"Freddy's in the last room on the right," she informed Brunelle as he stepped through the door into a tightly packed cubicle maze.
"Freddy?" he asked.
The officer smiled. "Our prosecutor." She made quote marks in the air with her fingers when she said the word 'prosecutor.'
Great, Brunelle thought. "Thanks," he said.
Freddy was indeed in the last room on the right. As near as Brunelle could tell, it was a combination file room, junk room, and discarded furniture room. Freddy stood in the corner of it, apparently trying to make some order out of it. And also because there didn't seem to be any chairs. None that weren't obviously broken anyway.
"Mr. Brunelle!" Freddy called out. He rushed over to shake Brunelle's hand. He was about ten years younger than Brunelle—in his early thirties—and at least fifty pounds heavier, which was even more noticeable since he was a good six inches shorter too. His skin was a deep tone, not as dark as the Native/Hispanic/Hawaiian receptionist, but darker than Brunelle's pink pastel. Thick eyebrows and a disarming smile competed the look. He grabbed Brunelle's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "It's an honor to meet you. Thank you for helping us out on this case."
"Uh, sure," Brunelle replied, extracting his hand. "Glad to help, I guess. Uh, what did you say your name was?"
"Ha, right." Freddy winked and pointed a gun-shaped finger at Brunelle. "Freddy. Freddy McCloud."
Brunelle nodded. "Nice to meet you." Then he noticed Freddy McCloud wasn't even wearing a tie. He started to feel a bit overdressed in his suit and overcoat.
"Man, this is gonna be great." Freddy rubbed his hands together. "I'm so glad we got a real prosecutor on our side. Now I can just pop some popcorn and watch the show."
Brunelle demurred. "Well, I'll try to live up."
Freddy laughed and shook his head. "No, not you," he said. "Talon."
Brunelle's eyebrows knitted together. "Talon? Who's Talon?"
Freddy's grin blossomed into full blown smile. "She's the defense attorney. And she's gonna kick your ass."
Chapter 5
Before Brunelle could figure out how to respond, Freddy slapped his forehead.
"Oh, man! We're late." He rushed around the table and tugged Brunelle's arm as he passed. "We don't want to piss him off."
Brunelle staggered after Freddy as he disappeared into the hallway. "Piss who off? And what are we late for? I thought I was meeting you at ten-thirty."
"No, we're late for the status conference," Freddy yelled over the cubicles he was racing through. "And the judge. We don't want to piss off Judge LeClair. Not again."
"Again?" Brunelle shook his head. "But I just got here."
~*~
The courtroom was back in the main part of the administration building. Brunelle made sure to say "Hi" to the sort-of-receptionist as he walked through the lobby, trying to keep up with Freddy, who was half-running and muttering something Brunelle couldn't quite hear. After a couple of turns down a couple of hallways, Freddy threw open a random door and disappeared inside. A second later, as Brunelle reached the door, Freddy stuck his head back out into the hallway.
"In here," he announced.
"I figured," Brunelle replied, even as Freddy slipped back out of sight.
Brunelle took a moment to read the sign on the door: 'Judge's Chambers.' It already looked more official than Freddy's 'office.' Brunelle composed himself, stood up straight, and walked inside.
"You're late."
Brunelle managed a contrite nod to the man seated behind the large desk in the center of the far wall. "My apologies, Your Honor. I didn't even know I was going to be here this morning, let alone late for anything. I'm still playing catch-up."
The judge didn't stand up from his desk; he just scanned Brunelle through narrowed eyes. He was youngish—probably the same early forty-something as Brunelle—with a full head of disheveled black hair. There was no mistaking his Native ancestry. High cheek bones, sharp nose, and wise wrinkles in the corners of his bronze skin.
"Lateness shows disrespect," he said. "Do not disrespect me, Mr. Brunelle."
Brunelle offered another conciliatory nod. "Yes, Your Honor."
"When you disrespect me, you disrespect my court," LeClair went on.
"Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle agreed.
"When you disrespect my court, you disrespect my people."
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Do not disrespect my people, Mr. Brunelle."
