Motion to Suppress

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  Turning on the bedstand light, Nina sat up on the side of the bed, pulling the covers around her. The icy night air crept into cracks around her body, and she could just hear Bobby’s light snore from the kids’ room.

  Picking up the phone again, she located the officer on duty. Misty Patterson had been booked for the unlawful killing of Anthony Patterson. If Nina wanted to appear at the arraignment, she would need to talk to Collier Hallowell, the deputy district attorney who had signed off on the arrest warrant. Misty would have her own cell, because it was a Tuesday night, not too much action. That was all he knew. Nina lay back on the bed, her mind working busily.

  She left the shards of glass for morning and finally sank back into her own troubled dream, in which Tom Clarke, looking disappointed, spanked her, then pulled her pants off and screwed her. She woke up feeling angry and cut her foot getting out of bed.

  Off Al Tahoe Boulevard in a grove of pines, the county jail took up almost one floor of the low redwood building that also held the Municipal Court of the Lake Tahoe District, County of El Dorado. Nina spotted the crowded ski runs at Heavenly Valley through the trees as she approached. Spring wind whirled eddies between the parked cars. Soft green grass poked up through the last of the snow. Nina wrapped her coat around her and walked from the parking lot past a dry fountain, ringing a bell on the wall. A voice in a metal grate crackled, "Who is it?"

  "Nina Reilly. I’m Michelle Patterson’s attorney. She was brought in last night." The door buzzed and she grabbed the handle.

  Partway down the hallway a fresh-faced guard with slick hair and a spiffy clean uniform checked her California State Bar card from his glass kiosk, scrutinizing her with the alert curiosity required in his line of work. "Hi," Nina said, extending her hand. He shook it. "I need to see my client."

  "You’re her lawyer?"

  "Yes."

  "This is a criminal case. Don’t you mostly do family law?" He laughed at her expression. "It’s a small town here. We hear rumors. Everybody talks."

  "I am ... was representing her in her divorce."

  "Oh. So she’ll be looking for a good criminal lawyer. You know, Jeff Riesner’s the local expert."

  Lucky Jeff, to have the police chasing their own sirens on his behalf. "I’ve heard."

  "Hey, Gordy," he said. "Get Patterson. Her lawyer’s here." While they waited for Gordy to return with Misty, he flipped through papers.

  "He’s got the town locked up pretty tight, does he?"

  "I’m not dumb enough to say a word against the man," he said. "You here to shake things up?"

  Sensible Nina said no. Perverse Nina said, "You never know."

  She walked past the kiosk and was buzzed into one of the visiting cubicles. She sat down. Misty Patterson came in and sat down in a chair on the other side of the glass partition, her hair pulled away from her face this time in a ponytail. Her eyes hid inside deep sockets. She looked about sixteen. Nina picked up her telephone, but Misty didn’t budge, wooden as the furniture. Nina pointed to the receiver. "Pick it up," she mouthed.

  "Good morning, Ms. Reilly." Misty said formally into the receiver. "Don’t ask how I slept."

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Are you going to get me out now?"

  "It doesn’t work like that. You’re charged with a serious crime, but there will be a bail hearing tomorrow."

  "My dad’ll bail me out. He’ll be royally pissed off, but he’ll stand by me."

  "There’s a problem. It’s hard to get bail on a charge like this. The DA’s office thinks you’re a flight risk. Remember how you ran when they came to arrest you? They’re going to ask to keep you here pending trial."

  "Oh, no! No!"

  "I’m sorry," Nina said. "I need to find out more about what’s going on, then I’ll see what I can do for you. So, help me out here."

  "The South Lake Tahoe Police picked me up just after my shift was over at Prize’s. Probably nobody even knows where I am." Nina thought they would probably know this morning, when the Tahoe Mirror came out. "I got to call my parents this morning. They’re coming up. I gave them your name."

  "Tell me what you can about your husband, Anthony. And what you said to the officers."

  "They read me my rights. I’m not sure what-all I said at first." She sounded a little evasive. "Then they tried to get me to say I knew Anthony was dead all along. They said they knew we were having problems. They wanted to know why I didn’t report him missing."

