Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  “Yes,” Mary answered again, but with a catch in her throat.

  “You’re sure it was for murder?” Talon pressed. That bit was important. “Not robbery, not assault, not rendering criminal assistance?”

  Mary looked to Anna for confirmation. “It was murder, right?”

  “Right,” Anna said. “Murder. That’s what it said on the jail’s booking roster. We went to post his bail, but the jail said we couldn’t bail him out because he was in for murder.”

  “In on suspicion of murder,” Talon corrected. He’d only be in for murder if she didn’t do her job. The job she hadn’t actually been hired to do yet. “So, the jail told you he was booked for murder?”

  “Yeah,” Aunt Anna answered. “And Luke said that, too, when he called us.”

  “Okay, so you’ve spoken to him.” That was good.

  “Yes,” Mary said. “That’s how we know he didn’t do anything.”

  Talon smiled at the naiveté of that sentiment. “Tell me what he said,” she instructed. “All of it. Slowly.”

  Mary took a deep breath. “He said,” she began, “he took his friend Miguel to the check-cashing place over on Thirty-Eighth Street, by the mall. I don’t really know Miguel very well. I know most of Luke’s friends, but he’s still a teenager. He doesn’t tell his mom everything.”

  “Wait,” Talon interrupted. “How old is he?” The penalties for juveniles were a lot less. Months instead of years. It was a whole different ball game.

  “Eighteen,” Mary answered.

  Talon frowned. Never mind. “Okay,” she said. “Keep going. What happened with this friend you didn’t know, Miguel?”

  “He ended up dead,” Mary answered

  Talon winced. “Luke’s friend is the murder victim?” She had expected a security guard, maybe a store manager. Not a friend. Under Washington’s felony murder law, an accomplice couldn’t be charged with murder for the death of a fellow accomplice. It had to be someone who wasn’t a ‘participant’ in the crime.

  “Yes,” Mary confirmed. “And a police officer.”

  “A cop?” Talon’s eyebrows shot up again. “He killed a cop?”

  Now that was a whole different ball game. They could definitely charge Luke with the death of a cop who responded to the crime.

  “He didn’t kill anyone,” Mary protested. “He was in the car.”

  “That might not matter,” Talon knew. “Let me see if I understand. Luke and his friend went to the check-mart, right? His friend went inside to rob it. Maybe Luke knew about it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, he stayed in the car while Miguel went inside. Then the cops showed up and there was a shootout. When the smoke cleared, Luke’s friend was dead, but so was a cop. And now Luke is charged with murder. Is that about right?”

  Mary looked at Anna for further details, but none were forthcoming. “Yeah, I think that’s about right,” Mary agreed. “I don’t really know. Luke didn’t seem to understand what was going on either.”

  But Talon did. She looked at the clock on her wall. 12:54. New arraignments started every day at 1:00, and her office was five minutes from the courthouse.

  “Ms. Zlotnik, your son is going to be in court in approximately six minutes.” Talon stood up. “If I’m going to represent him, I need to leave for the courthouse right now.”

  “But,” Mary hesitated, standing up as well, “we don’t even know if we can afford you. We, we heard about you. That cold case murder you did. We heard you’re a really good lawyer. And Luke, if they’re saying he killed a cop, he’s going to need a really good lawyer.”

  “He’s going to need the best,” Anna put in.

  “You’re right,” Talon nodded, “he is. And I am. And he needs me right now. We’ll talk money after court.”

  The worst part of being a criminal defense attorney was the clients. And the clients’ families. And hustling to make rent.

  But none of that mattered to Talon when she got to do the best part. The best part was dropping Lady Justice’s scales, raising her sword, and charging into battle.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sex and drugs to the left. Rock and roll to the right.

  So many people got arrested each night in Tacoma and its environs that the Pierce County Superior Court had to run two arraignment courtrooms every afternoon—and that was just for the felonies. The court grouped cases together by crime type, since the bail amounts and other conditions of release tended to be similar for similar cases. Sex crimes and drug charges were heard in courtroom one. Sex and drugs. Assaults and property crimes were heard in courtroom two. Rock and roll.

