DB01.5 - Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

by Stephen Penner

  “Thank you, doctor.” Edwards sat down. “No further questions.”

  Brunelle just lost cause of death. And with it, maybe the entire case.

  Kat stepped down and left the courtroom. Brunelle couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He stood up and looked up to the judge.

  “The State rests.” He managed to sound confident, but he felt like throwing up.

  *

  “Non-natural?” Brunelle demanded as he leaned against Kat’s office doorframe. It was late. Everyone else at the morgue had gone home for the night. “What the hell was that?”

  “I thought,” Kat shrugged without lifting her eyes from her microscope, “it sounded better than ‘I don’t know.’”

  “Not much better,” Brunelle countered. “I would have preferred ‘homicide.’”

  Kat finally looked up. “What’s that lawyer rule?” she smirked. “‘Never ask a question you don’t the answer to’?”

  Then she saw that he was wearing those ridiculous red leather stilettos. She laughed as she stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of the door. “Come on, sweet-cheeks. Let’s go to your fundraiser.”

  But Brunelle didn’t move out of the doorway. “You should have told me, Kat,” he said. “I might lose the case now.”

  She crossed her arms. “You should have read my tox report. I sent it to you weeks ago. Now stop pouting and get out of my way.”

  She pushed Brunelle in the chest. He stumbled backward in the heels and grabbed her wrist. He regained his balance but kept his grip on Kat’s arm.

  “Let go of my wrist,” she said after a moment.

  “I think you kind of enjoyed screwing me today,” Brunelle said.

  Kat sneered. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed screwing you, David Brunelle.”

  She pushed him in the chest with her other hand in an effort to pull away her captive arm, but Brunelle grabbed that wrist too.

  They looked at each other for a moment, Brunelle had a hold of both her wrists, their bodies inches apart. Then Brunelle pulled her against him and kissed her mouth. Hard. Almost as hard as she kissed back.

  Without pulling his mouth from hers, Brunelle let go of Kat’s wrists and started pulling up her skirt. Kat grabbed his tie with one hand and pulled him backwards as she fumbled at his belt. By the time she’d pulled him back to the examining table, her skirt was up over her hips and his pants were below his.

  Brunelle picked her up and set her on the table. She spread her legs and pulled him against her.

  She kissed him hard and pulled away with his lip in her teeth. She let it snap back and breathed, “Keep the shoes on.”

  Brunelle pulled her to the edge of the metal table. “Anything for you, Dr. Anderson.”

  *

  “You know,” Kat said as she fastened her seatbelt. “That’s only the second time I’ve fucked somebody who was wearing high heels.”

  Brunelle looked at her sideways as he reached under the steering wheel to undo the stiletto straps. “If it was a guy, I don’t want to hear about it.”

  He dropped the heels in the backseat. “If it was a girl,” he said as he pulled his wingtips forward, “I hope you have pictures.”

  Kat laughed. “I never kiss and tell, Mr. Brunelle.” Then she pointed at where he was tying his shoes. “Not gonna drive in heels, huh?”

  “Not unless you want me to crash into a tree,” Brunelle answered. “I don’t know how you women drive in those.”

  “It’s like that old saying,” Kat smiled. “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels.”

  “Whatever,” Brunelle said. “I’m just glad I brought a second pair of shoes.”

  “Now you’re even thinking like a woman,” Kat laughed. “Always have a back-up pair.”

  Brunelle was about to start the engine. He stopped.

  “What did you say?”

  “Women always have extra shoes lying around,” Kat repeated. “In the car, wherever. I’ve got three pair under my desk at work.”

  Brunelle thought for a moment. “You’re right, Dr. Anderson. You’re absolutely right.”

  He started the engine. “We’re gonna be late for the fundraiser, Kat. We’ve got a little detour to make.”

