Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  “Tangent,” Talon barked.

  “Uh, right.” Eric stammered. “But fingerprints are the main type of prints used forensically because when somebody grabs something, they use their fingers, not their feet. And when they touch it, they leave behind oil from their skin, but only where the skin touches, and only the raised ridges touch. So the oil that’s left behind is in the same pattern as the fingerprints. Only backwards. Like Silly Putty.” He thought for a moment. “Is Silly Putty a tangent?”

  “No,” Talon answered. “It’s a dated reference. Just say it’s a mirror image.”

  “Okay, gotcha,” Eric agreed. “Uh, where was I?”

  “You were giving background,” Talon said. “Which is great. But let’s talk about this case. Why is that one print on the gun valuable, and what does it tell us? And why didn’t the cops think it was valuable?”

  “Right,” Eric nodded. “Well, like I said, everyone has fingerprints and everyone’s fingerprints are different. But, in a lot of ways, all fingerprints are actually pretty much the same. They’re all a series of swirling lines and circles. Loops, we call them. It’s not like some people have zigzags, or squares, or something. So, in order to identify someone, we look at a few specific areas on a fingerprint that are usually different from person to person. Those are called points. There are different standards for how many points you need to make a positive identification, but the minimum number is eight. Twelve is better. No two people have the exact same pattern in all twelve of those points. So a partial print is better the more points of match it has.”

  “So you have to have eight points?” Talon asked.

  Eric shrugged. “Well, actually, that depends.”

  Talon waited a moment for more. But apparently there wasn’t any more. Unacceptable. “Depends?” she echoed. “On what?”

  “On what you’re trying to do,” Eric explained. “Include or exclude?”

  “What’s the difference?” Talon asked.

  “Include means you’re trying to identify a specific person as the contributor of the print,” Eric explained. “For that, you want as many of those regions as possible. Ten to twelve at a minimum, depending on the comparison method used.”

  “How many were there in this case?”

  “Five.”

  “So not enough?” Talon frowned.

  “Not enough to include,” Eric answered. “But I think it’s probably enough to exclude.”

  Talon’s frown receded. “Explain.”

  “If you’re looking at a particular suspect,” he said, “and you have this print, you can’t say for sure it’s him. Even if the five regions match, the other five might not. So you can’t make an identification. But if any of those three are definitely different, then you can exclude the person. It’s like, if an eyewitness said the bank robber had blue eyes. If your suspect has blue eyes, well, then maybe it was him, but you’ll need more. But if he has brown eyes, then he’s excluded. It wasn’t him.”

  “So, the police’s job,” Talon expanded, “is to identify a suspect. That’s why they said the print didn’t have any comparison value.”

  “Right,” Eric replied. “For their purposes, it didn’t.”

  “But the defense,” Talon leaned forward, “doesn’t care who the suspect actually is. They’re just trying to exclude one person, the defendant.”

  “Exactly,” Eric enthused. “And for exclusion purposes, a partial print has much greater comparison value. If the partial print only has five regions, but one of them is definitely different from the defendant, then the defendant can be excluded as the source of the print.”

  “And so, Mr. Emerson,” Talon pumped a fist at him, “can you exclude Ezekiel Frazier as the contributor of the partial print recovered from the handgun under the driver’s seat?”

  Eric pumped his own fist back at her. “Probably.”

  Talon’s fist fell to her desk with a thump. “Really?”

  Eric shrugged. “Three of the five points are actually the same as Mr. Frazier. The fourth and fifth seem different. But they’re right at the edge, and kind of smudged. So yeah, it’s probably not him.”

  Talon sighed. “Probably,” she repeated.

  “Probably,” Eric confirmed. “In my opinion.”

  “You think,” Talon translated. She looked up at the ceiling and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, crap. That’s not as helpful as I’d like.”

  “No,” Eric agreed. “But it’s the truth.”