  "What? I thought you were going to go straight to the police station when you left my office."

  "I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss Tom’s call, then I was going to go. Remember? You wanted pictures and he was supposed to call me. But he didn’t call." Her voice wavered from high to low. "My neighbor, Rick? He’s a real decent guy. He always let us borrow his boat. Anyway, he reported it stolen when he got back Sunday night. So somebody spotted it, not so far off the Keys yesterday sometime. That’s what they told me. When they went to get it they found Anthony. In the lake, the boat floating above him ..." Her voice faded. " ’Terrific visibility in Lake Tahoe that night,’ one guy said. ’Like the old days.’ "

  "Are you okay, Misty?"

  "I wish I could see him." She locked eyes with Nina through the glass. "I don’t believe he’s dead."

  "You need a lawyer right away to represent you on this charge.’’

  "You’re my lawyer."

  "Not on this charge. You consulted me about a divorce. You and your parents need to talk about who to retain as your counsel. I know you’ll want the best representation you can get."

  "Forget that. I want you as my lawyer. Sandy said you’re famous in San Francisco, and not just for family law. For criminal defense."

  "Sandy exaggerated," Nina said, thinking she’d have to put a muzzle on that woman. "My experience is limited. I handled criminal appeals. I’ve never defended a client against a charge of murder in a trial. I’m not confident I could represent you competently."

  "I have to unload something, Nina, even if it gets me into trouble. When the police came? I panicked and it wasn’t because they arrested me. I panicked because I figured I did kill him."

  "Misty, wait—"

  "I want you to hear this. If I killed him when I hit him, how did he end up in the lake? I’d never take Rick’s boat out by myself to dump him. I’d call Tom or somebody to help me. I just don’t remember what the hell happened that night after I hit him. I’m thinking maybe it’s like this stuff with my past, another thing I’m blocking out, something traumatic."

  Murder certainly qualified as traumatic. Didn’t Misty realize that her loss of memory about the events that night, if real, pointed as surely to her guilt?

  "I never intended to kill Anthony. I wasn’t mad like that. I just wanted it to be over with him."

  "Were you afraid for your life? Can you at least remember that?" Nina couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

  "He never hurt me like he wanted to kill me. Mixed in with all the love talk, I know he hated me sometimes. I think he wanted to make my life a living hell. But I never once thought he wanted me dead."

  "Of course, you did strike out to defend yourself. Maybe you hit too hard. That’s hardly premeditated murder."

  "Aren’t you listening? I just don’t think I hit him that hard. Believe me, I’ve seen a couple of bar fights. You can whack a guy pretty good without killing him. I didn’t kill him. You have to believe me."

  "I believe you’re being as honest with me as you can." That was Nina’s standard line to a client who was probably lying. But sitting there, looking through the glass at the girl, having talked to her three times now and listened to the blunt and ingenuous revelations, she couldn’t imagine Misty had invented the whole ball, loose and tangled with strings dangling in all directions. Why not make up a tighter story? Even Misty must see that the actions she described were not logical.

  "You think any other lawyer can defend me? I don’t even know what I did. A
nd one look and they’re going to be like, ’Ditz. Airhead. Don’t go betting your allowance on that tootsie roll.’ Most of the time I don’t care what they think, but if your lawyer thinks you’re a piece of shit, that matters."

  "Oh, Misty." She didn’t have any idea what she was asking Nina to do.

  "I need you on my side."

  "You need a good lawyer."

  "You."

  Nina felt herself wavering. "I can’t promise anything now, but I’ll let you know by tomorrow."

  "Talk to my parents. I’ll give you the number. Tell them what you need for money."

  Nina said, "Listen, a couple of things for now: Stay calm and keep your mouth shut. If anybody bothers you, call me. I’m leaving some money at the desk for you. Remember, don’t talk about your case. Don’t talk about your dead husband. "

  "My dead husband." Misty closed her eyes, her chest heaving. Terrified, exhausted, she sat drooped in her chair, one hand clasped to her breast, tendrils of soft hair escaping from the rubber band. She looked tragic and melodramatically beautiful, a belle demoiselle weeping in a dungeon.

