Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2)

by Stephen Penner

  Henderson nodded. "Yeah, I sort of had to overlook that."

  Brunelle raised a hand. "Wait, wait. You had to overlook it? You hadn't heard from him in a while? What's going on? Why did this guy have your card in his wallet?"

  Henderson slapped his forehead. "He had my card in his wallet? God, no wonder he got offed."

  Brunelle grabbed his own temples. "Okay, hold on." He lowered his hand again. "I'm having a really bad day. I discovered a friend of mine didn't do what I thought he did and I'm still grappling with the fact that he's dead now because of the manner, place, and time I chose to confront him about it. So, if you could just do me a favor and explain, slowly and clearly, why George Traver had your card in his wallet."

  Henderson looked to Chen, with an obvious 'Is this guy nuts?' look. Chen returned a 'He's okay; just answer his question' nod and Henderson shrugged.

  "George was just another homeless guy in Pioneer Square," Henderson said. "I found him drunk and disorderly one night and ran him for warrants. The failing to register thing showed up. I was going to arrest him when he told me he knew about me, about how all the gangbangers talk about 'Henderson' and are scared of me, and he could help me get some of them."

  Henderson paused. Brunelle supposed he wanted some acknowledgement of being feared throughout the Seattle gang community. When he didn't get it, he went on.

  "At first, I didn't buy it," he said. "But then he told me was Native and he'd heard the NGBs—" He stopped and looked to Brunelle. "You know the Native Gangster Bloods?"

  "I'm familiar with them," Brunelle replied dryly. "Keep going."

  "Right. The NGBs were looking to expand from Tacoma up to Seattle. He said he knew all the NGBs and could keep tabs on them for me if I just didn't arrest him."

  "So you didn't arrest him," Chen confirmed. "Instead, you made him a snitch."

  Henderson nodded, a satisfied smile in the corner of his mouth.

  "And now he's dead," Brunelle observed. "So that didn't work out so well for him."

  "It clears the warrant," Henderson joked.

  Brunelle offered a pained smile. Then a light bulb went off.. His smile grew wider and he stood up. "Thank you, Detective Henderson. You've made me a very happy man."

  "Oh," he replied, standing up as well. "Why is that?"

  "Because now I have an excuse to drop in on a very mean, but very attractive defense attorney and tell her I'm going to kick her ass."

  Chapter 23

  "Ms. Winter will see you now," the young male receptionist announced, standing to guide Brunelle back into the opulent bowels of Gordon, High and Steinmetz.

  Finally, Brunelle thought. He'd scheduled the appointment for 3:30. He looked at his watch as he stood up. 4:28. He figured for the first fifteen minutes she might actually have been busy, but the rest was just to make him wait. To show him who was in charge.

  But he needed to get this information to her ASAP. And he wanted to be there to see her face when she got it. When he'd called, the secretary had insisted that Talon was booked with court appearances and client appointments until late Friday.

  "Fine," he'd said. "Late Friday. What time?"

  3:30, she'd said. Or, as it turned out, 4:30.

  He followed the receptionist down the cherry furniture lined hallways. Although it was approaching 5:00, not one of the desk-ridden attorneys looked like they'd be going home anytime soon.

  Talon was no exception. She sat at her desk typing maniacally, her long black hair sliding down the back of her golden silk blouse.

  "Dave," she greeted him without pulling her eyes from her screen. "Hold on. Just let me finish this paragraph."

  Her familiarity—friendliness even—surprised him. He liked it. "Uh, sure," he replied and sat in one of her luxurious office chairs. Her firm had the top floor of one of Tacoma's few office towers. Her particular office had a panoramic view of Commencement Bay to the left and Mount Rainier to the right. Brunelle busied himself appraising the prints and diplomas and certificates decorating her office walls as Talon's fingers pounded out the last few words of whatever she was working on.

  "There!" She threw her hands up from the keyboard. "Done."

  "Is that a love note for me?" Brunelle joked, meaning a motion or a brief on their case. He instantly regretted it.

  "You wish." Talon smirked at him. "I've got more than our little case. We're suing the biggest corporation in Washington and this brief is going to give their lawyers a fucking heart attack."