  Talon laughed darkly. “Well, I guess that counts for something.” She leaned forward again and considered whether it really did. But Eric interrupted her thoughts.

  “Ms. Winter?” he said. Then, correcting himself, “Talon. Sorry. I just wanted to thank you.”

  Talon raised an eyebrow, looking askance.

  “For giving me this chance,” he expounded. “I can really use this. It might help me finally get this consulting business off the ground. When I got fired, I lost everything. My job, my house, my retirement. I got sober, but that didn’t bring everything back. This is my second chance. Maybe even my third.”

  Talon smiled, but weakly, recalling both her jail garb-clad client and her rain-soaked brother. “Yeah, well, everyone deserves a second chance. Maybe even a third.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The final court date before a trial was usually the status conference. It was a chance for the judge to make sure the attorneys are ready for trial and, if not, to decide whether or not to delay the trial. It was also a chance for the attorneys to know who the trial judge would be. Sometimes, the judge who presided over the trial was different from the judge who ruled on the pretrial motions. And sometimes, Talon got screwed over and ended up with Judge Haroldson again.

  “I don’t like this guy,” Zeke whispered to Talon as Haroldson took the bench to conduct the status conference.

  “Me neither,” Talon whispered back. She just hoped the jury might hate him too. If they thought the judge and the prosecutor were ganging up on her, maybe they’d be more sympathetic to her arguments. Then again, one of her arguments was going to be ‘Not my pants.’

  “Are the parties ready on the matter of the State of Washington versus Ezekiel Frazier?” Judge Haroldson asked. He seemed almost chipper. Maybe he hadn’t taken Talon’s advocacy personally. Maybe he was so old, he didn’t even remember what she’d said to him. Or maybe that old man was looking forward to sticking it to a Negro defendant and his Indian lawyer.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Alcott stood to answer.

  “The defense is ready, Your Honor.” Talon stood and offered her reply as well.

  “Good, good,” Haroldson responded. “Trial is scheduled for two weeks from today, here in my courtroom. Is discovery complete?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Alcott confirmed she’d provided the defense all of the reports and evidence gathered by the State. A criminal defendant was entitled to a copy of everything in advance, whether they specifically asked for it or not.

  “Not quite, Your Honor,” Talon answered. A criminal defendant only had to provide reports and information gathered during the defense investigation if the defense actually intended to use it at trial. But if so, it had to be turned over. Even expert reports. Especially expert reports. Talon extracted a document from her file and handed it to Alcott. “For the record, I’m handing a copy of a forensic report from the defendant’s fingerprint expert.”

  “Fingerprint expert?” Alcott asked as she accepted the report. But she didn’t bother to read it. Instead, she looked up to the judge. “There’s no fingerprint evidence in this case.”

  “The State thinks there isn’t,” Talon answered, “because the partial fingerprint found in this case can’t be used to include my client as the person who touched the gun. But my expert will say that the print can be used to exclude Mr. Frazier.”

  Alcott sputtered for words as she dropped the report on her counsel table. “It’s irrelevant, Your Honor. The State doesn’t have to prove he ever t
ouched the gun. We just have to prove it was under his seat.”

  “He’s charged with felon in possession of a firearm, Your Honor,” Talon reminded the court. “Possession requires touching.”

  “Actual possession does,” Alcott conceded, “but constructive possession doesn’t, Your Honor. If we can prove he was in possession of the car, and the gun was in the car, then he’s guilty of constructively possessing the firearm.”

  Talon turned to Alcott. “You’re going to send a man to prison for the rest of his life for constructive possession? When you don’t even know if he ever even touched the damn thing?”

  “Ms. Winter!” Judge Haroldson barked. “I haven’t forgotten your outburst at the end of our last hearing.”

  Well, that mystery was solved. Haroldson was old, but apparently not that old. It was looking like Option Three.

  “I won’t have it again,” he went on. “You will direct your comments to me, not opposing counsel. And you will not curse again in my courtroom. Is that understood?”

