“I considered it, Your Honor,” Brunelle answered, “but there wasn’t quite enough information to support it.”
Brunelle waited a moment then glanced sideways at Welles. “That recently changed.”
Welles decided to push on with the disbelieving laugh despite the judge’s serious tone. “Really, Your Honor, this is farcical. Surely the court can see—”
The judge turned back to Brunelle. “Have you provided the defense with this new information?”
“No, Your Honor,” Brunelle admitted, “but I can do that by tomorrow. I’m just waiting on some reports.”
Judge Quinn narrowed her eyes again. “We’ll set the motion to add the aggravating factor for one week from today. I will treat it the same as the torture aggravator, which means you better have some facts to back it up. Is that clear, Mr. Brunelle?”
“Crystal,” answered Brunelle.
“Good,” the judge continued. “And copies of any information, reports, whatever, that you intend to rely on must be delivered to Mr. Welles’ office by nine a.m. tomorrow. Do you understand?”
Brunelle nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Before Welles could do more than shake his head and try another disbelieving laugh, the judge turned to him and said, “We’ll set your bail hearing for the same time.”
Welles threw a pained expression at the judge. “I object. There are no aggravating factors at present, and this latest attempt by the prosecutor is beyond ludicrous. My client should be allowed bail now because—”
“I said one week from today, Mr. Welles,” Judge Quinn interrupted. “Did you not understand me?”
Welles regained himself and dropped back into compliant attorney mode. “I understand you, Your Honor. One week from today. Thank you.”
With that, the judge banged her gavel again and declared the court at recess. Welles stepped over to Brunelle, a smug grin on his face. “Pretty desperate move, Brunelle.”
Brunelle smiled back. “Oh yeah?” He pointed past the defense attorney. “Your client doesn’t seem to think so.”
They both looked at Karpati, who only scowled back at them.
“I believe,” Welles said after a moment, “that he’s concerned about your mental health.”
“He better be concerned about his own health,” Brunelle replied, “because I’m planning on shoving a needle in his arm when this is all over.”
Welles stared at Brunelle for a moment. “Very well, Brunelle. Those documents better not be even one minute late tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t worry, Billy. They’ll be on time. I think you’ll find them very enlightening.”
In truth, though, Brunelle knew he’d find them reassuring. The vampire claim was almost as thin as the torture. It was going to be a battle to keep the case aggravated.
***
“Vampires?” Yamata finally asked as they walked into the attorney area between the courtroom and the hallway. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Whatever I can to keep this case capital,” Brunelle replied. “You heard Chen. This guy is a wanna-be vampire.”
Yamata shook her pretty head. “Maybe, but you’ve got no proof.”
Brunelle shrugged. “Well then, we better call Chen when we get upstairs, and hope he’s got something to back us up.”
***
Getting upstairs proved easier said than done. When they opened the door to the hallway, they were met with the blinding glare of a half-dozen television cameras.
“Mr. Brunelle! Mr. Brunelle! Do you really think Karpati is a vampire?”
Brunelle squinted against the lights. “I really can’t comment on pending cases. You guys know that.”
“Come on, Dave,” one of the reporters he’d come to know over the years tried, “you can’t allege somebody’s a vampire and then not give us a quote. You know this is gonna lead tonight.”
Brunelle sighed. He did know that. And although he hated getting interviewed by the media, his boss didn’t. And his boss had taught him two things: always have a quote ready, and never say anything that isn’t already in a document filed with the court—that way anything you say is already out there anyway.
“The State is not alleging that Mr. Karpati is a vampire,” he explained, “but we believe the evidence will show that he wanted others to believe he was and that he committed this murder in part to advance such a belief.”
He knew that wouldn’t satisfy them.
“Is that it, Dave?” asked the same reporter. “Can’t you at least call him the ‘Vampire Murderer’ or something?”
“Sorry, Keith,” Brunelle. “Just the facts.” Then he spotted the door to the attorneys’ area opening again. “But I believe Mr. Welles is about to come out. I’m sure he has much more he’d like to say.”
The paparazzi sprinted toward the defense attorney as he emerged into the hallway.
“What do you think about your client being labeled the Vampire Murderer?”
Welles wound up for his undoubtedly eloquent and long-winded response. Brunelle didn’t stick around to hear it. He had some getting-yelled-at to attend to.
***
“What the fuck were you thinking, Dave?” Duncan shook his head from across his desk. “Seriously, I thought we talked about this.”
Brunelle had gone straight to Duncan’s office for his whipping. He’d insisted Yamata come along, but only so he could make sure Duncan knew she’d had nothing to do with it.
“Maybe I should go?” she tried.
“No, Michelle,” Duncan raised his hand. “Stay. You need to hear this too. Dave’s dragged you into this mess, but I’m not gonna let him drag you under.”
He turned his attention back to Brunelle. “You should have gotten my okay on this first, Dave, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now, my phone is ringing off the hook. They’re calling it the ‘Vampire Murderer Case.’ So I’ve got one question for you, and one question only: can you make it stick?”
