Brunelle nodded. He was right. LeClair had already analyzed this upside down and sideways. Maybe Freddy didn't do any damage after all.
"Ms. Winter asserts that it would have been a defense," LeClair observed. "And interestingly, Mr. McCloud agrees."
Then again… Brunelle glowered at Freddy.
"Accordingly, who am I to disagree? The prosecution motion to exclude the defense of blood revenge is denied."
A ripple of murmured cheers filtered through Quilcene's friends and family in the gallery.
"Yesss," Talon hissed under her breath. She turned and looked at Brunelle. "Your ass," she whispered. "Kicked. By me."
Brunelle rolled his eyes. He was really starting to dislike her. And it really pissed him off that she was so hot. He tried not to think about what he wanted to do to her ass.
"The next motion," Judge LeClair announced, "is the defendant's motion to disqualify Mr. Brunelle from the prosecution of this case."
"Your Honor?" Talon jumped to her feet. "The defense would ask the court to delay the hearing on that motion."
"Delay?" Brunelle and the judge asked at the same time.
"For how long?" Judge LeClair demanded suspiciously.
"And why?" Brunelle added.
"Just a few minutes," Talon answered. "And because I need to speak with Mr. Brunelle. In private."
Chapter 14
Talon closed the conference room door behind her and turned to face Brunelle. Her hands were behind her, still on the doorknob, and her hair cascaded around her face, which was tipped forward, eyes inviting and dangerous. He could smell her perfume. Jasmine. They were alone.
Enemy, Brunelle told himself over the blood rushing in his ears. Remember, she's the enemy.
"David," she started. Not Brunelle. Not Jackass. Not even a simple 'Dave.' David. She was good. "Let's talk."
Brunelle swallowed. He wasn't even sure he could talk. "Okay," he croaked. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Us," she said, finally releasing the doorknob and taking a step toward him. Her hips swung as she walked. "And this case."
Us? What the fuck does that mean? "Okay. Talk."
Talon's mouth spread into a full-lipped smile. She crossed her arms, which only succeeded in pulling her well-tailored jacket even tighter against her frame. "Did you see how I kicked your ass just now?"
"Actually," Brunelle raised a finger, "you kicked Freddy's ass."
The smile twisted into a grimace. "Yeah, I know. That was no fun at all. I already know I can kick his ass. It's your ass I want."
Oh, Talon, Brunelle managed not to say. I want yours too.
"Sorry about that," he said instead. "I didn't know he was going to argue that. I wouldn't have let him if I'd known."
"Well, still," Talon pressed on, another step into his comfort zone. "You have to admit, my argument against your written brief was pretty amazing."
Brunelle shrugged. "I'm sure it was. I wasn't really listening."
Talon's perfectly shaped shoulders fell.
"I was busy," Brunelle explained, "yelling at Freddy. In whispers, of course, but it distracted me from your undoubtedly stunning oral skills."
Brunelle winced. Nice choice of words, counselor.
Talon shook her head, apparently oblivious to his phraseology. "That damn Freddy. He's already screwing things up."
"To your advantage," Brunelle noted.
"Whatever. There's no challenge. No glory in taking him down. He doesn't even have a real job."
Brunelle bristled at that. "Prosecutor is a real job, even a smaller assignment like tribal prosecutor."
Talon cocked her head at Brunelle. Her eyes held back a laugh. "He's not the tribal prosecutor, Dave. There is no tribal prosecutor."
Brunelle offered a puzzled expression. "But I thought…"
"This court doesn't normally handle criminal matters," Talon explained. "That's why this is such a big deal. Usually it's just family and child welfare matters. And parking tickets. Lots of parking tickets. Pays for the casino."
"I thought the casino paid for the casino," Brunelle remarked, recalling the fifty dollars he'd dropped the other night.
Talon laughed lightly. A perfect little laugh. "Yeah, I suppose it does. Fine, the parking tickets pay the judge's salary. But they don't pay for a prosecutor too."
Brunelle thought for a moment. "So where does Freddy normally work then? Pierce County Prosecutor's Office? Tacoma City Attorney?"
