But Brunelle stopped, remembering why Freddy had run outside.
"When what?" Kat insisted. "Why did he run outside? What happened, David? Were you there?"
"Uh, yes," Brunelle stammered. "Yes, I was there. I, um, I'd just been talking with him—about the case—when he stormed outside right when the shots were fired."
"What are you talking about?" Kat demanded. "Why would he storm out? What did you say to him? It better not have been about me."
"No, no. It wasn't about you. It was about…"
He trailed off. How can I possibly explain?
"It was about what, David?" Kat's voice was ice cold.
Brunelle swallowed. Okay, you say you want the truth…
"I thought Freddy might have been the one who murdered Quilcene's cousin."
"What?!" Kat shrieked. Patrons at nearby tables turned to look, but Kat ignored them. "Why the hell would you think that?"
"Well, the knife that killed Traver went missing from the property room," Brunelle explained. "Or rather, we thought it did. And Freddy was the one who checked it out. Or we thought he did. He went on and on in court about how a blood revenge killing was fine, but someone needed to take up the blood feud on behalf of Traver. And that 's what he and I were kind of doing by prosecuting Traver's killer. And you said the same knife killed Traver and Quilcene's cousin—"
"Whoa!" Kat flashed up a palm. "You stop right there, buster. I did not say it was the same knife. I said the injuries were consistent with it being the same or a similar knife. That's a big difference."
"Maybe to a pathologist," Brunelle countered, "but to this prosecutor that sounds a lot like 'the same knife.'"
"Did someone say knife?" a cheery voice came from over Brunelle's shoulder.
He turned around to see O'Brien, wearing a happy grin and holding the hand of a wife or girlfriend.
"It looks like I timed this just right," O'Brien said. He nodded to Kat. "This must be the medical examiner you said you were having dinner with. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Bill O'Brien, professor of Native American studies here at the U. Dave and I met just before your dinner date and made some plans."
Kat cast a vicious glare at Brunelle. Before he could even try to explain, O'Brien dug him in deeper.
"So anyway, the knife." He put a hand on Brunelle's shoulder. "You said it was decorative. I was thinking, there's a fine line between a justifiable blood revenge killing and a plain, old, not-justifiable murder. I would think, strangely enough, the more this was planned—the more it was premeditated, as you lawyers say—the more it was ceremonial, then the more likely it was blood revenge."
"Uh sure," Brunelle replied weekly. "That makes sense."
"Excellent," O'Brien chirped. "I'm glad you agree. Yes, if that knife was ceremonial, then that would lend credibility to the claim of blood revenge. The only thing better would be if you could show that the same weapon had been used in another such killing."
O'Brien smiled at Kat. "But I suppose that's more your area of expertise."
Kat's glare turned into an outright glower. Then she tore her dagger-casting eyes from Brunelle and looked up at O'Brien with a saccharine smile. "Why yes, it is. Mr. Brunelle and I were just discussing that. He's assembling quite a collection of expert witnesses for his case."
She lowered her eyes at him again, her own daggers glinting within. "That's why he's such a good lawyer. He knows how to get people to say whatever he wants. He's very good at using people that way."
The iciness in her voice was apparent to everyone. O'Brien's lady friend tugged his arm. "Come on, Bill. Let's get to our table. It was nice to meet you."
The academic let himself be pulled away after a last parting shot. "Nice to have met you, doctor. Impeccable timing, eh, Dave?"
Brunelle groaned affirmatively and lowered his head into his hands as they finally, mercifully departed.
"You bastard," said Kat. "This whole thing was a set up."
Brunelle's head jerked back up. "No. I swear. I did meet with him earlier today, but I did not set up him coming to our table like that."
"You obviously told him you were having dinner with the medical examiner on your case," Kat pointed out.
Brunelle nodded. "Yes, I did. But I didn't say, 'Please stop by our table and talk about the knife.'"
