Damn.
Beep!
"Hey, Kat. It's David. Um, you're not going to believe this…"
~*~
An hour later, Brunelle was still in booking when his holding cell door clanked open.
"Your bail just got posted," the burly guard informed him. "You can go."
Thank God, Brunelle thought. And thank you, Kat.
He fetched his belt and shoes from the locker they'd been stashed inside and hurried out to the lobby. Despite everything, he couldn't suppress a smile. Kat still cared enough to bail him out.
But when he got to to the lobby, he found Chen standing there.
"Oh. It's just you."
"Wow," Chen replied. "Nice to see you too. Did they mention that it was 'just me' who just bailed your ass out of jail?"
Brunelle nodded and finished fastening his belt. "Sorry. Yes. Thank you. I was just hoping…"
"It would have been Kat?" Chen finished.
Brunelle shrugged. "Yeah."
Chen put an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Well, cheer up. She was the one who called me."
"Yeah?" Brunelle looked over at Chen.
"Yeah," Chen answered. "She's too good for you. You know that, right?"
Brunelle looked down again. "Yeah, I know that. Thanks, buddy."
Chen pulled his arm back. "No worries. Now, let's get you back to your hotel. You've got a murder trial to start tomorrow. And I've got an investigation to start."
"Another murder?" Brunelle asked.
Chen smiled. "No. Planting evidence. You worry about convicting Quilcene. I'll figure out who did this to you."
Chapter 32
"Are the parties ready in the matter of the Duwallup Indian Tribe versus John Quilcene?"
Judge LeClair looked down from the bench, awaiting the lawyer's replies. So too did the full gallery and three television cameras. Local, national, and cable. A murder trial in a Native tribal court was big news.
Brunelle stood. "The prosecution is ready, Your Honor."
"The defense is ready," Talon answered as she too stood up. She was wearing a black power suit with a blood red silk blouse. It matched Brunelle's black suit and red power tie perfectly. It just reminded him that they could have been a great team, under different circumstances.
"It is my understanding," the judge said carefully, "that there may be an issue regarding a particular piece of evidence?"
Brunelle winced. He should have realized news would travel fast.
"Er, yes," he started, but Talon interrupted.
"I'm aware of the situation, Your Honor," she said, "and we will stipulate to chain of custody and to the admissibility of the knife collected—" She paused to throw a playful glance at Brunelle. "—originally collected at the scene of the killing here."
Judge LeClair raised his eyebrows.
Brunelle was a bit surprised as well. "Uh…," he stammered.
The judge saved him. "Any objection to that stipulation, Mr. Brunelle?"
He stood speechless for a moment, trying to figure out why she would be doing this for him. "Uh, no, Your Honor. No objection."
LeClair exhaled. "Good." He looked at the gallery, the cameras, then back to the lawyers. "Now, let's discuss scheduling."
Brunelle and Talon both nodded, but remained silent.
"We will select the jury this morning," the judge declared. "Mr. Brunelle will you be prepared to give your opening statement after lunch?"
Brunelle would have preferred waiting until the next morning for openings. A night of drinking, frustrated romantic intentions, and being arrested wasn't the best preparation for the killer opening he knew he needed to give.
"Yes, Your Honor," he replied. "Absolutely."
LeClair turned to Talon. "Ms. Winter, will you be giving your opening statement after Mr. Brunelle's, or are you going to reserve until the close of the prosecution's evidence?"
"Oh, no. I'll be delivering my opening statement immediately after the prosecution. There's no way I'm going to let the jury hear all of the prosecution's evidence without understanding what this case is really about."
Wonderful, thought Brunelle, trying not to roll his eyes.
"All right then," LeClair said. "Mr. Brunelle, plan to have at least one witness available after lunch. Assuming you two lawyers don't use up the entire afternoon talking, I'd like to get right into testimony."
"Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle answered. He already had Chen lined up. Usually, he preferred to lead with a member of the victim's family. Someone to humanize the victim. But Traver didn't have any family, and Brunelle knew he wasn't going to win by pretending Traver was anything other than the scumbag he was. He was going to win despite it.
"Court will be at recess for fifteen minutes," Judge LeClair announced. "When I return, we will begin jury selection."
"All rise!" ordered the bailiff.
Once the judge left the bench, Brunelle stepped over to Talon.
"Thanks for stipulating to the knife," he whispered, one eye on the cameras. "That could have been a little embarrassing."
Talon smiled broadly. "No problem, Dave. I don't want you embarrassed by that."
Brunelle returned the smile.
"I want to you to be embarrassed when I kick your ass."
Brunelle looked down and shook his head at the repeated taunt.
"Oh, don't look so pouty, Dave," Talon chirped. "Be glad I need you or I would have let you get kicked off this case long ago."
He looked up. "Need me?"
"Of course." That predator's smile again. "I told you: I'm going to make a name for myself with this case. I'm going to use you. That's what lawyers do, right? We use people."
Brunelle smiled weakly. "Yeah. I've heard that."
