Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  “Because you’re an ex-cop?” Curt ventured.

  “Yes,” Ann answered. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “Look,” Talon set down her coffee cup and leaned forward. “This is a really complicated case from a really long time ago. It’s a cold case. If it hadn’t been for this ballistics match, no one would ever have been arrested. Not my guy, not anyone. I have a job to do, which is to defend Michael Jameson to the best of my ability. Part of that is hiring the best experts available, and from what I hear, you’re the best ballistics expert available. We need you. My client needs you. That’s enough. It has to be.”

  Ann pursed her lips and considered. She nodded slightly to herself. She took another sip of her coffee. Then she set down her cup and leaned forward too. “But did he do it?”

  Curt let out an exasperated sigh. “So this whole trip was a waste? We drive all the way down to Long Beach just to get some crappy coffee and the brush-off?”

  Ann frowned into her mug. “This is excellent coffee,” she assured.

  “The coffee is fine,” Talon interjected. “It’s not about the coffee. It’s just that Greg Olsen said you were a defense expert. I don’t understand how you can be a defense expert if you won’t help a defendant who might be guilty.”

  Ann leaned back in her chair again and crossed her arms. Her mouth hardened into a thin line and she appraised her guests. “I’m not a defense expert. I’m not a prosecution expert. I’m a ballistics expert. I spent twenty-five years with the State Patrol. I started out as a line trooper, driving patrol and hooking up drunk drivers. I worked my way up and over, always curious, always ready to try something new. By the time I retired, I was an expert on a lot of things. How to be a good cop, for one thing. And guns for another. If there’s a problem with how they connected the bullets to your client’s gun, I’ll see it. And I can explain it to the jury in a way that they’ll understand—and believe.”

  Talon ran her hands through her hair. “Perfect. That’s exactly what we need. So why won’t you do it?”

  “Because she’s a cop,” Curt interrupted. “She doesn’t want to help out some Black guy who may have made a mistake twenty-five years ago.”

  “Whoa there, young man.” Ann raised a finger at Curt. “Don’t bring race into this. Race has nothing to do with it.”

  “Actually, I think you may be wrong about that,” Talon said. “I don’t know if the prosecutor would go after this case as hard if it were some White guy in the suburbs who happens to have a gun in his attic that can be linked to an unsolved homicide from a quarter-century ago.”

  Ann raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re going to tell the jury?”

  Talon shrugged. “I don’t know. I might have to if you won’t help us out.”

  Ann steepled her fingers and tapped them together in thought. After a moment, she spoke again. “The reason I want to know if he did it isn’t because I’m a cop. It’s because I’m an ex-cop. As in retired. It’s a long drive to Tacoma. The cost of living is pretty cheap down here. I can afford to be selective about which cases I take. And if I’m going to be selective, I don’t want to waste time on some case where the State has a dozen eye-witnesses and a confession. Some defense attorneys think they have to call witnesses just to do something in their case-in-chief. But I’m not a prop. I take my reputation seriously.”

  Talon nodded, forcing herself to calm down. “Okay. Well, I can understand that.”

  “But let me say something else,” Ann went on. “You’re supposed to be this man’s lawyer. It’s your job to think clearly and plead his case. Why won’t you just answer my question? Did he do it or not? You’ve attacked my motives and my integrity, but you won’t answer that simple question. Why not?”

  Talon looked over to Curt who returned her gaze. Then she turned back to Ann and shrugged. “Because we don’t know if he did it. He won’t tell us.”

  Ann took a moment. “I like this Mr. Jameson,” she said with a grin. “It makes your job harder, though, I imagine.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Curt answered.

  “Or maybe not,” Ann considered. “It might be easier if you don’t know. No ethical qualms, that way, I suppose.”

  “I’ll never have ethical qualms about representing my client to the best of my ability, Ms. St. Julian,” Talon replied.

  Ann nodded. “Good for you.”

