Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 5

  She shakes that murderer's hand, but not mine. He surrendered a smile to himself. Of course, I'm a jackass…

  LeClair waited a moment for the last of the family cheering to die down. "We have already scheduled our trial and pre-trial dates. Are there any other matters?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle said, standing fully this time. He reached into his file and pulled out the other pleading he had drafted before leaving the office the previous afternoon. He handed a copy to Talon and one to the bailiff to hand up to the judge.

  "This is a motion," Brunelle explained, "to exclude the defendant's claim of justifiable homicide based on 'blood revenge.' We believe a careful review of the applicable law and facts will show that the defense is spurious and ought not to be argued to the jury."

  LeClair pursed his lips. He looked at Talon. "Any response, counsel?"

  Talon took a moment, then looked up from her initial scan of Brunelle's pleading. "Not at this time, Your Honor. I won't be ambushed into making an ill-prepared response."

  Damn, Brunelle thought. That was exactly what he was hoping for.

  "I would ask the court," Talon continued, "to set the matter for a hearing in two weeks. That will give me time to respond.

  Brunelle looked down at Freddy and gave him a 'that's fair' shrug. Freddy offered the same back.

  "And," Talon went on, with a new edge to her voice that made Brunelle look over and see her grin at him, "we can also address the defense motion to exclude."

  She extracted her own pleadings from her briefcase and handed copies to Brunelle and the bailiff.

  "Motion to exclude what?" Judge LeClair asked as the bailiff handed him Talon's pleading.

  "To exclude Mr. Brunelle," Talon grinned. "He's not a tribal member and should not be permitted to practice before this venerable court."

  Chapter 10

  Brunelle slammed through the administration building's doors and out into the parking lot.

  "Of all the racist, prejudiced, bigoted…" He shook a fist at the ground.

  Freddy hurried out after him. Some of the spectators started to file out too. Luckily no cameramen yet. They stayed back to interview Talon. She was far more photogenic than Brunelle.

  "Sorry about that," Freddy apologized. "She's just doing her job."

  Brunelle was trying to control his anger, but he didn't feel like trying very hard. "Look," he said," I never wanted to be down in here in front of this stupid court. You people are the ones who decided to assert some archaic treaty right. You people are the ones who insisted a murder trial be held in a converted gymnasium. You people are the ones who agreed to have a real prosecutor included. And now, you people are the ones who just let a murderer out on the street because some gang thug in his family got shanked over some drug debt or fucking some rival gang member's girlfriend."

  Freddy blinked at him. "You people? Dave, I'm on your side."

  Brunelle closed his eyes and sighed. "I know. That's not what I meant." He opened his eyes and put a hand on Freddy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know we're a team. It's just— I'm just frustrated, that's all. And tired. I'm really fucking tired."

  Freddy's smile blossomed again. "No worries, partner. I'm tired too. And I don't blame you. Talon's ruthless and smart. It's actually a compliment she wants you off the case. It means she's worried about you."

  A smiled cracked Brunelle's scowl. "Hm. Yeah. I hadn't thought of it that way."

  "And the way she used Quilcene's cousin's murder to spring Quilcene?" Freddy shook his head admiringly. "Man, I didn't see that coming."

  Brunelle could feel his heart slowing. Damn Talon for pissing him off. He wanted off the case, didn't he? Just concede the motion and drive back up to Seattle. If they wanted to walk a murderer, why should he care?

  But he did care.

  He looked down at Freddy. He knew he needed to do these next bits alone. Talon was a little too quick to seize onto Bobby Quilcene's murder. She was probably just a cold-hearted opportunist, but he needed more information. More information was always good. But given what he'd overheard Freddy tell the officer the previous night, Brunelle didn't think it wise to bring him along.

  "I'm going to get away from here and get a few things done," Brunelle said. "Maybe you can do some more research on blood revenge? If we can convince LeClair that it didn't justify this type of murder even back when the treaty was signed, he might keep Talon from arguing it to the jury."

  Freddy clicked his heels and saluted. "Yes, sir." Then he looked over at the police station. "Uh, I don't have a computer in my office yet. Maybe I'll head home to do that research."