  *

  It wasn’t the worst neighborhood in the city, but it was in the top two. Not broken-windows, bullet-ridden-car-hulks, bums-passed-out-in-the-gutters bad. It actually looked nice enough driving through it, as long as it was daylight and the doors were locked. No, it was bad, as in almost everyone who lived there was either a drug seller, a drug user, or both. Bad, as in sprawling apartment complexes used as department of corrections halfway houses for not officially ‘released’ felons. The types who aren’t allowed to get jobs yet, and probably couldn’t anyway given their records. So the only way to make money is selling drugs. Multiple drug dealers means competition, and competition between drug dealers means guns and violence. Most of the users just wanted to score their shit and find a place to light their pipe or jab that needle in their arm. A place out of harm’s way. A place like Theresa Hastings’ apartment.

  “What are we doing here, David?” Kat asked as Brunelle pulled the car into the small parking lot behind Curly’s building.

  “I need to check something out,” he looked right past her to the apartment door.

  “You have to check it out now?” Kat pressed. “Here? At night?”

  “You were here at night once before,” Brunelle said as he stepped from the car.

  “There were three hundred armed cops then,” Kat pointed out. “Not just a lawyer in high heels.”

  It took Brunelle a moment to respond. He was scanning the area as best he could in the dark. The bare bulb over the apartment door was the only light in the back parking lot.

  “What’s that?” he mumbled. “No, I took off the shoes, remember?”

  Kat rolled her eyes, then stepped out of the car too. She hesitated, then grabbed the shoes out of the back seat. “When the car gets stolen, at least you’ll still have these.”

  She stuffed the oversized heels into her shoulder bag.

  “What are we doing here, David? Can’t this wait until daylight?”

  Brunelle shook his head. “No. Edwards is gonna put Flowers on the stand first thing tomorrow morning. I need to pin this down tonight.”

  “Pin what down? It’s been months since the murder. There’s no way the scene is the same.”

  Brunelle smiled and grabbed Kat’s elbow. “That’s what I’m counting on. Let’s go.”

  The apartment door was unlocked. Kat was surprised; Brunelle pleased. The lights were off inside, which was a good sign.

  “Probably nobody here,” Brunelle opined.

  “Of course not,” Kat answered. “Who’d want to rent an apartment where somebody was murdered?”

  “Nobody.” Brunelle clicked on the light. “But there’s plenty of people who’d use it to shoot up and pass out.”

  The apartment was much like when they’d seen it that night, only worse. Plates, pipes, cups, needles, half eaten food, soda cans, condoms, even sanitary napkins strewn everywhere.

  “Is somebody living here?” Kat asked.

  “No,” Brunelle answered, closing the door behind them. “It’s being used as a crash pad.”

  Kat looked askance at him. “A what?”

  “A place you can go to do your drugs,” he explained. “Get your high and crash out. Maybe with friends, maybe by yourself, maybe with whoever’s here when you walk in.”

  “I don’t know, David, it looks the same as that night. And the victim was living here then.”

  Brunelle smiled. That cocky, lawyer smile Kat always hated. “Let’s test your theory then,” he smirked. “See if you can find any shoes.”

  Kat cocked her head at him, but then smiled. “Damn, David. That’s tricky.” She liked the puzzle of it. “Yes, let’s see if there are any extra shoes anywhere.”

  She took off for the back
bedroom before Brunelle could yell, “Watch out for the needles!” He stepped into the living room. “And the glass pipes. And the razor blades.”

  He shook his head. “How does anyone live like this?”

  Brunelle searched the living room and front entry. No shoes.

  Kat came out of the bedroom. “Wow, it stinks in there,” she said. “But no shoes. I guess you’re right. This is just a place where people crash and leave.”

  Then Kat put a hand on her hip. “You know, Mr. Brunelle, that’s all very interesting, but I don’t see why we had to do this on our big date night?”

  Brunelle nodded, but didn’t remember to smile. He was thinking. He took Kat’s arm and they walked back to the small hallway that led to the bedroom and the apartment’s only bathroom.

  “Flowers’ shoes were sitting in the pool of blood,” he reminded her. “She left them behind and fled out the bathroom window.”

  Brunelle stepped into the small bathroom. There wasn’t really room for Kat too, so she stayed in the hallway.

  “But why does she leave out the window?” Brunelle asked, tapping his chin. “Why doesn’t she go out the front door?”

