Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2)

by Stephen Penner

  Talon shook her head at him. "You suppose you noticed. Okay. Well, look. If you noticed it, and I'm not stupid, don't you think I know it too?"

  Brunelle hadn't really thought about it that way.

  "Dave, you were about to give my client a manslaughter deal just because you think I'm hot and you were hoping you might get to nail me."

  Brunelle sat up indignantly. "I was not!" Not 'just because' anyway, he thought.

  Talon laughed again, but this time Brunelle didn't like the laugh at all. "You sure as hell were. If your girlfriend hadn't called, I would've unbuttoned the top button on my blouse and had you agreeing to no jail time either.

  Brunelle knew he was blushing now; he could feel his face burning. He was embarrassed and angry and he didn't even know what else. Of all the things he could have said, he chose, "She's not my girlfriend."

  Talon smirked and shook her head. "Not if you keep acting like this."

  Chapter 25

  The next week dragged on as Brunelle filled his days trying to interview witnesses and otherwise prepare for the omnibus hearing, while filling his nights with picking up his phone to call Kat, only to set it down again. Both endeavors proved mostly fruitless.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that his case would be one consisting almost entirely of professional witnesses: detectives, forensic officers, the medical examiner, etc. Whatever lay witnesses there had been to the actual killing were homeless, transient, and in the wind. It meant he might not get a description of the argument that led up to the stabbing but, on the bright side, all of his witnesses would honor their subpoenas, arrive on time, and probably not be drunk when they testified.

  Still, he didn't like leaving that detail blank for Quilcene to fill in any way he pleased after Brunelle had rested his case, so he recruited Henderson to beat the bushes and scare up at least one witness who had given both a description of the murder and enough personal information to be tracked down. When Henderson had resisted—claiming too much of his own work to do—Brunelle gave him a taste of Talon's closing and he meekly agreed to help.

  Connecting with Kat had been similarly frustrating. But it was his own fault. He tried to call her cell on Saturday but had been forced to leave a voicemail. When she didn't call back, he concluded she didn't want to talk. A convenient conclusion, he knew. So on Friday he sent an email to her work account confirming their 'meeting' the next day. They hadn't even discussed the details of their date, a fact of which he was reminded when Kat emailed back, almost immediately, 'Where and when is our *meeting*, Mr. Brunelle?'

  'University District,' he typed backed. 'Donatello's on the Ave. 5:00 pm.'

  A few seconds later: 'Fine. But if you stand me up again, I'll demonstrate a reckless Y-incision on your torso.'

  Brunelle was actually glad for the threat, because it was also a joke. Which meant she wasn't angry any more. Or at least not as angry. He was also glad she hadn't balked at the suggestion of a restaurant in the U District. It dovetailed perfectly with his other plans for the day.

  He needed an expert on Native American culture, and specifically blood revenge and criminal justice customs. The University of Washington boasted an entire department on Native American studies and he had managed to convince one of the professors to meet with him about the case. If all went well, Brunelle would be able to call him as a witness to debunk Talon's justifiable homicide claim.

  He could think a few steps ahead too.

  It had an authoritative ring to it: William O'Brien, Ph.D., Professor of Native American Studies at the University of Washington.

  "Call me Bill," O'Brien said as he shook Brunelle's hand in the café above the university's natural history museum.

  "Dave," replied Brunelle and they both sat down at the small table O'Brien had staked out for them. Brunelle had arrived early and spent the last half hour touring the museum's Native American exhibit. It was interesting enough, he supposed, but it skewed toward artifacts and dioramas of every day life. No mention of prevailing criminal justice systems. Another reason to go straight to source.

  Well, a source anyway.

  O'Brien was about Brunelle's age, with a thick mop of wavy strawberry blond hair, trendy glasses, and a white cable-knit sweater.

  "How can I help you, Dave?"

  So Brunelle explained the case. Simply, but adequately, focusing on what Traver did to Quilcene's niece and Talon's confidence in her blood revenge defense. O'Brien took it all in quietly, nodding and offering the occasional, "Ah" or, "mm-hmm." When Brunelle finished, O'Brien leaned back and rubbed his hands together.

