Brunelle valued his credibility more than inconveniencing Atkins. He could go histrionic and implore the court to deny these outrageous requests. But he was going to be appearing in front of Douglas for years and years to come, long after Master Michael had been tried, convicted, and served his sentence.
On the other hand, he didn’t have to roll over either.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he began. “The State would ask the court to deny both requests. I’ll decline to respond to Mr. Jacobsen’s characterization of the crime as merely an accident. A bail hearing isn’t the place to litigate the merits of the case. The questions for the court are whether the defendant is a flight risk or a danger to the community. I would simply say that as long as the court has kept Mr. Atkins’ bail money he has appeared for court. I see no reason to change that situation. As far as his request to return to the crime scene, I find it curious that he would claim that he has lost the love of his life, but at the same time he’s eager to get back to the, uh, establishment where he can apparently find a replacement. The court should follow its usual procedure and exclude the defendant from the crime scene. I’m sure there are other similar clubs where he can pursue his… interests.”
Brunelle intended for the last remark to be snarky. If he wasn’t going to win the hearing, he could at least poke the defendant a bit. And besides, it helped cover his own budding interests in the area.
Douglas nodded and looked back to Jacobsen. “It’s your motion, Mr. Jacobsen. You have the last word.”
Jacobsen stood up again to address the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor. I would disagree with Brunelle that a bail hearing is no place to discuss the facts of the case. The facts are vital for the court to make a bail decision. A young woman is dead. If she had been premeditatively murdered by Mr. Atkins, perhaps during a robbery or other crime, and Mr. Atkins had then fled to another state and had to be extradited to face charges, those would all be reasons for a high bail. But here, we have a terrible, tragic accident. Unfortunately, accidents happen. My client did lose the love of his life, despite Mr. Brunelle’s callous comments. He remained at the scene to speak with the authorities and has appeared for every court date he has had. He is not a flight risk and he is not a danger to anyone. The court should grant our motions. Thank you.”
Douglas took just a moment to chew his cheek. There was an entire docket of pleas waiting, so he wasn’t about to waste time.
“I agree with Mr. Jacobsen. The court rules require the court to presume a personal recognizance release in all but capital cases. This is not a capital case. Mr. Atkins has appeared for court and hired private counsel. I will exonerate bail and release Mr. Atkins on his own recognizance.”
Brunelle nodded slightly. Douglas had been in private practice before ascending to the bench. He understood how important it was for a lawyer to get paid.
“In addition, I can see no further reason to exclude Mr. Atkins from…” he looked down at the charging documents and raised an eyebrow, “the Cucumber Club. That particular restriction will be lifted.”
Brunelle nodded again. He’s lost the motions, but they were good motions to lose. Atkins was already out and who really cared if he went and fucked someone else at that sex club? Brunelle cared a lot more about the more important motions that were coming down the pike.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Brunelle said. “I’ll prepare a new order.”
The conditions of release orders were preprinted, fill-in-the-blank forms that we’re kept in a pocket on the wall next to other standard arraignment and plea forms. In a few moments, Brunelle had filled in the proper blanks and handed the form up to Judge Douglas. After Douglas signed it, Jacobsen took his copies and left with a very happy client.
Brunelle started to leave too, but as he passed, Robyn stepped off the wall and grabbed his arm. “Please tell me you’re keeping your powder dry,” she whispered.
Brunelle’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” He mimicked her hushed tone as the judge went ahead with the rest of the docket.
“That other lawyer—” Robyn began.
“Jacobsen.”
“Right. He kicked your ass with that whole ‘accidents happen’ bullshit. You didn’t respond at all.”
“It’s not relevant,” Brunelle insisted. “You don’t litigate the merits of the case at a bail hearing. It’s about safety of the community and risk of flight.”
Robyn cocked her head at him. “Seriously? I mean, sure, technically, that’s true, but really, we always argue the merits. The judge isn’t gonna hold someone who might actually be innocent.”
Brunelle knew that was probably true, but he didn’t see why it mattered. “Honestly, I don’t really care. He’s already out and is he wants to go back to the Cu-CUM-ber club, what do I care? Maybe he’ll kill someone else and I can add charges.”
Robyn just stared at him. He felt her gaze sizing him up, trying to figure out if he was as dense as he was apparently coming off.
“There’s a way to win this case,” she finally said.
Brunelle nodded. “Okay,” he encouraged. But she didn’t elaborate.
“I mean, I don’t want you to win or anything,” she quickly corrected. “Not professionally. We’re on opposite sides. But personally… Well, like I said, there’s a way to win this case, but you don’t seem to get it.”
Brunelle frowned. Despite his dismissive attitude, he knew she was right. And he knew he needed to figure it out. “So educate me.”
Unexpressed thoughts flashed behind Robyn’s eyes. “You know I want to.”
Brunelle nodded. He wanted that too. Way more than he should. He was smart enough to walk away before it was too late. “Thanks anyway, Robyn. I guess I’ll try to figure it out by myself.”
Robyn’s expression hardened back to her usual smiling mask. But she didn’t manage to say anything as he extracted his arm from her welcome grip and walked out of the courtroom.
