Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Read online

  That was the right basis.

  The judge overruled it anyway. He looked at Chen. "You may answer the question, if you can."

  Chen squirmed in the witness chair. "What was the question again?"

  Talon smiled, only too eager to get to repeat her question for the jury. "I asked, 'Did the fucker deserve it?'"

  Chen took a deep breath and looked to Brunelle for guidance. Brunelle just shrugged and nodded for him to answer the question.

  Chen looked back at Talon. "That's not for me to say, ma'am."

  "Okay. Fine." Talon nodded. "You have cases, don't you, detective, where it's absolutely clear that the victim in no way deserved what happened to them?"

  Chen mouth twisted into a tight knot. "Yes, ma'am," he admitted.

  "This isn't one of these cases, is it, detective?"

  Chen looked down. "No, ma'am."

  Talon nodded. "No further questions."

  And thus ended the first day of trial.

  Chapter 35

  Chen had tried to apologize after his testimony but Brunelle had refused to accept it. The case was the case. He wasn't going to fool the jury into thinking Traver was some kind of saint. In truth, Chen had helped the cause. At least the jury knew Brunelle was honest in his opening.

  The next witness would be far more important: Kat.

  Brunelle had told the jury that the stab to the heart was a premeditated revenge killing. He hadn't used those exact words, but it was the only conclusion from the words he had used. And he would label it accordingly in his closing. But first he had to explain to the jury exactly how Traver died and—since Quilcene never actually admitted to the murder—why a blow to the heart could be enough to infer the premeditated intent he needed for a first degree murder conviction. Kat would be key to that.

  Too bad he didn't trust what she might say on the stand. They'd had a great rapport their last trial together. Now, Brunelle wasn't completely convinced she'd even show up the next morning.

  He stepped out onto his hotel room balcony and regarded the Tacoma skyline, its reflection twinkling in the water. He took out his cell phone and dialed Kat's number. He told himself it was standard procedure to confirm the next day's witnesses. He couldn't help it if that meant he'd have to combine work with pleasure. Well, maybe not pleasure, but personal business, anyway. He wasn't at all sure it would be pleasurable if she actually answered.

  But it turned out he didn't need to worry about that. His call went straight to voicemail.

  "Hey, Kat. It's David. Just calling to confirm you're still coming to testify first thing tomorrow morning." He paused. "Well, not just that. I'm also calling to apologize. Again. And to explain. I really didn't set you up at dinner. I had no idea O'Brien would be there and— Aw, crap. Never mind. I'm not going to fill up your voicemail with this. Maybe just give me a call tonight if you can. I'd like to talk to you. Um, okay. Thanks. Bye."

  He held the phone to his forehead for several seconds.

  Damn.

  Why did he care so much?

  He'd wanted to suggest they grab dinner again. That night. Use talking over the case as an excuse to be together. But that wasn't going to happen. Still, he needed to eat. With a shrug he grabbed his key-card and his wallet. After the disaster of the previous night, he decided to avoid the casino. Take-out and dinner in the hotel room would be just fine.

  ~*~

  A half hour later, Brunelle was sitting on his bed, a binder of reports on his lap and a half-eaten pizza in the greasy box next to him.

  His cell phone rang. He snatched it off the bedside table and looked at the display.

  It wasn't Kat. It was Chen.

  "Hello?" he answered, not even trying to hide his disappointment.

  "Whatcha doing?" Chen asked.

  Brunelle appraised himself for a moment. "Looking at autopsy photographs while eating pizza. Man, this job warps you. Why? What's up?"

  "Turn on the TV."

  That didn't sound good. He grabbed the remote and clicked on the set directly in front of his bed. "What channel?"

  "Local news," Chen answered. "Any of them."

  Brunelle surfed to the the single digits and dropped the remote. "Oh, shit."

  "Yeah," Chen agreed.

  The tagline at the bottom of the screen read, 'Gang Shooting in Tacoma,' but Brunelle recognized the casino in the background. He stood up and looked out the window. He could see the cop cars' lights flashing across the freeway.

  "Is it related?" he asked.