  Talon took a moment to calm herself. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And Ms. Alcott,” Haroldson turned to the prosecutor. “Are you truly proceeding on a third strike case based solely on a theory of constructive possession?”

  “Uh,” Alcott appeared taken aback at being questioned. “Well, no, Your Honor. Not exclusively. We will argue that the proximity to the gun allows for the reasonable inference that he was in actual possession of it at some point close in time to the traffic stop.”

  “So wouldn’t the absence of the defendant’s fingerprints be relevant to whether he touched the weapon?” the judge asked.

  But Alcott shook her head. “No, Your Honor. It’s only relevant if his fingerprints were on it. If his fingerprints were on it, that would show he handled it. But the absence of his fingerprints doesn’t prove he didn’t handle it. He could have worn gloves, or he could have wiped the gun clean.”

  “Except it wasn’t clean,” Talon interjected. “There was a fingerprint. And my expert will say it wasn’t Mr. Frazier’s”

  “Who is your expert?” Judge Haroldson asked.

  Talon hesitated. This wouldn’t help her argument. If they’d heard of him. “Eric Emerson,” she said, trying to sound casual, or nonchalant, or anything that didn’t indicate that he’d been fired from the State Crime Lab for substance abuse related incompetence.

  “Eric Emerson?” Alcott looked at her. “The guy who got fired for alcoholism?”

  “He was separated from his employment,” Talon recast it, “and took the time to address some personal issues. Regardless, he has the expertise to analyze fingerprint evidence, and his report shows that he has excluded Mr. Frazier as the donor of the partial print recovered from the firearm.”

  She left out the ‘probably’ and the ‘he thinks’.

  “He’s no expert, Your Honor,” Alcott asserted. “He’s a failed crime lab tech who will say anything to make a quick buck, even at public defense rates.”

  Talon restrained herself from declaring what she thought Alcott was.

  The judge harrumphed and nodded to himself for several seconds. Then, he spoke again. “I don’t have to decide right now whether Mr. Emerson is or is not qualified to testify as an expert. That is for the proponent to lay the proper foundation at the time of trial. My question was, I believe, whether discovery was complete. Ms. Winter, now that you’ve handed Ms. Alcott your report, is discovery complete?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Talon answered.

  “And now that you’ve told her the name of your expert,” he opened the question to both counsel, “have both sides disclosed the names of all potential witnesses?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Talon answered.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Alcott confirmed.

  “Then, is there any reason,” the judge asked, “this case cannot proceed to trial in two weeks?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Alcott said.

  “No, Your Honor,” Talon agreed.

  “Good. Then this matter shall be adjourned until two weeks from today.” He banged his gavel. “Court is at recess.”

  Haroldson stood up to leave, and Talon turned to consult briefly with her client before the corrections officers swooped in and pulled him back to the jail.

  “You’ll never be able to get him qualified as an expert,” Alcott interrupted.

  Talon turned to glare at Alcott through narrowed eyes. “Oh, Laura, honey. You have no idea what I’m gonna be able to do to you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Sometimes two weeks can seem to take forever—like when you’re waiting to leave for a dream vacation. Other times it can fly by—like when you’re on that two-week dream vacation and suddenly it’s time to go home again. Somehow, the two weeks prior to a trial managed to do both. Each day dragged on, filled with increasing anxiety as the battle approached. And yet, at the end of each of those days, that increasing chorus of anxiety was punctuated by a high note of panic that another day for preparation had come and gone.

  There were a myriad of things to do to prepare for a trial. Some of them were administrative: sending out subpoenas, preparing jury instructions, printing out copies of exhibits. Others were mental: last minute case law research, deciding what areas to discuss during jury selection, structuring the opening statement. And a few, the really important ones, were personal. The most important thing Talon had to do before the trial started—if nothing else, this one thing—was meet with her client.

