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  Presumption of Innocence

  ( David Brunelle - 1 )

  Stephen Penner

  Stephen Penner

  Presumption of Innocence

  A defendant is presumed innocent. This presumption continues throughout the entire trial unless during your deliberations you find it has been overcome by the evidence beyond a reasonable doubt.

  — State of Washington Pattern Criminal Jury Instruction 4.01

  Chapter 1

  ' Don't go inside. Call 911 and wait for the police.'

  Brunelle examined the note taped to the impressive front door of the Montgomerys' suburban home. Its neatly penned letters were bathed in the red and blue strobe of the cop cars the neighbors never thought they'd see in their subdivision.

  "The parents went inside, didn't they?" Brunelle asked without taking his eyes from the warning.

  "Of course they did," answered Detective Chen. "The poor fools. Now they'll never get that sight out of their heads."

  Brunelle shook his head. "That's too bad," he said. "You and I get paid to forget, at least once the case is over. Forget and move on to the next one."

  Chen put a hand on Brunelle's shoulder. "You're gonna have trouble forgetting this one, Dave."

  Brunelle frowned. He was a prosecutor with the King County Prosecutor's Office. He'd been there nearly twenty years, working his way up from shoplifting, through drug possession and burglary, to robberies and assaults, and finally homicides. He'd tried over a hundred cases and handled literally thousands more. He had to forget the details of each, at least a little bit, to be able to prosecute the next. He didn't want to get his facts mixed up in front of a jury.

  But Larry Chen had been a Seattle Police officer for going on thirty years. He'd worked his way up from beat cop, to sergeant, to detective. From property crimes, through drugs and vice, to special assaults, and finally major crimes and homicides. Brunelle only saw the cases the cops could solve, but Chen saw all the ones the criminals committed. If Chen thought it was bad, it was bad.

  Brunelle pushed the door open.

  It was worse.

  Hanging from the balcony banister at the top of the sweeping staircase that framed the palatial foyer, blocking what would otherwise have been, as designed, a breathtaking view of the perfectly decorated and immaculately clean home, was the upside-down and very lifeless body of thirteen-year-old Emily Montgomery.

  "Fuck," exhaled Brunelle, the dead girl's lifeless eyes swinging grotesquely only a few feet from his own.

  "Exactly," agreed Chen.

  "Okay!" called out a woman from the other side of the entryway. "You can let her down now."

  Brunelle watched as two patrol officers on the balcony slowly began to release the rope holding the victim aloft by her ankles. The woman who had called out to the officers stepped over to guide the body to the floor with latex-gloved hands.

  Brunelle had never seen her before.

  "Dave Brunelle, assistant district attorney," Chen commenced the introductions. "This is Kat Anderson, our new assistant medical examiner."

  Kat was already kneeling next to body, checking for signs of rigor. She looked up long enough to offer the quickest of hellos, then set back to her examination.

  "Uh, nice to meet you," Brunelle stammered. He wondered how someone so pretty had ended up choosing cadaver-carving as a career. "I'm David."

  Kat glanced up again and smiled. "Got it," she winked. "I was here when he said it."

  Brunelle fought back a blush. "Right. So, uh, what did she die of?" he said to change the subject.

  "Well, David Brunelle, assistant district attorney," Kat said while palpating the tissue around the girl's neck, "my thirty second diagnosis is cardiac arrest brought on by acute loss of blood."

  "She bled out?" Brunelle asked doubtfully. He waved a hand around the home's entryway. "There's not a drop of blood in here."

  Kat stuck a gloved finger into the linear wound in the girl's purple-white neck. "There's not a drop of blood in here either."

  Brunelle frowned. He had to admit, the corpse was unusually pale. "Really?"

  Kat shrugged, her finger still jutting into the lifeless neck. "Well, there's probably a few drops left, and it'll take a full autopsy to confirm it, but it looks to me like most of it's gone."

