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

by Stephen Penner

  Brunelle found that amusing. He used to be that type. Hell, he used to be the authorities. “Then how do we do it?” He asked.

  Sophia smile again, but it was that sultry smile she seemed able to call up like water from a well. “Leave it to me,” she practically purred. “I can be very convincing.”

  Of that, Brunelle had no doubt.

  And for the expression that apparently betrayed his thoughts, Kat gave him a sharp elbow in his ribs.

  Chapter 26

  Sophia was every bit as convincing as she’d claimed. She went to Adonis the next morning and was back at Kat and Brunelle’s hotel by noon with a full set of the Adonis books, and more.

  “How’d you manage that?” Brunelle was dense enough to ask.

  Sophia cocked her head and put a hand on her hip, which accentuated both the bounce of her now-auburn curls and the pinch of her waist. “Really? Overstreet’s a man.”

  “So am I,” Brunelle replied.

  “Right. So stop looking at her tits,” Kat interrupted and took the paperwork from Sophia, “and start looking at the books.”

  Sophia surrendered another snort laugh and Brunelle could feel himself surrendering a blush.

  “I wasn’t looking at her tits,” he whispered to Kat as Sophia went to fetch a pen from her purse.

  “What were you looking at?” Kat whispered back with a crooked grin.

  Brunelle hesitated. “Her eyes.”

  Kat shook her head. “That’s a lie. And a stupid one. No woman wants her boyfriend looking in some other woman’s eyes.”

  Brunelle knew it was a lie. He was looking at her hair, but that seemed like a worse answer. “What should I have said?”

  Kat paused then answered, “You should have said you were looking at me.”

  “But I wasn’t,” Brunelle protested.

  “You weren’t looking at her eyes either.”

  Brunelle nodded, unsure what to say next. He guessed the right choice might be nothing.

  “I don’t care if you look at her eyes today,” Kat finally said, “as long as it’s my eyes you’re looking into tonight.”

  Brunelle smiled, imagining what else their bodies would be doing as he gazed into her eyes. “Deal.”

  Sophia stepped back over to the smallish hotel room table they were using as a makeshift desk. Kat was spreading out the records and arranging them. Brunelle was trying to see what they said. Sophia picked up a file folder that had separate records in it. “These,” she announced, a bit triumphantly, “are not records for Adonis. They’re records for Inner Beauty Dance and Dreams.”

  “Vanessa’s studio?” Brunelle asked. “How did you get those?”

  “Vanessa and Laura’s studio,” Sophia corrected. “After I convinced Dr. Overstreet to let me take copies of the books, I also convinced him to just give me access to the file cabinet and take what I needed. These were tucked in the back of the bottom drawer.”

  Brunelle took the file folder and started thumbing through the papers within. “Do you think Jeremy had these to keep track of where the money was going? That’s pretty careless to leave them where Overstreet could find them.”

  “Careless,” Kat repeated. “Yep, that’s Jeremy all right.”

  “A careless plastic surgeon?” Brunelle questioned. “That seems like a bad combination.”

  “Maybe that’s why Overstreet was pulling in seventy percent of the income,” Sophia said, examining a ledger. “No wonder he was thinking about splitting from Jeremy.”

  Kat came over and looked at the same ledger. Brunelle started delving into the books of Inner Dreams and Fantasies or whatever. It took a couple of hours, with lots of exchanged ledgers, countless figures scribbled on scrap paper, and one delivery pizza, but eventually they were able to tease out two very important things.

  “So, Jeremy embezzled well over fifty thousand from Adonis,” Brunelle said.

  “And he was using Inner Beauty to launder it,” Sophia concluded.

  “But why?” Kat asked. She’d seemed able to convince herself her ex-husband wasn’t a murderer, but the records made it nearly impossible to deny he was a thief.

  “The real question is where,” Brunelle said. “Where did the money go? Inner Beauty was bankrupt.”

  “Who had access to those accounts?” Kat asked.

  “Vanessa,” Sophia answered. “And Laura Mayer.”

  “But Vanessa is dead,” Kat said, “and Laura just agreed to loan Jeremy twenty grand. Why would she do that if she was already taking the money he was embezzling?”