  "Perfect," Brunelle replied.

  ~*~

  Brunelle waited for Freddy to drive away, then turned and walked into the Tribal Police station.

  "Hello," he greeted the officer behind the glass—a man this time. "I was a witness to the murder last night and I'd like to speak with the detective about the case."

  The officer's eyes widened just a bit. Brunelle guessed they didn't get a lot of murders in their small jurisdiction. "Yes, sir. I'll get him right now. I'm sure he'll want to talk with you."

  Until he realizes who I am, Brunelle thought. "Thanks."

  He took a seat in one of the three plastic chairs in the small lobby and looked down at his hands. His pale, pink hands. He was pretty sure he could make out a couple of age spots under the hair. It reminded him of the gray starting to fleck his temples. He sighed.

  After a few minutes, the door buzzed and the detective stepped into the lobby. At least Brunelle assumed he was the detective. Either that or a male model. Fabio meets Geronimo. Tall, buff, chiseled features, smoldering eyes. And a gun on his hip to boot.

  "Good morning, sir," he said, appraising Brunelle for a moment before extending his hand. "I'm Detective Sixrivers. Officer Jones said you were a witness to last night's homicide?"

  Brunelle stood up and shook the detective's hand. "Yes. I'm Dave Brunelle. I'm a prosecutor with the King County Prosecutor's Office. I'm down here prosecuting the Quilcene case."

  Sixrivers extracted his hand. "Oh. I thought Officer Jones said you were a witness."

  "I was," Brunelle assured. "In fact, I was the first to the victim. But the reason I was even down here last night is that I'm prosecuting the Quilcene murder case. The defendant on that case just got released to home detention, in part because the victim last night was his cousin. I was hoping you might have time to brief me on the case."

  The detective's eyebrows lowered and he crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, Mr. Brunelle. We don't discuss details of ongoing investigations. Especially with witnesses."

  Brunelle frowned. "Well, I'm not just a witness. I'm a prosecutor, and that homicide is impacting my case."

  "That homicide," Sixrivers said, arms still crossed, "is the subject of an ongoing investigation. I can't discuss it with you."

  "Can't?" Brunelle asked. "Or won't?"

  Sixrivers set his superhero-like jaw. "The bottom line is the same, Mr. Brunelle. I'm not going to discuss the case with you. If and when a suspect is identified and charged, then you may be contacted by a prosecutor. Until then, I'd suggest you forget about it."

  Brunelle nodded. "Okay," he relented. "Thanks anyway, detective. I appreciate your time."

  He shook Sixrivers' hand again and stepped back out into the cool autumn day. At least Sixrivers had let one thing slip.

  "They don't have a suspect yet."

  It wasn't much, but it was something.

  His next visit should fill in at least some of the gaps.

  Chapter 11

  The Pierce County Medical Examiner's Office sat on Pacific Avenue, toward the top of a hill overlooking downtown Tacoma and Commencement Bay. When Brunelle first got the location from his GPS he thought he might be in for a nice view of the water. Instead, the ME's office was a squat, two-story building tucked, viewless, between some not quite so squat four- and five-story buildings. Its only view was across Pacific Avenue to the old brick
facade of the Health Department's headquarters.

  The lobby was equally unimpressive. No receptionist, no chairs. Just a metal intercom box and an elevator. Pressing the elevator call button confirmed it wouldn't light until he got the okay from whoever was on the other end of the intercom.

  Brunelle pressed the intercom button. "Hello? This is Dave Brunelle from the King County Prosecutor's Office."

  A few seconds later a woman's voice gave a staticky reply. "Hello. Did—skraak—say you're—skrawk—om the prosecutor's office?"

  Brunelle thought for a moment. "Sure. Can I come up?"

  After a moment, a loud buzzer sounded and Brunelle's second effort at the elevator button met with success. He stepped in and pressed the only option: the basement.

  Nice. The basement of the morgue. This should be cheery.

  The elevator shuddered to a halt and after a few too many seconds, the doors slowly opened to reveal a very tall, very thin, very bald man glowering down at him.

  "Hello," said the man. "I don't know you."