  Her smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile, showing off those perfect teeth of hers. "Yours isn't the only ass I'm going to kick."

  Brunelle nodded politely, but growing tired of the refrain. "Yeah, about that. I'm afraid I have some new information on the case."

  He reached into the file he'd brought with him and dropped Henderson's hastily drafted report on her desk. "Hot off the press. Read all about it."

  Talon glanced at it just long enough to recognize it as a police report. She folded her hands on top of it and looked at Brunelle. "All about what?"

  "All about your client's real motive," Brunelle replied with his own smarmy smile. "The one that's going to blow your bullshit blood revenge claim right out of the water."

  Talon smiled, like a mongoose meeting a cobra. "You think so, huh? Well, then. Let's see what you've got here, Dave."

  He tried to ignore that hearing her say his name—rather than 'jackass'—was a very pleasant sensation indeed. He looked down at his hands while she began reading the police report.

  Those damn age spots were still there.

  He raised his eyes and appraised her office. It was clean and orderly, with just enough clutter to show she was working on a hell of a lot—all at once.

  Talon finally looked up from the report. "I thought you said you had bad news for me?"

  Brunelle huffed at her bravado. "Damn right I do. My victim was a snitch. Snitching out your guy's gang."

  Talon nodded. "Yeah, I kind of already knew that."

  "You did?" Brunelle was stunned. "How the hell did you know that? I just found out."

  "That's because you're on the outside looking in," Talon explained. "But I'm already inside. Tell me, how did you figure it out?"

  Brunelle leaned back into the soft chair. "Well, I was looking through the evidence with Detective Chen. We went through Traver's wallet and found the business card for a Seattle gang detective, James Henderson. When we met with Henderson he explained he'd recruited Traver as a snitch."

  Talon grinned. "Wow, that was a lot of work. Wanna know how I found out?"

  Brunelle crossed his arms. "How?"

  "Traver," she leaned back too, but it was so she could show off her smugness, "was a drunk and a loser. And a really lousy snitch. He told anyone who would listen that he was working with the cops. My client and a half dozen other family members told me about Traver being a snitch the first time I met with them."

  Brunelle dropped his arms to his side. "And you didn't think that was worth mentioning to me?"

  Talon actually laughed. "Of course not, Dave. Come on. You know how discovery works in a criminal case. You have to tell me everything, and I don't have to tell you shit. Pardon my French."

  Somehow, hearing her swear made Brunelle's heart race almost as much as the constant use of his first name.

  "Okay, fine." Brunelle regained himself. "You knew and I didn't. But now I do and so will the jury."

  "Good," Talon smiled.

  Brunelle cocked his head. "Good? I give the jury the alternative motive for your client killing Traver and you say 'good'?"

  Talon nodded. "Yep. Good." Her eyes flashed. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you'll say to the jury in closing argument?"

  Brunelle thought for a moment, then sat up straight and took on the affect of a prosecutor delivering his summation. "Ladies and gentlemen, Johnny Quilcene didn't murder George Traver to avenge the molestation of his niece. He did it to silence a confidential informant. Someone who was reporting
to the police about the illegal activities of the Native Gangster Bloods, the very street gang Johnny Quilcene belonged to. Quilcene murdered George Traver not because of what he had done, but rather because of what he threatened to do in the future: bring down the NGBs. There's a saying in the criminal community: 'snitches are bitches who end up in ditches.' And Johnny Quilcene put George Traver in a ditch."

  Talon gave a polite golf-clap. "Excellent. Really. Especially the 'snitches in ditches' part. Bravo."

  Brunelle smiled despite her obvious sarcasm. "Thank you. I'd hoped you would approve."

  Talon's smile remained as her eyes narrowed. "Wanna hear mine?"

  Brunelle crossed his arms again and leaned back. "By all means."

  Talon took a deep breath. Brunelle couldn't help but look at her rising chest for a moment before managing to pull his eyes up.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," she started, her voice a notch lower—and sexier—than usual, "you just heard the prosecutor refer to the tragic loss of human life as 'snitches are bitches who end up in ditches.'"

