Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  “You said Bear loaned you guys the car for money and other stuff,” she started. “What other stuff?”

  “Objection,” Talon called out. She wasn’t surprised Alcott went there, but she was a little surprised it was the first question. Still, she was prepared. “Could we have a sidebar?”

  Haroldson huffed, but assented. Talon thought that was probably good. If he’d thought what Alcott was attempting was okay, he would have simply overruled Talon’s objection.

  “I’m afraid,” Talon started, when she and Alcott reached the side of the judge’s bench where Haroldson could lean down and they could all whisper without the jury hearing, “that Ms. Alcott is going to ask the witness about any drug use by my client earlier that day as a way to draw attention away from the fact that she didn’t prove the cocaine in his pocket was actually his.”

  “It was in his pants,” Alcott hissed. “And anyway, she brought it up. I’m allowed to explore it on cross.”

  “What exactly did she bring up?” Haroldson asked.

  “Uh,” Alcott considered, “that they got the car for money and drugs.”

  “So what?” the judge asked.

  “So that could be possession of a controlled substance,” Alcott explained.

  “See?” Talon jumped in. “Just like I said. Only there wouldn’t be any expert testimony from Olivia Parker that whatever they gave Bear for the car was actually drugs. It could have been cookie dough for all we know.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t cookie dough, and you know it,” Alcott hissed.

  Talon shrugged. “Prove it. And unless you can, the jury shouldn’t hear it.”

  Haroldson sighed, but nodded. “I’m not going to let you ask about that Ms. Alcott. If you elicit evidence of other times the defendant appeared to have possessed controlled substances that day but without a chemical test to back it up, there’s a risk the jury may convict him of the crime based on those other instances and not the one you proved.”

  “Allegedly proved,” Talon piped in.

  But Haroldson just looked sideways at her. Then he returned his attention to Alcott. “This is for your own good. You don’t want a conviction overturned for something trivial like this.”

  Talon was taken aback. “Gosh, thanks, Your Honor.”

  Haroldson shrugged at her. “You got the ruling you wanted. I’m not going to pat you on the back too.” Then he looked back at Alcott. “The objection is sustained. Do not ask about other instances of drug possession that day.”

  The sidebar broke up and the attorneys retook their positions, Alcott standing in front of the witness, Talon sitting next to her client.

  But deprived of her intended character slander, Alcott didn’t seem to know what else to ask. After a few moments, she blurted out. “He wasn’t wearing your pants, was he?”

  Jamal slowly cocked his head. “What?”

  “Was Mr. Frazier wearing your pants that night?”

  Talon couldn’t believe it. One of the cardinal rules of cross examination was, ‘Never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.’ If Jamal could just realize all he had to do was say, ‘Yes,’ Zeke might actually walk on all charges.

  But the question was ridiculous, and that blinded him to the opportunity he had to help his friend. “No,” he said. “Of course not.”

  Alcott smiled at herself, apparently oblivious to the risk she’d just taken. “No further questions.”

  Talon knew Alcott should have asked one more: ‘Was Mr. Frazier wearing his own pants?’ But she didn’t and Talon wasn’t about to give her a chance to ask any more questions.

  “No redirect,” she informed the judge. “The witness may be excused.”

  Which was easier said than done. Just like Jamal couldn’t walk into the courtroom on his own, he couldn’t just stand up and stroll out the courtroom door. As much as he might have liked to do just that, the folks at Walla Walla Penitentiary would have frowned on their prisoner escaping while on loan to the Pierce County Jail.

  As a result, Judge Haroldson had to announce a recess and have the jurors exit into the jury room, before Jamal could be taken away. Even as that was happening and the corrections officers were reapplying the handcuffs, the Judge pressed Talon to continue her case. “Will you be ready to call your next witness after the recess?”

  But Talon shook her head. “No, Your Honor. I’m sorry, but our next witness is Eric Emerson, a fingerprint expert, and he’s not available until tomorrow morning.”