  “But you’re part of that,” Talon went on. “The only thing the prosecutor has connecting Michael to the murder is those bullets. I need to attack that connection.”

  “And what if I determine the prosecution is right and the bullets came from your client’s gun?”

  “Then we won’t call you as a witness,” Curt answered.

  But Talon shook her finger at him. “No. We’ll still call you. We’ll have you tell the jury the truth, whatever that ends up being. Because whatever you find out, you can tell the jury one thing for certain: ballistics can tell you which gun fired a bullet, but it can’t tell you which person fired the gun.”

  Ann nodded. “That’s true enough. But you don’t need an expert to say that. You can just argue that in your closing argument.”

  “I know.” Talon smiled. “And I will. But just think how much more impressive it will sound coming from Anastasia St. Julian.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Quinlan will never agree to release the ballistics to St. Julian,” Curt complained as they drove north on Route 101. He was behind the wheel for the return trip.

  “Don’t be such a buzz-kill,” Talon scolded from the passenger seat. “The illustrious Anastasia St. Julian has agreed to champion our cause. We should celebrate.”

  She chuckled at her own words. “Besides, I don’t think he has any choice. The defense expert should be able to examine the physical evidence. He may be a dick about it…” She paused for a moment. “Okay, he will be a dick about it, but it’s not his call. If he won’t agree to it, I’ll take it to a judge.”

  Curt nodded and drove on for a few moments. “Our cause,” he repeated. “I like that.”

  Talon’s immediate thought was to justify her use of that word in some professional, not personal, way. She was the lawyer and he was the investigator. They were part of the same team. Just like St. Julian. That’s all.

  Instead, she just smiled and looked out the window.

  * * *

  As the towns starting getting closer together and they could pick up the Seattle radio stations again, Curt returned to the subject of their partnership.

  “So I was thinking,” he started carefully, “as part of our team, of course.”

  “Of course,” Talon validated with a light grin.

  “As part of our team,” Curt repeated, “I was thinking maybe we could stop by Shelton and talk to Oliphant.”

  Talon’s smile dried up.

  “I mean, it’s on the way.” Curt pointed vaguely at the road ahead. “And we agreed we should have asked Daggett about the gun. I think it just makes sense.” He looked over at her with a grin of his own. “You know, as part of our team.”

  Talon sighed. “Look, Curt, I understand what you’re saying. And it does make sense. It’s just that…” But she trailed off. “I’d just rather not do that right now. I’m—I’m not really prepared for it. I should review the reports again. Really know what evidence the State has, you know? Figure out my questions in advance. All that stuff.”

  Curt nodded, keeping his gaze squarely on the interstate disappearing beneath the car. He didn’t argue. He thought. For several moments. After an uncomfortably long time, he finally nodded again and said, “Okay, I’ll do it. Alone. You can wait at a coffee shop or something. There’s got to be a crappy little coffee shop somewhere near the prison.”

  “Uh, no. No, that’s all right,” Talon protested. “Really. I’ll do it. It’s just—I’m just not ready right now.”

  When Curt didn’t respond, Talon insisted, “I will do it, Curt. We have time. Let’s focus on getting the ballistic evi
dence to St. Julian first. Then we can circle back to Oliphant. I mean, what if St. Julian helps us get the gun evidence suppressed altogether? We won’t need to ask Oliphant about the gun.”

  Curt thought for a moment. “You know St. Julian can’t get the guns suppressed. The best we can do is have her testify the crime lab was wrong when they linked the gun to the murder. But they still made the link. As long as the prosecutor puts the crime lab guy on the stand, the gun is coming in. And anyway, guns or not, we need to talk to Oliphant. He’s a witness to the crime. What if he can positively I.D. Ricky as the shooter?”

  “Michael told us not to involve his brother,” Talon reminded him.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Curt replied, with a quick grin at her. “I recall him telling us to not talk to his brother. But if someone else wants to throw Ricky under the bus, we can’t help that, can we?”

  Talon didn’t immediately respond, as she considered Curt’s assertion and whether it was correct. Before she could decide, Curt went on.