  Brunelle bristled, but didn't interrupt. He knew there was no way he was going to use that phrase now in his actual closing argument.

  "It's catchy," she went on, speaking past him to an imaginary box full of jurors, "kind of funny, and it rhymes. What more could anyone want for an explanation of why one human being would kill another? Well, how about reality? How about complicated, messy, terrible reality? Let's talk reality. George Traver really molested three-year-old Caitlyn Quilcene. With his own filthy, disgusting, real hands. And she really will never forget those terrible things that really happened to her. And George Traver really was a registered sex offender. He really was supposed to check in with the police every week so they—and we—could monitor his activity. And he really stopped registering. And that's really a crime. It's called Failing to Register as a Sex Offender. He really committed it and there was a real warrant out for his arrest. A real piece of paper signed by a real judge who really said go arrest that vile piece of garbage before he hurts someone again.

  "And then you know what happened? What really, actually, unbelievably happened? A real cop—a real detective—really found George Traver. He really knew what Traver had done and what he was capable of doing again. And he really knew about the real warrant that the real judge had issued because everyone knew that George Traver was really going to hurt a real person if he wasn't stopped. And you know what the real cop really did? He really let George Traver go.

  "He didn't arrest him. He didn't even make him start registering again. He didn't say, 'Hey, George, go turn yourself in and clear out these warrants and start registering again and then you can help me. No, he really just walked away. He gave that real child molester his business card and walked away. The police just walked away. Really.

  "Ladies and gentleman, if the authorities had done their job, George Traver would never have laid a hand on Caitlyn. He would have been arrested, charged with failing to register, and sent off to prison. Really.

  "Then they come back and say, 'We know we didn't do what we were supposed to do. We know we had every chance to save Caitlyn from that terrible fate. We know we didn't protect her. We know we didn't do our jobs. We know we didn't do anything. But don't you do anything either. Just take it. Really. Like Caitlyn did when George Traver laid his filthy hands on her. Just take it.'"

  Brunelle's heart sank.

  Talon wasn't smiling any more. She was in the zone. Not just arguing her point like any lawyer could, but truly feeling the force behind her words. Slowly, she came back to the surface and her eyes focused on Brunelle again.

  "Fuck," Brunelle exhaled.

  Her smile returned. "Exactly. I told you, Dave. I'm already three steps ahead of you."

  "I can see that," he managed to reply.

  "And I'm gonna kick your ass."

  He sighed. "Yeah, I can see that too."

  Talon looked at the antique-style clock on her bookshelf. It was almost 5:00. "You up for a cup of coffee?" she asked suddenly. "I'm buying. I wanna talk some more with you."

  Brunelle's head was still thick from the power of Talon's mock closing. "Uh, sure." He stood up as Talon did too. "What do you want to talk about?"

  Talon took her coat off the back of her office door. A bright red raincoat. Stunning. Of course.

  "I'll tell you when we get there. But it'll be worth the wait." She winked. "Really."

  Chapter 24

  Talon led Brunelle the few short blocks to her favorite coffee house. She picked a window seat so they could watch the bumper-to-bumper traffic grind its way down the hill toward the freeway.

  "I always grab a cup of coffee this time of day," she explained as they sat down with their drinks, her treat. "There's something about seeing all these people going home that motivates me to get back to work."

  Brunelle looked at the cars then at her. "You're not kidding, are you?"

  She sipped her coffee and smiled. "Nope."

  Brunelle drank from his too. "Well, you've got the killer lawyer routine down pat. I'll admit I'm impressed."

  Talon nodded. "Good. You should be."

  Brunelle shook his head amicably. "You know, it's almost too bad we're on opposite sides. I think we might make a good team."

  "Who says we aren't?" Talon replied over her coffee.

  "Um." Brunelle thought a moment. "I'm pretty sure we aren't. I'm prosecuting your client. Not a whole lot of room for collaboration there."

  Talon waved the idea away. "Of course there is. Let's settle this case. Right now, over coffee. The only thing keeping us from being together is this case. So let's get rid of it."