  Haroldson frowned. He certainly wasn’t going to give any consideration to a friend of the defendant’s and prison inmate, but an actual expert, well, that was different.

  “Okay, your expert can testify in the morning,” he agreed. “What about your client? Is he going to testify? He could testify after the recess.”

  “We haven’t decided yet whether Mr. Frazier will be testifying,” Talon informed the court. She ignored Alcott’s quiet scoff. “We have a right to make that decision after all of the other evidence has been presented.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t a right, per se. But it was custom. And it was the kind of thing that could be complained about on appeal, which Haroldson seemed to care about now that he expected the jury to convict.

  “Will we be able to get both witnesses on tomorrow?” the judge inquired. “And do you have any further witnesses?”

  “No further witnesses,” Talon assured him. “The defense should rest by the end of the day tomorrow.”

  That seemed to satisfy Haroldson. Now that Alcott was done doing her job, he seemed eager to jump in and get it across the finish line for her.

  “Fine,” the judge agreed. “We will adjourn until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Be prepared to rest tomorrow, Ms. Winter, whether your client testifies or not.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” she acknowledged.

  Zeke looked at her as the corrections officers hovered, ready to take him back to his cell, so the jurors could finally be released from their jury room. “We gonna talk about whether I’m testifying?”

  Talon nodded. “Of course. We’ll talk and I’ll decide. I’ll visit you tonight after dinner.”

  Zeke smiled. “Sounds good. And good job today. I’m starting to believe myself that maybe those weren’t my pants.”

  Talon just nodded. “Not here,” she looked around at the multiple witnesses who might overhear a comment like that. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  CHAPTER 35

  The courtroom emptied, save Talon and Marshall Lenox, who’d taken up permanent residence fifteen feet behind her client. He was experienced enough to know the jury would assume he was someone who cared about the defendant, probably family. She was experienced enough to be grateful for the deception.

  “That looked fun,” he commented as she departed her counsel table and they headed for the exit. “If not terribly relevant.”

  Talon shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t going to just sit there and not ask any questions. I may not be required to do anything, but that doesn’t mean the jury doesn’t want to see me do something anyway.”

  “Speaking of things you don’t have to do, but probably should,” Marshall said as he held open the door to the hallway, “is your client going to testify?”

  Talon gave him a look, then chuckled. “Of course not.”

  * * *

  Attorneys could visit their clients in the jail pretty much any time. The one exception was meals. It could still be done, but it was a huge inconvenience to the corrections officers and Talon knew not to be that lawyer who inconvenienced them. Good luck getting any favors later when she really needed one. So, she waited until 7:00 before heading over to the jail. Dinner service started at 5:00, so even with multiple shifts, Zeke would be fed and back in his cell by the time she got there.

  Zeke being fed had an additional benefit: he wouldn’t be hangry when she told him he wasn’t testifying.

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” he replied casually when she told him. “I kinda figured.”r />
  Talon smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Zeke flashed his own grin. “You’re not the only smart one in the room. I get what’s going on. It’d be stupid to put me up there and undo it all. I mean, that’s why Jamal testified, right? So I wouldn’t have to.”

  “That was part of it.” Talon nodded. “The jury heard about Bear giving you the car without you having to say it, and exposing you to cross examination.”

  “Right,” Zeke pointed at her in confirmation. “And that whole ‘not my pants’ thing. Is it just me, or is that maybe actually working?”

  Talon shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like a hard sell. But yeah, the prosecutor seems worried enough to bring it up, so maybe it’s got legs.”

  “Not if I testify, though, right?” Zeke asked.

  Talon decided to be careful. She raised a cautionary hand. “Well, if they were your pants, then, no, I don’t want the jury hearing that from you. One of them may latch onto that during deliberations, and we only need one to prevent a conviction. And if they weren’t your pants…” She shook her head. “Man, they’re not going to believe that. It’s one thing for me to argue the State didn’t prove they were your pants, but if you try to say that out loud, none of them will buy it.”