  “There’s someone else in the apartment,” Kat said.

  “Yeah,” Brunelle nodded, “that’s what I was thinking too.”

  “No, David,” Kat squeaked. “There’s someone else in the apartment right now.”

  Brunelle pushed out into the hallway and past Kat.

  “Evening, Mr. Brunelle,” said Lawrence Carrington with a tip of his head. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  He had a knife in his hand.

  Brunelle shoved Kat into the bathroom. “Do what Ginny did,” he whispered. Then he turned back to Carrington.

  “I could say the same to you, Mr. Carrington,” Brunelle tried to sound cool. His heart was beating in his throat. “What brings you back here? Just paying respects?”

  Carrington took a slow step toward Brunelle, then another. “No, sir. Not exactly. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place.”

  Brunelle tried not to stare at the knife. It was a fixed-blade hunting knife, the kind you’d buy at a sporting goods store.

  “Kind of like a caretaker?” Brunelle asked. He could hear Kat slide the bathroom window open.

  “More like a cop,” Carrington replied. “Paying attention to who’s doing what and why. So why you here, Mr. Brunelle? And who’s your lady friend? She’s fine. Ten years is a long time.”

  Whatever fake smile Brunelle had managed to keep plastered to his face drained away. “Cut the bullshit, Carrington. Why are you here?”

  Carrington laughed. “Oh, now you tough, Brunelle? Now, when you ain’t got no guards standing between us? Now, when you in my world?”

  Brunelle wanted to say something, but his throat was clamping shut. Carrington was close, really close. And Brunelle suddenly remembered learning that cops are trained to stay twenty-one feet away from any bladed weapon. Carrington was no more than three feet away.

  “I didn’t forget what you did to me, Brunelle.” Carrington’s teeth were shining in the dim light, but he wasn’t smiling. “And I meant what I told you when they dragged me out of that courtroom. I’m gonna kill you, Brunelle. I was gonna wait till you sent Ginny away for what I done, but now…”

  “I know what you did to Curly,” Brunelle tried to sound brave. “I know you slit her throat. And I know you didn’t do it here. I just don’t know why.”

  “Oh, I did it here, Brunelle. Done slit her throat on that mattress, right where your boys found her. But she was already dead.”

  “Drug overdose,” Brunelle realized.

  “Yep, back at my place. She was always trying to get higher. She used too much shit.”

  “That’s an accident, Carrington,” Brunelle stepped back into the hallway. He really hoped Kat was almost out that damn window. “You should’ve just called 911.”

  “You sent me to prison for ten years for a fucking accident, Brunelle!” Carrington shook the knife at Brunelle. “That dude started that fight! He deserved what he got! And I did ten fucking years for it! You think I don’t know you gonna charge me with murder again?”

  Brunelle considered. “Yeah, probably. It’s called ‘controlled substance homicide,’ not murder. But yeah, we would’ve charged you.”

  “Fuck yeah, you would have,” Carrington lowered his voice, but not the knife. “And then I never get out.”

  “So you drag her back here and make it look like a murder. She wasn’t even living here anymore, was she?”

  Carrington cocked his head. “How’d you know that?”

  “The shoes.”

  Carrington frowned. “The shoes? What the fuck about shoes?”

  “Forensics didn’t find any shoes here,” Brunelle answered. “Not even on her feet. She didn’t walk here barefoot, so that means she died someplace else. Somebody—you—brought her here. You slice her throat, blood pours out and it looks like she died from that, and here. Even better, Ginny’s passed out here so you stick the knife in her hand and take off.”

  “Almost,” Carrington answered. “That bitch Ginny woke up when I put the knife in her hand. She still high—totally out of it. She jump up and start all stepping in the blood and shit. Then she seen me by the door, screamed like I was a fucking ghost or something, and take off through the bathroom window.”

  Just as he said that, Kat finally got through the bathroom window. It was pretty high up, though, so when she landed outside, she made a big thump and let out a loud, “Oof!”

  Carrington’s eyes widened. “That bitch went through the window too!”