When Brunelle got back to the office, he stopped by his legal assistant’s desk. He needed to get his thoughts back on the case. “Did Jacobsen file any more motions while we were in court?” he joked.
Nicole offered a pained grin. “Actually, yes.” She picked up two different documents and handed the top one to Brunelle.
He read the caption. “Motion to Dismiss for Prosecutorial Misconduct? What misconduct?”
“I’m guessing it’s the same as this.” She handed him the other document.
Brunelle’s heart sank as he looked down at the letterhead of the Washington State Bar Association.
Dear Mr. Brunelle,
This letter is to inform you that a bar complaint has been filed against you…
Chapter 13
Brunelle stormed into the examining room at the King County Medical Examiner’s office.
“A bar complaint!” he shouted. “I got a fucking bar complaint!”
Kat Anderson looked up from where she had been about to start the Y-incision to open the next cadaver on the day's autopsy list. “Good for you. I've got a dead body. Wanna trade?”
Brunelle crossed his arms. “Hardee-har-har. This is serious.”
Kat raised an eyebrow and set down her scalpel. She crossed her own arms. “Did you just ‘hardee-har-har’ me? Really?”
Brunelle waved her remark away. “Look, this is a big deal. I wanted to talk to you about this, but when I called you didn’t answer.”
“When you called,” Kat replied, arms still crossed, “I was doing my job.”
“You can’t take a minute when your boyfriend wants to talk?”
Kat surrendered a tight smile. “Boyfriend? Okay, that I can handle. You never say that.”
Brunelle smiled. “Yeah, well… You’re welcome.”
Kat shook her head amicably. “I wasn’t thanking you for accurately describing our relationship. Just amused by you actually admitting it. But really, sometimes you can be such a girl.”
Brunelle dropped his arms. “A girl? What the hell does that mea
n?”
Kat laughed. “It means, Mr. Boyfriend,” she stepped forward and tousled his hair with a latex-gloved hand, “that sometimes you just want to share your feelings. It’s cute. Inconvenient sometimes, usually irritating, but cute.”
Brunelle frowned. “I like being cute to you, but I’m thinking maybe not this way.”
“No worries, handsome.” Kat picked up her scalpel again. “I usually just let you talk ‘til you’re done. But really, I have work to do.”
“Yeah, but I got a bar complaint,” Brunelle repeated. “That seriously sucks.”
“So do I,” Kat purred, “but not if you keep up this whining. I would think this is an occupational hazard. Who filed it?”
Brunelle’s brain was torn between responding to the question she ended with, or the sexual allusion she started with. Primacy versus recency. He opted for the question. “Uh, that defendant. Atkins. Master Michael.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Fucker.”
“Right,” Kat laughed. “As I recall, that’s exactly what he was doing when he choked her out. But why did he file a bar complaint? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Brunelle threw his hands up. “I fucking met with him. With his attorney present. At his request.”
Kat cocked her head. “How does that equal a bar complaint?”
Brunelle shrugged. “Prosecutors aren’t allowed to talk with defendants directly. Not unless they’re representing themselves. Otherwise we have to go through their lawyers.”
“Then why did you meet with him?” Kat questioned. “Didn’t you know better?”
“No, it’s okay if you do it with their lawyer present,” Brunelle explained. “I don’t like doing it. It rarely helps. But Lannigan insisted. He thought I could talk him into pleading guilty.”
Kat’s brows knitted together. “His lawyer wanted you to talk his client into pleading guilty? No wonder he filed a bar complaint.”
“His lawyer,” Brunelle corrected indignantly, “invited me to explain the strength of the State’s case to his client. I obliged. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You talked directly to a murder defendant.”
“He’s a manslaughter defendant,” Brunelle replied. “And his lawyer was present.”
“Still,” Kat said, “you probably should have said no. There’s a reason you don’t usually do it.”
Brunelle frowned. He knew she was right. But that didn’t mean he deserved a bar complaint. “I didn’t break the rules.”
Kat smiled and stepped back, looking Brunelle up and down once. “Well, maybe that’s your problem, Mr. Brunelle. Always following the rules, instead of doing what your gut tells you. Must be the prosecutor in you.”
Brunelle felt a bit stung. He’d come for support and understanding, not rebuke and pop psychology. But he didn’t want a fight. Not right then. And not with Kat. “Sure. That’s probably it.”
Kat tipped her head toward the cadaver on her examining table. “Look, I really do have to get back to work. Sorry you got a bar complaint. Really. But maybe it’s a good thing. Next time you get invited to do something, instead of following the rules, just do what your gut tells you.”
Brunelle nodded. “Sure,” he repeated. Then he straightened up again. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll head out. Thanks for the advice.”
But as he walked out, he couldn’t help but think she shouldn’t have said what she said. When he got outside and checked his phone for messages, he was sure of it.
He had two new texts. Both from Robyn.
‘OK. I’ll help you. You need it.’
Then, ‘You know you want to.’
And damn if he didn’t.