  She pointed to some purple blotching just visible under the dead girl's blonde hair. "The only lividity is in the head. That means she was upside down when she died. There will be blood pooled in her head, but the rest of it left the body somehow."

  "Yeah, but to where?" asked Brunelle.

  "Sorry, assistant district attorney David," Kat grinned. "That's your job."

  Brunelle smiled too. "No. My job is convincing the jury the bad guy did it. But figuring out just what the bad guy did?" He slapped Chen on the back. "That's the detective's job."

  "Thanks, Dave." Chen looked sideways at him. "Glad we all know our roles."

  "Well, here's one thing to help you." Kat pointed to the wrists of the dead girl. There were thick lines of even whiter skin distinct in her pale flesh. "Her hands were bound when she died. This blanching means the bindings were removed after she died."

  "So whoever killed her took the bindings with them," Brunelle realized.

  "And apparently the blood," Kat added.

  "But why?" Chen asked.

  "Don't worry about why," Brunelle grinned. "I don't have to prove motive. Just who did it and how, never why."

  Chen ran a hand through his hair. "Well, good. 'Cause I can't imagine any reason why anybody would do this."

  Brunelle did a walk-through of the house, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. The forensics officers were marking, photographing, and collecting anything that might possibly hold evidentiary value. That meant casting a wide net. Brunelle wasn't looking forward to thumbing through pages upon pages of property reports containing useless enumerations of irrelevant personal property. The problem was that apart from the bloodless girl dangling in the entryway, the house was in perfect order. Better than perfect, it was slightly messy. The girl's bedroom could have used a tidying, there were a plate and cup in the sink, and the kitchen garbage needed to be taken out. Everything was as normal-and therefore as useless to him-as could be.

  Time to talk to the parents. See if they could give the murder some context that was lacking in the physical evidence.

  ***

  The parents were outside by one of the officers' patrol cars. The mother was sitting in the back of the car, its door open, her feet on the road, and a blanket around her shoulders to keep out some the wet autumn chill that descended on Seattle after Labor Day. She was crying. Of course. The father was standing near, but not exactly next to her. He was using a cigarette to blunt the cold.

  Brunelle hated talking to the family. He hated pretending that he cared. He did care, of course. Anybody would. But he didn't care that much. Not as much as someone who had known the girl. And never as much as a parent. But he was supposed to care. They always expected the cops and the prosecutors and judges and the jurors to care. But the one thing all those people really cared about was being glad it wasn't their daughter.

  And in his early 40s, single, with no kids, Brunelle cared even less than that.

  Besides, he knew caring wouldn't do a damn thing to bring that girl back.

  "Mr. Montgomery? Mrs. Montgomery?" He stepped up with a hand half-extended. "I'm Dave Brunelle from the prosecutor's office. I'm so sorry for your loss."

  Mr. Montgomery stared at Brunelle's hand but didn't shake it. He took a long drag on his cigarette. "This is death penalty, right?"

  Mrs. Montgomery looked up. "Roger! This isn't the time for this."

&nb
sp; "Really, Janet?" he replied. "Then when is? Some bastard killed your daughter and the prosecutor is standing right here."

  He turned again to Brunelle. "Death penalty, right?"

  Brunelle offered his professional 'no promises' smile. "Every case is different. Once the police finish their investigation, we'll review the evidence and make a decision. Your input will be very important to that decision."

  "What decision?" Mr. Montgomery nearly shouted. "It's a murder. What more do you need to know?"

  "Not all murders are death penalty eligible," Brunelle started. "There need to be certain aggravating factors present before-"

  "Are those here?" Mr. Montgomery demanded.

  "Roger, please," Mrs. Montgomery tried again.

  "They might be," Brunelle was careful to answer. "As I said, we will review the evidence-"

  "If the aggravating factors are there," Mr. Montgomery pressed. "Promise me you'll go after the death penalty."

  Brunelle repeated the smile. "The decision isn't mine alone to make. But as I said, your input will be very important to that decision."