  “The way I see it,” he said, “you have two choices. One, you can grab a cup of coffee and let me do my job. Or two, you can tell me what’s really going on.”

  Talon crossed her arms and thought for several long moments. Finally, she uncrossed them and looked out the window again. “Fine. I could go for a mocha right about now anyway.”

  * * *

  Curt was right. There was indeed a dumpy little coffee shop near the prison. It was called ‘Grounds Zero’ and featured plastic chairs and mismatched tables. But they had an espresso machine. Talon sat down at a table near the window and watched as Curt pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the Washington Correctional Facility down the road.

  She’d brought her iPad so she decided to busy herself re-reading the police reports. Maybe she could find some weaknesses in the State’s case that she’d previously overlooked. It seemed unlikely, but she had to do something. She was going to be at Grounds Zero for a few hours.

  * * *

  One of the problems with the Internet was that it was home to both her legal research website and every news-compiling website in the world—a siren song of distraction. And three hours was a long time to spend reading police reports, especially ones she’d already read. By the time Curt returned, she was a dozen paragraphs deep into a British article about the latest crisis in the Middle East.

  Talon looked up as the bells tied to the back of the front door jingled and Curt walked in, a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

  “What’s a dame like you doing in a place like this?” he joked as he pulled out the chair across from her.

  Talon just smiled, not sure how to respond to the anachronistic cliché. She settled on, “Dame?”

  Curt laughed, then he stopped himself from sitting down. “Hold on. Let me order a coffee.”

  He headed back to the register and Talon switched her browser from Distraction.com to Diligently-Working-Thank-You-Very-Much.org. She could finish the article later.

  Curt came back and sat down, swinging his leg over the chair to do so. A pleasant action to watch, Talon had to admit to herself.

  “It went well, I take it?” Talon asked.

  Curt combined a slight nod with a small shrug. “Maybe.”

  He was adorable when he was happy. She liked seeing him happy. But she stuck to business. “What did he say?”

  “Hm, let me see…” Curt frowned in concentration and counted off on his fingers. “He said, ‘Fuck you.’ And, ‘Fuck off.’ And my personal favorite, ‘Go fuck yourself.’ I believe he said that one several times.”

  “Oh,” Talon replied, a bit surprised. “So nothing, huh?”

  But Curt flashed a smile. “Oh, ye of little faith. I can be quite charming when I want to.”

  Talon knew that was true.

  “Oh, sure, it took a while,” Curt went on. “But I managed to warm him up.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Mostly we talked about how much cops suck and how ‘The Man’ is out to get people,” Curt answered.

  “I take it you didn’t mention your stint as a police cadet?” Talon inquired.

  “Strangely, that didn’t come up,” Curt admitted. “No need to complicate matters. It’s pretty simple. When The Man puts you away for ten years for drug delivery, you’re not too keen on helping The Man do it to somebody else.”

  “That makes sense,” Talon said. “But did you really say ‘The Man’? Didn’t people stop saying that in the seventies? Like calling cops ‘the Fuzz’?”

  Curt laughed. “Well, he’s in the big house for moving blow, so—”

  “Okay, stop,” Talon laughed. “Let’s use words from this decade. What did he say?”

  Curt laughed too. “Fine. He said he hates the fucking cops and doesn’t want to help put anybody else in prison, even someone who killed his buddy twenty-five years ago.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Talon supposed. “But it’s not like he can refuse to testify if the prosecution transports him for the trial.”

  “Well, he could,” Curt disagreed. “The only thing the court could do is hold him in contempt and put him in jail until he agrees to testify. But he’s already serving a sentence that’s a lot longer than the trial would last. So, really, he could tell the judge to go fuck himself and they couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “Is that what he’s going to do?” Talon didn’t try to hide her excitement at the prospect. If one of the victims refused to testify, that could really damage the State’s case.