  Talon got the nickname for courtroom one. But the ‘rock and roll’ was kind of a stretch.

  “Rock,” another lawyer had explained to her when she’d started doing criminal cases, “like ‘rock ‘em, sock ‘em.’ Assaults, right? And when you ‘roll’ somebody, that means you steal from them, right?”

  She’d shaken her head then, and she shook it again as she approached the twin arraignment courtrooms on the second floor of Tacoma’s County-City Building. At least she knew her new murder case would be heard in courtroom two. But as she turned the corner, she realized she didn’t need a silly nickname for the courtroom to tell her where the arraignment for the cop-killer was being held.

  The gallery was standing room only, with people spilling out into the hallway, including a half dozen fully uniformed police officers, their expressions ranging from solemn to pissed off. Talon knew there were likely even more cops inside the courtroom, all there to watch the arraignment, to show solidarity with their fallen comrade—and to intimidate the judge into setting an impossibly high bail on Talon’s soon-to-be client.

  Out on the street, a badge and a gun put you in charge. But inside the courthouse, there was a different uniform for the people who called the shots. Instead of navy jumpsuits and leather gun belts, it was navy business suits and leather briefcases. Talon cut through the crowd of cops and other spectators, slicing past them with her briefcase extended and her eyes narrowed.

  “Move aside,” she instructed. “Defense attorney coming through.”

  It had the desired effect. Effects. First, the crowd parted, and she was able to reach the secure door in the wall of bulletproof glass that separated the public gallery from the front of the courtroom. The in-custody defendants would be escorted from holding cells into the secure front courtroom to appear before the judge who would decide how much money they would need to be allowed to get out of jail and lead a normal life pending the trial on the crimes they were supposedly presumed innocent of having committed.

  The second effect was to piss off the cops. Cops were always the enemy in Talon’s cases, but this was special. They weren’t just witnesses and enforcers; they were the aggrieved party, the victims. Hell, some of them in the gallery were probably witnesses to the incident. Normally, witnesses were supposed to avoid the preliminary proceedings on their cases. It was a rule designed to protect their testimony from contamination, and to protect that presumption of innocence the defendant was supposed to have. But cops didn’t care about that. The rules didn’t apply to them. Hell, that was the best part of being a cop.

  Those thoughts and more raced through Talon’s mind as the judicial assistant buzzed open the secure door and she left the world of cops and/or criminals behind her to enter the world of lawyers and/or criminals. And on that border, playing the role of neutral archivist, two news cameras pressed their lenses against the bulletproof glass to record what was about to happen.

  The clock on the wall already read 1:01. The judge would be taking the bench any second and the courtroom reverberated with the anxiety of a dozen lawyers, none of whom were quite ready for the calendar to start. That was the nature of criminal practice. There was just too much, too fast. Right then, at that very moment, someone somewhere in the county was committing a crime. Probably several somebodies committing several crimes. All the lawyers could do was to keep the system going, like controlling a river
trying to jump the banks. Or a giant mechanical wheel of death crushing everything and everyone in its path.

  Well, not everyone.

  Not Talon Winter.

  And not Cecilia Thompson, the prosecutor already assigned to the Zlotnik case, according to the docket tacked to the wall. One of the very best in the prosecutor’s office. Damn it.

  Talon knew Cecilia Thompson. And despite herself, she liked her. Double damn it.

  “Talon.” Cecilia noted her entrance even in the frenetic courtroom. They were like that. Two of a kind, on opposite sides of the battlefield, each aware of being in the other’s presence. Talon was tall, with long dark hair and a black suit with the skirt at the knee. Cecilia wore the same suit, but in navy, and her own shoulder-length hair was the same straight silk, only blonde. Her Swedish-American blue eyes were at the exact same height as Talon’s dark brown Native American ones. “Tell me you’re not here on the Zlotnik case,” Cecilia said.