Talon shook her head and let out another perfectly dark little laugh. "No, he doesn't have a law job at all. He couldn't find one after law school. He had given up and was working as a bank teller or something. But when the tribe decided to do this, they wanted tribal members as the lawyers. Freddy's a member and he's got a bar card, so voilà, he's the prosecutor."
Brunelle pointed at her. "So you're not the public defender?"
"Oh, please!" Talon scowled. "Don't offend me."
"It's not an insult," Brunelle replied instantly. "The best defense attorneys I go against are public defenders. Dedicated to the cause, not the fee."
Talon took a moment to consider. "So, you're complimenting me?"
Fuck. Brunelle fought off a juvenile blush. "I suppose I am," he admitted. Then he pushed the conversation along. "So where do you work usually? Or don't you have a law job either?"
"Oh, no, I have a law job," Talon nodded confidently. "I'm a senior litigation associate at Gordon, High and Steinmetz. I'm one experienced-homicide-prosecutor-ass-kicking away from making partner."
Brunelle grimaced at the corporate ritual of 'making partner.' The reward for seven years of slavish, round the clock-and-calendar work for the already rich partners. "Well, congratulations," he managed to say.
Talon frowned at him. "Don't judge me, Mr. Public Servant. It's a good job and I'm damn good at it. The tribe called me first. I could have chosen to be the prosecutor, but I chose defense."
Brunelle's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
Talon laughed again. "Well, the first reason is, I'd rather defend the guy who killed the child molester than try to vindicate the child molester."
"I'm not trying to vindicate anyone." Brunelle put his hands up. "I'm just trying to enforce the law. Murder is murder."
"Unless it's justified," Talon teased.
Brunelle just shook his head. "What's the second reason?"
Talon's eyes sparkled. "When they told me a senior prosecutor was coming down from Seattle to prosecute the case, I knew I'd much rather notch my belt with a victory over him than carry his briefcase."
Brunelle had to nod. It made sense. "You're going to use me to make a name for yourself, huh?"
"My phone isn't going to stop ringing once word gets out that I got an acquittal for a guilty-as-hell murder defendant."
"You're that sure you're going to win?"
Talon offered a delicious grin. "Yep. And you know it too."
Brunelle pursed his lips. He didn't know it, but he didn't mind her being overconfident either.
"Unless…" Talon started.
Brunelle narrowed his eye suspiciously. "Unless what?"
"Unless you offer my guy a manslaughter. Then we both win and go back to our real jobs."
"Manslaughter?" Brunelle was incredulous. "He stabbed him in the heart. That's murder."
"Naw," Talon waved it away. "Murder is intentional. That was reckless. An accident."
Brunelle thought for a moment. "The heart," he repeated. "He stabbed him directly in the heart."
"Lucky shot," Talon insisted. "No one studies anatomy any more."
Brunelle looked down at the left side of his own chest. "Everyone knows where the heart is.
"Lucky shot," Talon repeated. "Manslaughter One. Then we go our separate ways."
Brunelle suddenly realized he was in no hurry to go separate ways from Talon, but that wasn't the point, or his motivation. "I'm not giving you a manslaughter."
"Fine," Talon shrugged. "I'll get it from the jury then, if
they don't just acquit outright. There's no way they convict my guy, especially after the ruling I just got. It means I get to bring in all the sick shit your guy ever did."
"Traver is not my guy," Brunelle insisted. "My guy is Lady Justice. Well, my gal. Whatever. Anyway, the only stuff that will come in is what your guy knew at the time of the murder. Which means you have to put him on the stand. Which means I get to cross examine his ass."
Talon laughed. "You think so, huh? Nope, Judge LeClair is going to let me bring in every last sick-fuck thing Traver ever did to anybody. And you know it too. Have you even talked with the mom of your guy's last victim? Johnny's sister? Have you seen her daughter? Do you know how much the jury is going to love my guy after I put that little princess on the stand and she tells them what that bastard did to her?"
Brunelle paused. He knew she was right. The judge was going to let it all in. Damn it.
