But she had to settle for lemon hibiscus. At least there were honey packets in one of the drawers.
“No coffee, huh?” Olsen said as he entered the break room and looked past Talon at the empty coffee carafe on the cold burner.
“Afraid not,” Talon answered. “You drink coffee this late?”
“I drink coffee anytime,” Olsen answered. “It doesn’t keep me up anymore. I just fall asleep without it.”
Talon thought for a moment, then accepted the distinction. “I can make you a lemon hibiscus tea with honey,” she offered. “Or you can make yourself a fresh pot.”
Olsen frowned. “I can’t drink an entire pot. And I don’t want to clean it afterward. Looks like Hannah already cleaned up.”
Talon doubted it had been Hannah but decided not to argue the point.
“How’s that cop killer case going?” Olsen asked, opening the fridge and scanning the inside.
“Alleged cop killer,” Talon corrected. “And it’s going pretty well. I had a fun day today.”
“Oh yeah?” Olsen pulled a Coke out of the door and turned his attention to Talon. “Do tell. This job can suck sometimes. We deserve to have fun when we can.”
So, Talon explained her day. She left out the chess analogies, but explained that the real cop killer was Dickerson, and she was going after him every way she could. But she had to admit as she finished her story, there was a limit to what she could do.
“Every one of my demands is going to be rejected, at least at first,” Talon knew. “Then I’ll have to go to the judge and ask for the information to be compelled, but there aren’t a lot of judges who have the guts to side with an alleged cop killer defendant over an actual cop-killing cop.”
Olsen tipped his Coke can at her. “See, in civil, we can just ask the defendant anything we want, and he pretty much has to answer it.”
“But that’s the problem,” Talon answered. “Dickerson isn’t a defendant. He’s just a witness. Witnesses have more protections. Judges don’t want to see them harassed. As long as he’s just a witness, every request for information will be judged by whether it’s material to the charges against my guy, the actual defendant. Too bad I can’t make him a defendant.”
“No, you can’t make him a defendant.” Olsen took a long, thoughtful drink of his Coke, then lowered the can again and smiled. “But I can.”
CHAPTER 18
It wasn’t going to work to have Luke or his family sue Todd Dickerson. One, Luke was an accused murderer, a cop killer. Two, he didn’t have any damages. If he were convicted, then he was a murderer, legally responsible for Dickerson’s actions because he helped set up the fatal scenario in the first place. If he was acquitted, well, what harm did he have? Miguel was only his friend. You couldn’t sue because someone killed your friend.
But you could sue if someone killed your child.
Luke knew Miguel. That meant Luke’s parents knew Miguel’s parents. That meant Talon could reach out to Miguel’s family through Luke’s family. And that meant a very large meeting of both families in the conference room she shared with Olsen, which made sense since she and Olsen were about to share the case too—or parts of it anyway.
“Thank you all for coming,” Talon started once everyone had found a seat. There were just enough chairs for everyone: Mary and Paul Zlotnik, Elisabeth and Javier Maldonado, Talon, Olsen, and Curt. Curt wasn’t sure why he was there—he’d said as much when she’d invited/instructed him to sit in—but he was key. “Please let me start by acknowledging your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Maldonado. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but please know you have my deepest sympathies.”
Talon knew enough to know there wasn’t really anything she could say to make them feel better. But if she didn’t say anything at all, it would make them feel worse. Still, her area of expertise was getting people out of trouble they’d brought on themselves, one way or another. Olsen was the expert on getting other people into trouble for what they’d done to the people who eventually became his clients.
“My job is to make sure the tragedy of your son’s death isn’t compounded by the unjust conviction of his friend,” Talon continued. “But I can’t bring Miguel back. No one can.”
That was the cold, hard reality of it. Even if Cecilia Thompson, with all her justice this and blue eyes that, managed to get a conviction, it wouldn’t bring Miguel or the other officer back to life. It would just inflict more violence, forcing Luke into a series of cages for the rest of his life.