  Talon grinned. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she replied. “You’re too good for a case like this.”

  Cecilia returned the smile. “A case like this needs a good lawyer.”

  “I didn’t mean too good of a lawyer,” Talon expounded. “I meant, too good of a person. If what the family tells me is true.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s true,” Cecilia conceded. Her smile broadened. “But come now. I don’t need a defense attorney lecturing me on how to be a good person.”

  Talon’s own smile grew. So that was how it was going to be. Good, she thought. Smiles in the front, knives in the back. May the best woman win.

  And it was time for the battle to start.

  “All rise!” cried the bailiff as the judge finally entered, three generous minutes late. “The Pierce County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Maxwell Portello presiding.”

  Talon didn’t even try to keep her eyes from rolling up into her skull at the identity of the day’s judge. She wouldn’t have been able to, even if she’d tried. Judge Portello was the worst judge in the county. Probably the worst judge in three counties. Maybe not the whole state, but only because there were a lot of judges in the state. Talon kept her practice close to home in Tacoma, but she still took the occasional case north in Seattle’s King County, or Thurston County to the south, or Kitsap County across Puget Sound. And in all her appearances in all those cases in all those counties, no other judge came as close to the unbearable combination of arrogance, self-importance, and dim-wittedness possessed by The Right Honorable Maxwell Portello.

  He’d been appointed by the governor upon the unexpected retirement of the court’s oldest judge, James Harrington III. Everyone expected Judge Harrington to literally die on the bench, but the day he almost did—a stroke in the middle of a motion for summary judgment on a multimillion-dollar civil case—was the day he decided that was no way to go. Already almost eighty, he decided life really was too short after all, and he stepped aside for someone younger to take his spot above the litigants and lawyers of Pierce County.

  Unfortunately, that someone younger was an unpopular junior partner at the Tacoma law firm that had donated the most money to the governor’s reelection campaign. The rumor was that young Maxwell’s parents were big clients of the firm, so when he graduated (barely) from law school, the firm took him on as a favor to them—and to keep their business. Then they got rid of him at the first opportunity, with a prestigious appointment from the governor. Win-win for the firm. Lose-lose for those aforementioned litigants and lawyers.

  “You may be seated,” Judge Portello deigned, with a flourish of his wrist. He was a tall, lanky man, in need of a haircut and some orthodontics. Appearances aside, he had more than taken to being a judge. Always the most important person in the room, people standing when he entered and exited, being addressed with the honorific ‘Your Honor.’ As if, finally, people treated him with the respect he always knew he deserved. “I see we have members of the law enforcement community with us here in the gallery today.” He practically blew them a kiss. “We will start with the case they have come for, so they can hurry and return to their jobs keeping the rest of us safe.”

  Great. Talon shook her head slightly, again failing to stop herself from the gesture. Of course, a low-I.Q. political appointee who’d never touched a criminal case before being appointed to the bench would love the cops unconditionally, and profess it publicly, oblivious to how that might impact the appearance of fairness when presiding over the arraignment and bail hearing of a young man accused of murdering a cop…by waiting outside in the car. Talon had been hoping to argue there wasn’t even probable cause to file the charges. Now, she was just hoping to get a bail that someone who hadn’t founded Microsoft could post.

  “The parties may approach on the matter of the State of Washington versus Luke Zlotnik,” Judge Portello announced. Most judges usually just asked if the parties were ready on a given matter, rather than grant permission to approach the bar. Portello turned to the jailors stationed at the door to the holding cells and with another flourish of his hand ordered, “Bring in the accused.”

  He has a name, Talon thought with a frown. But she knew better than to say anything. It would only hurt Luke’s chances of a fair hearing if she pissed off the judge before he even entered the courtroom.

