Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  Talon was glad he couldn’t see her shrug. “No, I know they’re important. It’s just—I had to go to Spokane. Then Long Beach. Now I have this motion to write. It’s a lot, and I don’t have three legal assistants and a paralegal to do all my work for me.”

  There was silence for a moment. Talon had been referring to her days at Gardelli High, but she realized Sullivan might have thought she was talking about him. Please hold for Mr. Sullivan.

  “I just mean,” she tried to clarify, “I’m used to having a lot of support staff. Now I have a receptionist to take messages and an investigator who I’m not even sure how I’m going to pay.”

  “Well, you’re not going to pay him from this lawsuit,” Sullivan scolded. “Not the way you’re acting right now. I’m going to have to file a response. They want the judge to dismiss the case, of course. They’re characterizing your failure to respond to their interrogatories as a failure to prosecute the case. I can file a response and probably get a short extension, but not more than a few days, maybe a week. You need to get those answers to me as soon as possible.”

  Talon sighed to herself. She looked at the motion flickering on her computer monitor. She needed to get the ballistics to St. Julian as soon as possible. “When do you need them by?”

  “I needed them by last Friday,” Sullivan replied testily.

  “Right,” Talon acknowledged. “But what’s the latest I can get them to you?”

  Sullivan sighed. He made no effort to conceal the sound. “I wish you’d told me the soonest you can get them to me, instead of asking me the latest you can. You’re already past the deadline. I’m going to have to charge you for this extra work. You’re not just wasting my time and the court’s, you’re wasting your own money.”

  Talon ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t need more bills. “Okay. I’ll get them done right away.” She looked again at her motion and considered the calendar. “Can I get them to you Monday? There’s a lot of them. It’s going to take me time to respond.”

  “Which is why you should have done them right away,” Sullivan reproached, “instead of driving all over the state for some client who can’t pay your investigator.”

  Talon didn’t have a response ready for that.

  That turned out to be okay because Sullivan kept talking. “I need everything by nine a.m. Monday morning. Everything. All of your responses, plus all of the documents they demanded. Your tax returns, your pay stubs, everything. Unless you’ve been keeping flawless records for the last ten years, that’s going to take some time to gather together. You need to get started immediately.”

  Talon nodded again. “Right. Immediately. Got it.”

  Sullivan sighed again. “I hope so, Talon. These people did you wrong. You need to hold them responsible.”

  “I know,” Talon answered. “You’re right. Thanks. I’m sorry about this.”

  Sullivan’s voice softened slightly. “Don’t be sorry, Talon. Be diligent. Get me those answers by Monday. Sooner, if possible.”

  “Right,” Talon replied. “Will do.”

  “Immediately,” Sullivan reiterated. “Get started immediately. That’s the only way you’ll get them done in time.”

  “Yes. Absolutely. Immediately. Understood.”

  Sullivan acknowledged the promise, then bid his farewell. Talon half-expected his secretary to get back on the line and announce, ‘Mr. Sullivan has hung up the phone.’

  Talon hung up and looked over at the large envelope from Sullivan’s office that had been sitting in the corner of her office since the interrogatories arrived weeks earlier. Then she looked back at her computer screen and page four of her argument about why the prosecution should be forced to surrender the firearm and bullets out from their secure property room and hand them over to a defense ballistics expert three counties away. At first blush, prudence said they shouldn’t have to. But upon closer inspection, justice said they must.

  She squared her shoulders to the monitor on her desk and pushed the envelope in the corner out of her mind.

  ‘Furthermore,’ she typed, ‘Mr. Jameson’s constitutional right to confront the witnesses and evidence against him mandates the release of this evidence to ….’

  CHAPTER 20

  Talon arrived in Judge Kirchner’s courtroom ten minutes before the hearing on her motion to compel the State to turn over the ballistics evidence to her expert. Enough time to set up her books and briefs and legal pad. Not too much time to sit there just getting nervous.

  She hadn’t appeared before Judge Kirchner before. Kristina Kirchner had been a family law commissioner before being appointed a judge by the Governor the previous fall. Talon had done lots of different kinds of cases, but never family law. It was the one area even more depressing than criminal. She sued and defended people over money. Family law courts terminated parents’ rights for severe abuse and neglect. Talon could live a happy and full life without ever seeing children treated so badly by their parents that the law stepped in to permanently terminate the parent-child relationship.

  As a result, Talon would have to go on reputation alone. And Judge Kirchner’s reputation was no-nonsense, uber-professional, and the smartest one in the room. Talon liked her already.

  Michael Jameson had been waiting in the hallway when Talon arrived. It was just a procedural motion, but a defendant has a right to be present at ‘every critical stage’ of the proceedings. If Michael hadn’t made bail, the jail would have transported him in jail clothes, and he would have sat next to his lawyer, with one hand chained to his waist, the other free to take notes, and two armed guards within lunging distance. As it was, he was dressed in a dark suit and gold tie and took a seat silently at the defendant’s table. He was a quiet man anyway, and knew enough to be even quieter as his champion prepared for battle.