Chapter 14
Brunelle actually summoned the self-control not to respond to Robyn’s texts immediately. Even that night, while Kat was busy with Lizzy and other non-him stuff, he still managed not to answer her. But he read the texts again and again and let his mind wander into places it ought not to have.
By the next morning he was glad to have work to distract him. Until work reminded him there were a lot more serious things to deal with than a cute defense attorney.
“There’s a Peter Sylvan here to see you,” the receptionist told him over the phone.
Sylvan? Brunelle paused, trying to place the name. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know any defense attorneys with that name and he didn’t recall any victim families with the last name ‘Sylvan.’
“Did he say what case it’s on?”
“No, Mr. Brunelle,” the receptionist answered. “I asked, but he said it was better if he didn’t say.”
Fuck, Brunelle thought. He looked over at his in-box. Still sitting on top was the letter from the Bar Association. They’d sent an investigator already. He wasn’t ready for that.
“Uh,” he stammered into the phone. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” Then he thought twice. “I’ll be right there,” he corrected. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”
You don’t keep the bar investigator waiting.
Brunelle stood up and looked around his office. Professionally tidy. All the files in the file cabinet, the in-box not too full, and the computer open to the word processor, not the internet.
Good. First impressions were important.
He checked his tie in the mirror behind his door then walked out to the lobby. With a little luck, maybe the investigator was just there as a formality before dismissing the complaint. Maybe he’d already talked to Lannigan. Lannigan would back him up, right?
Brunelle shook the thought from his head. It didn’t matter if Lannigan backed him up. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d followed the rules. It was important to follow the rules.
He stepped into the small reception area and extended a hand. “Peter?” Brunelle chose the friendliness of a first name greeting over the formality of a ‘Mr. Sylvan.’ They were colleagues, not enemies—he hoped “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Sylvan turned around from where he’d been scrutinizing one of the framed prints on the lobby wall. A photo of some loggers from turn-of-the-century Seattle. He looked to be a bit younger than Brunelle, and stood a bit taller as well, with long brown hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail, and an expensive-looking suit under an even more expensive looking overcoat.
Nice to know my bar dues are paying this guy’s obviously exorbitant salary, Brunelle thought. But he kept his smile pasted on.
“Mr. Brunelle,” Sylvan reached out and seized Brunelle’s hand in a strong, warm grasp. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced. I find it easier sometimes, given the nature of my work.”
Brunelle nodded a little too much. “Oh, of course. Understood. Why don’t we go back to my office?”
Sylvan released his hand. “Good idea. Then we can talk candidly.”
Candidly, Brunelle thought ruefully. Sometimes he hated that word. Wasn’t it enough just to be honest? Did he have to be candid too? “Sounds good,” he said anyway.
They walked the short distance to Brunelle’s office. Brunelle noticed a few of the legal secretaries eying Sylvan as they passed. Brunelle had to concede, Sylvan was an attractive enough man. Apparently, it wasn’t enough just to have Brunelle’s entire professional future in his hands—he had to look good doing it.
Once inside the office, Brunelle sat at his desk. Sylvan took the liberty of closing the door and sat in one of the guest chairs. Brunelle frowned slightly at the door-closing. It was generally a better idea not to have a conversation without witnesses. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t need everyone in the office talking about his bar complaint. He decided to just jump right in.
“I want you know,” he started, raising his hand for emphasis, “that I’m fully aware of the rules for this sort of thing.”
Sylvan raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
Brunelle nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. I take this sort of thing very seriously. I’ve been practicing for a long time now and I know what I can and can’t do.”
&nb
sp; Sylvan leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. One never knows what other people might know about this sort of thing.”
Brunelle could sense a tone of approval in Sylvan’s voice. That was a relief. Maybe this would go well after all. “Well, I think if you’re going to do something, you should do it well. I care a lot about the quality of my work.”
“I see,” Sylvan replied, nodding. “And how long have you been--how did you phrase it?--practicing?”
Brunelle cocked his head slightly. Why wouldn’t I say ‘practicing’? That’s what you do. You practice law. But he let the comment go. “Almost nineteen years.”
Both of Sylvan’s eyebrows shot up this time. Brunelle didn’t know why that would have surprised him. He could have looked up when Brunelle was first admitted to the bar. “I daresay, Mr. Brunelle,” Sylvan said, “if you’ve been doing this sort of thing for nineteen years, you’re no longer just practicing. You’re a Master.”
Brunelle shrugged and tried not to blush. “Yes, well…”
“Unless, that is,” Sylvan interrupted with a polite laugh, “you’re a submissive. I shouldn’t assume. Either way, after nineteen years, you’re obviously aware of the subtle contours of the dominant-submissive relationship.”
Brunelle’s jaw dropped open and he blinked several times at his guest.
“Actually,” Sylvan went on, “I’m a bit surprised. Mr. Jacobsen didn’t mention you had experience in this area. But then again, maybe he didn’t know. People tend to tell me things they don’t tell others.”
Brunelle sat motionless for several more seconds, then nodded slowly, realizing the mistake he’d made. “You’re not from the bar association, are you?”
Substantial Risk (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 5) Page 6