"Yes, Your Honor."
LeClair waited a moment, eyeing Brunelle, then turned to look at Freddy. Brunelle supposed LeClair knew it was Freddy's fault they were late. He took some solace in that. Anyway, it wasn't about being late; it was about being an outsider. It was about being a big shot prosecutor from the biggest city the state—one named after a Native chief, but they couldn't even show enough respect to spell it right. His name was Sealth, not Seattle.
Under different circumstances, Brunelle might have enjoyed a discussion about respecting cultural traditions and the historical interaction between European and Native peoples in the Pacific Northwest.
Actually, he wouldn't have enjoyed it. But he probably could have tolerated it.
But these weren't different circumstances. These were the usual circumstances. Judge and lawyer. LeClair was the judge and he was the lawyer. Angry judges rule against lawyers who make them angry. And judges who feel respected rule in favor of lawyers who show them respect.
Brunelle thought LeClair was about to offer him the slightest smile to acknowledge Brunelle's response to his test. But instead, Brunelle was pushed to the side by the woman who marched into the room.
"Sorry I'm late, Judge. Got caught in a deposition. And then there was no parking. Some jackass in a Ford took my usual spot so I had to park all the way over at the casino and walk."
It was Talon. Brunelle knew.
He didn't know if it was her first name, or her last name, or her nickname. It didn't matter. It was the perfect name.
She was Talon.
And she was stunning.
Long, straight, silky black hair hung to the middle of her athletic back. She wore a red silk blouse and gray skirt, just tight and just short enough to be attractive and professional at the same time. Dark stockings and high heels that were almost, but not quite, stilettos. And her face—a perfect, Native American angel.
A goddess, Brunelle thought. Uh, if they have those.
He flashed his best smile and extended a hand in greeting. He wanted to come across as smooth, despite the blood pounding in his ears.
"Hello," he crooned. Then, when she just stared at him and his hand, he tried, "I'm the jackass."
No reaction. Not a smile. Not a wince. Nothing. Just coal black eyes staring right though him.
"Er, the Ford," Brunelle stammered. "I'm the jackass who took your parking space. Sorry about that."
Talon still just stared at him, but Freddy jumped up to commence the introductions.
"Talon Winter, this is Dave Brunelle. He's a King County homicide prosecutor. Dave, this is Talon Winter, she's—"
"I," Talon interrupted, "am going to kick your ass." For the first time her face showed an emotion other than stunned contempt. There was a gleam in her eye and a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. She looked down at Brunelle's still-extended hand just long enough for him to know she wasn't going to shake it.
Brunelle lowered it finally. He'd have to work harder for physical contact.
"Nice to meet you too," he answered. "You represent the murderer, I take it?"
A little needling to see how she'd react.
"I represent Mr. Quilcene," she corrected. Then she extracted some papers from her shoulder-strapped brief case. "Which is how you will refer to him as well. At least in open court."
Brunelle nodded slowly, acknowledging the statement but not agreeing to it. He managed not to give voice to his simple thought: complete shrew.
"We'll see about that," he replied. He pointed to her p
leadings. "Are those your motions in limine already? Most defense attorneys I know wait until the last minute to file all their motions to limit what I can or can't say."
"I'm not most defense attorneys," Talon hissed. "And you don't know me."
Brunelle felt a rush of conflicting emotions as he considered wanting to know her. "We haven't even had the arraignment yet," he pointed out.
"I'm always several steps ahead. You're going to learn that, Mr. Jackass."
Brunelle realized that wouldn't be the last time she called him that. Such was his reward for trying to be funny.
"Be careful," he warned. "Several steps ahead is fine—unless the bridge collapses under your feet."
Talon narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. It sent her hair swinging in a silky waterfall against her shining blouse. Brunelle cinched his own eyes against the intoxicating sight, and turned instead to look at the judge, who was sitting quietly, enjoying the show.
"So, Mr. McCloud said we're having a status conference?" Brunelle asked the judge.
"'Mr. McCloud'?" Talon laughed. "Listen to your big shot partner, Freddy. He thinks you're a real lawyer."