Brunelle took a deep breath. He knew what he had to answer, but he’d made a career of being honest. He wasn’t sure what the honest answer was, but he knew the right one. “Yes, Matt. I can make it stick. Judge Quinn won’t dismiss this aggravator.”
Duncan nodded. “Good. Because if she does, you’re off the case.”
Brunelle looked up almost as sharply as Yamata.
“And Michelle,” Duncan went on, “you’ll be lead. So be ready.”
“Y— Yes, sir,” she stammered. “Thank you, sir.”
Then she glanced over at Brunelle. “Although I’m sure it won’t be necessary,” she said. “Mr. Brunelle, er, Dave, knows what he’s doing.”
Brunelle managed a smile. “Thanks,” he said, even though they all knew she was lying.
Chapter 27
Chen’s reports sucked.
To begin with, they didn’t even come through the fax machine until almost five o’clock. More importantly, they consisted of little more than his interview with Brunelle about the assault. There was a paragraph about the general police knowledge of the No Bloods, but nothing specific. He’d sent an officer to round some up and interview them, but the officer “met with little success.” There wasn’t a single name of a single No Blood gang member mentioned anywhere in the report.
So Brunelle, after reading and rereading and rereading again all of the reports, was sure of two things.
First, what he had was never going to be sufficient to survive Judge Quinn. And therefore second, he was going to have to come up with something solid before nine o’clock the next morning.
He touched his still tender eye with a wince
“The things Lady Justice demands,” he joked as he stood and took his coat from the back of the door. “At least she can buy me a drink first.”
Chapter 28
Brunelle waited in the dark of the landing to Faust’s apartment building. It was quarter past two. He’d had a bit to drink, but not too much. He needed to think straight. That would be hard enough sober. As i
f he weren’t already sure of that, his heart quickened as he heard her boots tick-tack up the sidewalk toward him.
“Hello, Faust,” he said from the shadows as she stepped onto the landing.
The brunette spun to face him, fear in her eyes for a moment—until she recognized him.
“Oh fuck,” she exhaled. “It’s just you. What are you doing here?”
“Just me? I’m hurt,” Brunelle teased. “I’m also desperate. I need your help.”
Faust slid her key into the lock. “A lot of men are desperate for me.”
Brunelle tried to grin nonchalantly. “I’m desperate for information,” he assured.
She pushed open the door and smile sideways at him. “Is that all? Well, you can come upstairs anyway.”
***
Faust’s apartment was small, but classy, just as Brunelle had expected. To the left was a small kitchen immediately off the front door, with a living room and balcony beyond. To the right was the door to the one bathroom, and the short hallway to her bedroom. He couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of the mirror opposite the bed.
“You want something to drink?” Faust asked as she latched the door behind them.
Brunelle was already in the living room, checking out the view from the balcony. It wasn’t much, just the parking lot out back. “No, thanks. Er, sure. Well, I don’t know.”
“Awful late, huh, old man?” Faust teased. “Ready for bed?”
He turned around and met her warm gaze. “No,” he insisted, despite the fatigue across his back. “Just want to get down to business.”
Faust stepped into the living room and handed him a drinking glass of whiskey. “Mm, Mr. Brunelle, I like your style.”
He felt his face flush. He tried to ignore it. “I mean my case. The information. I need your help.”
Faust offered an intoxicating pout, then dropped onto her couch, crossing her strong-looking legs. “What information do you need, sir? I can’t promise I’ll give it to you.”
Brunelle scanned the room. He skipped the arm chair and sat next to her on the couch. “Those guys who beat me up,” he started.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she interrupted. She reached out and touched the bruise still half-visible on his cheek. “I shouldn’t have left you there alone.”
He smiled at her touch. “No, it’s all right,” he assured. “You were right to get someplace safe. But I need to know a couple things about them. My detective says they’re part of some gang that pretends they’re vampires.”
Faust took her hand back and stared into her drink. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Brunelle frowned in thought. He usually got things. “Get what?”
“You come walking into this neighborhood, in your fancy coat and tie,” she reached out and took a hold of his dark red necktie, “pretending like you understand what it’s like to live here because you read police reports from the safety of your desk. But when you get what you want, you leave. And I’m still here. I still have to walk home in the dark, hoping those bastards have someone else to hurt.”
Brunelle looked into her dark eyes. She still had his tie. “I, I’m not sure about that. It’s just, I have a job to do. That girl was murdered. I have to hold him responsible.”
Faust set her drink down. “And I can help?”
“Yes,” he almost pleaded. He set his drink down too.
She pulled him to her by his tie, stopping just before she kissed him. “Then you give me what I want too.”
There was no way he could deny her. “Whatever you say, Faust.”
She pushed him back onto the sofa and straddled him. She kissed him, long and probing, then pulled away again. “I say leave the tie on.”
***
Brunelle squinted at the bedroom clock. It was 4:42. Faust was asleep on his chest. She’d told him what he needed to know, between love-making sessions. Names of everyone in the gang, and confirmation that Karpati was one of them. Most of them were just faking the vampire bit, going along to scare people and to enjoy the drugs and women that gang membership brought. But there were a couple, like Karpati, who rode the vampire bit for all it was worth, insisting they really were vampires. And they really did need the blood of innocents. It left everyone in fear of them. Either they really were vamps, or, far more likely, they were nuts.