  They all sat in thought for several moments.

  “Because she doesn’t want us to know she was stealing the money,” Kat suggested.

  “Because she and Jeremy were doing it together,” Sophia added.

  “Because Vanessa wasn’t having an affair with Gary Overstreet,” Brunelle realized. “Jeremy was having an affair with Laura Mayer.”

  Chapter 27

  The plan was to divide and conquer. Actually, the plan was to divide and hope not to be conquered themselves. Sophia and Kat went to drop the books off with Laura, minus the ones for Inner Beauty Dance and Dreams. Sophia, because she was the investigator. Kat, because she insisted on doing something.

  That something was not going to be what Brunelle was doing. Brunelle was going to see Jeremy again, and he didn’t need Kat with him, throwing off the dynamic. Brunelle didn’t really think Jeremy was fucking Laura Mayer. But he couldn’t rule it out either. So he had some things he needed to say to his client, and he needed to keep control of the conversation. Somehow, staying in control was always difficult when Kat was involved.

  Jeremy actually seemed glad to see him as he walked into the conference room. Brunelle supposed it had been a while since he’d stopped by. He knew inmates could get pretty bored on the inside, and started to look forward to attorney visits almost like it was family visiting hours. But it wasn’t. This was business.

  Jeremy greeted him and sat down on the other side of the glass, eager to hear what news his attorney had for him. Brunelle had lots of news, but had decided that most of it didn’t need to be communicated just then. Embezzlement from Adonis. Adultery with Laura. Important topics, but also landmines. Only one was a crime, but both would make the jury hate him. More importantly, though, each was a motive, if Vanessa had found out.

  Since Jeremy wasn’t being honest with him anyway. Brunelle figured he’d rather figure it out himself than get sidetracked in another one of Jeremy’s equivocations. So rather than broach those subjects just yet, Brunelle stuck to the most pressing issue.

  “Laura Mayer is loaning you twenty thousand dollars,” he said bluntly.

  Just because he wasn’t going to mention the affair explicitly didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun poking Jeremy and seeing how he reacted.

  “Wha—?” he sputtered. “Laura? Twenty thousand dollars? Why? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about three Russian guys and loan that’s gonna get me killed.”

  Jeremy’s shocked expression softened. He blinked and looked down. “Oh.”

  “And not just me, Jeremy,” Brunelle went on. “My investigator was with me this time. They thought she was Kat.”

  Jeremy jerked his gaze up again.

  “They didn’t treat her very nicely, Jeremy.”

  “What did they do?”

  Brunelle frowned. “Not as much as they will next time. Especially if it’s really Kat with me. You need to put this to bed. Better you owe Laura Mayer twenty-K than Vigo the Russian mobster.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Moldovan, actually.”

  “What?” Brunelle cocked his head.

  “Moldovan,” Jeremy repeated. “I don’t think they’re Russian. They’re Moldovan.”

  “Where the fuck is Moldovia?” Brunelle asked.

  “Moldova,” Jeremy corrected with a shrug. “And I don’t know exactly. Eastern Europe, I guess.”

  Brunelle shook the thought fr
om his head. It really didn’t matter where Moldova was. “Laura insisted on seeing the Adonis books though before she’d agree to lend you the money.”

  Jeremy’s expression returned to that combination of surprise and panic.

  “Don’t sweat it, Jeremy,” Brunelle interjected before his client could protest. “We already told her what you were doing with the books. She just wants to make sure she gets paid back.”

  “You told her?” Jeremy complained. “Isn’t that attorney-client privilege or something?”

  Brunelle hadn’t thought of that. But he knew enough to deny it then. “No, I represent you on the criminal case. This is personal. They aren’t related.”

  Jeremy didn’t reply; he just looked away. So Brunelle followed up with, “Right?”

  Jeremy looked back, but didn’t quite make eye contact. “Right. Of course not.”