“I also can’t hold his real killer responsible,” Talon went on. “That’s not what I do.” She turned to Olsen. “But it is what this man does. This is Greg Olsen. He’s the man I invited you here to meet.”
It was a grand introduction. But Olsen wasn’t really a grand sort of person. He just raised his hand in a small wave. “Hi.”
Talon managed, barely, not to roll her eyes. She was hoping Olsen would take over at that point, but apparently, she was going to need to talk more. They should have rehearsed the pitch.
But then Olsen stood up slowly, put his hands in his pants pockets, and started walking, slowly, around the room.
“I agree with most of what Ms. Winter just said,” Olsen started, looking down at his feet.
‘Most’? Talon couldn’t keep an eyebrow from shooting up.
“She’s right,” Olsen continued, “that we can’t bring Miguel back. And whether Luke is acquitted or convicted, Miguel’s real killer will still be free. But I’m not sorry about it.” He stopped, right next to Mr. and Mrs. Maldonado. He looked down at them, at once a kindly neighbor and a killer litigator. “I’m angry.”
He looked angry too.
“I’m angry your son was murdered. I’m angry they charged his friend for it even though he had nothing to do with it. But most of all, I’m angry that the person really responsible is going to walk away without so much as a suspension.” He held up his index finger. “Unless you decide to hold him responsible. And you let me help you. The prosecutor’s office may want to whitewash what this police officer did, but the courts are open to everyone. The courts are open to you. And I would be honored to walk into the courthouse at your side to demand justice for Miguel.”
Talon was impressed. It was part sales pitch, part opening statement. She’d suggested Olsen to the Maldonados solely because of his proximity to her, but she was starting to think he might actually do a good job too. Bonus.
Olsen gestured to Talon.” If you’re interested in talking more about what we can do to hold Miguel’s killer—his real killer—responsible, then we should ask Ms. Winter and the Zlotniks to leave. The cases are related, but separate. Ms. Winter needs to do whatever she can to help her client, just like I will do whatever I can to help you. I expect to coordinate our efforts as we seek justice for both Miguel and Luke, but we will want to avoid even the appearance of a conflict of interest. So,” he gazed down again at the dead boy’s parents, “should we talk further?”
It was an easy decision. Mr. Maldonado looked at his wife, who gave him a quick but solid nod. “Yes,” he answered for both of them.
And that was Talon’s cue to leave. When Curt started to stand up, too, she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat. “No. You stay,” she whispered to him. “I already talked to Greg about this. He’s going to hire you as his investigator.”
Then, to make sure he understood, she added, “I expect you to report back to me on any and all developments.”
Curt frowned, Olsen’s exhortation against conflicts of interest still lingering in the air. “Is that ethical?” he whispered back.
“Ethical?” Talon patted his shoulder. “A young man’s life is at stake, Curt. Everything is ethical.”
CHAPTER 19
Four-dimensional chess meant lots of pieces to move. The cop was an important piece, but he wasn’t the only one. Even if Talon demolished him on the stand, it wouldn’t matter if the jury believed Luke’s confession. Talon needed to add Que
en’s False Confession Expert to the board. And just as a true queen would want the strongest stallion for her knight, the most impenetrable fortress for her rook, or the cleverist priest for her bishop, Talon wanted the best false confession expert in all the land. That meant a quest to the Kingdom of California.
Normally, that quest might have been accomplished by two coach tickets to Los Angeles on any of the dozen daily commuter flights between Seattle’s SeaTac airport and LAX. But they were on a budget. Somebody else’s budget, even. Every dollar they spent on airfare and hotels was a dollar they couldn’t pay the premier expert of false confessions on the West Coast.
‘NATALIE ROSS’
The name popped up on Talon’s incoming call notification just as she and Curt had gotten themselves situated in front of Talon’s computer monitor, squeezing in to make sure the good doctor would be able to see them both for the Skype interview.