Thinking of riding reminded him of the woman in his arms. He’d need to leave soon, so he’d have time to type up what he learned and get it to Welles before nine. She seemed to sense his change in mood.
“You’re leaving,” she said without opening her eyes. It wasn’t really a question.
“Not yet,” he answered, stroking her hair. Then, he thought for a moment. “Thank you.”
She chuckled. “Don’t thank me. You don’t thank someone for something they wanted to do.”
Brunelle wasn’t sure he agreed, but he wasn’t about to argue with her. “Well, thanks for the information then.”
He felt her nod against his chest. “I hope it’s helpful.”
“It was. The trial starts in two weeks, so I’ll be sending you a subpoena.”
This time he felt her shaking her head. “No, you won’t,” she replied pleasantly.
Brunelle considered for a moment. “No, really. I have to.”
Again a soft shake of her head. “No, really. You won’t. Use the information, but you’ll find another witness for court.”
“Why?”
This time she pushed herself off his chest. She swung herself over him and straddled him again. Her soft black hair curtained his face as he felt himself rise against her again.
“Because, lover. I’ll testify I told you all that between the times I rode you and the times you fucked me from behind.”
Brunelle blinked at her even as she ground down against him.
“The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” she purred.
He pressed up against her. “Okay then. No subpoena.”
She just smiled down at him.
“Thanks, anyway,” he managed to say between breaths.
She reached down and slid him inside her again, then she leaned forward and bit his lip. “I told you not to thank me.”
Chapter 29
The courtroom was packed. Every seat in the gallery was full. TV cameras lined the walls. A good chunk of the defense bar and half of the prosecutor’s office had come too. Including Duncan, who stood at the very back, arms crossed. Some probably thought it was to put pressure on the judge. Brunelle knew it was to see first hand whether the case fell apart.
Judge Quinn took the bench promptly and got right to business. Rather than argument, it was questions from the bench.
Yes, Welles admitted, he received the information by nine that morning. And yes, even though it was supplemented by official reports a few days later, there was nothing new in the reports. Brunelle had to admit the evidence was thin, and it might be difficult to secure the testimony of the other No Bloods, but he insisted there was an identifiable group Karpati belonged to and the murder could have elevated his status in the group.
Finally, Quinn announced she was done. “Okay, I believe I’ve heard enough. I’m prepared to make my rulings.”
The courtroom buzzed for a moment then fell silent. Even Welles sat down and shut up. Brunelle gave Yamata a hopeful smile, but she just offered a nervous nod and looked back up to the judge.
“The first issue is the matter of the aggravating factor,” the judge began. “The issue of bail is dependent, or at least impacted, by this initial question. So the question is: can the State prove that Mr. Karpati committed the murder to advance his status in an identifiable group?”
Brunelle bristled at the framing of the question, but bit his tongue. Quinn noticed his reaction.
“Or rather,” she corrected, “is it possible they could prove it? Can they establish a prima facie case? That is, if I assume the truth of the evidence they say they’ll present, and draw all reasonable inferences in favor of the
State, is it at least possible that a reasonable jury could believe the aggravator?”
Brunelle appreciated the clarification. It was a lot lower of a standard. The jury might not buy it, but he should get the chance to try to sell it.
Quinn paused. “I’m mindful of my ruling regarding the torture aggravator. There, I found no reasonable jury could believe the aggravator. However, that ruling was based on the complete lack of evidence from the State that Miss Montgomery suffered more than any other murder victim.”
She took a deep breath and looked down at Welles. “Here, however, the State claims they will present evidence that Mr. Karpati was a member of a street gang, that members of this street gang held themselves out as vampires, and that Ms. Montgomery died from an acute and apparently intentional loss of blood. I cannot find that no reasonable jury would find the aggravator proven. I have concerns about the underlying strength of the State’s evidence, but if they prevail in convincing a jury that Mr. Karpati committed the murder, the jury must be allowed to consider this aggravating factor. The defense motion to dismiss the aggravator is denied.”
Brunelle tried to keep his smile professional and not smug. And not betraying the overwhelming sense of luck and relief that washed over his insides. “That should take care of the bail argument too,” he whispered to Yamata. “No bail on capital cases.” His smile deepened. “Thanks to your exquisite briefs.”
Before Yamata could whisper a reply, Judge Quinn went on.
“I do not, however, believe this controls the issue of bail.”
Another buzz through the courtroom. Even Welles and Karpati looked surprised. Then Welles unfurled his own smile. Brunelle knew there was no reason for the judge to bring it up unless she was prepared to rule in Welles’ favor. Every attorney in the room knew it, including Yamata. And Duncan.
“I am mindful of Mr. Welles’ initial bail argument regarding the evidence being clear and the presumption great. The evidence here is not clear, and the presumption, as he said, is that the defendant is innocent of the charges.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, thought Brunelle. He doodled the word hastily on his legal pad, hoping this was just judicial masturbation, the judge waxing poetic on the law to show everyone how smart she was.
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