  On her way out to the car, stepping over the mud puddles in the asphalt, Nina walked with her head down, thinking about Misty. Andrea said that most wives of battering husbands lived in fear. They generally tried to keep the batterer calm by behaving as close to perfectly as possible. This young woman did not seem to fit that mold.

  Why had she married Anthony Patterson? Did Misty even know the real answer? He must have had something, Nina finally decided, to sweet-talk her into marriage, because whether she knew it or not, Misty could have her pick of the males of the world.

  Nina shouldn’t take the case, not because she couldn’t handle it, she told herself, but because she should start small here, build a reputation block by block. She should avoid splashy cases with muddy circumstances. She should build a life. Jack would say ... Oh, the hell with what Jack would say. But Matt would be horrified. The community at large would not welcome her.

  Yes, there was a sensible way to approach things, and she prided herself on her good sense and rationality at the same time she was feeding the cyborg ice cream. She wanted to take this case.

  She would sleep on it. In the morning, she would know what to do.

  Mulling, she reversed direction, walking back toward the building, this time turning into the offices of the El Dorado County District Attorney.

  "Mr. Hallowell is in court in Placerville this morning," a clerk guarding the window reported. A square-faced Asian-American sailed out of an inner office, his arms full of files. The clerk called out, "Mr. Lam?" As he passed her desk, she tucked an envelope on the top of the pile.

  "Mr. Lam? The new deputy DA, right?" Nina asked, falling into step beside him as he pushed through the double doors into the courtyard. She introduced herself. "I’ve been asked to represent Michelle Patterson. Do me a favor and tell me what you can about the charge."

  "Really? Hmmm. That’s going to startle a few people," he said, slowing down to study her. "You’re new here, also, I understand."

  Nina nodded.

  "Well, I heard she is one good-looking ... defendant," Lam said. His broad face under the heavy glasses spread into a big smile. "Really, you should wait and talk to Collier."

  "I’m good about favors," she said. Whatever it was he thought she meant, it worked. His eyes were calculating.

  "You can call me Burton, and I hope you will," he said. "On one condition. You didn’t hear this from our office."

  "Duly sworn. Just tell me what you know about the body, Burton."

  "Ah, yes, the corpus submarinus ... Well, I heard the Coast Guard found a stolen boat floating empty out on Lake Tahoe, about a half mile out from the Keys. They found traces of blood in the boat. Maybe somebody had sloshed lake water around in the galley or maybe the storm last weekend got it, because it was semiwashed, but the blood wasn’t totally gone. Because of the blood, a diver was sent down to have a look around. Bad luck for the defendant." Lam shifted his files. "I have to be in court two minutes ago."

  "So tell me fast," Nina said.

  "You know all the stories about Lake Tahoe being so deep and cold, people who drown never get seen again? It’s normally a couple hundred feet deep there, and murky from the boat traffic. The lake was much shallower than usual a long way out and was unusually clear yesterday, like in the old days. They picked him off clean sand thirty-five feet down. You know why bodies don’t float on Lake Tahoe? Because it’s melted snow. And corpses sinking into melted snow don’t decompose like they would in warmer water. They don’t form gases and puff up.

  "Probably a bunch of dead things hanging around on the bottom from way back," he added thoughtfully. "Like in a dinosaur tar pit. Bodies just waiting to be discovered. The diver said Patterson wasn’t lying there. He was sitting, leaning over a little, head up and bobbing. And his eyes and mouth were open. Looked like he was just about to say something. Not a nibble on him. Perfectly preserved, like a woolly mammoth. Or good ol’ T. rex."

  7

  NINA MARCHED BY the jail for the second time just as an older couple stopped in consternation at the locked door. "Push the buzzer," Nina advised, passing them on her way to the county clerk’s office. First-timers. It was not what most people expected when they went to visit a jail. She walked on, hearing behind her some argument over the intercom.

  "Tengstedt," the man at the door said, and began to spell the name.

  "No visitors until five o’clock, sir."