"I told you," Talon said. "I'm going to kick your ass. And get rich from doing it. And you're going to lose a slam-dunk, blood-on-his hands case and crawl back to Seattle with your tail between your legs."
Brunelle rubbed his chin. "Talon?" he said.
"Yes, David?" He voice was like a chainsaw purring.
"You're overconfident." He crossed his arms and smiled. "Get ready to get schooled."
Talon returned the grin with a broad smile, her full lips parting to show off her perfect teeth. "Let the battle begin."
~*~
"Talon and Brunelle returned to the courtroom and the bailiff went to fetch the judge.
"What happened in there?" Freddy asked Brunelle when he got to their table.
"I'll tell you later," Brunelle replied. "We've got some work to do."
"All rise!" the bailiff commanded as Judge LeClair retook the bench.
"Are you ready to argue your motion, Ms. Winter?"
Talon stayed standing as Brunelle and Freddy sat down. "The defense withdraws its motion to disqualify Mr. Brunelle. Indeed, we welcome his presence on the case. We believe it will enrich all of us."
The judge nodded slowly, then turned to the prosecution table. "Any comment, Mr. Brunelle?"
"None, Your Honor," Brunelle replied.
LeClair nodded. "Then the motion is withdrawn, and Mr. Brunelle shall remain on the case. Anything further at this time?"
"No, Your Honor," Talon answered first.
"No, Your Honor," Brunelle agreed.
Then LeClair adjourned court and left the bench. Freddy turned to Brunelle and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."
"Sure," Brunelle replied. "We can talk about your argument in a minute."
"No, not that." Freddy shook his head. He pointed at Talon. "That. She really is going to kick your ass."
Brunelle looked at Talon and frowned as he considered how the trial would likely unfold.
"Yeah," he sighed. "I know."
Chapter 15
Brunelle wanted to talk to Freddy right away. They had a lot to discuss—and not just case prep. Brunelle had several very specific questions for Freddy about his very specific blood feud argument.
But Freddy begged off. He insisted he didn't have time just then. 'Personal matters' and 'previously scheduled appointments' took priority. Brunelle decided not to argue. There would be time later. And the next bit would be sensitive. Probably better to do it alone anyway. Or at least without Freddy cheerleading for a Mourning War.
Quilcene's sister's name was Stacy. The niece was Caitlyn. Three years old. Nice. They lived in a single-wide on the back half of the reservation. Brunelle parked his Ford Jackass on the curbless road in front of the house and walked through the toys strewn across the walkway to the front door. Putting on his best 'sympathetic professional' mask, he knocked on the screen door.
The sound of children playing leaked through the windows. After a moment, the interior door flew open and a heavy-set Native woman was staring at Brunelle through the screen.
"Hello, ma'am. My name is Dave Brunelle. I'm from the King County Prosecutor's Office. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to chat?"
Stacy Quilcene's eyes narrowed. "Prosecutor? You the one prosecuting Johnny?"
Brunelle shrugged and tried to smile lightly. "I'm afraid so. Do you have a moment to talk about his case?"
"I ain't talking to no prosecutor," Stacy said and started to close the door.
"Talon Winter said I should talk to you."
The door stopped. "Johnny's lawyer?" Stacy asked. Brunelle knew Talon would already have met with her. Always three steps ahead.
"Yes, Johnny's lawyer."
Stacy set her jaw. "Johnny's lawyer said I should talk to you?"
"That's not exactly what she said," Brunelle replied, always the lawyer. "She said I should talk to you. She was trying to convince me to cut Johnny a deal. She said I should talk to you about what happened to your daughter."
That was all accurate, Brunelle knew. He also knew he'd left out the most important part: that he told Talon no deals. He wasn't there to be convinced Johnny Quilcene deserved a manslaughter. He was there to discover what Stacy was going to tell the jury. So he could prepare to neutralize it.
Stacy chewed her lip for a few seconds, then punched the handle to the door and turned around. "Okay, come on in." She walked back into the house. "Gimme a second while I put in a video. I kinda run a daycare here for the neighbors."
