Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2)

by Stephen Penner

  Brunelle finally looked her in the eye. "Why is that how it ends?"

  "Because I'm leaving." She gave a last, confirming glance at the reports she'd left on Chen's desk, then turned to leave. "Say 'Hi' to Freddy for me."

  "You know Freddy McCloud?" Brunelle asked, the surprise in his voice clear.

  "Yep," Kat answered with a grin. "We dated when he was in law school and I was a resident at Tacoma General. Right after Lizzy's dad and I split up."

  Brunelle nodded thoughtfully, but didn't say anything.

  "He's a really nice guy," Kat went on. "You could learn a thing or two from him."

  Then she walked away without another word.

  Brunelle shook his head and looked out the window again. His mind raced from Talon to Kat to Freddy to the dead form of George Traver.

  "Revenge," he muttered.

  Chapter 7

  Kat's parting words shook Brunelle more than he would have liked to admit. He spent the rest of the afternoon drafting charging documents that normally wouldn't have taken him more than thirty minutes to create. As the day drew to a close and he was satisfied he was prepared for the next morning's arraignment, he picked up the phone and booked a room at the hotel across the street from the casino.

  There was no way he was going to risk being late again because of bad traffic or a blocking accident. He was going to be within walking distance, file in hand. He knew when it came time for trial, he'd be spending a couple of weeks down there. Might as well get used to it.

  Besides, he could unwind over a beer and blackjack.

  Once he was checked in, he walked across the street and took out fifty bucks from the casino's ATM. That would be his limit. Once it was gone, he'd head back to his room.

  Three hours later, he still had forty bucks in his wallet and too many beers in his bloodstream.

  He stood up from the blackjack table and decided to walk around the casino for a bit to clear his head. He drained the last of his beer and calculated how long it would be until he felt sober again. He knew from his early days prosecuting DUIs that his body would burn off about one drink an hour.

  He looked at his watch. He needed another hour without drinking.

  He looked at his empty beer bottle. Or one more beer and two more hours of blackjack.

  He sat down at the bar in the center of the cavernous, smoke-filled casino and ordered another beer. Then he ran a hand over his short hair as he tried to figure out why he felt so bad about Kat storming out on him.

  He hadn't said anything that wasn't true. Didn't women always say they wanted honesty? And anyway, she'd brought it up, not him. She'd forced the issue. It wasn't his fault Talon was hot; it was Talon's. And anyway, she was a bitch. A shrew. That was one of those words nobody used any more, but it fit perfectly. And weren't shrews supposed to be tamed? Who was going to tame her? Him? Not likely. He was a jackass. And besides, nothing gets a conviction overturned on appeal like the prosecutor sleeping with the defense attorney. Not like that ever happened, but he didn't want to be the first. He didn't need that. He didn't need her either. And he didn't need Kat. Maybe that's why she was so mad, because he hadn't called her, hadn't followed up on what they both felt. Didn't she understand he didn't want to endanger her? Sure, they could have just hooked up, no strings attached, but he knew it wouldn't have stopped there. Maybe that's what he was scared of. Maybe he should just try for another barmaid.

  He looked up at the woman serving the drinks.

  "Never mind," he muttered. And he was definitely too drunk to drive all the way back up to Seattle before closing time.

  "Never mind what?"

  Brunelle turned sharply at the voice sitting down next to him. It was Freddy. Freddy, the really nice guy. Always smiling. No wonder Kat liked him. Or had liked him. Or still did.

  Brunelle grabbed his forehead. Thinking hurt.

  He lowered his hand and shook his head. "Like I said, never mind." Then he returned his partner's smile. "What are you doing here?"

  Freddy shrugged and patted his thick gut. "Best food in Tacoma. I had dinner, then stuck around for some slots. I was just heading out when I saw you sitting here."

  He looked at Brunelle's hand on his beer and appraised the flush on his face. "You're not driving back up to Seattle tonight, are you?"

  Brunelle shook his head. "No. I got a hotel room. I didn't want to be late to old man LeClair's courtroom tomorrow morning.