  "I checked with my contacts at Tacoma P.D.," Chen answered. "They said the victim is NGB."

  "Tell me it's not another one of Quilcene's cousins."

  "Okay, I won't tell you."

  Brunelle's heart dropped. "Fuck. Really?"

  "No, actually," Chen said. "But my guy says it's a known associate of Quilcene's. I don't know yet how close they are. I'm about to drive down there. Want me to pick you up?"

  Brunelle gazed across at the casino again, then looked at his cadaver-filled binders. He already knew the autopsy report by heart. "Yeah, come get me."

  Then he went ahead and asked the most important question.

  "Are we going to the morgue or the hospital?"

  "Hospital," Chen answered. "He's not dead yet."

  Brunelle relaxed a bit. "Well, that's good."

  "I said 'yet'," Chen reminded him.

  Brunelle considered the Traver-to-Cousin-to-Freddy-to-Associate pattern, and who would be next on the list if this particular NGB died.

  "Thank Heaven for small mercies," he said. "Call me when you get here."

  Chapter 36

  Tacoma General Hospital was located at the top of Tacoma's downtown, right next to the Hilltop neighborhood and across the street from Wright Park, one of the largest downtown parks outside of Central Park. But Tacoma was a lot smaller than New York and Chen had no trouble finding on-street parking right by the entrance to the emergency room. It was starting to rain heavily, so both men turned up their collars and hurried into the hospital's lobby.

  "Do you know what room he's in?" Brunelle asked, scanning the lobby for a directory.

  "Chen pulled out his phone and checked his text messages. "214-C. Intensive care."

  Brunelle frowned. "Damn."

  Chen let out a small laugh and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Yeah. Well, for once, let's hope a gang-banger pulls through.

  Upstairs they found the ICU and room 214-C. There was a large 'No Admittance' sign on the door, plus two cops standing outside. Chen's Tacoma P.D. connection. And Sixrivers.

  "Hey, Paul," Chen greeted the Tacoma officer. Then the introductions. "Paul, this is Dave Brunelle from the King County Prosecutor's Office. Dave, this is Paul Mulholland, Tacoma detective."

  Brunelle and Mulholland shook hands. "Nice to meet you," said Brunelle. Then he nodded to Sixrivers. "Always good to see you too, detective."

  Sixrivers smiled at that. "Well, maybe not always, huh?" Then he answered the obvious question. "I'm here because it happened on tribal land. But honestly, we're not equipped for all this violence. So we called in Tacoma."

  "So what's the story?" Brunelle deflected the conversation. "Who is this guy?"

  "His name is Sam Hernandez," Mulholland reported.

  "Hernandez?" Brunelle questioned. "I thought he was NGB."

  "We're not all named 'Dances with Wolves,'" Sixrivers intoned.

  Brunelle nodded sheepishly.

  "What he wants to know," Chen clarified, "is how this guy is related to Johnny Quilcene?"

  "Best friend," Sixrivers answered. "They grew up together, got jumped into the gang at the same time, the whole bit."

  Brunelle shook his head. Not good. "What's his condition?"

  "Critical," Mulholland answered. "He took three rounds to the chest. Missed his heart, but took out a lung and he's lost a lot of blood. Basically, he's on life support. They don't think he's going to make it."

  Brunelle frowned as he confirmed the timeline
in his head. "Quilcene was out on bail when Freddy got shot, wasn't he?"

  Sixrivers nodded. "Yep. And he's still out."

  "Who's Freddy?" Mulholland asked.

  "He's the one who took up Traver's blood feud," Brunelle said darkly.

  Mulholland's face twisted into a puzzled expression. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means," Chen said, putting a hand on Brunelle's shoulder, "call me immediately if Hernandez dies."

  Chapter 37

  The next morning Brunelle almost would have been willing to trade places with Sam Hernandez. He had ex-girlfriends, and he'd had to call hostile witnesses, but he'd never had to call a hostile ex-girlfriend as a witness. Especially a hostile ex-girlfriend who'd never quite made it to girlfriend status in the first place, which was probably why she was so hostile.