  Brunelle didn't fail to notice that Talon said 'being together' rather than 'working together.' He was speechless for a moment as his heart restarted, so Talon went on.

  "First degree manslaughter," she said. "I'll plead him out first thing in the morning. Then we're done."

  Brunelle sipped at his coffee, knowing he was going to say 'No', but not in any hurry to end their conversation.

  "You know it's a fair resolution," Talon pressed. "It's like those old fashioned 'hot blood' cases where the guy comes home to find his wife in bed with another man. Even though he kills her intentionally, we say it's manslaughter, not murder. That's because we understand, sometimes people just lose it. And justifiably so.

  "My guy lost it too. And justifiably so. So give him a manslaughter, and that lets you and me both be done with the one thing we can't work together on."

  Brunelle tapped his finger against his lips. "Well…" he said slowly. "The standard range is seven to nine years on a manslaughter one. If we agreed to high end…"

  "Oh no," Talon interjected. "No agreement on the sentence. I'm going to argue for no jail."

  "Are you kidding?" Brunelle dropped his hand from his face. "Low end is seven years. How are you—?"

  "Low end under Washington law," Talon grinned. "But I'll be arguing for a sentence under tribal law. It is the tribal court after all."

  "He's charged under Washington law," Brunelle pointed out.

  Talon's smile grew. "And that will be my first issue on appeal. What gives you the authority to charge under your statute in my court?"

  Brunelle just stared at her.

  "Wanna hear my other appeal issues?" she teased. "I'm actually about nine steps ahead of you."

  Brunelle wasn't sure what to say, but before he could think of anything, his phone rang. Glad for the interruption, he pulled it out and looked at the screen.

  It was Kat.

  "Fuck."

  "Not on the first date," Talon quipped. "And not right after coffee. And certainly not when I bought."

  Brunelle ran his hand through his hair and squinted his eyes shut. "No, not that kind of fuck. I forgot something. Something important."

  He stared at the phone for another second then decided he better answer it. He stood up and stepped away from Talon, suddenly realizing how loud the coffee shop chatter was.<
br />
  "Hello? This is Dave Brunelle." As if he didn't know who was calling.

  "Hello, Dave Brunelle," came the throaty voice on the other end. "This is Kat Anderson. Where the heck are you?"

  Brunelle looked at his watch. 5:41.

  "Uh, Tacoma," he stammered. "I got stuck in Tacoma. Uh, working on this damn case."

  There was a long pause. "You're standing me up?"

  Brunelle ran that hand through his hair again. "Well, um, it's not like I wanted to, or planned on it or anything. It's just that I got stuck down here."

  "Wow," Kat said. "You stood me up."

  "Look, let's just reschedule. I wanted to do tomorrow night anyway. Would that work? Or maybe next weekend?"

  "You didn't even call me to tell me you weren't coming. I had to call you."

  "I know, I know." Brunelle looked across the shop at Talon. She was watching his every move. "Next weekend, okay?"

  No response.

  "Okay?" he tried again.

  "Sure, David," Kat finally said, but Brunelle could hear the crack in her voice. "I have to go now," she said and hung up.

  Brunelle didn't argue against the click. Instead, he stared at the phone for a few seconds then returned to his table with Talon.

  "Girlfriend?" she asked.

  Brunelle shook his head. "No," he decided.

  "Not a wife," Talon said. "I already checked your finger."

  Brunelle looked down at his naked left hand. "Did you?" Somehow that made him feel better. "No, not a wife. It's… It's complicated."

  Talon laughed a little. Damn, he liked her laugh.

  "Look, Dave," she said. "You know I'm not stupid, right?"

  Brunelle raised his eyebrows. "Of course I know that. You're anything but stupid. In fact, you seem pretty fucking smart. Pardon my French."

  Talon nodded. "Pardoned. Now…" She leaned back and gestured at her body with her hands. "Have you noticed that I'm rather physically attractive? Maybe not the most beautiful woman on the planet, but pretty enough?"

  Brunelle tried to avoid blushing. "You're attractive," he conceded. "Sure. I suppose I noticed."