  Freddy spun and faced forward on his barstool. "Good thinking. He's gonna give you shit the whole trial, just because you're not Native. No reason to piss him off extra."

  "Hardly seems fair," Brunelle complained. "But I'll deal with it. Lots of judges are jerks for lots of different reasons."

  Freddy shrugged. "If you say so. But he's gonna let Talon go to town on her stupid blood revenge defense."

  "Stupid?" Brunelle knotted his eyebrows. "I thought you said it was brilliant?"

  "It can be both," Freddy grinned. "It's brilliant of Talon to raise it. I mean, really, her guy's guilty as hell. He had blood on his hands, for Christ's sake. So if you can't deny it, justify it. That's brilliant. But it's stupid because that's not how it really worked."

  Brunelle cocked his head. "It's not?"

  "Nope." Freddy looked straight ahead as he explained, usual smile lost in a serious expression, hands extended to emphasize his points. "Talon's trying to make blood revenge a judicial remedy. But it wasn't judicial. It was extra-judicial. If someone killed someone in your tribe, then you killed someone in theirs and it was over. No need for the chiefs to get involved. That was the whole point. Self help."

  "Okay, but isn't that what Quilcene did?" Brunelle countered.

  Freddy shrugged. "Sort of. I don't know. I guess I'm not explaining it very well. I think if you were going to do that, really going to do that, then Talon and LeClair better realize what they're doing. Blood revenge didn't always end it. Remember, how someone killed someone in your family because you killed someone in theirs? Well, guess what? Now someone's killed someone in your family. So you get to kill someone in theirs. Now it's a blood feud. It might never end."

  Brunelle nodded. "Good point. Kind of a policy argument. We can argue that blood revenge was a bad idea and—"

  Freddy raised a hand. "Oh, I didn't say blood revenge was a bad idea." He turned to Brunelle again, his smile back and on full display. But different somehow. "I think it's a great idea. Just let them handle it. Keep us out of it. Traver molests Quilcene's niece, so Quilcene kills him. Fine. Then someone from Traver's family kills Quilcene or one of his relatives. And we stay the hell out of it."

  Brunelle shook his head. "Not gonna happen. Quilcene's in custody and my detective says Traver didn't have any family."

  Freddy's smile faded a bit. "Is that right?"

  "Yeah," Brunelle answered. "So maybe the blood feud ends here after all."

  Freddy looked straight ahead again and nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

  The conversation was starting to sober Brunelle up. He slid his beer away. "I think I'm done drinking. Wanna play a few hands of blackjack before calling it a night?"

  Freddy was quick to beg off. "No, that's okay." He tapped his hands on the countertop. "Thanks anyway, but I think I'm gonna head out. I've got some things to do. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Sounds good," Brunelle patted him on the back as they both stood up. "See you tomorrow."

  As Freddy started to walk away, Brunelle felt glad for the relief their shop talk had brought to his melancholic ruminations. But realizing that made him think of Kat again.

  "Oh, hey, Freddy!" he called out after him through the casino crowd. "Kat says 'Hi'!"

  But Freddy didn't turn around. Apparently, it was too loud in the casino between the ringing slots and the talking patrons. Brunelle watched him walk out to the south parking lot and disappear into the black night.

  Brunelle pulled out his wallet and stared at the forty-odd dollars he had left. He scanned the casino and spotted a po
ker table. Perfect. It would take him no time to lose forty dollars at poker.

  ~*~

  Brunelle stepped out into the south parking lot. It was starting to rain—just a light mist really. The blacktop was glistening and a fine spray tickled his face. He welcomed the sensation. One more thing to wake him up for his walk back to the hotel.

  He shook his head at himself. Part of the reason he'd walked to the casino, despite the ever-present threat of rain in the the fall, was the thought—hope?—that Talon might be there and he didn't want to take another one of her usual parking spots. He didn't want her to call him jackass again. Silly how he'd changed his behavior because of a woman he knew he'd never actually be with.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and wondered what was wrong with himself. But just as he began ticking back through past lovers, his thoughts were shattered by a scream.