~*~
Jury selection was mundane. Brunelle had already decided that as the outsider, with the entire jury pool being drawn from the tribal rolls, he wasn't going to stand up and strike any potential jurors unless they were absolutely unacceptable. Luckily, everyone seemed normal enough, interested without being overly so, and promised to keep an open mind.
Talon used all six of her preemptory challenges on women, resulting, when the dust settled, in a jury of ten men and two women.
When they broke for lunch, Brunelle pulled her aside. "You know it's unethical to strike potential jurors just because of their race or gender."
Talon stared at him for a moment. "Then you should have objected."
Brunelle shrugged. "I don't mind. You do what you think you need to do. I would have thought you'd want women on the jury, especially mothers, given what Traver did.
Talon grinned. "Mothers would have wanted to kill that bastard," she agreed. "But the fathers actually would have done it."
Brunelle tried to keep a poker face. Damn good point, he thought.
"Besides," Talon smoothed her suit against her athletic body. "Remember how close I got you to giving me that manslaughter? Well, I'm going to use every weapon I have to kick—"
"My ass," he finished for her. "Got it."
"Good," Talon laughed. "But don't worry. I'll keep reminding you."
Chapter 33
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Judge LeClair announced when court reconvened, "please give your attention to Mr. Brunelle, who will deliver the opening statement on behalf of the prosecution."
Brunelle stood up and thanked the judge. He straightened his jacket and glanced at the gallery. In addition to the defendant's family and all the media, Duncan had driven down for the openings. Sixrivers was there too, standing in the back, arms crossed. Even long-time rival Jessica Edwards from the King County public defender's office had shown up. Everyone wanted to see how ol' Dave would do with this one.
No pressure.
He pulled together his serious expression and looked at the jury.
"George Traver," he began, pausing long enough to let people anticipate his next words, "was a miserable bastard who deserved to die."
Confusion passed over the faces of the
jurors almost as quickly as the murmur of astonishment rippled through the gallery.
"He was a child molester. The worst kind of scum. Even in prison they have to house the child molesters away from the rest of the criminals, just for their own safety. Traver preyed on defenseless children, taking advantage of their trusting nature, and destroying their innocence.
"If the defendant, Mr. John Quilcene, hadn't killed him, then there is absolutely no doubt that George Traver would have molested another child, stolen another young girl's innocence, destroyed another life."
Then, just so everyone understood his point, he added, "The world is a better place now that George Traver is dead."
Brunelle allowed himself a moment to pace a few steps and survey the courtroom. In part, to let his words sink in with the jury. In part, to catch a glimpse of the flabbergasted expression plastered on Talon's exquisite face.
"Now, let me step back a moment," he continued, "and explain that this is opening statement. It is not evidence. It is simply a summary of what I expect the evidence will show. Evidence is what the witnesses say. It's the photographs and diagrams and exhibits admitted during the trial. I'm just a lawyer. So is Ms. Winter. We present the evidence, but we don't create it. If a lawyer tells you anything in opening statement that is not supported by the evidence, then you must disregard what the lawyer says entirely.
"Another important thing is that this is opening statement, not, as it's sometimes called on TV, opening argument. A trial starts with opening statements, and ends with closing arguments. Right now, I'm going to tell you what happened. I am not going to tell you what your verdict should be. That would be argument and that is reserved for the end of the trial—after you've heard all the evidence and the judge tells you what the law actually is. Only then would it be fair to argue what your verdict should be. If I argued that now, Ms. Winter would object and she would be right to do so. And the judge would sustain the objection, and he would be right to do so.
"So no arguments. Just the facts. Just the story of what happened. And here is that story."
Another pause to refocus everyone's attention after the dry, but strategic, treatise on openings versus closings. Then he launched into it.
"George Traver was a child molester. He'd been convicted twice and spent several years in prison. When he got out he was required to register as a sex offender. He was supposed to check in with the police and provide his current address. If he moved, he had to update it. And if he became homeless, he had to appear personally every week to make sure he was still around.
"Unfortunately, the reason for all this is that child molesters tend to reoffend. I won't bore you with the details, but treatment is rarely successful for people who like to do what George Traver liked to do. Registration is supposed to help against that by letting police and neighbors know when a pedophile moves into the neighborhood. If they can't stop themselves, at least we can watch our kids a little closer.
"But the system breaks down when the pedophile decides not to register any more and just disappears. That's a crime in itself—Failing to Register as a Sex Offender. Well, as you might have guessed, George Traver decided he didn't want to register any more. And a warrant was issued for his arrest."
Brunelle assessed the jury. He had them. The beauty of always going first was that the jury hadn't heard the story yet, but the were dying to know. They could guess bits and pieces from the questions the lawyers asked during jury selection. The judge told them the name of the crime charged. Maybe they'd seen something in the news. But they didn't know the details. The juicy, horrible details. And Brunelle got first crack at telling them.
"Now, this story should have had a happy ending," he continued. "I should be able to tell you that George Traver made his way up to Seattle where he was identified and detained by a Seattle Police detective. I should be able to tell you that this detective ran Traver for warrants and found, not just the warrant for failing to register, but two more for theft and drinking in public. I should be able to tell you that this detective arrested George Traver, that Traver was charged with failing to register, and that he was convicted and sent back to prison, where his sick, child-molesting self deserved to be—far, far away from our children."
