Accomplice Liability

by Stephen Penner

  But Edwards popped to her feet too. “Dave, wait. Give me a moment with my client. This is the first time he’s ever done something like this. Let me remind him to be polite.”

  “Remind him what he’s looking at,” Brunelle responded. “And remind him that a jury is gonna believe Amanda Ashford a thousand percent more than him, especially if he cops that kind of attitude on the stand. I can’t use a witness who’s an asshole, and I’m not working with someone who disrespects me while he’s sitting in handcuffs.”

  Edwards nodded. “Got it. Give me five minutes. Three. Three minutes. There’s just a couple things I need to explain better. Three minutes.”

  Brunelle took a moment, then answered, “Take as long as you need. We’re only doing this once. If you can’t get through to him now, there won’t be a later.”

  Edwards nodded some more. “Right. Got it. I only need three minutes.”

  The two sides broke back into their separate huddles. Brunelle could hear Edwards saying something about ‘thin skin’ and ‘prosecutors’ egos.’

  “I got other stuff to do too,” Jackson said. “If this jackass just wants to posture, I say we cut it off now.”

  “This is the biggest thing on my plate, by far,” Carlisle offered. “Whatever you need from me, I’m on it. I think we give him one more chance.”

  Before Brunelle could offer his thoughts, Edwards called out, “Okay, Dave. I think we have this worked out.”

  The prosecution team returned to the table and Edwards pointed to the voice recorder, which Chen had turned off before they’d broken back into their huddles. “That’s off, right?” Edwards asked. When Chen nodded, Edwards continued, “Look, before we got here, I explained to Mr. Wilkins that whatever he said would go out to the other defendants. He was just trying to sound tough, for them. I explained why that was a bad idea. That his audience is you guys, and the jury, not his codefendants. I think he gets that now, don’t you, Nate?”

  Wilkins nodded, a bit stiffly. “Yeah. I haven’t done this before. I’m not used to working with cops. But I get it now. I’ll be polite.”

  “Polite is good,” Brunelle agreed. “And honest is even better.”

  Chen turned the recorder back on, then looked Wilkins straight in the eye. “Who shot Derrick Shanborn?”

  Wilkins held Chen’s gaze. “Elmer Hernandez.”

  Brunelle nodded and glanced at Carlisle, who returned the nod.

  But Wilkins wasn’t done. “And Lindsey Fuller,” he said.

  Brunelle snapped back to look at Wilkins. Before he could interrupt, Wilkins went on, “And me. All three of us shot him.”

  Brunelle had too many questions running through his head to grab any one of them to pose to Wilkins. Luckily, Chen was more expert at interrogations. “You all shot him? What does that even mean? Who pulled the trigger?”

  “Each of us did,” Wilkins answered. “Burner shot first. Then he gave the gun to me and told me to shoot him. I did. Then he took the gun from me and gave it to Lindsey and told her to shoot him too.”

  There was a pause as Brunelle and his team tried to understand. “Why?” Brunelle asked. “Why didn’t Hernandez just shoot him three times himself?”

  “He wanted us all in on it,” Wilkins answered. “So we wouldn’t do what I’m doing right now, snitching him out.”

  Brunelle turned to Edwards. “Jess, I can’t give a deal to one of the shooters. You know that.”

  But Edwards raised a calming hand. “Listen to everything he has to say, Dave. He didn’t fire the kill shot. Hernandez did that. Nate fired into a dead body. That’s not murder.”

  “Maybe not,” Brunelle replied. “But how do I know he didn’t fire a kill shot? Any of those wounds could have been fatal. And it’s not like they initialed their individual entrance wounds. Of course your guy says he didn’t fire the kill shot.”

  Chen stepped in. “Why don’t we go ahead and start from the beginning? Let’s hear everything he has to say. You can decide later whether to believe it.”

  “Sounds good,” Edwards was quick to reply.

  Carlisle added an agreeable shrug. But Brunelle wasn’t so sure. Jackson was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, staring straight through Wilkins.

  Brunelle decided to defer to the judgment of his lead detective—and friend. “Fine. We’ll do what Detective Chen says.”

  Chen nodded and turned his attention back to Wilkins. “Okay, tell us the whole story. From the top.”

