski rocked his bottle absently. “Westerly? He’s good. He’s dirty, but he’s good. He’s not afraid of trial. He doesn’t make offers just to make the case go away.”
“So why did he make the offer?” Sophia finally joined the conversation.
“There’s a problem with his case,” Dombrowski said. “Something he doesn’t want you to figure out. I told you he was dirty.”
Brunelle wasn’t sure it was dirty, exactly, but Westerly definitely didn’t want him to figure it out. But he recalled the jury instruction the judges used to tell jurors the definition of ‘reasonable doubt’: a reasonable doubt can arise from the evidence, or the lack of evidence.
“There’s no fire investigation report,” Brunelle announced. “I double checked all the reports. They never did a full fire investigation.”
“Why wouldn’t they do a fire investigation?” Sophia asked. The very idea seemed to offend her own meticulousness.
“There was a body in the middle of the fire,” Dombrowski answered for Brunelle. “The murder investigation took precedence. The cops probably sent the fire department away once the fire was out and the paramedics confirmed she was dead.”
Brunelle nodded. “That’s what I figured too.”
“Can’t they just do it now?” Sophia asked. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s been long enough,” Brunelle replied. “Burned out building, open to the elements, trampled on by cops and insurance adjusters and maybe even homeless squatters. At this point, even if they did, I could keep it out.”
“And it would draw your attention to their initial mistake,” Dombrowski added.
“Well, just because you could keep it out,” Sophia said, “doesn’t mean there isn’t useful information left behind.”
Brunelle smiled. “I know.”
That was what Brunelle had wanted to accomplish. Confirmation of his suspicion and agreement on his proposed course of action. And it was well before five. Mission accomplished.
Too bad Kat showed up early.
“Mr. Brunelle?” Kylie knocked on Dombrowski’s office door. “There’s a Dr. Anderson here to see you.” She gave him an approving wink. “She says she’s a medical examiner.”
Brunelle stood up but before he could go out in the lobby, Kat walked into the office. Dombrowski set down his beer and extended a hand in greeting. “The Dr. Anderson?” he said. “Mr. Brunelle’s girlfriend?”
Kat laughed as she shook his hand. “Actually, he’s my boyfriend.” Then she looked around and noticed the stunning perfection of Sophia Farinelli. Kat extended her hand to Sophia and introduced herself. “Kat.”
“Sophia,” the P.I. replied. “Dave was just briefing us on the case.”
“Oh?” Kat cocked her head at her boyfriend. “That
’s funny,” she teased. “He won’t tell me anything. And I hired him.”
Brunelle frowned slightly. “You didn’t hire me. Well, okay, maybe you did. But you’re not paying me, and Jeremy’s the client. I already explained all that to you.”
Kat gestured to Dombrowski and Sophia. “They aren’t the client either,” she pointed out.
“They’re part of the defense team,” Brunelle explained. “Sophia’s my investigator and Andy’s my local associated counsel.”
Kat crossed her arms, then tapped her chin. “So you can tell everything to other members of the defense team?”
Brunelle nodded, glad she seemed to get it. “Yes. Exactly.”
Kat definitely got it. Dombrowski and Sophia did too. It was Brunelle who didn’t. But he was about to.
“I think we could use a little help on this one, Andy,” Sophia said. “Don’t you think we could use a consulting expert to review Dr. Tuttle’s autopsy reports?”
Dombrowski smiled. “Oh, absolutely. But where, oh where, could we find someone who has extensive experience as a medical examiner but isn’t employed by the great State of California?”
Brunelle’s jaw dropped. Kat’s face lit up. She sure did seem to enjoy outsmarting him.
Sophia raised her hand. “Oh! I know.” She turned to Kat. “Dr. Anderson, are you available to provide consultation on a pending murder case Mr. Brunelle is defending?”
“Why yes,” Kat replied. “I believe I am. And my fee is very reasonable.”
“Oh, excellent,” Sophia laughed. “Welcome aboard. What’s your fee?”
“Dinner for four,” Kat replied. “And Mr. Brunelle is buying.”
All eyes turned to Brunelle. He didn’t like being outsmarted. But in truth, he was glad to have an excuse to tell Kat about the case. He didn’t like keeping things from her.
“A very reasonable fee,” he agreed with a smile. “Let’s find someplace loud so we won’t be overheard. We have a lot to tell our good doctor.”
Chapter 21
The first order of business for the new defense team was the murder scene. Or at least, the arson scene. Well, the scene of the burned building and the dead body. Whether it was arson or not was open to question. And apparently, so was whether it was murder.
“Just because she was found dead inside the building doesn’t mean she was murdered,” Kat explained. “People die in fires all the time. The questions are: What mechanism caused the bodily functions to cease? And when did that happen in relation to the fire?”
So the next day Kat stayed back at the hotel to start reviewing the autopsy reports, while Brunelle and Sophia went to inspect what was left of Vanessa Stephenson’s dance studio. Dombrowski wished them luck, but didn’t come along. He had his own life to attend to. Words of encouragement and a beer on a Friday afternoon was about as far as he was willing to participate.
The studio was in the South of Market district—‘SOMA’ to the locals—near the slightly more well-known, and more dangerous, Tenderloin district. A large number of SOMA’s blocks of sprawling warehouses had been transformed into start-up offices and artsy studios. One such studio was, or had been, ‘Inner Beauty Dance and Dreams,’ Vanessa’s studio. Now it was a charred shell at the end of a block-length warehouse housing, among other things, a coffee shop, an art gallery, and a pho restaurant that was still closed due to the smoke damage from the fire next door.