Brunelle set his jaw. "But I can't tell you that.
"Because that detective did encounter Traver, did identify him, did run him for warrants, and did see, not one, but three active warrants."
A pause.
"And then that detective let Traver go."
There were gasps in the gallery. The jurors knew better than to gasp themselves, but their eyes held the same disbelief.
"Instead, he told Traver he'd look the other way if Traver would work as an informant, snitching on gang activity in downtown Seattle. Specifically, the activity of the Native Gangster Bloods, a Native American gang centered right here in the Duwallup tribe."
Brunelle took a moment to survey the room. The shock on Talon's face had been replaced with thinly veiled anger. Or at least frustration.
Brunelle smiled to himself. Three steps ahead isn't good if your opponent takes an unexpected fork in the road behind you.
"And that's why George Traver was not in prison on the day he decided to rape three-year-old Caitlyn Quilcene."
This time the gasp—fueled by anger and revulsion—extended to some of the jurors.
"Three-year-old Caitlyn Quilcene," Brunelle repeated. "The defendant's niece. Traver destroyed that little girl's life. He didn't murder her, but her killed her innocence. He slaughtered the childhood she should have had, and in that way, George Traver was a murderer too."
Brunelle paused again. He was experienced enough not to do the rookie pacing in front of the jury box, but he did move as he delivered an opening, aware of his positioning at all times. He stopped directly in front of the middle of the jury box. He borrowed the affect of O'Brien the professor, resting an elbow on one hand while tapping his lips.
"There is a tradition in Native American law," he chose the phrase carefully, "called blood revenge. If someone in your tribe were killed, then you had the right and the duty to kill someone in the killer's tribe. And the members of that clan would have a duty to accept the revenge killing.
"In this case, Mr. Quilcene had a ceremonial knife. You'll see it. It has an intricately carved ivory handle. Mr. Quilcene took that knife and he went up to Seattle to find George Traver. And when he found him, he confronted him. And then he killed him.
"He stabbed him in the stomach and in the chest. The blow to the stomach would have disabled him. The blow to the chest went directly into Traver's heart, instantly killing that miserable, child-molesting bastard. Then, Mr. Quilcene left the knife in Traver's chest and walked calmly, and righteously, away."
Brunelle straightened his jacket again, looking down for a moment. The silences were as important as the words. He looked up at the jurors again.
"That's what happened, ladies and gentlemen. And at the end of the trial I'll stand up again and explain to you why—despite everything you're feeling right now—that's murder in the first degree. Thank you."
Brunelle sat down and made sure not to look directly at Talon. Too many people were watching. But even though he couldn't see her face, he got his satisfaction after the judge said, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, please give your attention to Ms. Winter, who will give opening statement on behalf of the defendant."
Talon stood up just long enough to say, "The defense will reserve opening statement, Your Honor."
Brunelle suppressed a begrudging smile. He was impressed. He'd learned a long time ago, that while it was good to win on your facts, it was even better to win on theirs. His plan was to give Talon's opening, then object like crazy if she started to argue her justifiable homicide theory. It was opening statement, not closing argument. She could say what happened, but not why it was okay. The judge should sustain his objections. He wasn't sure if he would, but he should.
And apparently, Talon thought so too.
It took LeClair a moment to recover from Talon's unexpected announcement. There was a reasons he had asked her in advance if she was going to reserve. He didn't want to look like a jackass in front of the jury. Now he did, thanks to Talon. Bonus for Brunelle.
"All right then," the judge regained himself. "Mr. Brunelle, is the prosecution ready to call its first witness?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle stood up. "The prosecution calls Detective Lawrence Chen."
Chapter 34
Chen turned out to be a spectacularly uninteresting witness. He identified himself. He recited his rank and duties. He described being called out to the scene and arriving after patrol officers had already cordoned off the area. He moved on to the arrest of Quilcene and finished with the mostly fruitless interrogation of Quilcene.
Brunelle knew he had to be careful when it came to what Quilcene said. He couldn't touch any time Quilcene refused to answer a question, since telling the jury about it would have violated Quilcene's right to remain silent. So he had to be surgical. One carefully rehearsed question and answer.
"What did Mr. Quilcene say regarding the murder of George Traver?"
Chen looked over at the jury to give his answer. "He said, 'The fucker deserved it.'"
"Thank you." Brunelle looked up to the judge. "No further questions, Your Honor."
Judge LeClair looked to Talon. "Any cross examination?"
"Yes, Your Honor." Talon stood up. "Thank you."
She stepped out from behind counsel table. It was the first time the gallery—and all the male jurors—got a good look of her in action.
"So, Detective Chen." She walked right up to the witness stand. "Did the fucker deserve it?"
"Objection!" Brunelle stood up.
Talon looked innocently at the judge. "What's the basis of the objection, Your Honor?"
LeClair glared down at Brunelle. "Basis?"
Brunelle rolled his eyes mentally. It seemed so obviously objectionable, but now he needed to pull the applicable rule out of his memory. "Well, for starters, it calls for a legal conclusion."
Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 13