  Wilkins nodded. “Okay. It’s pretty simple. Burner is one of the biggest heroin dealers in town. Lake City is his territory. I help him with the operation. I keep track of the shipments and the sales and the inventory. I know what’s coming in and what’s going out. I know all the junkies and how much they spend and how long it’s been since their last hit. He trusts me.

  “You run an operation like that, you get to know lots of different people, especially junkies. Most of them are losers, but a few of them are cool and Burner might let them hang out with us. Especially if they were girls. Burner likes pretty girls. He liked Amanda and he liked Lindsey. Lindsey and Josh were kind of boyfriend-girlfriend, so Burner put up with Josh too. And Sammy is Burner’s old lady. She put up with Burner looking at the other girls because she liked being important. Nothing more important than being queen to the king.

  “Derrick was another user that Burner liked to keep around. I don’t know why. He didn’t have a hot girlfriend or anything. Burner just liked him. He thought he was funny, I guess. And whatever, he was cool enough. But then we found out Derrick had turned snitch. The cops were always trying to catch Burner. Part of my job was to make sure that didn’t happen. They’d do surveillance on us, but I’d do surveillance on them too. And then one day I saw Derrick talking with a cop. He was doing a controlled buy for him. I watched the cop give him some cash, then he went into one of the local drug houses. He came back out a few minutes later with a baggie of drugs and gave them to the cop. Classic method. And I knew that cops would have their informants do two or three controlled buys to establish credibility before sending the snitch after the real target. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know the real target was Burner.

  “I told Burner right away. And it was pretty obvious what needed to be done. But it wasn’t enough to just kill him. Burner wanted to send a message. He wanted everyone to know what happened to anyone who even thought about selling him out.

  “But Derrick wasn’t totally stupid either. He musta known Burner might find out. So instead of Burner inviting him over, we had Amanda do it. Everyone knew he wanted to fuck Amanda. He was always talking about how hot she was. And she loved it. She liked being the pretty girl. So she called him, told him Burner and Sammy were out and we were partying at Burner’s place. He came running.

  “But when he walked inside, Burner was waiting for him. I locked the door and then it was on. Amanda was telling him how stupid he was. Lindsey was laughing at him. He dropped to his knees and tried to explain. He said the cop was helping him get clean and sending him off to Wyoming or something. But he said he was just leading the cop on, he was never really gonna turn Burner in. And Burner just stood over him, staring at him, not saying anything. Josh was in the corner, high as a kite, laughing like crazy. And Sammy was standing right behind Burner, just shaking her head.

  “When Derrick finished explaining, he just started begging for his life. He was like, ‘I swear, Burner. I’d never snitch you out. I just need to get clean and that cop said he’d help me. But I was never gonna turn on you. Never, Burner. You gotta believe me.’

  “But Burner didn’t say anything. He just put his hand out like this,” Wilkins extended a hand, palm up, “and Sammy went and got his gun. Derrick started crying and begging. Amanda was yelling, ‘Shoot him! Shoot him!’ And Josh was still laughing like a lunatic. Burner told him to stand up. Derrick did. He started to beg again. ‘Please, Burner, please.’ And then Burner just shot him in the chest.

  “He fell against the
wall and slumped to the floor. Burner handed the gun to me and told me to shoot him too. So I shot him once in the stomach. Then he gave the gun to Lindsey too. I don’t know why her. I guess ‘cause she was the closest one standing there. Josh had stopped laughing, but he was way too high to give a gun to. Burner told Lindsey to shoot too. She did. I don’t even know where. And then it was over.

  “Burner told Amanda and Lindsey and Josh to clean up. We waited ‘til it was really late, then me and Burner loaded the body down to my car, and we dumped it behind the gas station.

  “Everybody knew Derrick and everybody would know what happens to anyone who turned snitch on Burner.”

  Brunelle nodded. “Like you just did,” he observed.

  Wilkins shrugged. “Like I said, I know I’m going to prison. But I’ll be dammed if I go because Amanda fucking Ashford was smart enough to go to the cops first. And I didn’t kill him. Burner did. I’ll plead guilty to what I did, but what I did wasn’t murder.”