Freddy kept his smile plastered to his face, but it left his eyes. Brunelle was about to say something in his defense when the judge finally decided to take control.
"Yes, Mr. Brunelle. This is a status conference. I want to discuss all preliminary matters before formal initiation of the criminal case."
Brunelle shrugged. It wasn't what he was used to, but he could see the value in it. "All right, Your Honor." He sat down in one of the two chairs opposite the judge. "Where shall we start?"
Talon waited a moment, then pulled the other chair a few inches away from Brunelle and sat down. Freddy leaned against the wall.
Talon handed Brunelle and LeClair each a copy of her pleadings. "These are my initial motions in limine. They outline how the case should proceed," she explained, as if she were the judge, not just one of the litigants. She extracted more papers from her bag and shoved them at Brunelle and the judge.
Judge LeClair simply started a stack on top of the thin file folder he had centered on his desktop. Brunelle let them lay where Talon set them. He would look at them as the judge might instruct him to.
Freddy, though, leaned in long enough to grab the top document off of Brunelle's stack and start thumbing loudly through it.
Talon listed the titles of her pleadings. "Motion to suppress identification. Motion to suppress physical evidence. Affirmative defenses. Motion to dismiss…"
After several more, Judge LeClair lifted his hand to stop her. "Thank you, Ms. Winter. I shall review these right away. The arraignment will take place tomorrow morning. That will give our officers time to transport Mr. Quilcene to our court."
"I might need one more day, Your Honor," Brunelle interjected. "I'm still waiting on some lab results."
"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Brunelle," Judge LeClair raised an eyebrow at him, "that you are holding a member of my tribe without enough evidence to charge him?"
Brunelle offered a polite smile. "Of course not, Your Honor. Tomorrow morning will be fine. Thank you."
"Good," the judge replied sharply. "We will conduct a bail hearing as well and schedule the trial date. The trial will commence within sixty days, no longer."
LeClair looked at Brunelle to see if he would protest. Murder trials were routinely scheduled a year or more after arraignment. But Brunelle had learned not to argue with this judge. Not right then, anyway. If there were a legitimate basis to delay the trial—and there almost always was—he could raise it later.
"Motions to suppress," LeClair went on, "must be filed by the pre-trial conference, which will be in one month."
"I've already filed mine, Your Honor," Talon chirped. She leaned forward to tap once on the judge's pile.
The judge smiled at her, a truly warm smile. He then turned to Brunelle as if to make sure he'd seen it. He had.
"Also by pre-trial," Judge LeClair continued, "the prosecution will hand over all evidence in its possession which it intends to use at trial, and the defendant will disclose the nature of his defense."
Brunelle was about to point out that homicide investigations routinely turned up additional evidence even after the arrest and arraignment of the defendant, but Talon spoke up first.
"I've already filed notice of our defense," she practically sang. She looked at Brunelle. For the first time, she smiled at him. The kind of smile a tiger might give its prey before killing it.
"You have?" Judge LeClair asked. He started to look through his stack of papers.
"She sure did." Freddy stepped forward, one hand gripping a crumpled pleading, the other stuffed into his hair. "And it's brilliant!"
Chapter 6
Brunelle snatched the paper out of Freddy's hand and scanned the page.
"'Blood revenge'?" he read aloud. "What the hell type of defense is that?"
"It's a type justifiable homicide," Freddy answered. He pointed at Talon's pleading. "It says so right there."
Brunelle squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, he stared right at Talon. "Blood revenge?"
"Blood revenge," she grinned.
"Blood revenge," the judge repeated slowly, obviously trying the idea on for size. And obviously liking it.
Brunelle shook his head.
"Sometimes," Talon beamed, "being several steps ahead means you've reached the other side when the bridge collapses under your opponent's feet."
~*~
"Revenge?" Chen asked across his desk. "How is that a defense? It's a reason—maybe a good one—but it's not a defense."
"Well, not just revenge," Brunelle answered, leaning back in the chair opposite the detective. "Blood revenge. It's an old Indian tradition, I guess. Kind of an honor killing."