  It sounded like a girl but the voice was a man's. Brunelle knew a man screaming like a girl was bad. Maybe very bad.

  He ran in the direction of the scream, toward the grassy strip separating the casino parking lot from the tribe's administration building. He got there at the same time as two other casino patrons who'd also been in the parking lot.

  "Step back," Brunelle ordered as they reached the scene. The crime scene, he knew.

  A young man, maybe even a teenager, lay on the grass, eyes open and glassy. Large blotches, black in the parking lot lights, stained his shirt—one at his stomach, the other over his heart. Brunelle knelt down and checked for a pulse under the boy's 'NGB' neck tattoo. Nothing.

  "He's dead," Brunelle announced.

  "That's not the worst of it."

  Brunelle jerked his head up to see Freddy standing there, rain dripping from his hair and his chest heaving. He pointed at the victim.

  "That's Bobby Quilcene. Johnny's cousin."

  Chapter 8

  An hour later, Brunelle and Freddy were still in the casino parking lot. They were both leaning against a cop car, its lights flashing against the back of their damp heads. Officers from the Tribal Police and the Pierce County Medical Examiner were still investigating the scene across the parking lot, the steady mist unrelenting in the dark.

  Brunelle looked at his watch. It was almost 1 a.m. "This still won't give us an excuse to be late, will it?"

  Freddy surrendered a tired laugh. "Nope. We'll be exhausted, but we better not be late."

  Brunelle nodded. "Well, hopefully they'll get to us soon."

  He was used to coming and going from crime scenes at his pleasure. But he didn't know these cops or these M.E.s and he wouldn't be prosecuting this murder. He was just a witness. A cold, tired, wet witness.

  Then he realized something.

  He turned to Freddy. "Hey, why were you even still around? You left a good half an hour before I did."

  "Eh?" Freddy looked over at him, then away again. He rubbed the back of his wet neck. "Oh, I was just, um, sitting in my car. You know, talking on the phone with, uh, someone."

  "Oh," Brunelle nodded. He didn't ask who. Maybe Freddy had heard him shout 'Hi' from Kat after all.

  A few quiet minutes later a patrol officer finally made his way over to them. They'd already been separated once to give their initial verbal statements. This cop had some blank-lined statement forms in one hand and some pens in the other.

  "Thank you for your patience, sirs," the officer said. "If you could each fill out a written statement of what you saw, you can get going. Be sure to include a good phone number and address at the top of the form. You may get contacted by a detective."

  "Understood," Brunelle said as he took the form and a pen.

  He stepped around the back of the patrol car and sat on the bumper to fill out his statement. He was completely sober again so the only trouble he had writing was getting the ballpoint pen to start on the damp paper.

  'At approximately 2330 hours…'

  But then he overheard Freddy ask the officer to step to the front of the patrol car. Curious, Brunelle strained to hear and could just make out Freddy saying, "I'm sorry, officer, but like I told you before, I'm going to decline to make any statement."

  Chapter 9

  "All rise!" commanded the bailiff as Judge LeClair entered the courtroom. "The Duwallup Tribal Court is now in session."

  Brunelle rose quickly from his seat at counsel table, despite the late night. The brick in his head was an unwelcome reminder that he was well past the age when he could stay up after one o'clock and feel no worse for wear the next day. Fatigue pressed down his back. Luckily, the hotel coffee had been strong.

  He had to at least pretend not to be tired. The courtroom was packed—mostly with tribal members, including at least three rows of Quilcene's extended family in the front rows. There were also two television cameras. Local stations; it was just the arraignment. But Brunelle knew the trial itself would end up being national news. Duncan had already fielded phone calls from all the major cable outlets and a half-dozen true crime shows.

  "Are the parties ready in the matter of the John Quilcene?" Judge LeClair asked from his perch on the bench.

  "The defense is ready," Talon announced before Brunelle could answer. He was used to replying first; that's how it was done normally. She wanted to throw him off his game.

  Too bad.

  "The State is ready," Brunelle announced.

  Judge LeClair's face fell.

  Freddy leaped to the rescue. "The Tribe, Your Honor. The Tribe is ready."