  There was a long silence as everyone considered the story that had just been presented. Finally, Edwards spoke up. “Well? What do you think, Dave?”

  Brunelle leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and ran his hands through his short, graying hair. After several moments, he exhaled and leaned forward again. “As long as we’re all supposed to be honest here. I don’t know what to think.”

  Chapter 17

  “It’s just like Murder on the Orient Express!” Carlisle enthused after the proffer was over and Edwards and Wilkins had departed.

  Brunelle thought for a moment. “I’m trying to remember that episode.”

  “Episode?” Chen practically spat. “It’s a book.”

  “I know it’s a book,” Brunelle defended,” but they also made a series for PBS.”

  “It was for the BBC,” Carlisle corrected. “PBS just aired it in the American market.”

  Chen shook his head and placed a hand on Brunelle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gwen,” he said. “Dave comes across as cultured and refined, but it’s all for show. He doesn’t even read books.”

  “When did I say I didn’t read books?” Brunelle demanded as he pushed Chen’s hand off his shoulder.

  “When you said Murder on the Orient Express was an episode,” Carlisle joked.

  Brunelle took a moment to ground himself. “Fine. Excuse me for enjoying quality television. Luckily, I prefer to watch TV alone, because I can assure you I’m never going to invite either of you over to enjoy the dulcet tones of David Suchet’s fake Belgian accent.”

  “Now, don’t be hasty, David,” Carlisle said. “I can be quite the Masterpiece Theatre maven. I would add to the experience, I assure you.”

  Brunelle forgot all about David Suchet. He wasn’t sure what to say. Chen knew to step in.

  “Murder on the Orient Express,” he said. “Twelve suspects, each with motive and opportunity to kill the victim. Impossible to exclude any of them.”

  “Because, it turns out,” Carlisle continued, “they all stabbed him. One after another.”

  “All of them were guilty,” Chen said.

  “So in a way, none of them were,” Carlisle concluded.

  But Brunelle was still feeling petulant. “Bullshit. They were all guilty. I would have charged them all.”

  “I’m not sure you’d have jurisdiction in Belgium,” Carlisle quipped. “Or whatever country they were passing through.”

  “Still, it’s stupid,” Brunelle groused. “Spreading the blame doesn’t eliminate it. It’s just more people to put in prison.”

  Carlisle exchanged a concerned glance with Chen. “It’s just a story, Dave.”

  Brunelle nodded, trying to force his mood to lift, but not trying too hard. “So was Wilkins’ proffer. Just a story. And not any more believable than a train full of people conspiring to murder some old bastard they all hate. We can’t call Wilkins as a prosecution witness. Not only won’t the jury believe him, but they’ll think we’re idiots for buying it. How do we explain cutting a deal to Wilkins but not Hernandez when the only difference between them is who shot first?”

  Carlisle didn’t have an answer ready.

  Jackson did. “There is no difference. They all shot him, so they all go down. Don’t put Wilkins on the stand.”

  Brunelle nodded. He knew the decision was ultimately the lawyers’ decision, not the detectives’, but he couldn’t disagree with Jackson. Still, it wasn’t that simple. “We’re still short on eyewitnesses,” he pointed out.

  “Better too few eyewitnesses,” Jackson responded, “than one who’s a liar.”

  They fell silent for a few moments as they each considered the situation in their own heads. Finally, Chen spoke up.

  “I’d love to stay and discuss strategy,” he said, glancing at his watch. “but it’s after five and Mrs. Chen has plans for me this evening. She signed us up for a cooking class at some new kitchen supply store in Belltown.”

  “That sounds like fun!” Carlisle said. Brunelle just shrugged.

  “Evie thinks so,” Chen said. “And that makes it fun for me too.”

  Carlisle smiled at that. Brunelle didn’t. But he did manage to say, “Thanks for your help today, Larry. You too, Tim. Gwen and I will talk it over and let you know how we want to proceed.”

  Chen offered a “Sounds good” and departed with Jackson, who was already teasing him about going to a cooking class instead of the bar after work. When they were gone, Carlisle looked at her own watch. “Hey, why don’t we talk it over while it’s still fresh in our heads? It’s basically dinner time. I’m not looking for a cooking class, but there is this new Vietnamese place I’ve been wanting to try. What do you say?”