  Brunelle tapped his fingers on the small counter in front of him. He was still new to the whole defense gig, but he’d talked plenty with his friends on the other side. He’d always been impressed by the complexity of the attorney-criminal relationship, and grateful he didn’t have to deal with it. Detectives told you the truth or pretty soon they weren’t detectives any more. Same with patrol officers, and forensic scientists, and prosecutors for that matter. So he decided to try out one of the spiels he’d heard about from one of the defense attorneys he had some begrudging respect for.

  “Okay, listen up, Jeremy. I’m going to say a few things and I don’t want you to say anything back. Don’t argue. Don’t comment. Don’t even agree. Nothing. Got it? Good.

  “Because, see, here’s the thing. As a defense attorney I can pull a lot of shit. I can sandbag the prosecution with late witnesses. I can withhold information that helps them and hurts us. But one thing I can’t do is suborn perjury. I can’t put a witness on the stand knowing they’re going to lie. That’s the one thing I can’t do.

  “So, shut up. I don’t want to know the truth. If I know the truth and I know you’re going to lie, I can’t put you on the stand. But If I don’t know the truth and I don’t know what you’re going to say, then I can put you on the stand and you can say whatever the hell you want. If it’s a lie, that’s on you. I didn’t know you were going to lie, so I didn’t suborn it.”

  He looked Jeremy in the eye. “Understood?”

  Jeremy didn’t reply, which meant he did.

  “Good,” Brunelle went on. “So I’m going to tell you some things I think might be going on. Things that would be really bad if they are going on. Things that give you a motive for murder if Vanessa found out about them. And when I say them, you shut up. You think about it, and I may ask you later, but right now, you don’t say shit. Got it?”

  Jeremy just stared at him. But he didn’t argue either. Good.

  “First of all, that money you were pulling out of Adonis, that’s embezzlement. You can tell yourself you were a partner and you could do that, but Gary would disagree and so would a jury. You don’t hide shit it’s okay to do, and you hid it.

  “Second, that money didn’t go to support Vanessa’s studio. I’ve looked at those books too, and if you’d given her as much money as you took out of Adonis, she would’ve been flush with cash, not bankrupt. Which means it was going to someplace, or someone else.

  “Which brings me to my last point. I know Vanessa was a lot younger than you. And I know that young stuff can get old after a while, like eating candy at every meal. And I know that Laura Mayer is an older, attractive woman who probably satisfied your head as much as your dick. But if the prosecutor finds out you were having an affair with her, you are one hundred percent officially fucked. There’s not a jury in California that wouldn’t convict you. So if you need to do anything to wrap that up and make sure it goes away, then by all means, do it, but I don’t want to hear about it.”

  Brunelle was done. Jeremy was shell-shocked. But he followed his lawyer’s advice and didn’t say anything.

  “The status conference is next week,” Brunelle said, standing up. “We’ll talk again then. In the meantime, if you have any questions, don’t ask them.”

  Jeremy stood up too. He nodded. “Thanks, Dave,” he said, a bit unsteadily.

  Brunelle surrendered a crooked smile. He nodded too. “Sure thing, Jeremy. We’re all human. But that doesn’t make us murderers. See you next week.”

  Chapter 28

  As Brunelle stepped into the courtroom of San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Phyllis Carlisle, he was reminded of the old phrase: ‘A good lawyer knows the law. A great lawyer knows the judge.’

  Through more research than he usually liked, Brunelle had managed to learn at least some California law, but he definitely didn’t know Judge Carlisle. He’d forgotten how nice it was to be assigned to a particular judge and knowing what that judge was like. Did he start early or late? Did she like a bit of humor to lighten the mood, or straight professionalism because of the seriousness of the matter? Did they go to law school together? What were his kids doing? How did she like her new boat? Was he thinking about retiring? Was she new and eager to prove she deserved the appointment from the governor?

  Brunelle didn’t know any of that about Carlisle. All he’d managed to glean was that he might be in for a bit of a struggle. When Dombrowski heard he’d been assigned to Carlisle for the trial, all he said was “Good luck with that,” and cracked open another beer. Sophia wasn’t much help either, claiming to be just the investigator. But Westerly’s smile as he walked into the courtroom was enough to convince Brunelle he had an uphill battle ahead of him.