  Shit, Brunelle thought. And damn Talon. He was already off his game. Not 'too bad.' Too late. He decided not to face his opponent to look at the grin he could spy out of the corner of his eye.

  "Correct, Your Honor," Brunelle regained himself. "The Tribe is ready. May it please the Court, Frederick McCloud and David Brunelle on behalf of the prosecution."

  He glanced down at Freddy who gave him a disapproving little shake of the head, coupled with the slightest shade of that smile of his.

  "We are ready," Brunelle went on, "to proceed with the arraignment. We have filed the original criminal complaint with the clerk of the court and provided copies to defense counsel and your bailiff. It charges Mr. Quilcene with—"

  "One count of murder in the first degree," the judge interrupted. "Yes, I can read, Mr. Brunelle. This is my courtroom, not yours. I shall control the proceedings."

  Brunelle nodded slowly, aware of the courtroom full of eyes on his back. "Yes, Your Honor."

  He knew he was going to get kicked in the crotch a lot during this trial. Better get used to it.

  "Ms. Winter." The judge turned to her. "Have you had an opportunity to review the charging documents?"

  "Barely, Your Honor," Talon complained. "We only received it this morning. But I've reviewed it enough to know my client is one hundred percent not guilty."

  Brunelle rolled his eyes. Why do defense attorneys always play to the cameras?

  "The plea of not guilty will be entered," LeClair declared. "Next we will discuss bail and conditions of release."

  Again, Brunelle was used to going first, but he checked himself and waited for the judge to indicate whom he would hear first. It seemed to be a test; he may even have passed. After a moment, the judge smiled ever so slightly. "I'll hear first from the prosecution."

  "Thank you, Your Honor," Brunelle began. "The prosecution asks the court to set bail in the amount of one million dollars. This is a charge of murder in the first degree, with a mandatory minimum sentence of twenty years in prison. He was arrested blocks away from the victim with blood on his hands. I submit to you that his responsibility for the death of George Traver is not in question. Therefore, based on his actions and the likely penalty, we believe the defendant is a flight risk and a danger to the community. One million dollars will secure his presence for future proceedings and protect the community."

  Judge LeClair frowned at Brunelle for a few seconds, then turned to the other counsel table. "Ms. Winter?"

  "Thank you, Your Honor." T
alon stepped out from behind her large table and raised her hands slightly as she spoke. "The defense respectfully requests that Mr. Quilcene be released to the custody of his family where he can remain under house arrest, until such time as he is acquitted of the charges."

  House arrest? Brunelle thought, but managed not to blurt out. That's crazy. It's Murder One.

  He looked over at her. She had balls, so to speak; he had to give her that. Even in her perfectly tailored alpha-female suit, she had balls.

  Talon gestured to the gallery. "As you can see, Your Honor, Mr. Quilcene has tremendous family support. They will act as agents of the court, ensuring that Mr. Quilcene neither flees nor poses a danger to anyone in our close-knit community."

  Nice touch, Brunelle thought. The community he wasn't a part of. He hoped the judge saw through the flattery too.

  "In addition," Talon's voice softened and Brunelle looked to see her pause and stiffen her chin—quite dramatic, he thought, "the court may have heard the tragic news of early this morning. Mr. Quilcene's teenage cousin—more like a little brother to my client—was brutally stabbed and murdered last night."

  LeClair nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I am aware of that tragedy."

  Shit, Brunelle thought again.

  "Mr. Quilcene's family needs him at home, Your Honor," Talon implored. "Release him to the care of his family. You won't regret it, Your Honor."

  Brunelle stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He started to stand up. "May I be heard, Your Honor?"

  "No," the judge barked without taking his eyes from the defense table. "The defense request will be granted. This court believes that Mr. Quilcene poses neither a flight risk nor a danger to our close-knit community. Accordingly, home detention is appropriate and so ordered."

  Quilcene's family started to squeal and clap, but Talon quieted them with a sharp shake of her head and slash of her hand.

  Quilcene himself was ecstatic. Brunelle watched as his face explode into a smile and he grabbed Talon's hand to shake it emphatically.