  Brunelle wasn’t sure what to say. He had planned on wallowing a bit longer. But dinner with Gwen...?

  “I promise I won’t tease you about your reading habits,” she promised. “Or anything else. I forgot, men don’t like being teased by women. I should have known better. Detective Chen started it, but you guys are both dudes and have obviously been friends for a long time. I should have stayed out of it. Sorry.”

  Brunelle frowned slightly. There was a lot in that outburst of words. He wasn’t sure he understood or agreed with it all. But he decided he didn’t need to. What mattered was the spirit in which it was offered. “Apology accepted,” he said. “And your invitation is accepted too. Dinner sounds great.”

  They headed for the door. As Brunelle turned off the lights in the conference room, he asked, “So where’s this Vietnamese place?”

  Carlisle smiled broadly. It didn’t produce a dimple in her cheek, but a twinkle flashed in her eye. “Lake City.”

  Chapter 18

  Brunelle drove. But mostly so Carlisle could look for a restaurant on her phone.

  “There’s no Vietnamese restaurant in Lake City, is there?” Brunelle asked.

  “I dunno. Probably,” Carlisle answered. “I’m still looking.”

  “I mean, the dinner invitation. That was just a lie to get us out to Lake City so we could look at the crime scene, right?”

  “I prefer the term ‘ruse,’“ Carlisle grinned.

  Brunelle laughed. “Yeah, that’s what the detectives call it when they tell the suspect they have his DNA and fingerprints all over the crime scene, when really they don’t have shit. If they had his DNA and fingerprints, they wouldn’t be working so hard for the confession.”

  “Just like our case,” Carlisle observed.

  “I suppose so,” Brunelle admitted with a shrug. Then he changed the subject. “Does it matter if it’s Vietnamese?”

  “Uh, I guess not,” Carlisle answered. “I just kind of had a craving.”

  On the ‘guess not,’ Brunelle turned suddenly into a tiny, unevenly paved parking lot. His car bounced as he completed the turn and pulled into the one open parking stall in front of the run-down store front. “This Thai place doesn’t look like much, but the food is pretty good,” Brunelle explained. Then he pointed to the gas station acros
s the street. “And we have a great view of where the body was dumped. That is why we’re here, right?”

  Carlisle smiled. “That’s part of it.” Then she opened the car door and stepped out.

  Brunelle took a moment, then followed suit.

  * * *

  The food wasn’t all that good after all, and the tables were almost as sticky as the glasses, but the prices were cheap and they managed to get some food in their stomachs before heading out into the night to explore the crime scene. The sun hadn’t quite set yet, so the increasing darkness was being held at bay by both the glow on the horizon and the streetlights that had just turned on. A light rain had started as well, but not enough for a Seattleite to bother with an umbrella. Brunelle turned up his overcoat collar. Carlisle just put her hands in her pockets.

  “So that’s where they dumped the body?” Carlisle asked as they walked past Brunelle’s car and toward the crosswalk a few storefronts away. Lake City Way was too busy of a street to risk jaywalking, especially in growing dark and rain.

  “Yeah, there’s a ditch behind the parking lot,” Brunelle answered. “It was pretty obvious he’d been rolled down the hill, probably straight out of somebody’s trunk.”

  “That’s great that you got to see it in person that night, instead of just looking at photographs later,” Carlisle said. “Wish I could have been here too.”

  Brunelle supposed that would have been good. “Well, I bet you’ll be doing more homicides soon enough. Then you can get a two a.m. phone call and have to trade a warm bed for a cold body.”

  Carlisle chuckled. “Beats sharing a bed with a cold body. Been there done that. A rainy ditch might be preferable.”

  Brunelle took a moment to decide whether to follow up on that bit of too-much-information. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in who had been sharing her bed, or why he was so cold. It was more that he was enjoying her company and working with her. For some reason, he didn’t want to rush into ruining that just yet. Maybe he was protecting the case. Not a good idea to co-chair a case with someone he was sleeping with. Even worse if it went sideways fast and he had to co-chair the case with an ex-lover. And if it went that bad that fast, it would have been something really terrible, probably embarrassing, maybe involving broken furniture and industrial solvents.