  Talon and Cecilia both approached the bar. The corrections officers opened the door and yelled, “Zlotnik!” A moment later, a very young-looking and even more confused-looking Luke Zlotnik was pushed to his spot next to Talon directly in front of the judge’s bench. He was short and skinny, with a mop of black curls on top of his head and his hands still cuffed to the belly chains around his orange jumpsuit.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” he asked Talon after giving her a once-over. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to sound tough, or just had no idea what was going on.

  “I’m your lawyer,” she answered in a lowered voice. “My name is Talon Winter.”

  “So, what? You the public defender?” Luke asked dismissively. “I don’t want no public defender.”

  “I’m not a public defender,” Talon assured him. “Your family hired me this morning.” Sort of. Almost. She recalled the lack of any actual contract, or money, but decided not to get into that right then.

  “My family?” Luke asked.

  “Your mom,” Talon clarified. “Now, pay attention. You’re in big trouble.”

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Luke insisted.

  “That might be important later.” Talon put a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s not going to matter today.”

  “You may proceed with the arraignment, Madame Prosecutor,” Judge Portello sniffed down at the attorneys beneath him.

  Talon was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get a ‘Madame’ in front of her own job description when it came time for her to speak.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Cecilia responded. “The State has charged the defendant with one count of murder in the first degree and one count of robbery in the first degree. I am handing defense counsel copies of the charging papers and would ask her to acknowledge receipt of those on the record.”

  “I will acknowledge receipt,” Talon agreed. “Although I would note that I haven’t had a chance to review them yet.”

  “You will get your chance to review them, counsel,” Portello sniped at her. “And your chance to speak. Please do not interrupt again.”

  Nope, definitely no ‘Madame Defense Attorney.’ And it was hardly interrupting to respond out loud to a request to acknowledge something out loud. So far, so terrible. She lowered her head and flipped to the probable cause declaration—the factual summary of what her client was alleged to have done to warrant the filing of the charges. The judge was supposed to read it to determine whether there was probable cause for the charges. If there wasn’t probable cause, the defendant would be released.

  “Please continue, Madame Prosecutor,” Portello encouraged.

  Cecilia hesitated. “Uh, that’s al
l, Your Honor. We would ask defense counsel to enter a plea to the charges, then we’d like to be heard regarding conditions of release.”

  ‘Conditions of release.’ Talon would have rolled her eyes except they were busy skimming the probable cause summary. What Cecilia really meant was ‘bail’. High bail.

  “Very well,” the judge replied. He turned to scowl at Talon. And Luke. But mostly Talon. “How does the defendant plead?”

  “The defendant pleads not guilty to all charges, Your Honor,” Talon answered, without looking up from her review of the charging papers. “And we would ask the Court to release Mr. Zlotnik on his own recognizance pending trial.”

  Gasps of disbelief and incredulity escaped both His Honor and Madame Prosecutor, along with several other people in the courtroom Talon didn’t care enough about to bother looking at.

  “Counsel!” Judge Portello admonished. “The Court will hear first from the State regarding conditions of release. And,” he added, both unprofessionally and unnecessarily, “I hardly think you should expect to obtain a personal recognizance release on a first degree murder charge. Particularly when the victim is a police officer.”

  “Alleged victim,” Talon corrected. Out of turn again, she knew.

  “He’s dead, counsel,” Portello shot back. “That’s hardly in doubt.”

  “The allegation is that he’s a murder victim,” Talon responded. “That he’s dead because of a murder committed by my client. And that, Your Honor, is very much in doubt.”

  Portello flared his eyes, and his nostrils, at Talon. He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to Cecilia. “Madame Prosecutor, what is the State’s recommendation regarding conditions of release?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Cecilia genuflected. “The State is asking the Court to set bail in the amount of two million dollars. As the Court noted, this is a charge of first degree murder. In addition, the murder occurred during the course of an armed robbery. Most importantly, however, is the fact that the alleged victim was a police officer, killed in the line of duty. This crime was, therefore, committed not just against the fallen officer, but against all of us whom that officer had sworn to protect.”