  He had an accent, but Brunelle couldn't quite place it.

  Brunelle smiled. "No, you don't." He put out his hand as he stepped off the elevator. "Dave Brunelle."

  The man shook Brunelle's hand and cracked a disconcerting smile. "I'm Dr. Garner, the new Medical Examiner. You're with the prosecutor's office?"

  "Yes, sir," Brunelle replied. He felt no compunction to clarify which county he worked for. "I'm here about last night's murder."

  Garner grinned. "Which one?"

  Wow, tough town. "Uh, the one by the casino?"

  "Ah." Garner raised an appraising eyebrow as he led Brunelle down a narrow hallway decorated with interesting and slightly disturbing prints and multi-media displays. "Do they have someone in custody already?"

  "Er…" Right, Brunelle realized. No need for a prosecutor until a defendant is identified. "No, not yet. But, uh, I'm prosecuting a related murder."

  Garner nodded. "I'm not surprised to hear that. Another gang-banger, I take it. They're killing each other like crazy right now. It's the damn Hatfields and McCoys out there. The latest is Hilltop Crips and Eastside Bloods. This was our first Native Blood since I've been here. I guess the Hilltops are branching out on their retributory killings."

  "Guess so," Brunelle agreed. Or it's a different blood feud.

  "So yours is gang-related too?" Garner asked as they reached his office. He motioned Brunelle inside.

  "Um, yes," Brunelle answered. "My murderer is Native Gangster Blood."

  "Maybe my victim was in retribution for yours," Garner suggested.

  Brunelle nodded as he sat down across from the M.E. "Yeah, that's kinda what I'm thinking too."

  "So," Garner leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, "what can I do for you?"

  Might as well ask for the moon, Brunelle figured.

  "Can I get a copy of the autopsy report?"

  Garner leaned forward. "I just finished that autopsy an hour ago. Do you think I have the report done already?"

  "Do you?"

  "Why, yes," the medical examiner grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do. Just the rough draft, but these autopsies tend to run together. One cadaver after another. I did eight yesterday alone. I learned a long time ago to dictate each report between autopsies, not all of them at the end of the day."

  He turned and patted his computer monitor. "And I just got the latest dictation software. If you don't mind the occasional wrong word—'ulterior' instead of 'anterior'—I can print you out a copy right now."

  Brunelle smiled. "That would be great, doctor. Thank you so much."

  "No problem at all," Garner replied.

  A few mouse-clicks later the printer on his desk started to spit out the report. He collected it up and handed it to Brunelle, who stood up, took the report, and prepared to leave.

  "Thanks again, doctor."

  "Happy to help," Garner answered as they stepped back into the hallway. He pointed back down the strangely-decorated hallway. "The elevator will take you back up to the lobby."

  "Great," said Brunelle and he headed for the exit.

  "Say 'Hi' to Mark for me," Garner called out after him.

  Brunelle pressed the elevator button and turned around. "Who?"

  Garner looked puzzled. "Your boss?"

  "Oh right," Brunelle smiled as the elevator doors opened. He stepped in. "Sure. Will do. Thanks again."

  Garner's puzzled expression only deepened as the elevator doors closed glacially and Brunelle considered his next, even more uncomfortably dishonest rendezvous.

  Chapter 12

  He had to wait eight days before he could get his expert to review Dr. Garner's report. The first three because she wouldn't return his calls. The next five were because it was that long before Kat could get a baby-sitter for Lizzy. She wasn't about to leave her home alone, and Brunelle couldn't just ask her for help. He needed to take her out to dinner. Make amends for his insensitive description of Talon.

  Besides, there was what he might get in exchange for dinner. A boy could dream, anyway.

  He managed to wait until after the waiter had brought the entrees before starting his spiel.

  "So," he tried to sound casual. "You haven't asked me how my tribal case is going."

  Kat looked up, about to put a piece of beef in her mouth. She went ahead with the bite and waited to fully chew and swallow before replying sardonically, "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. How selfish of me. Please, tell me. How's your tribal case going?"

  Brunelle smiled despite the sarcasm. "I'm glad you asked." He took time for a quick bite himself. "It just expanded. Two for one, you might say."