  Brunelle stepped forward ready to chase Carrington out the door as he ran after Kat. Instead Carrington shoved the knife into Brunelle’s gut.

  “Don’t go nowheres Brunelle,” he said as Brunelle crumpled to the floor. “I’ll be back to kill you after I show your bitch a little Rifle love.”

  Carrington ran out the door after Kat. Brunelle pulled his hands away from his gut; they were covered in blood. Then he heard Kat scream. He smeared bloody handprints down the wall as he forced himself to his feet and struggled to the door. He stopped in the doorframe. He turned and quickly scanned the kitchen counter. Then he snatched a steak knife and headed into the night after Carrington.

  There was no sign of them at first. Kat must have taken off running with Carrington in pursuit. They didn’t run by the door so the most likely direction was along the building and around the corner. As if to confirm this, Brunelle heard a scream come from that direction. He jogged as fast as his injury would let him around the corner. Any doubt he might have had that Kat went that way were dispelled by her broken heel laying in the pothole filled driveway.

  Across the street was a small mini-park, the kind that cities put in when they have an empty lot they want to make look nice. Not room for much of anything except a couple of benches and some trees to block out the streetlights. Perfect place to assault someone.

  Brunelle dragged himself across the street to the edge of the dark.

  “Carrington!” he shouted, then spit out some blood. He tried not to think about all the reasons blood would be coming up into his mouth. “Let her go!”

  There was no response at first, then Carrington’s voice came laughing out of the darkness, “Come and get her!”

  Brunelle nodded grimly. He tightened his grip on his small steak knife, then took a deep, painful breath, and stepped into the gloom.

  It was going to take a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and he didn’t know if he had those few minutes, so Brunelle decided to combine stalling with a game of Marco Polo.

  “Carrington!”

  After a moment. “Come and get her, Brunelle.”

  Ahead and to the right.

  “You haven’t really done anything yet, Carrington,” Brunelle tried. “The toxicology proves it was an overdose. I’ve got no evidence you gave the drugs to her. Without that, I can’t charge it.”

 
; Silence.

  “You panicked, man,” Brunelle went on, yelling into the darkness. “But it’s not too late. Just stop. Just don’t do anything more and you walk.”

  Silence again, for a moment, then laughter. “You still don’t get it, do you, Brunelle?”

  Carrington stepped out from behind a tree a few feet ahead. Brunelle could make out that much. And he didn’t have Kat with him after all. A bluff to coax him into the park. Brunelle couldn’t see the knife but he knew it was there. The thought of it made his gut burn.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Carrington marched toward Brunelle. “That’s all this has ever been about. Killing you.”

  Brunelle stepped back and raised his small knife. He still couldn’t see well, and his gut was on fire. He could feel the blood soaking his shirt and running down his pants. He was just glad Kat had gotten away.

  “I don’t give a fuck about Curly.” Carrington stepped right up to Brunelle.

  “I don’t give a fuck about Ginny.” Brunelle made a weak stab at Carrington but Carrington easily grabbed his wrist.

  “And I don’t give a fuck about that bitch of yours.” Then he shoved his knife right through Brunelle’s forearm.

  Brunelle screamed as his steak knife fell from his hand and he dropped to his knees. He looked up at Carrington and suddenly wished he’d gotten to say goodbye to Kat.

  “Well, his bitch cares about him!” Kat jumped out of the darkness and smashed her bag over Carrington’s head. It sent him tumbling to the ground, his knife still in Brunelle’s arm.

  Carrington was down, but he wasn’t hurt. And he was a lot bigger than Kat. He pushed himself onto one knee and smiled at her. She stood there, crouched like a batter at the plate, her bag ready for another swing.

  “Get out of here, Kat,” Brunelle managed to say through the pain in his arm and stomach.

  Kat looked over at him but before she could say anything, Carrington jumped up and grabbed her by the throat. “You’re pretty, bitch,” he laughed. “We gonna dance once I kill your boyfriend.”

  He spun her around and wrapped his arm across her throat from behind.

  “Hey Brunelle, you wanna watch me dance with your bitch before I kill you?”