  "Oh, this is amazing," he said. "Fantastic, really. I'm so glad you called me."

  "So you think you can help my case?" Brunelle confirmed.

  O'Brien grinned. "Well, I don't know about that, counselor. I can give you information. Whether it's helpful to you or not, you'll have to decide."

  "Fair enough," Brunelle replied. "My first question is about blood revenge generally. It was a part of Native American culture, right?"

  "Well, to begin with," O'Brien took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with his sweater, "there's no such thing as a monolithic Native American culture. Every nation, every tribe had its own history and customs, often greatly influenced by their geography and the available natural resources. For example, in the Plains where it takes great effort by many members of a tribe to take down just one buffalo, conflict and war was more common than, say, here in the Pacific Northwest where seafood was so plentiful that the natives had a saying: 'When the tide goes out, the table is set.' Now, if you compare that to the confederated tribes of the Northeast…"

  Brunelle raised a hand to interrupt. "Right, sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to generalize."

  "No worries," O'Brien replied. "Most lay people are as ignorant as you."

  Brunelle raised an eyebrow at the comment.

  "About the complexities of Native American culture, I mean."

  Brunelle forced a smile. "Of course. So anyway… Blood revenge?"

  "Ah yes." The glasses went back on and the professor leaned onto the table. "Well, you see, blood revenge was an important part of many Native American cultures. The concept was a simple one: if a member of one clan or family was killed by a member of another group, then that other group should plan for, and acquiesce to, the killing of one of their own."

  "Acquiesce to?" Brunelle was intrigued by that wrinkle.

  "Oh, yes," O'Brien enthused. "It was vital that the disagreement stop after just one killing. Otherwise blood revenge would become a blood feud, with devastating consequences for both sides. The entire purpose of blood revenge was to end the inequity caused by the first killing, and thereby discourage killings in the first place. In fact, in some ways, blood revenge was the foundation for all modern criminal justice systems. You should read Professor Miller's work on medieval Icelandic sagas and the law of blood feuds. It's some truly fascinating reading."

  "Sure." Brunelle nodded. Time to pursue another angle. "Could a blood revenge killing be justified by something less than another killing?"

  O'Brien frowned at him. "I don't understand. It's a retaliatory killing. It's designed to balance the unjustness of the initial killing."

  "Understood." Brunelle nodded. "But what if the initial killing wasn't a killing at all? What if it was something less?"

  "Something less?"

  "Yes. Something terrible—horrific, even—but not a murder."

  "Like a theft or something?" O'Brien ventured. "Oh, no. You couldn't kill someone just because they stole from you. Indeed, intertribal theft was actually another important cultural—"

  "Sure, I get that," Brunelle interrupted, not eager for another lecture. "But what about something really serious? Like a serious assault? Or even a sexual assault?"

  "Rape?" O'Brien translated. "Oh my. That's a very complicated issue. Sexual mores can be very different from culture to culture and it was no different for the various Native American nations. For example�
�"

  "That's okay." Brunelle put up a hand. "I don't need examples. I'll make it simple. In my case, the murder victim molested the defendant's three-year old niece. He's claiming a justifiable blood revenge killing. Can he do that?"

  O'Brien's shoulders dropped and he removed his glasses again. He chewed on an earpiece. "Can he do that?" he repeated. "Well, that's a difficult question…"

  "Sometimes the best answer to a difficult question is the simplest one," Brunelle encouraged. "Yes or no, could you do a blood revenge killing for the molestation of a child?"

  O'Brien replaced his glasses and pursed his lips. He chewed his cheek for several moments as the gears spun behind his eyes. Finally, he said, "Maybe."

  Brunelle threw his hands up. "Maybe? Jesus, I'll just put you on the stand after my lead detective and medical examiner. That should guarantee an acquittal. What the hell does 'maybe' mean?"

  O'Brien sat up straight and looked down through his glasses. "It means," he crossed his arms, "that it depends."

  Brunelle closed his eyes and sighed. "On what?"