  "Really?" Kat smiled. "Did someone kill the hot bitch defense attorney?"

  Brunelle managed not to reply, 'Wow' and instead said, "Uh, no. Someone killed the defendant's cousin."

  "Oh," Kat said as she took another bite. She didn't even try to sound interested.

  "I think they're related," Brunelle pressed on.

  Kat looked at him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure cousins are related."

  "No, no," Brunelle stammered. "The cases. The cases are related."

  Kat shrugged. "Okay."

  "They're in the same gang. At least that's what the detective down there says."

  Kat got a strange look on her face. "What's the detective's name?" she asked unexpectedly.

  "Er, Sixrivers," Brunelle answered.

  She nodded. "Tommy Sixrivers." It wasn't a question. More like the recounting of a pleasant memory.

  "You know him too?" Brunelle asked, trying not to sound perturbed. He knew he'd failed.

  "Oh, yes." Kat purred. "Dated him in high school. He was gorgeous. Only dated for a week, but oh, what a week."

  "Great," Brunelle nodded. "So did you date everyone in the tribe? Like a Native American groupie or something?"

  Kat's dreamy smiled twisted into a scowl. "I grew up down there. My mom is part Muckleshoot. I wasn't as cool as the Duwallup kids, but they accepted me. Some of them even thought I was attractive. Including Tommy."

  "The dreamboat?" Brunelle confirmed.

  The smile returned. "He's still gorgeous, isn't he?"

  Brunelle sighed. "Yeah, he's pretty gorgeous."

  Kat just smiled and took another bite of her dinner.

  "Can we talk about the case again?" Brunelle complained.

  "Sure," Kat said through her food. She swallowed. "Go ahead. Do I have to listen?"

  "Ha ha," Brunelle replied. "I guess I'll just sit here knowing all about how the wounds are really similar to Traver's and not say a thing about your area of expertise."

  Kat raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

  "Yep. Pretty similar," Brunelle continued, supressing a grin. "I mean, what do I know? I'm just a lawyer. But, you're not listening anyway, so, you know, never mind."

  He took a sip of wine. He wanted her truly invested. He was going to make her ask.

  So she did.

  "Fine. Ho
w are the wounds similar?"

  Gotcha. Brunelle let the smile push through. By the time he was done, she might even think she was the one who'd asked him out.

  "Stab wounds," he said. "One to the gut, one to the heart. Except…"

  "Except what?"

  "Except the cousin also had one to the back. Hit his kidney."

  Kat set down her fork. "And how do you know that?"

  "Two reasons, actually," Brunelle answered. "First, I was a witness—"

  "You saw him get stabbed?" Kat interrupted.

  Brunelle shook his head. "No, I didn't actually see it. I heard him scream and ran over to him, but it was too late. He was dead on the spot. I guess a knife in your heart will do that."

  Kat offered a pained smile. "And what do you know about knives in your heart, Mr. Brunelle?"

  For the first time in probably too long, Brunelle didn't know what to say. Any witty remark got stuck in his throat as he looked into the soft eyes across the table from him. Before he could regain himself or figure out what to say, Kat looked down at her plate again.

  "So was this one in Pioneer Square too?" she asked. "I don't remember hearing about it from the other M.E.s."

  "No," Brunelle answered, relieved not to have to talk about Kat's heart after all. "It was in Pierce County. In the parking lot of that casino by I-5."

  Kat looked up again. "What were you doing at the casino? You don't seem like a gambler, Mr. Brunelle."

  "Of course I'm a gambler," Brunelle grinned. "I'm a trial lawyer. Every case is like the ultimate gamble."

  Kat shook her head. "Do you tell the victim's family that before opening statement?"

  "I usually avoid saying anything like that at any time," Brunelle replied. "Besides, it's not really gambling if you know you're going to win."

  "Nice," Kat grimaced. "Callous and cocky. Great combination."

  "It's endearing after a while," Brunelle assured. "I promise."

  Kat wagged her finger at him. "No, no. Don't start promising things. Nothing good ever comes from a man promising things to a woman."