  Once everyone had assembled for the resumption of trial, Judge LeClair looked down at Brunelle and said, "The prosecution may call its next witness."

  "The prosecution calls Dr. Kat Anderson."

  Here goes nothing.

  Brunelle went to the hallway and stuck his head out. "Okay, Kat. You're up."

  Kat set down her paperback and picked up her case file. She stood up and walked into the courtroom. All without meeting Brunelle's gaze.

  "You look lovely today, doctor," Brunelle whispered as she passed him, but she ignored him and marched to the witness stand to be sworn in.

  Brunelle sighed, then gathered himself and stepped into the attorney well between the jury box, the witness stand and the bench. He straightened his exhibits on the bar—autopsy photos, written reports, diagrams of the wounds—and began.

  "Please state your name for the record."

  "Kat Anderson."

  "And how are you employed, ma'am?"

  "I am an assistant medical examiner with the King County Medical Examiner's Office."

  So far so good. Kat was cold, but she was answering his questions, turning to the jury to deliver her answers like she was supposed to do. And she wasn't sneering at him. They might never get together after all, but he was starting to think he would survive the direct examination.

  "How long have you been an assistant medical examiner?"

  "Almost nine years."

  "Did you have any medical training prior to that?"

  "Yes. I worked as a resident at Tacoma General Hospital," she told the jury with a sweet smile. Then she turned to back to Brunelle. "I believe we've previously discussed my time there. Or have you forgotten again?"

  Brunelle's heart skipped a beat. He certainly remembered their conversations: about how she'd dated Freddy while she was a resident there, and how he'd forgotten to tell her he'd been murdered.

  She was toying with him.

  He wanted to trust her. But he didn't.

  "Your Honor." Brunelle looked up to Judge LeClair, his eyes a bit too wide. "May we discuss a matter outside the presence of the jury?"

  He was going to ask that Kat be declared a hostile witness. Then he could ask her leading questions and control her responses.

  The judge offered a quizzical expression. "You just started, Mr. Brunelle."

  Kat gave the slightest eye roll, almost imperceptible. He looked at her. She crossed her arms. "Really?" she asked quietly.

  Brunelle looked back to the judge. "Er, right. Sorry." Damn her for flustering me so easily. "I think it can wait after all. My apoligies."

  Judge LeClair lowered his eyebrows at Brunelle. "Good. You may proceed, counselor."

  I may, thought Brunelle. But do I dare?

  "Yes, well…" He gathered his wits again. "Is it one of your duties to conduct autopsies, Dr. Anderson?"

  Kat nodded and turned to the jury. "I would say," she told them, "that's my main duty."

  "And what is the purpose of an autopsy?"

  "The primary purpose of an autopsy is to determine the manner of death."

  "Okay, great." Brunelle could feel his heart slowing. "Let's unpack that answer a bit."

  Kat winced at the cliché, but nodded and waited for the rest of the question.

  "You said the primary purpose is to determine the manner of death," Brunelle repeated. "Are there other purposes?"

  "Yes." Kat turned again to the jury, delivering her answer like a teacher delivering a lesson. "There may be other physical evidence—injuries or toxicology—which, while not directly contributing to the subject's death, may nevertheless shed light for the investigators on how the death may have occurred."

  "So are you involved in trying to recreate exactly what happened at the time the person was killed?"

  "No, that's for the detectives," Kat answered. "As I said, I determine the manner of death. The detectives determine what happened."

  Brunelle nodded. "What are the possible manners of death?" he continued.

  "There are four." She held up four fingers to the jury and counted them off. "Natural causes, accident, suicide, and homicide."

  "Thank you," Brunelle said. Then he picked up his exhibits and handed them to Kat. She took them without looking at him.

  "For the record, I've just handed you several documents," Brunelle stated. "Could you identify them, please?"

  Kat thumbed through the papers, then looked up. "This is my autopsy report regarding subject George Traver, and these are some of the photographs that were taken during the autopsy."

  "Do you recall that autopsy?"

  Kat actually bothered to flip through her written report, before answering, "Yes."