Talon clicked the green phone receiver icon and Dr. Ross’s face popped onto their screen. Talon had expected a professor’s office backdrop, a brown and gold palette of dimly lit bookshelves and stacked papers. Instead, it was the bright taupe of a home mudroom, children’s drawings taped to the wall behind the casually dressed Natalie Ross, B.S., M.S., Ph.D., Psy.D., B.F.D.
“Sorry about the venue,” Ross started, with a wave at her surroundings. “My wife is using the home office right now, so I’m at the workspace next to the kitchen. But the kids are at the park with the sitter, so it should be quiet enough.”
“No problem at all,” Talon was quick to answer. She couldn’t have cared less about the backdrop. She cared about the woman. And how she would present to the jury. So far, so good. She looked the part of competent professional: in her late 40s, with curly, shoulder-length brown hair, smallish glasses, and a calm confidence, even in the workspace by the kitchen. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us about our case.”
“No, thank you for contacting me,” Ross replied. “I’ve had a chance to review the materials you emailed me. This looks like a really interesting case. Usually, the alleged confessions I see pertain to the actual crime charged, not a different predicate crime.”
“It’s definitely interesting,” Talon accepted that description, although she had a few others. “It’s also frustrating. My client tells me that part of the reason he agreed to say what he said was because he thought he wouldn’t be confessing to murder. He didn’t understand Washington’s felony murder rule.”
“I’m not surprised,” Ross said. “It seems a little unfair. I haven’t encountered it before.”
“Archaic is more like it,” Talon replied, “About half the states have it still, mostly in the west. A lot of Eastern states have gotten rid of it. Canada too. But we’re stuck with it.”
“Well, I think I may be able to help you out then,” Ross offered. “In fact, I think we can use this felony murder rule to bolster the argument that your client gave a false confession. It’s even more likely that he would have told the police what they wanted to hear if he didn’t understand the most serious of the potential consequences.”
“Go on,” Talon encouraged. “I like where you’re headed with this.”
Curt nodded his encouragement as well, but minded Talon’s pre-interview admonition to resist jumping in at every opportunity.
“The psychology of false confessions is both fairly complex and surprisingly simple,” Ross explained. “It’s simple to understand that a person in a stressful situation will do whatever he or she can to get out of it, especially if it requires pleasing another person who has all the power in the situation. We will say what we think the other person wants to hear. We actually do this all the time in different situations. Little white lies to avoid hurting someone else’s feelings, flattering a boss or supervisor to get a project approved, admitting fault just to end an argument even when we don’t really think it’s our fault. It’s a very normal, very common social skill, and one that can be very useful in a whole host of circumstances.
“The complex part,” Ross continued, “is understanding why a person would do it when it would seem to actually get the person in more trouble, not less. That is, when the apparent result of the false statement is a detriment to the speaker, rather than a benefit.”
“Which is why I knew we needed to hire someone like you,” Talon interjected. “I can try to explain that to the jury, but I’m no expert.”
“And you’re a lawyer,” Curt finally jumped in. “No one is going to believe the defendant’s lawyer.”
Talon looked sideways at him. But he wasn’t wrong. “They will,” she pointed at the screen, “if I’m telling them the same thing Dr. Ross told them.”
“Exactly.” Curt nodded to himself.
“So, what are we going to tell them?” Talon asked the psychologist.
“We’re going to tell them that Luke’s false confession isn’t any different from any other false statement,” Ross answered. “He believed it would benefit him. He was just wrong. Very wrong. The trick will be explaining to the jury how he could have genuinely believed it would benefit him to claim advance knowledge of the robbery when, in fact, he didn’t know.”
“That seems like a tall order,” Talon had to admit, “when I hear someone else say it.”
“I’ll say it better on the stand,” Ross assured her. “I’ve done this before. Many, many times.”
“And did you win all those times?” Curt asked, a bit impolitely. “Did the jury always believe you?”