  "I would say," O'Brien explained, "that at the time the treaty you mentioned was adopted, it would have been very unlikely if not impossible for a blood revenge killing to have been condoned for the molestation of a child."

  Brunelle raised his hands. "Okay, great. Stop there, and we're good."

  O'Brien laughed and shook his head. "I can't stop there, because there's more. As I said earlier, I will tell you the truth, and you decide whether it's helpful. I would suggest you let me continue rather than hearing what I have to say for the first time on cross examination."

  Brunelle had to grin at that. "Touché." He rolled his wrist at the academic. "Go on, professor."

  "Yes, well, as I mentioned, sexual mores vary greatly from culture to culture. They also vary over time. I think it's safe to say that such things as child molestation are taken more seriously and punished more severely than they were, say, one hundred years ago."

  Brunelle considered. "I suppose that might be true."

  "And certainly," O'Brien continued, "there are sexual practices which are tolerated or even legitimized today, but which in the past were regularly met with violence, even in our lifetimes."

  Brunelle frowned. "That's definitely true."

  "So," O'Brien concluded, "even if blood revenge might not have been justified then for the molestation of a child, it might be justified now."

  Brunelle shook his head. Damn. "That's what I was afraid of. I might be able to argue that if we're going to apply a one-hundred-year-old blood revenge defense, then we have to apply it as it would have been applied then." He lowered his head into his hands. "But that's going to sound pretty hollow against the backdrop of a victimized toddler."

  O'Brien tapped his lips. "May I ask, what did the murderer use to kill the victim? Was it a gun?"

  "No," Brunelle replied. "A knife. Why? Does that matter?"

  "It might," O'Brien said. "What kind of knife?"

  Brunelle winced. "Three-inch fixed blade. Ivory handle, with carvings of some sort. That probably doesn't help, huh?"

  "I might need more information," O'Brien agreed. "Do you think you could let me see it?"

  Brunelle grimaced as he considered the knife leaving the property room not-again. "What about a photograph?"

  O'Brien nodded. "That should be adequate. I might be able to recognize the significance, if any, of the carvings."

  Brunelle offered a distracted, "Sure." His mind was already processing what the professor had told him and trying to figure out how it would help, or hinder, his case.

  "I think your problem," O'Brien offered, "is that yours is unquestionably a revenge killing, and while revenge killings are no longer justified, they once were."

  "I just have to show," Brunelle articulated, "that this particular revenge killing wasn't justified enough."

  "Quite the needle to thread," O'Brien observed. "I don't envy you."

  Brunelle smiled. "Thanks. Me either."

  The meeting was obviously over, but before they stood up O'Brien said, "May I ask you one last question?"

  "Of course," Brunelle replied.

  "You said something a moment ago that suggested your detective and medical examiner might not be helpful either. What did they say?"

  Brunelle laughed a bit. "My detective said it was justified."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Yeah. And once my medical examiner heard what the victim had done, she changed her opinion from homicide to suicide."

  "Now, that seems unlikely," O'Brien said.

  "Well, she's the expert," Brunelle replied. "If anyone could hide a homicide as a suicide, it's her." He looked at his watch. "Which reminds me, I better get going. I'm having dinner with her in half an hour. If I'm late, it's my homicide she'll be passing off as a suicide."

  O'Brien grinned. "Well, then, by all means, depart." He stood up. "It was nice to meet you. Thank you for discussing the case with me."

  "No, thank you," Brunelle insisted as he shook the professor's hand. "You can expect a subpoena from me. I don't know if it'll help my case or not, but I think it's important the jury hears what you have to say. The truth is always a good thing."

  "I'll look forward to receiving it," O'Brien replied. "Enjoy your dinner."

  Brunelle considered the initial apologizing and groveling he'd need to do. "Thanks. I'll try. Goodbye, professor."

  Chapter 26

  Donatello's was packed. Upscale Italian on a Saturday night. Prime date material. Ordinarily, Brunelle might have avoided the U District on a Saturday night, but he had needed to be close to campus. Within walking distance. There was no way he was going to risk a traffic jam and stand Kat up again. He knew she wouldn't give him a third chance.