Kat crossed her arms. "Well, then. What did you say?"
Brunelle tried to recall the specific of his conversation with O'Brien. Truth. She wants the truth.
"I told him I was having dinner with the M.E. and I better not be late again because if anyone could disguise a homicide as a suicide, it would be you."
Brunelle looked for some sign that Kat thought his little joke was endearing. He got nothing.
Fuck.
After several moments, Kat began nodding. Then she stood up and dropped her napkin on the table. "Fine, Mr. Brunelle. I hope this little chance encounter helps you win your case. I hope it was worth it."
Brunelle motioned her back toward her chair. "Kat, please…"
"No," she replied. "I think we're done. Thanks for remembering to tell tell me that a dear friend of mine was killed because you falsely accused him of murder. I hope Professor O'Brien finds my autopsy report useful. I'll see you in court whatever fucking time my subpoena says to be there. And I'll be damned if I ever see you again after that."
Brunelle stood up. "Kat please. Don't do this."
"Don't so this?" she spat. "Me? What about you? How about you stop using people, you selfish asshole. How about you care about someone besides yourself? About more than just winning your next fucking case?"
Kat shook her head. "Damn it, David. You just messed up something that could have been really great. I'm pretty damn special. I'm smart and I'm funny and I could have really liked you. I was ready to. But you're too… too… You're too you to see that."
Brunelle just stood there, unsure what to say.
So Kat said it instead. "Goodbye."
And she walked away.
Chapter 27
The omnibus hearing was low-key. Brunelle liked to think he wasn't moody or emotional, but he could get melancholy. The blow-up with Kat had weighed on him all weekend. So when he saw Talon that morning, it added to the memory of how she'd played him the previous Friday. He just wanted to do the hearing and get out of there.
The judge went through his checklist with the attorneys.
"Has all discovery been completed?"
"Yes," and "Yes."
Are there any additional motions before trial?"
"No," and "No."
"Have all witnesses been disclosed?"
"Yes," and "Well, Your Honor…"
LeClair and Talon both looked to Brunelle.
"Actually," he continued, "the prosecution has one additional witness. Professor William O'Brien from the University of Washington. He teaches Native American studies."
Talon raised an eyebrow to the judge, who returned his own. "What will he be testifying to?" LeClair asked.
"Blood revenge," Brunelle answered. "I expect him to testify that, generally speaking, blood revenge was reserved for avenging other killings, not lesser crimes like child molestation."
Judge LeClair nodded. He raised the other eyebrow at Talon. "Any objection to the additional witness. Ms. Winter?"
Talon looked over at Brunelle. He expected her to object to adding a witness—an expert witness, no less—only one week before trial. But she just turned back to the judge. "No objection, Your Honor. We already had our own expert lined up in case Mr. Brunelle ever figured out he'd need one too."
She turned back to Brunelle and mouthed the phrase, 'Three steps ahead.'
Judge LeClair nodded. "Please exchange your experts' resumes and make them available for interviews before trial begins next Monday."
"Yes, Your Honor," and "Yes, Your Honor."
The judge looked back down at his checklist.
"Have all witnesses been subpoenaed?"
"Yes," and "Yes."
"Are
there any out-of-state witnesses or special witness scheduling issues?"
"No," and "No."
The checklist wore on. Brunelle looked at his watch. He figured fifteen, maybe twenty minutes more, then the hearing would be over and he could forget about the damn case until he checked into his extended-stay motel Sunday night.
Chapter 28
Actually, he had plenty left to do to get ready for trial, so after the omnibus hearing, Brunelle went straight to his car. No trash talking with Talon. He ignored the mean-mugging from Quilcene. He didn't even say hi to the sort-of-receptionist on the way out. Just straight to the parking lot, right into his car, and directly to the freeway. He drove in silence all the way to Seattle, with the exception of a single phone call. An hour later he was back at the Seattle P.D. property room.