  "But my daughter—"

  "The hours are posted on the door," said the voice on the intercom firmly. The man stared fixedly at the grille, as if considering ways to damage the speaker. His wife took his arm, leading him to a concrete bench in the shadows.

  Nina walked back and introduced herself. "You must be Misty Patterson’s parents." Nina held out her hand and Misty’s father, after an initial hesitation, clasped it in a crushing handshake. Nina had forgotten to squeeze hard and was sure she had lost a few points already in the appraisal that was being made.

  "We can’t see Michelle until five," Carl Tengstedt said.

  "They have visiting hours only twice a week," Nina said. "Since you drove all the way from Fresno, it’s fortunate you picked one of the two days. At least you’ll get a chance to see her today."

  "Our daughter is in jail," Tengstedt said. "Of course we got here as soon as we could."

  A short man, uncomfortable in a pin-striped suit, he looked as though he missed his uniform. "You say you are her attorney?"

  "I do represent Misty, in another legal matter. I just learned about her arrest, and I talked to her a few minutes ago. She asked me then to represent her in the criminal proceeding," Nina said. She suggested they reconvene in her office. They walked out to the cars in strained silence.

  "Misty. I guess Anthony Patterson gave Michelle that nickname. Young lady," Carl Tengstedt said a half hour later from the tapestry chair facing Nina’s desk, "just what kind of law do you practice?" He looked at the certificates on the wall, showing she had graduated from the Monterey School of Law five years before, showing she had been admitted to the California Supreme Court the next year, and the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals about then. Suddenly the prized certificates seemed a little skimpy.

  Tengstedt continued looking around the room, his unfriendly gaze lighting upon the stacks of paperwork on the floor she kept meaning to pick up, photos pinned up and not yet framed, the rug that needed vacuuming because people had tracked in mud from the parking lot. He was about sixty, but his hair was still reddish, what you could still see of it. His left hand, on her desk, made a fist as though he still had some use in mind for it.

  "I didn’t say I have agreed to represent your daughter on the charge against her," Nina said. "Up here, like most of the attorneys, I practice whatever law is required by the client. Everything but tax and workers’ compensation."

  "You handle divorces," Tengstedt said.

  "Those too
."

  Tengstedt leaned forward, while his wife sat still beside him, her shoulders curved in toward her body. Nina had a sense of déjà vu. Misty had sat just like that before Nina had stopped listening to Tom Clarke and forced her to tell her story. Barbara Tengstedt wore her blond hair in a smooth chin-length pageboy. She wore a beige wool skirt and sweater. She had Misty’s pale skin and slimness, but hollow eyes and thin lips aged her.

  "What I’m trying to figure out is why you think you can take this case," Tengstedt said. "No offense."

  "None taken. I understand you want your daughter to be well represented. There are several other attorneys in town she could retain. The most experienced one is Jeffrey Riesner at Caplan, Stamp, Powell, and Riesner, and I’ll have Sandy give you his phone number so you can talk to him. I don’t know him personally, because I am new here, but if Misty wishes, I can refer you to San Francisco counsel." She heard a sniff from the outer office, and got up to shut the office door firmly.

  "As it happens, I do have some experience in this area. For the past four years, at Rothman, Akers, and Teeter in San Francisco, my practice has emphasized criminal law as well as family law. Although my criminal trial work hasn’t specifically included a homicide to this point, I have handled appeals of people convicted of homicide. I argued the appeals in the First District Court of Appeals and in the California Supreme Court. I’m current on the law."

  Tengstedt did not seem impressed. "You defended people convicted of murder?" he asked finally, his voice thin. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Her office was too small. Her secretary looked like a refugee from the homeless mission. Looking at herself through his eyes, she saw a young woman with brown hair that was too long and a skirt that was too short. No gold jewelry, no Mont Blanc pen, no Chanel suit, none of the trappings of a rich and successful businesswoman. Even his coffee mug advertised the local Thrifty. He wanted bigness, a deep voice, an impression of physical power. For him, the physical and mental power showed up together. Nina blamed Raymond Burr.

  "Well, I would like to get some references."