  Because, at the end of the trial, if the jury returned a verdict of guilty, Talon would still go home that night. Alcott would go home that night. The jurors and the judge and the bailiff and the court reporter would all go home that night. But Ezekiel Frazier would never go home again. He’d be taken back to his cell in the Pierce County Jail, until he was transferred to his cell in the Washington Department of Corrections. Where he would, eventually, die.

  Talon had to do all the work. But it was Zeke who would suffer all the consequences.

  It was the same conference room as the first time they’d met. At least, Talon thought it was. But they all looked the same, she knew. That’s how jails and prisons were. Zeke was in for a lot of that, if she didn’t do her best. Hell, he was in for a lot of it even if she did do her best. The prisons were full of innocent people.

  Zeke was brought in by the corrections officer. Talon couldn’t remember if it was the same officer as before. But it sure didn’t seem like the same Ezekiel Frazier.

  The smile was gone. The strut was gone. The beard was still there, but it was unkempt, starting to knot at the edges.

  “Counselor.” He nodded to Talon and took a seat opposite her as the guard closed the door behind him.

  “Zeke,” Talon greeted him back. Then, “You ready?”

  Zeke shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  Talon returned the shrug. “Maybe not.”

  “Are you ready?” Zeke pointed at her. “That’s the real question.”

  Talon offered a slight smile. “Oh yeah. I’m ready. I have to be.

  But Zeke seemed unmoved. “We’re gonna lose, aren’t we?”

  “You want me to be honest?” Talon asked. When he nodded, she was. “I don’t know. You can never know what a jury will do. All you can do is give them what they need to do the right thing, then hope they do it.”

  Zeke nodded. “Is Jamal gonna say the gun was his?”

  “He’s gonna say it wasn’t your car,” Talon answered. “He’s gonna say he got it from some guy named Bear. Then I’ll argue the gun was Bear’s.”

  Zeke frowned slightly. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

  “And our fingerprint expert will say the only print on the gun probably wasn’t yours,” Talon added.

  “Probably?” Zeke laughed. “Oh, man. And that’s our expert? Oh, yeah, we’re gonna lose.”

  Talon wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t a coach, giving a pep talk to a bunch of high school athletes. She was a criminal defense attorney, being ho
nest with a man who might be about to lose the rest of his life. Being honest was the least she could do. It was the decent thing to do.

  “Maybe,” Zeke said after a moment, “we should do that stipulation thing you were talking about. Say I’m guilty or whatever and hope the appellate court throws it out.”

  But Talon shook her head. “No, there’s no reason for that. If we lose, they get the appeal they want. But if we win… well, we win. You go free.”

  Zeke shook his heavy head again. “Any chance of that happening?”

  “Any chance?” Talon managed a smile. “There’s always a chance. Until there isn’t.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The night before trial found Talon at her office again. It was the last high note of panic that not everything was ready—that she wasn’t ready—and so it was the highest, the loudest, the hardest to ignore. How could she go home and watch TV, or cook dinner, or even sleep, if there was one more thing she could have done to save Ezekiel Frazier from life in prison?

  She had the entire case file spread out over her office. Everything. The police reports. The photographs. The property sheets. Even Emerson’s probably report. Plus her notes for jury selection, her opening statement, her proposed jury instructions. Was she really going to hang her entire case on the word ‘nexus’?

  Her eyes drifted across the pages, but she was staring without focusing. Looking without seeing.

  Knock, knock! It was Olsen, leaning against her doorframe and disturbing her stupor with a rap of his knuckles. “Verdict for your thoughts?”

  Talon looked up at her office mate. “Hey, Greg. Why are you always here so late?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he replied.

  “I have trial tomorrow,” Talon said.

  “And I know that,” Olsen answered. He took a sip of whatever he put in his coffee mug after hours and pointed at the papers lying all over Talon’s office. “You know, when I was first starting out, I had a case—“