  “Well, see, that’s a little touchy,” Curt replied. “I didn’t want to encourage that. I don’t need to get charged with witness tampering. It might damage my dream of being a private investigator.”

  “Good point,” Talon agreed. “Smart.”

  “But I didn’t tell him not to do it either,” Curt assured her. “I told him it was his choice whether he wanted to cooperate with the big bad government. Then I assured him I didn’t work for the government and anything he told me wouldn’t get back to them.”

  “Did that do the trick?”

  Curt nodded. “Yep. He seemed to like the idea of sticking it to The M— I mean, the government.”

  “Great,” Talon replied. “So what did he say? Does it help us?”

  “Oh no,” Curt waved away the suggestion. “It’s terrible. Totally hurts us. Absolutely horrible.”

  Talon’s shoulders dropped. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s hope he doesn’t testify,” Curt said.

  “So what did he say?” Talon pressed. “What was so horrible?”

  Curt leaned forward and put his hands together. “Let’s see… Two guys. Both young Black males. Both got out of the car. He recognized them from the neighborhood, but didn’t know their names. He knew they were brothers though. It was supposed to be a drug deal, but they were gonna rob them. McCabe had a gun tucked in the back of his waistband, but he never got a chance to pull it out. The brothers could tell something was wrong. The younger one panicked, pulled out a gun, and just opened fire. Oliphant dove behind some bushes. When the shooting stopped he looked up. McCabe was on the ground, bleeding out, and the two brothers were jumping into their car and peeling away.”

  Talon took a moment to let it all sink in. Finally, she exhaled, “Fuck.”

  Curt nodded. “Exactly.”

  “That’s about the worst possible description of events we could have gotten,” Talon opined.

  “Actually, it gets worse,” Curt responded. “One more thing.”

  “What?” Talon asked. “What could possibly be worse?”

  Curt grimaced. “Oliphant heard the shooter yell, ‘Get in the car, Ricky!’”

  Talon dropped her head into her hands. “Double fuck,” she said through her fingers.

  “Agreed,” Curt replied.

  After a few moments, Talon raised her head again and ran her hands through her hair. “Well, I guess it’s better if we know this going in. Thanks for
talking with him.”

  “Sure,” Curt replied. “Thanks for trusting me to do it.”

  “Of course I trust you,” Talon replied. “We’re a team.”

  Curt smiled, but weakly. “You’re still not going to tell me why you didn’t want to go with me, are you?”

  Talon smiled back, but cryptically. “I don’t trust you that much.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Talon was four pages into her Motion to Compel Production of Ballistics Evidence to Defense Expert when her phone rang. She clicked the ‘save’ icon on her computer and picked up the phone.

  “Hello. Law Office of Talon Winter.”

  “Please hold for Samuel Sullivan,” replied the woman on the other end.

  Talon rolled her eyes. Who calls someone without actually being on the line when they answer? An arrogant, high-priced attorney, she supposed. But he was her arrogant, high-priced attorney, so maybe it was for the best.

  “Talon?” came Sullivan’s voice after a few moments.

  “Hey, Stan. Thanks for calling. Has there been a development?”

  She hoped maybe the other side had blinked and made a counter-offer. She was surprisingly ready to be done with the case. When they’d fired her, she’d been livid and wanted blood. Now she just wanted her rent paid and time to focus on defending an innocent man against murder charges. A probably innocent man. Maybe.

  “Have you read the motion to compel yet?” Sullivan asked.

  Talon hesitated. She looked at her computer screen. “I haven’t even finished writing it yet.”

  “What?” Sullivan responded. “No, not whatever you’re working on for your little criminal case. The motion to compel filed by Gardelli High. We didn’t answer their interrogatories on time. You didn’t answer their interrogatories on time.”

  “Shit,” Talon responded. “I’m sorry, Stan. I’ve just been so focused on this case.” She almost said ‘this little case’ but stopped herself. “I forgot all about those.”

  She could almost hear Sullivan frown on the other end. “Sounds like you let yourself get distracted.”