  Mr. Montgomery was about to argue some more when Brunelle spotted Chen making his way over. "But here comes Detective Chen. I'm sure he has some questions for you."

  Brunelle extracted himself as Chen approached, and quickly walked away, but not before hearing Mrs. Montgomery express her displeasure at her husband again, and Chen ask them where they had been that night while their daughter stayed home alone.

  Brunelle was curious about their answer, but not curious enough to stick around. He knew he could just get it in the morning from Chen's report. Being curious wasn't the same as caring.

  As he reached his car, though, he realized he was curious about more than just why the girl was home alone. He didn't have to prove motive, but damn, that was a strange way to kill someone. There must have been a reason for it. He knew if he was curious, then the jury was going to be curious too. And juries with questions are juries that acquit. So he would have to figure out that motive after all.

  Then he smiled despite the weather and the circumstances. He had an excuse to call Kat.

  Chapter 2

  In the event, the call to the fetching young medical examiner had to wait. When Brunelle got into the office the next morning, the message light on his phone was already blinking. It was Chen.

  "Dave, forensics got a usable print off the front door note. Ran it through the computer and came back with a possible match. I had the fingerprint people confirm it first thing this morning. Name's Holly Sandholm. Fifteen years old, but a bunch a history out at juvenile hall. We're gonna go out this morning and try to put the habeas grabus on her."

  Brunelle deleted the message only to hear Chen's voice again on the next one.

  "Got her, Dave. Grabbed her when she showed up for school. Heading to the precinct now. It's, uh, let's see, eight twenty-one right now. Come by if you can."

  Brunelle looked at his watch. Eighty twenty-three. He turned on his heel and headed back to the elevator, pulling his cell phone out and pulling Chen's cell number up even as he pulled his overcoat back on.

  ***

  "They're in interview room one," the officer at the reception desk said. She pressed a button behind her bulletproof glass and Brunelle heard the access door buzz and unlock. "Detective Chen said you might be stopping by."

  Brunelle walked back into the offices protected behind the security door. He said hello to a couple other detectives he knew, then stepped into the observation room for interview room one. He pulled up a chair and sat down. They were just getting started.

  Chen had finished reading Holly her rights and was having the girl sign the form. She looked scared. And dirty. But she wasn't as rough as some of the kids they saw. She wasn't a drug addict. Not yet anyway. All her history was property crimes and low level assaults. Typical running with the wrong crowd stuff. It was a big jump from that to murder. Especially that murder.

  "Now, Holly," Chen started. "You need to understand something right from the beginning. Just because I ask you a question doesn't mean I don't already know the answer. In fact, it's just the opposite. We already know what happened and how you're involved. When I ask you something, I know the answer, but I want to see if you're going to tell me the truth or not. Does that make sense?"

  Holly glanced up at Chen seated across the metal table, then to his partner, a junior detective named Jeff McCall. She looked like she was considering acting tough, but she just shrugged, and lowered her eyes back down to the tabletop. "Yeah, sure."

  The girl seemed tired more than anything. She had dark bags under her eyes and her body language was someone trying to lie down even as she sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Brunelle figured Chen and McCall would make short work of her.

  "Why don't you start at the beginning," Chen encouraged. "What brought you to Emily's house?"

  Holly looked up at Chen, a strange grin on her face. She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "You don't know shit, do you?"

  Brunelle smiled and crossed his arms. Maybe this would be a good show after all.

  "We know more than you think we do," Chen managed to answer. "For starters, your fingerprint is on that note."

  "What note?"

  "The one on the front door," McCall said. "The one you wrote."

  "I didn't write it."

  "We'll see what the handwriting expert says," McCall countered. "But the fingerprint is iron clad."

  Holly frowned. Obviously she was weighing her choices. Brunelle just hoped she didn't ask for a lawyer. That would terminate the interview. Anything short of that they could-and would-brow beat her for however long it took.