  When he stepped into the restaurant and saw her, he was thankful he hadn't screwed up the second chance. She was gazing absently out the window, her shiny black hair reflecting the lights from the bar, and the glow of the table candle highlighting the angelic curves of her face. She was beautiful. And smart. And tough.

  "Good evening, Dr. Anderson," Brunelle greeted her as he approached their table. "You look stunning this evening."

  She looked up at him and smiled. Brunelle was glad to see the smile seemed genuinely warm. She had been genuinely angry, but she seemed willing to move on.

  "Good evening, Mr. Brunelle," she replied in that cuddly voice of hers. "Glad to see you made it this time."

  Brunelle sat down opposite her at the cozy table. "Yeah, sorry about that. This case is starting to get intense. Omnibus is Monday and trial starts the Monday after that."

  "I know," Kat smiled. "I got my subpoena yesterday."

  "Oh yeah?" Brunelle nodded. "Good to know those got out on time."

  The waiter came over and took their drink orders. When he left, Kat picked up where they'd left off. "So lots to do on the big case, huh?"

  Brunelle shrugged. "Yeah. I guess so. Sorry. I don't mean to bring my work home with me, so to speak."

  Kat raised an eyebrow. "Slow down, lover boy. We're not married yet. Hell, we're barely able to make a dinner date work."

  Brunelle smiled and nodded. "Right, right. I just don't want to bore you or complain. I was just explaining why I've been so busy lately."

  Kat was quiet for a moment. "So you were in Tacoma, huh?"

  Brunelle looked down quickly at the menu. "Oh. Um. Yep. 'Cause, you know, that's where the tribe is."

  Another pause.

  "What were you doing exactly?"

  Brunelle's eyes stayed glued to the menu. "Oh, just working the case. You know, lawyer stuff."

  "Lawyer stuff, huh?" Kat confirmed, with a smirk and a nod. "Were you meeting with the defense attorney?"

  Brunelle finally looked up. "Hm? What's that?"

  "The defense attorney," Kat repeated. "You know, the hot one? Were you meeting with her? Is that why you stood me up?"

  Brunelle rubbed his chin. Several possible lies raced throug
h his mind. 'No,' was the obvious one, followed by, 'Yes, but that was scheduled at 3:30,' thereby suggesting he was done well before she had called him. But he decided to just be honest—mostly. It was easier. Besides, he could still spin it a little.

  "I guess so," he started, lowering the protective menu. Good body language, he knew. "I was supposed to meet with her at 3:30, but she made me wait an hour and I ended up being too late to make it back up to Seattle in time."

  Kat nodded. "Oh, okay. I figured it was something like that." She looked down at her menu. "How was the coffee?"

  "Not bad," Brunelle replied. "Just—" He stopped himself, but it was too late.

  "I heard the background noise, Romeo." Kat shook her head at him. "Really, David, I don't care if you have to meet with a hot defense attorney. I don't even care if you do it over coffee. Whatever. But don't lie to me about it."

  Brunelle grimaced. "Okay. Sorry. It's just… I didn't want you to think the wrong thing."

  "Don't worry about what I think," Kat replied. "Just tell me the truth and let me decide what to think on my own."

  Brunelle nodded. "Okay. That's fair." Then, for the umpteenth time lately, "Sorry."

  Kat smiled. That wonderful, heart-dizzying smile. "You're forgiven. Besides, two can play at that game." The smile deepened. "How's my ex-boyfriend, Freddy? Does he like working with a big-time prosecutor from Seattle?"

  "Oh, fuck," Brunelle gasped. "I haven't told you, have I?"

  He knew his face had gone pale. He saw Kat's do the same.

  "What?" she said. "What is it?"

  "Freddy," Brunelle started. "He's, he's dead."

  Kat blinked at him several times, her mouth contorted sickly. Then she swallowed hard. "Dead?" she repeated. "Dead how?"

  "Shot," Brunelle answered numbly. "Somebody shot him."

  Kat shook her head against the information. "Shot? Why would somebody shoot him? That can't be right."

  "It was a drive-by," Brunelle explained. "Right outside the tribal police headquarters. He had just run outside when—"