The studio itself was closed up as best it could be, given the damage caused by both the fire and the firefighters. The back door was still locked. The front door was basically gone, chopped to pieces by a fireman’s axe. Brunelle and Sophia ducked under the leftover crime scene tape and slipped in through the front door.
There wasn’t much left. Whatever furnishing there might have been had been removed. But the walls were still there and the black scorches gave witness to the inferno that had consumed Vanessa’s dreams.
“Not much left,” Brunelle observed.
Sophia shrugged slightly even as she crouched down to inspect a melted electrical outlet. She was a redhead now, soft orange curls falling over a white knit top and floral skirt.
“What are you looking for?” he asked. Scene visits often reminded him he wasn’t a cop; he was a lawyer. At least as a prosecutor, he was on the same team as the cops. But really, his skill wasn’t finding clues, it was explaining the significance of those clues to twelve jurors.
“Signs of arson,” she answered without looking back at him.
Brunelle hadn’t done a lot of straight arsons. They were actually a pretty rare crime and he’d bypassed the hodgepodge trial unit that handled arson along with other hard-to-group crimes like extortion and perjury.
He squatted down next to her, uncertain what to look for, but willing to try anyway. “See anything?”
She turned and smiled at him. “You’re not really an investigator, are you?”
Brunelle felt a slight blush. No reason to be embarrassed, but he was anyway. “I guess not. I think I’d need an empty gas can in the middle of the room.”
Sophia laughed. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh. It wasn’t a light airy giggle; it was a kind of a squeaky snort. Not perfect at all. For some reason, he was relieved.
“Well,” she said, “there’s nothing that obvious, but I think the arson is pretty clear. This wasn’t an accidental fire.”
She stood up. Brunelle followed suit. “How can you tell?”
She started to walk the wall, and pointed to some especially dark burn marks rising from the floor at uniform intervals toward the front of the studio. “An accelerant was used. I don’t know if it was gasoline, but whoever started this fire wanted to make sure it really burned the place down.”
“You can tell that?” Brunelle asked.
She turned and looked over her shoulder. It send the red curls bouncing. “Are you questioning my abilities, sir?”
Brunelle kept his eyes from looking her up and down again. Barely. “No, ma’am. Just trying to learn a thing or two.”
She smiled, but didn’t quite laugh. He guessed she kept that laugh pretty tightly holstered. She turned back to the scorched walls. “Yes, I can tell that. Really, anyone with any experience in these cases could tell. It’s beyond obvious. Whoever did it didn’t make any effort to conceal it.”
“Because they didn’t know how?” Brunelle asked.
“Or because they didn’t care. It’s possible to disguise arson. Not perfectly, maybe, but at least to make it appear to be an accident. Squirting lighter fluid every three feet isn’t one of them.”
Brunelle thought about the cases he’d had involving burned down buildings. All of his had had a body inside, the reason the fire had started in the first place. A vain hope it would burn the body to disguise the cause of death.
“Sounds like the person wanted to conceal the murder.”
Sophia put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room. “I’d have to agree. This wasn’t done to collect insurance. It’s too obvious.”
Brunelle frowned. “So we can conclude that whoever started the fire also killed Vanessa.”
“Seems likely,” Sophia agreed.
“And he was an amateur.”
“Yup.”
Brunelle considered the middle-aged plastic surgeon with no criminal history sitting in the San Francisco County jail. “Damn.”
Chapter 22
“The body is a crime scene, too,” Kat explained. “Sometimes, you can tell as much about what happened from the body as you cane from where it’s found. Maybe more.”
They were sitting in a small conference room inside the medical examiner’s office. Kat, Brunelle, and Sophia. Sophia would be asking the questions, Brunelle would be listening to the answers, and Kat was there to call bullshit. It was the defense interview of Dr. Tuttle. Westerly had just arrived and the good doctor had dropped them off in the conference room while she fetched him from the lobby.
“But,” Kat smacked Tuttle’s autopsy report,
“you have to actually look for evidence to see it. This is the most cursory autopsy report I’ve ever read. This is what you’d do if the police found a homeless man who died from exposure or an elderly person who died in a hospice. Not a body found in a fire. She found some potential bruising around the neck, called it strangulation, and barely did more than sign her name.” Then she got a glint in her eye and a barely restrained smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t wait to rip her apart.”
Brunelle put a hand up and shook his head. “Yes, you can. This isn’t about calling her out on her mistakes. It’s about locking her into them.”
Sophia offered a knowing, even admiring smile but Kat’s own grin disappeared completely. “What do you mean? Do you know how bad this report is? I could shred her on her initial observations alone.”
Brunelle shook his head. “Not now.” Then he looked at the clock and the door. He probably had just enough time. “Let me tell you a story. When I first started prosecuting felonies, I had this assault case, domestic violence. Nothing too bad, but the victim suffered a broken arm.”
“That’s nothing too bad?” Kat interrupted.
Brunelle shrugged. “We’ve both seen a lot worse.”
Kat had to shrug too. She could hardly disagree.
“Anyway,” Brunelle went on, “it happened one night after closing time. The couple was walking back to their car. They were drunk and yelling at each other, so of course all the neighbors started looking out their windows. At one point, he shoved her to the ground and she lands wrong and breaks her arm. My star witnesses are these college kids who were watching the whole thing through these windows in their front door.”
“Sounds like a good case,” Kat opined. “Causation for the injury and eye witnesses to the assault.”
“Right,” Brunelle agreed. “But here’s the thing. The couple had already walked past the kids’ house. They were at least two, maybe three houses down the sidewalk when he pushed her. And the windows in the front door—they were pretty small, and had these beveled edges that kind of interfered with seeing clearly. Plus it was two in the morning and the streetlights weren’t all that bright.”
A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 8