"Honor killing?" It was Kat. She'd suddenly appeared in Chen's doorway, bearing reports. "Isn't that when they stone some girl to death because her uncle molested her?"
Brunelle stood up awkwardly, shaken by Kat's unexpected appearance. Then he was irritated at himself for being so obvious about his surprise. "Er, I don't know. Maybe. But here, they killed the molester."
Kat raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?" She threw the reports on Chen's desk without comment.
Chen glanced at them and offered a nod of thanks.
"Um. Yeah," Brunelle went on. He wished he weren't so uncomfortable around her. She seemed to feed off it somehow. She leveled a glance at him both inviting and ice cold. "That murder in Pioneer Square, remember? Our victim was a child molester."
"Oh, right," Kat smiled. "The suicide."
"Blood revenge," Chen corrected. "Apparently that's a defense."
Kat glanced sideways at Brunelle. "Oh, really?" she practically threatened. "That's good to know."
Brunelle shook his head. "No, sorry, it's only available to Native Americans, and it has to be something more than some guy just not calling you."
"What makes you think I'm not Native?" Kat put her hands on her hips. "And what makes you think I care that you haven't called me?"
Brunelle's eyes narrowed against her unexpected questions. He decided to ignore them for the moment and press on with his explanation. "They're claiming that since the tribal court's jurisdiction comes from a hundred-and-fifty-year-old treaty, they get to raise a hundred-and-fifty-year-old defenses. Apparently, the way blood revenge worked, if you killed someone in another tribe, then that other tribe could kill someone from your tribe."
Chen frowned. "Did Traver kill someone?"
Brunelle threw his hands wide. "Thank you! No, he didn't. So the defense shouldn't even be available."
"What did he do?" Kat asked.
Brunelle rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, well… He diddled the defendant's niece."
Kat's face hardened. "Yep. Not guilty. Easy verdict."
"Yep. You're not on my jury. Easy decision," Brunelle parroted. "The lead detective and the medical examiner both on the side of
the defendant. This trial should go great."
"So don't call us as witnesses." Kat winked at Chen.
"I'm pretty sure I have to," Brunelle complained. "You, at least. Somebody's gotta tell the jury how Traver died."
Kat nodded. "Good point. Well, just keep it short and sweet. Is he dead? Yep. Somebody stab him? Yep. No further questions."
Brunelle surrendered a weak grin. "Yeah, that'll be great… until cross exam. When the defense attorney gets you to tell the jury the bastard deserved it."
Brunelle sighed as he remembered Talon. How she was already three steps ahead of him. How she called him a jackass. How she looked in that red blouse.
"What's he like?" Kat asked.
The question shook Brunelle from his thoughts. "Who?"
"The defense attorney," Kat clarified. "What's he like?"
"Oh, um," Brunelle stammered. "Pretty good, I think. I've never met her before, but she seemed pretty damn prepared at that stupid status conference."
Brunelle tried to hide his thoughts by glancing out Chen's window.
Kat paused. "She?"
"Hm?" Brunelle turned back from the window but didn't quite look at her.
"The defense attorney is a woman?"
"Um, yeah," Brunelle nodded. "I guess so."
Kat laughed. "'I guess so,' he says."
Chen stood up. "I'm going to go look for a report or something. I'll be back a long time from now."
"Coward," Brunelle teased.
"Takes one to know one," Chen whispered as he slipped into the hallway.
Kat crossed her arms and just stared at Brunelle for several seconds. He could feel himself flushing under her gaze. He tried not to think of Talon's hair.
"She's totally hot, isn't she?" Kat demanded.
"No," Brunelle replied too loudly and too quickly. "No. Not at all."
Kat cocked her head. "I'm going to see her when I testify, dummy."
Brunelle ran a hand over his hair. "Oh, right," he sighed. "Okay, yeah. She's a total hottie. Almost beyond description. I can barely think. But, she's also a total bitch. So yeah, totally hot total bitch."
Kat clicked her tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Mr. Brunelle. We finally get a chance to talk and it ends with you telling me how hot some other woman is."
Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 3