  “So, me on the stand is a lose-lose,” Zeke concluded.

  “That’s my assessment,” Talon agreed. “But it’s important you know, it’s your decision. If you insisted, I’d have to put you on. There could be one advantage.”

  Zeke cocked his head. “What’s that?”

  “Well,” Talon started, but again raised her palm to tell him to listen, not talk. “Let’s say you get up and admit the drugs were yours, but insist the gun wasn’t. You had no idea it was there.”

  “I didn’t,” he interrupted anyway.

  “Right. But just listen for a second,” Talon instructed. “Admitting to one crime gives you a lot of credibility when you deny another. But the downside is, you’re guaranteed to be convicted of the drug charge. Then we’re putting everything on them believing the gun wasn’t yours.

  “But if we make them have to decide both crimes,” she explained, “that’s twice the chance we may get them to vote not guilty. In fact, if they decide the State didn’t prove you knew about the drugs, and they acquit on that, they don’t even reach the gun. It’s a sentencing enhancement, so it’s only applicable if you’re convicted of the underlying crime.”

  Zeke nodded. “Yeah, I don’t want to testify. They won’t believe me. Like you told ‘em, I’m a big scary Black man. So far, they can just look at me like an animal in a zoo. But I take the stand, I’m challenging ‘em. Which means I’m scaring ‘em. Which means they’ll convict me.”

  Talon hadn’t thought of it that way, but she couldn’t really disagree either. “Yeah. Maybe. Probably.”

  They both sat there for several seconds, thinking their own thoughts. The decision had been made, and there was work to do tomorrow.

  “Talon?” Zeke finally said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. I know I wasn’t as respectful as I shoulda been when we met the first time. But you are a good lawyer. I don’t know what the jury’s gonna do, but I know you did your best for a third-strike loser like me.”

  Talon offered a lopsided smile. “You’re not a third-strike loser yet.”

  Zeke laughed darkly. “Yet,” he repeated. “Well, let’s hope then, huh?”

  “Sometimes,” Talon admitted, “all we have is hope.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Emerson was late.

  Haroldson was not amused.

  Alcott smelled blood. Or she wanted to, but mostly because she was scared. And Talon could smell that.

  “It’s now nine-fifteen,” Haroldson read the clock. “Where is your witness?”

  Talon could only shrug. “I’m not sure, Your Honor. He knew to be here at nine. Maybe there was an accident on the freeway. May I have a moment to contact my investigator? Perhaps he has some additional information.”

  Haroldson frowned, but agreed. “You have five minutes, Ms. Winter. If your witness isn’t on the witness stand by then, you will proceed to your next witness, even if that next witness is the defendant.”

  “My client won’t be testifying,” Talon informed everyone. There was no harm in showing that card right then. Alcott had likely already wasted her night preparing her cross exam—a fact confirmed by the incredulous expression that sprang onto her face—so damage successfully inflicted.

  “Then you will rest,” Haroldson declared. “Five minutes.” And he left the bench.

  Talon hurried into the hallway, ignoring whatever looks she might have been getting from both her client and Marshall, and dialed Curt’s number. It had been his job to contact Emerson, about both cases.

  “Hello. Fairchild Investigations,” he answered. “This is Curt Fairchild.”

  “Curt, where’s Emerson?” Talon demanded. “He’s not here.”

  “What? No, I told him to be there at nine, just like you said.”

  Damn. It almost would have better if Curt had told him 9:30. That would have explained the delay. Haroldson wouldn’t force her to rest before 9:30—even if she had to hide in the bathroom until then.

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “Yesterday afternoon,” Curt answered. “I got the fingerprint card from your brother’s case and emailed it to him, along with a copy of your brother’s prints from his last felony conviction. He has kind of a lot of history, did you know that?”