No Chen this time. The phone call had been to confirm that the evidence guys could take the photos of the knife. They could. That's all he needed.
The front window was being attended by the same woman who didn't feel the need to fill in all the blank lines on the evidence viewing stamp. She offered a "Nice to see you again," then went to fetch the knife box and a camera.
When she returned to the window, she had a strange expression on her face.
"There may be a problem," she said, sliding the box under the plexiglass to Brunelle.
Brunelle looked at the box. The evidence tape was broken and the box was sealed with plain old scotch tape. He picked it up and knew right away it was too light. He pulled it open, snapping the tape, and confirmed: this time the knife really was gone.
The evidence officer stepped away and hurried back with the master property sheets.
"No one's checked it out," she reported.
Brunelle stared at the empty box, its zip-ties cut and hanging loose. He supposed he'd be calling Chen after all.
Chapter 29
Sunday couldn't come soon enough. The theft of the knife was troubling—for lots of reasons—but not fatal to his case. Forensics had already photographed the hell out of it when it was first collected, so Brunelle could send those pictures to O'Brien. He could also show them to the jury, although it was going to be awkward to explain how the knife had disappeared.
Especially when he himself didn't know how. Or why. Or by whom.
But he'd leave that to Chen to find out. That's what detectives were for.
Brunelle spent the week finishing his preparations for trial. He drafted his jury instructions, composed his opening statement, and called each witness to confirm their availability. Except Kat. She wouldn't answer his calls and didn't return his voicemails. He'd been forced to have his legal assistant confirm with her by email.
As he drove down to Tacoma Sunday evening, he double checked his readiness for trial. Everything was all set. He was ready to prosecute a murder that everyone from his detective to his medical examiner to his university expert thought was justified.
And just in case the jury didn't get it, a ruthless, talented, engaging, beautiful defense attorney would make sure they understood too.
Brunelle parked his car in the hotel lot and looked in the direction of the casino. He needed a drink.
~*~
He decided to check in first. His room was fine. Nothing special, but not too bad. He could certainly make himself comfortable here for the next few weeks.
He set his bag on the bed and looked out the window. He had a partially obstructed view of the Tacoma skyline. The city wasn't nearly as big as Seattle, but it was built on a steep incline so even the shorter buildings looked like skyscrapers if they were far enough up the hill. The Tacoma Dome stadium and an art deco bridge were lit up, making the city look inviting, at least from a distance.
He turned away and considered that drink again. He realized he also hadn't had dinner yet and recalled, with some sadness, that Freddy had claimed the casino had the best all-you-could-eat buffet around. So, despite the temptation to find a more cosmopolitan drinking spot downtown, the lure of cheap food and the ability to walk home after having had too much to drink helped the casino win out over some unknown bar in Tacoma proper.
He grabbed his key-card and looked at his phone. Nothing more depressing than a middle-aged man drinking by himself. Maybe Kat wasn't quite as angry any more. Maybe she'd drive down, if he said the right things…
No.
Maybe Talon was around. Maybe they could restart negotiations. See where that unbuttoned blouse might lead to…
No.
He frowned and turned off the light. He closed the door behind him and headed for the casino.
Maybe he'd get lucky.
Chapter 30
Laura? No.
Lindsey? No.
Damn.
Brunelle couldn't remember the name of the waitress he was bringing back to his hotel room.
Something with an 'L.' Lisa? No.
He fumbled for his key-card as the woman hung on his shoulder and giggled.
Just don't call her Kat. Or Talon. Or Debra. Or…
The room door popped open and they tumbled inside. Brunelle pushed the door closed with his back and pulled Lexi against him. Her tongue slid into his mouth and his hand slid down the back of her pants.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Police! Open the door!"
Brunelle pulled Lucy away and looked at her. She was young, but not that young.
"Open the door now, Mr. Brunelle."
Shit, They know my name? Not good. Probably.
He really wished he weren't drunk.