  "Your fingerprints are going to be inside too," Chen said.

  Holly shook her head. "No, you won't. I'm sure about that."

  "Because you wiped everything down?" McCall asked.

  Holly didn't answer, which was an answer. If it was because she hadn't gone inside, she would have said as much. Silence meant that's exactly what she did. Brunelle frowned. How would she know to do that?

  "I'm sure you did the doorknobs and the stair handrail," Chen said. "What about the toilet handle?"

  Holly's brow creased.

  "One thing we know, Holly, is Emily let you in," explained Chen. "There are no signs of forced entry. The other thing we know is that you were there for a while. It takes time to kill somebody like that. So I bet you took a piss while you were there. And I bet, when you went around wiping everything down, you forgot about the shitter."

  Chen's use of profanity wasn't accidental, Brunelle knew. It was designed to shake the girl just a bit. Professional cop man isn't supposed to swear. But every time he does, it distracts her a little, shoots just a little bit of adrenaline into her bloodstream, makes her a little bit more tired. Holly frowned and looked around.

  Next came the bit where they drew information from the scene-like the obvious conclusion that Holly Sandholm didn't overcome Emily Montgomery by herself, or if she did, she sure as heck didn't get her tied upside down like that alone-with the ubiquitous distrust criminals have for each other. Add in a guess that a man was involved, justified by both the strength necessary and the statistical fact that most violent crime was committed by men, and the next question was ready to feed the doubt creeping into her mind.

  "He told you he wiped everything down, didn't he?" asked Chen. "But I bet he forgot the toilet."

  Holly's eyes shot back and forth between the detectives. "I…" But she stopped herself.

  "I bet he made sure to wipe down everything he touched," added McCall. "They always do."

  "Who always do?" Holly furled her brow.

  "Well, see," Chen answered. "In something like this, there's usually the guy whose idea the whole thing was, and then there's the other person. The one who has access to the target. The one who can get him in the front door. But once the shit's gone down, the idea guy makes sure to cover up his tracks, but isn't so concerned about h
elping out the other person."

  "That's not true," she asserted.

  "We found your fingerprint on the note," McCall shrugged. "So that's already one place he forgot."

  Holly's frown deepened. She looked down with wide eyes, clearly trying to decide whether to talk. So Chen hit her again.

  "Whose DNA are we going to find under her fingernails, Holly?"

  She looked up. "What?"

  "DNA," Chen repeated. "Under her fingernails. They always take fingernail clippings and send them to the crime lab."

  "And there's always DNA under the fingernails from their attacker," McCall added. "People always resist. They push and pull, and skin cells get under the fingernails. If she touched you, your DNA is on its way to the crime lab."

  Holly looked at the junior detective.

  He made sure she understood. "You're fucked."

  "There's a way out, though," offered Chen.

  Holly glared at him, her suspicion clear in her eyes.

  "Look, Holly," Chen leaned onto the table, "we know this wasn't your idea. We know you never would have done this on your own."

  "It's called duress," McCall explained. "And it's a complete defense. If somebody else makes you do something, you can't be held responsible for it."

  Holly frowned and her eyebrows knit together. She looked down for a few moments. Then she looked up again. "What if didn't exactly make me, but he kinda made me feel like I had to?"

  "Well, uh, it's kind of a sliding scale," Chen stammered.

  "Yeah, kinda depends," McCall added.

  Holly's eyes widened. Her mouth shrank into a tight line.

  Oh, for God's sake, thought Brunelle. He tapped on the mirror.

  Chen and McCall turned around. Brunelle tapped again.

  "Uh, hold on a sec, Holly." Chen stood up. "I'll be right back."

  Chen stepped into the attached observation room. "Oh, Dave. You made it."

  "Yeah, for all the good it's doing," Brunelle said. "Sliding scale?"

  Chen rubbed the back of neck and grimaced. "Yeah, sorry. Wasn't ready for her question."