  “Good morning, Dave,” Westerly said as he rolled in with his trial briefcase, leather with an extendable handle. “Lovely day for a status conference, don’t you think?”

  It was a nice enough day. Better weather than up in Seattle, Brunelle guessed. Whether it was a good day for court, he didn’t know yet. “Sure,” he agreed anyway. “I’m looking forward to meeting our judge.”

  Westerly offered a wry smile. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You’re not from around here.”

  Brunelle knew an opportunity when he saw it. “So tell me about Judge Carlisle. Do I have more to fear than fear itself?”

  But Westerly shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re going to have to figure this one out on your own. No help from the other team.”

  Brunelle fought off a frown. He was really looking forward to rejoining that team.

  Then the secure door to the jail transport hallway clanked open and in walked the reason he’d been traded. Jeremy Stephenson, handcuffed, leg-chained, and escorted by two large, heavily armed corrections officers. Jeremy looked every bit the pencil-necked professional between their bulging forearms. Still, he managed a weak smile as he was led to the defense table and shook Brunelle’s hand as best he could with the handcuffs still on. “Hey, Dave.”

  “Hey, Jeremy.” They shook hands then sat down. Brunelle looked up at the nearest corrections officer. “Could you unhandcuff him for the hearing?”

  The officer hesitated then looked to Westerly. The D.A. gave a nod and the corrections officer shrugged. “Okay, but he better not try anything.”

  Brunelle looked at his client. “You’re right. He better not.”

  Jeremy looked hurt for a moment, but was pleasantly distracted as the guard removed his restraints. He rubbed his wrists as the officer stepped back with the handcuffs dangled from his grip. “Thanks, Dave. So what’s today’s hearing for? Are we still going to trial next week?”

  Brunelle nodded. “That’s what today’s hearing is for. To see if we’re really going to trial next week.”

  “Are we?”

  “Are you gonna take that manslaughter and arson offer?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “No way.”

  Brunelle shrugged. “Then we’re going to trial next week.”

  “All rise!” The bailiff had slipped in to announce the judge without Brunelle even seeing him. Brunelle jumped to his feet and pulled his client up wi
th him. “The Superior Court for the County of San Francisco is now in session, the Honorable Phyllis Carlisle presiding.”

  Judge Carlisle emerged from her chambers and ascended the steps to her seat on the bench. Given what he’d heard, somehow Brunelle had pictured a tall scarecrow of a woman, with gray hair in an uncomfortable bun, a sharp nose between squinting eyes, and a frowning mouth. Instead, Judge Carlisle was very, very short—probably not even five feet tall, with untamed brown hair and noticeably large brown eyes. She looked like a robed owl perched on a branch above them.

  “Be seated,” she instructed, in a rather even tone, Brunelle thought. Everyone did, even the corrections officers—which Brunelle found a bit odd. The guards usually stayed standing back in his home court.

  “Call the case, Mr. Prosecutor,” Judge Carlisle ordered, “and introduce yourself for the record.”

  Westerly stood to address the court. At least that formality seemed to exist in both states. “This is the matter of the People of California versus Jeremy Stephenson,” Westerly announced. “I am James Westerly, Assistant District Attorney on behalf of the people.”

  Brunelle allowed himself a twinge of jealously. In Seattle, he always represented ‘the State.’ He kind of liked the sound of representing ‘the people.’ Oh well. He stood to introduce himself and his client.

  “May it please the court,” he started formally, “I am David Brunelle, represe—“

  “Order!” Carlisle screeched. “Order in my court!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Brunelle. “You will wait until you are addressed by this court, counselor. You will not speak out of turn.” Then she banged her gavel. “I find you in contempt of this court.”

  Contempt of court?! Brunelle thought. He’d never, ever been held in contempt of court. You could get disbarred for that.

  Before he could even gather his wits enough to figure out how to reply, Carlisle pronounced, “I hereby fine you the sum of one dollar, payable immediately to my bailiff.”

  Brunelle looked around the courtroom. Jeremy appeared appropriately dismayed at his lawyer having pissed off the judge. The corrections officers were trying to hide their grins, and Westerly just looked at him and nodded, then tipped his head toward the bailiff.