  As Talon finished organizing her materials on the defense table, the door to the courtroom opened and in walked Quinlan—along with another attorney Talon hadn’t met before. A young woman, dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit and heels almost, but not quite, too high for court. She was African-American, with sharp eyes and soft curls.

  “Ms. Winter,” Quinlan said as they approached the prosecution table. “Allow me to introduce my co-counsel, Amity McDaniels.”

  Talon made sure not to let her expression betray her thoughts. And her thought was, Damn it. Just looking at her, Talon could tell that Amity McDaniels was smarter than Quinlan. The fact that the prosecutor’s office had put her on the case meant she was an up-and-coming attorney, ready to get experience on a murder case. And Talon was cynical enough to realize Amity’s race probably hadn’t been overlooked in that assignment either. Jurors were real people, with real prejudices, good and bad. To the extent that Talon might be helped by a latent suspicion that the criminal justice system was slanted against African-Americans, Amity’s presence at the prosecution table would work to assuage that. So yeah, Damn it.

  “Nice to meet you,” Talon said, extending a hand.

  “You too,” Amity replied. She had a pleasantly deep voice for a woman. Not unnaturally so, just strong. Confident. Double damn it.

  The ten minutes were up. Judge Kirchner’s bailiff entered the courtroom from the hallway to the judge’s chambers and announced, “All rise! The Pierce County Superior Court is now in session, the Honorable Kristina Kirchner presiding.”

  Judge Kirchner then entered the courtroom from the same hallway and climbed the steps to the bench. “Please be seated,” she instructed as she, too, sat down. Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight bun, which accentuated her angular jaw and small glasses. No makeup, no jewelry, no nonsense.

  “Are the parties ready in the matter of The State of Washington versus Michael Jameson?” she started the proceedings.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Quinlan replied. “Eric Quinlan and Amity McDaniels on behalf of the State.”

  Judge Kirchner nodded down at the prosecution table. “Nice to see you again, Ms. McDaniels.”

&
nbsp; Triple damn it, Talon thought. One of the many advantages prosecutors had over defense attorneys—apart from practically unlimited resources, detectives to do all their follow-up investigation, and a general perception in the community as being the good guys—was the fact that they were constantly in court. While the responsibility of defending criminal defendants was spread out among the county’s public defenders, local private attorneys, and even attorneys from Seattle and Olympia and elsewhere, every single criminal case in the county was prosecuted by the Pierce County Prosecutor’s Office. As a result, the few dozen prosecutors who handled the felony cases were constantly in court, scheduling hearings, arguing motions, and getting to know—and be known by—the judges.

  Judge Kirchner turned her gaze to the other side of the courtroom. “Is the defense ready?”

  Talon stood to address the judge. “Yes, Your Honor. Talon Winter on behalf of Michael Jameson, who is seated to my left. We are ready to proceed.”

  First impressions. So important. So impossible to gauge. As Talon retook her seat and Judge Kirchner glanced down at the papers before her, Talon hoped her legal brief had impressed Kirchner. Tailored suit and confident demeanor would only carry her so far.

  “This is your motion, Ms. Winter.” Kirchner looked up again. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  ‘Whenever you’re ready’ was judge-talk for ‘Go.’ Talon stood up again and began her argument.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. May it please the Court, the defense is asking the Court to compel the prosecution to release certain evidence for examination by an independent expert retained by the defense—”

  “Ballistics evidence, correct?” Judge Kirchner interrupted.

  “Uh, yes, Your Honor,” Talon confirmed. “Specifically, a firearm allegedly obtained from my client’s residence, and fired bullets collected from the scene twenty-five years ago.”

  “That’s what connects your client to the crime, correct?” Kirchner followed up.

  “Allegedly,” Talon replied.

  Kirchner raised an incredulous eyebrow, but at least she didn’t roll her eyes.

  “So if that evidence goes missing,” Kirchner said, “the State’s case would fall apart.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Talon could see Quinlan nodding like a bobble-head doll. McDaniels was just sitting there attentively.

  “We would stipulate to chain of custody, Your Honor,” Talon answered. “The State has already examined the evidence and their expert has generated a report. That report predates this motion, so even if the evidence were lost—which, I assure you, it won’t be—the State could still proceed with their report.”

  “And you have been provided those reports, I assume?” Kirchner asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “So why do you need this extra examination?” the judge inquired. “Why not just rely on the State’s reports? Are you challenging the qualifications of the State’s expert?”

  Talon suppressed a wince. It wasn’t going well. Kirchner didn’t seem to appreciate the defense position, or the rights afforded a criminal defendant facing deprivation of liberty at the hands of the government. That was one of the dangers of appearing before a judge who’d spent most of her career doing something other than criminal work. But then, Talon supposed, she was new to all this too.

  “No, Your Honor. We’re not challenging the State’s expert’s qualifications. But neither are we required to accept his findings. A criminal defendant shouldn’t have to rely on the opinion of someone who works for the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab. Mr. Jameson is entitled to an independent review of the evidence by someone who has an interest in challenging the State’s theory of the case.”