  “Yes, I know that!” Talon hissed into her phone. “Focus. What did he say?”

  “He said he’d review the stuff from your brother’s case to see if the prints on the gun matched your brother. He seemed pretty happy to have another case with you. I think he might be sweet on you or something.”

  “He just doesn’t want to paint houses again,” Talon dismissed the suggestion.

  “What?” Curt asked

  “Nothing. He just wants the business. And you’re sure you told him nine o’clock, not nine-thirty or ten or something?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” Curt insisted. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Talon!” came a shout from down the corridor. It was Emerson, running toward her and waving a handful of papers to get her attention. “Ms. Winter! Sorry I’m late. The line for security was horrendous.”

  “He’s here,” Talon advised Curt and hung up on him.

  Then she pointed at the courtroom door. “Get inside,” she ordered Emerson as he reached her position. “Now.”

  “But…” Emerson panted. He was not a physically fit person.

  “No buts,” Talon interrupted. “The judge is about to exclude your testimony. Inside. Now.”

  Emerson’s face blanched. “Oh. Okay. Of course. Sorry.”

  Talon pushed him through the door. “You can apologize afterward. Now, you testify.”

  Judge Haroldson stormed out of his chambers, just as Emerson stumbled into the courtroom. He looked almost excited to truncate Talon’s case.

  “My witness has arrived,” Talon announced before the judge could say anything. “The defense is ready to proceed.”

  Haroldson didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. Alcott’s was palpable.

  “Fine,” the judge said. “Fetch the jury.”

  A few moments later, the bailiff led the jurors into the jury box, and Judge Haroldson instructed Talon, without even looking at her, “Call your next witness.”

  Talon, who’d remained standing after the jury was seated, announced, “The defense calls Eric Emerson.”

  Emerson made his way forward to be sworn in. He was still out of breath, his shoulders were stooped, and he still had a copy of his report in his hand, twisted into a crumpled scroll. Once he was sworn in and seated, Talon would need to replace his crumpled report with a clean copy, marked as an exhibit, as required for any document a witness might refer to while testifying. She’d already pulled it from the exhibit stack when she�
�d arrived that morning, so it would be easy enough to do when she got to the part about whether he wrote a report of his findings.

  Still it looked very unprofessional. He was fidgeting with it even as he answered her introductory questions.

  “Please state your name, sir.”

  “Eric Emerson. E-M-E-R-S-O-N.”

  “And how are you employed, Mr. Emerson?”

  He looked to the jury to answer. He must have gotten that testimony training from the crime lab before they fired him. “I am an independent forensic evidence consultant,” he told them.

  “And do you have any particular areas of expertise?”

  Emerson nodded. “My area of expertise is fingerprint comparison.”

  “Prior to becoming an independent forensic evidence consultant,” Talon worded her question carefully, “were you employed by any government agencies as a forensic scientist?”

  Emerson nodded, but also frowned slightly. “Yes. I worked at the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab for three years.”

  “As a fingerprint expert?” Talon confirmed.

  “Yes.”

  Talon knew she had to draw the sting on this next part. An expert’s competence was always relevant, and being terminated from a job was likely to be probative of that. And even if it weren’t, she knew Haroldson was going to let it in. If Talon left it to Alcott to raise, it would look like she was trying to hide it. Which, in truth, she would have if she could have.

  “Why did you leave the Crime Lab?”

  Emerson sighed and nodded. “I ended up developing a substance abuse problem. Alcohol,” he clarified. “I wasn’t able to meet the requirements of my job and so I was let go.”

  Talon nodded. That was about as good as it could sound. “Have you since regained sobriety?”

  “Yes, I’ve been sober for almost three years,” Emerson insisted.

  Okay. Time to move on.

  “Thank you, Mr. Emerson,” she said. She wondered what the jury thought of all that, but she didn’t dare look at them to assess. They wouldn’t like it. And she’d probably misread it anyway. She moved on.