The relaxed smile Ross had been wearing throughout their interview faltered. “Not always, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “Every case is different. I can’t promise a specific result. I can only promise to explain it to them to the best of my ability. It’s my professional opinion, based on everything you’ve sent me, that Luke’s confession was false. It was an attempt to gain favor with the police officers who controlled his freedom. And I will tell the jury that.”
“That’s all we can ask for,” Talon said. “So, do you want on the case then?”
Ross nodded. “I do. I think your client is most likely innocent, and I’d like to help him.”
“Great,” Talon answered. “You’re hired.” Then she offered her own, less relaxed smile. “But let’s just try to drop that ‘most likely’ when you testify for real.”
CHAPTER 20
With the False Confession Expert placed on the chessboard, Talon could focus her attention back to the opposing Queen’s Constable piece. Not least because her opponent had also had her attention drawn to Officer Dickerson.
Talon recognized the caller ID when her desk phone rang. Actually, the screen just said ‘PIERCE COUNTY’ but Talon knew who was calling from the semi-blocked number.
“Hello, Cecilia,” Talon answered. “What can I do for you?”
“What the hell are you doing, Talon?” Cecilia came out swinging.
“My job,” Talon answered. They both knew what Cecilia was talking about.
“Your job is to defend your client,” Cecilia shot back, “not go after my cop.”
“Same thing,” Talon countered. “Or two sides of the same coin anyway. And he’s not your cop. He’s a cop. A cop who killed someone. Two someones, it appears.”
“Your guy is the one charged with murder,” Cecelia returned. Then, “Wait. Two someones?”
Talon smiled. “Are you surprised it’s two?” she asked. “Or surprised I figured it out?”
“What are you talking about?” Cecilia avoided the question.
“The bullets,” Talon answered. “They’re all from the same gun. The ones extracted from both Miguel and the other cop. They all came from the same gun. And I’m pretty sure Miguel didn’t shoot himself three times in the chest.”
Cecilia didn’t say anything.
So Talon did. “There was only one gun, Cecilia. And it was your cop’s.”
“Oh, so now he’s my cop?” Cecilia deflected.
“Now you don’t want him to be?” Talon countered.
Again, Cecilia didn’t have a reply ready.
“Why are you calling exactly?” Talon asked. “I’m kind of busy defending the innocent and all that.”
“You’re going after his personnel file,” Cecilia finally said.
“Damn right I am,” Talon confirmed. “He killed two people. I want to see if he’s had any prior complaints of excessive force. I can’t believe this is the first time he’s overreacted. I’m betting he’s been investigated before, even if it was ultimately just covered up by his superiors.”
“If there are any prior investigations,” Cecilia said, “and I’m not saying there are, but if they were found unsustained, you aren’t entitled to them.”
“You’re trying to put my client in a cage for the rest of his life for something your cop did,” Talon growled. “Don’t tell me what I’m entitled to.”
“You’re not getting his personnel file,” Cecilia asserted.
“And you’re not getting in my way,” Talon responded. “You don’t have standing, Cecilia. Again. Dickerson’s a witness. He doesn’t belong to you.”
“I thought he was my cop.”
“He’s your cop when he’s killing people,” Talon answered. “He’s everybody’s cop when I’m trying to see if he’s done anything like this before.”
Then Talon asked Cecilia the question she really cared about. “Why are you fighting this? Don’t you want to know if he’s done this before? Don’t you want to know what really happened?”
“I know what happened,” Cecilia claimed. “Two people are dead because the police had to respond to a robbery your guy was an accomplice to. That’s murder.”
“No,” Talon answered. “Murder is shooting an unarmed suspect in the chest three times. Murder is shooting so recklessly, you accidentally hit your partner who was standing too close.”
“Your guy is the one charged with murder,” Cecilia reminded Talon.
“And your guy is the one who actually did it.”
Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set Page 51