  Kirchner frowned, but nodded down to her. “Continue.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Talon had to take a moment to recall where she was in her argument. Then she remembered she hadn’t even started. “Criminal Rule 4.7 addresses the examination of evidence by experts—”

  “I’m sorry. Ms. Winter,” Judge Kirchner interrupted again. “But I can’t get past the problem of what happens if this evidence goes missing while out of police custody. You said you received the reports from the crime lab?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Talon answered. As much as she wanted to continue with her argument, she knew to answer a judge’s questions promptly and directly.

  “All of them?” Kirchner pressed.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “So why can’t your expert just review the reports?” Kirchner asked. “If there are problems with the methodology, your expert can testify to that.”

  Talon took a moment before responding. Just because she knew she had to respond to the judge’s questions didn’t make the constant interruptions any less irritating. “Perhaps, Your Honor. But it may be impossible to see any errors in methodology if the items themselves aren’t examined. It may be that the State’s expert completely overlooked some important aspect of this evidence. If so, it wouldn’t be in the reports and my expert wouldn’t know about it precisely because the State’s expert overlooked it.”

  Kirchner frowned, but didn’t immediately reply.

  “It’s not a question of quality review,” Talon went on. “It’s about an independent examination, top to bottom, to draw independent conclusions. Those conclusions may confirm the State’s expert’s opinion, or they may challenge it, or they may completely contradict it. But Mr. Jameson has a constitutional right to present the best defense possible, and that requires that he be allowed to perform an independent examination of the evidence against him.”

  “I’m not so sure of that, Ms. Winter,” Judge Kirchner returned. “We don’t just do anything a defendant asks simply because he wants it. There needs to be a reason. Some sound reason, grounded in the law and the relevant science. You say your client needs to have these items examined, but you’re a lawyer, not a ballistics expert. Your job is to advocate for your client, but it is for precisely that reason I can’t automatically rely on everything you say.”

  The judge raised her gaze and scanned the courtroom. It was empty, save the participants at counsel table.

  “Where is your expert?” Kirchner asked. “Why isn’t he here today?”

  Talon couldn’t suppress that wince. Quadruple damn it. “Uh, she’s in Long Beach, Your Honor.”

  Kirchner’s eyebrows shot up. “Who’s your expert?”

  “Anastasia St. Julian.” Talon couldn’t say the name without feeling silly.

  Kirchner considered for a moment. “And Ms. St. Julian says she needs to examine the evidence herself?”

  Talon nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Kirchner picked up her gavel and banged it. “Motion granted.” She gestured to the prosecution table. “Mr. Quinlan, make arrangements for Ms. St. Julian to pick up the evidence from the property room within the week. Whatever she wants. Understood?”

  Quinlan stood up. He was clearly flustered. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to argue his position. But he was also weak. And a judge had just given him an order. “Y—Yes, Your Honor. Of course, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Talon’s head was swimming almost as much as Quinlan’s likely was. But she’d won. And she knew not to look a gift ruling in the mouth. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Judge Kirchner replied. “Thank Ann. And whoever told you to hire her. She’s the best ballistics expert in the state.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Talon’s victory was short-lived. Or rather, her ability to bask in her victory was short-lived. Quinlan, and McDaniels, got the evidence to St. Julian within the week, as ordered. And St. Julian had called to say her initial review gave her hope of finding something helpful. But within that same week, Talon had gotten a call from Samuel Sullivan’s secretary. He wanted to meet with Talon. In person.

  So Talon made time in her otherwise empty schedule to go from her small, dingy office to Sullivan’s bright, palatial one. When she arrived, she checked in
with the receptionist who worked for just Sullivan, along with three associate attorneys, two paralegals, and a secretary in a pear tree.

  “Mr. Sullivan will be with you in a few minutes,” the receptionist told Talon. She was eighteen, nineteen at the most, but dressed in the conservative outfit of a middle-aged woman. It made her look like she was rapidly aging backwards.

  Talon thanked the woman and took a seat in the large lobby. There were several magazines on the coffee table, but Talon passed the time examining the décor, trying to guess how much each piece of decoration might have cost.

  After more than a few minutes, and definitely past the time the meeting was scheduled for, a paralegal or secretary or associate—Talon wasn’t sure which—came out to take her to Sullivan’s office. He was a man, probably in his late twenties, but again wearing a dark, conservative suit of someone much older than him. Talon wondered if he was Sullivan’s nephew or something, but didn’t bother asking, He worked there, he took her to Sullivan’s office, and he left again. That was all that really mattered.

  “Talon, Talon.” Sullivan stood up and came out from behind his desk to greet her. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” Talon replied, shaking his large hand.

  He gestured toward the guest chairs across his desk and they both sat down again.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the interrogatories,” Sullivan started.

  Talon cocked her head. “I finished them, Stan. Didn’t you get them? I sent them over by legal messenger. If they lost them…”

  But Sullivan waved his hand. “No, no. They didn’t lose them. I got them. I got them and I reviewed them.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Talon asked.

  “The problem, Talon, is that I reviewed them,” Sullivan answered. “And they stink.”

  Talon’s heart sank. “Look, I may have hurried on them,” she admitted. “But I got them done in time.”