Lilly stumbled away as Brunelle turned and opened the door. Three police officers stood behind Detective Sixrivers. "Please step out of the room, Mr. Brunelle. You and your lady friend."
Leslie looked to Brunelle. He nodded. "We do what they say."
She stepped quickly around Brunelle and into the hallway. Then she tugged Sixrivers sleeve. "Can I just go? I don't even know his name."
The detective stared at her for a moment, then nodded. She bolted for the lobby, practically leaving a waitress-shaped cloud of smoke behind.
"What's going on?" Brunelle asked Sixrivers.
Sixrivers didn't reply. He just stood there, cross-armed. After a moment, he gave Brunelle the courtesy of a glance and disapproving head-shake. Brunelle shrugged and leaned against the wall. He knew he'd find out soon enough.
A minute later, one of the patrol officers stepped into the hallway.
"The tip was right, detective." He held up Quilcene's ivory-handled knife. "We found it under the bed."
Chapter 31
Sixrivers slid the constitutional rights advisement across the table to Brunelle and clicked on the recorder.
"I believe we've done this before," he said.
Brunelle nodded and sighed. "Yes, we have."
"You know I have to read them on the recording," Sixrivers said. "So here we go. You have the right to remain silent…"
Brunelle followed along the form as Sixrivers read each right out loud. When he'd finished, the detective asked the two questions printed at the bottom of the sheet.
"Do you understand each of these rights as I've read them to you?"
"Yes," answered Brunelle.
"Understanding these rights, do you voluntarily wish to answer questions?"
"No way."
Sixrivers' shoulders dropped. "Come on, Brunelle. You know that makes you look guilty."
"Come on, yourself, detective," Brunelle replied. "You know you can't tell the jury I invoked, so it doesn't make me look anything. I do this for a living. I know the best thing anyone can do is remain silent."
Sixrivers stroked his chin. "So you're already thinking about a jury? You expect to get charged?"
Brunelle shook his head at the detective and tapped the rights form, then his own chest. "Right to remain silent. Invoking."
Sixrivers pushed back in his chair. He crossed his arms and gave Brunelle a long appraisal.
"Look, Brunelle," he said. "We both know you didn't steal that kn
ife. You were set up. We got an anonymous tip to check your room. That means it was somebody who knew you'd be down here."
Brunelle nodded, but didn't say anything. Remain silent, he reminded himself.
"So, help me out, huh?" Sixrivers went on. "Is there someone who's mad at you right now?"
Kat.
"Someone who might want you out of commission for a while?"
Talon.
Someone who resents you being involved in this case in the first place?"
Quilcene. LeClair. You. Everyone.
Sixrivers gave Brunelle another few moments to say something, anything, then sighed. "Fine. Have it your way."
He clicked off the recorder and stood up. "You're under arrest."
Brunelle looked up at him. "For what?"
"Possession of stolen property and tampering with evidence." He grabbed a hold of Brunelle's arm. Not roughly, but firmly enough to show he meant it. "Stand up and put your hands behind your back.
Brunelle did as he was told. "Is this really necessary?"
"Standard procedure," Sixrivers answered. "I'll take 'em off when we get to the jail."
~*~
Brunelle had thought he'd end up in some holding cell in the basement of the tribal police department. Instead, Sixrivers drove him downtown to the Pierce County Jail.
As they parked and Sixrivers helped Brunelle out of the backseat, the detective said, "Don't worry. I'll tell them you're a prosecutor. They can't put you in general population. If you've got someone you can call to make bail, they may just keep you in booking until it's posted. Then get the hell out of here. For good."
Brunelle nodded. "Right. Thanks."
"You got someone you can call?"
Brunelle sighed. "Yeah. I think so."
~*~
Please answer, please answer, Brunelle thought as he pressed the buttons on what must have been the only pay-phone left on the West Coast.
'Hello. This is Kat Anderson. I'm sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message and I'll call you back.'
Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 12