  "And did you determine a manner of death?"

  "Yes," she finally smiled at him. But it was a challenging, 'Remember what I said at the scene?' kind of smile. "Yes, I did."

  Brunelle swallowed. Don't say suicide. "What was the manner of George Traver's death?"

  She paused, then turned to the jury. The poor jury, like children stuck watching a poorly concealed fight between their parents. "George Traver's death was a homicide."

  Whew.

  That was a huge check mark on his list of information he needed to get to the jury. It was obvious, but he still needed a witness to say it out loud.

  Under different circumstances, Brunelle might have tried to draw out the M.E.'s testimony. Really spend some time on all of the wounds. Flash disturbing photographs up on the wall and have the M.E. explain in excruciating detail how a particular wound would cause death, hopefully with some severe suffering. But as it was—with an unsympathetic victim and a witness who hated his guts—he decided to just hit the high points and sit the hell down.

  "What major wounds did you identify that led to Traver's death?"

  Kat cocked her head at the question. She'd testified hundreds of times. Different prosecutors, but the script was always the same. They were at the place where she described the steps of an autopsy generally, before moving to the specifics of the autopsy in question. Brunelle was going off script. Hurry up offense.

  "Uh, the major wounds were two sharp force trauma to the anterior torso. One to the abdomen, the other to the anterior chest which perforated the left ventricle."

  "Stab wounds to the stomach and chest," Brunelle translated. "The one to the chest punctured his heart."

  Kat grimaced. "Roughly," she admitted.

  "The stab wound to his stomach," Brunelle pressed on, "would that have been fatal?"

  Kat turned again to the jury. "It could have been, without prompt medical attention. It lacerated his colon, so waste spilled into his abdominal cavity. In addition to bleeding to death internally, there was a great risk of infection."

  "But if he'd gotten to a hospital quickly, he could have been saved?"

  Kat considered, then nodded. "I believe so, yes."

  "But not the stab wound to the heart." It was more statement than question. Definitely leading and therefore objectionable, but Talon was proving what a good litigator she was. Just because you can object, doesn't mean you should. Especially if you want the jury to hear the answer.

  "Correct," Kat agreed
. "The injury to the heart was instantly fatal. It was not a survivable injury."

  Brunelle considered sitting down at the point, but there was one more area he wanted the jury to know about.

  "Doctor, could you please explain," he asked, "what is meant by the term 'defensive wounds?"

  Kat nodded and turned to the jury box. "Defensive wounds are injuries which indicate that the victim attempted to defend himself or herself from the assault. They are usually on the hands and arms, often from grabbing the blade or attempting to shield themselves."

  Almost done.

  "Were there any defensive wounds on Mr. Traver?"

  Kat considered for a moment, then reached for report. She turned through several pages, then looked up. "No. There were no defensive wounds on Mr. Traver's hands or arms."

  Brunelle exhaled. Pulled it off.

  "No further questions," he was relieved to say.

  The judge looked to Talon as Brunelle sat down. "Ms. Winter? Any cross examination?"

  "Yes, Your Honor." Talon stood up. "Thank you."

  She stepped toward Kat, but stopped short of the usual, in-your-face distance defense attorneys often took with when conducting a rigorous cross-examination. Instead, her location and affect suggested a friendly rapport.

  "Just three areas, doctor," Talon began. "And then I'll sit down."

  Kat nodded, a curious smile pushing out onto her lips. "All right."

  Brunelle could see Kat was appraising Talon for his description of 'hottie.' Unfortunately for him, Talon's perfectly tailored suit and patterned leggings just confirmed it.

  "First," Talon said. "You testified that Mr. Traver's death was a homicide, correct?"

  "Correct."

  "Homicide is different from murder, isn't it?"

  Kat smiled.

  Damn it, she smiled.

  Then she turned to the jury. "Absolutely," Kat said. "'Homicide' simply means that the person was killed by another person rather than by some other means. For example, by his own hand—which would be suicide—or accident, or natural causes. But 'murder' is a legal term. It denotes that the homicide was unlawful. I don't make that determination."