Brunelle walked in and assessed the home. He didn't bother looking for her daycare license. Toys and half-empty plates littered the place. A TV in the front room was muted and tuned to some daytime drama-talk show. He heard the kids from the back bedroom, arguing over which video they were going to watch. There were two camps: Dora and Pokémon—with a lone dissenter simply sobbing.
Sometimes he regretted never having gotten married and had kids. This was a nice reminder not to regret.
He heard the video start—Dora had triumphed—and Stacy returned to collapse into the couch by the window. Brunelle sat in one of the small armchairs on the other side of the small room.
"Okay," Stacy exhaled, clearly relishing the chance to sit down for a moment. "What do you want to talk about?"
Brunelle frowned and looked down, rubbing his hands slightly. He needed to affect the right balance of empathy and professionalism.
"Tell me what happened to your daughter."
Brunelle raised his face again. Stacy's face fought to control its expression.
"Yeah, I figured that was it," she said. "Why don't you say it the right way?"
Brunelle cocked his head. "The right way?"
"Nothing happened to my daughter," Stacy declared. "the weather happens. Car crashes happen. Hurricanes and earthquakes and fire drills—those just happen. Ask me what George Traver did to my daughter."
Brunelle nodded. She was absolutely right. "Okay. What did George Traver do to your daughter?"
Stacy looked down the hallway at the Dora screening. She turned back and met Brunelle's eyes fiercely. "You mean besides destroying her innocence? Besides teaching her never to trust anyone ever again? Teaching her to blame herself for other people's sick actions? For thinking she's dirty and worthless and broken? Being afraid of every man in her life? Johnny? Her own fucking dad? You mean besides that?"
Brunelle swallowed. He was used to victims unleashing their anger in his presence, but that was when he was on their side. They were sharing, coping, purging—not raging at him.
He nodded again, slowly, his hands pressed into a twisted knot. "No," he said softly. "Never mind. I don't need to know any more than that."
And in a way, he didn't. He didn't need to drive home thinking about the details of George Traver's fat sweaty body and the owner of one of those giggles down the hall. What mattered was how Stacy would present to the jury. And she'd present great—for Talon. Damn it.
"The only thing I really need to know is whether Johnny knew. Did Johnny know what happened to, uh…?"
He'd forgotten the girl's name already. Damn it again.
<
br /> "Caitlyn," Stacy reminded him. "And yes. of course he did. Everyone did. You don't hide that sort of thing. It just makes it worse."
Brunelle nodded. "How did Johnny react when he found out? Were you there?"
"I was the one who told him," Stacy sneered. "How did he react?" She laughed and shook her head. "He went fucking nuts. He's NGB. Did you know that?"
"Yeah," Brunelle answered. "He's got it tattooed across his chest. Kinda hard to miss."
"Yeah, well, you don't fuck with NGB."
Now that phrase might help him in front of the jury. Noble uncle seeking justice, or just violent gang thug?
"Did Johnny usually carry a weapon," he asked.
"No." Stacy shook her head.
No, of course not, Brunelle thought sarcastically. What gang member carries a weapon?
"We have the knife," Brunelle explained. "Did he carry that knife often?"
"That knife?" Stacy repeated. "No, that knife was special."
"Special?"
"Have you seen it?" Stacy asked.
"Not since the night of the murder," Brunelle admitted. "And I was a bit distracted."
He realized he had another errand to run. He stood up to take his leave.
Stacy stood up too and they made their way to the front door.
"So," she asked, "are you gonna give Johnny the deal?"
Brunelle looked down. He shoved one hand into his pocket and set his other on the doorknob. Without turning to face her, he opened the door and shook his head. "No."
Chapter 16
Brunelle tried to shake the memory of children giggling and yelling '¡Vamanos!' as he turned the corner and clacked down the long concrete hallway in the basement of Seattle P.D.'s main precinct.
Chen was waiting for him in front of the property room.
"You're late," Chen said in greeting, giving his watch an exaggerated glance.
"Nice to see you too," Brunelle replied. "Thanks for always being happy to make time for me."
Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 7
