A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4)

by Stephen Penner

  “Seems kind of simple,” Halvorson replied. Then she made a whip-cracking noise and gesture.

  “It’s a bit more than that,” Brunelle insisted. He didn’t like the recurrent ribbing, but he liked even less that he was on the outside of the prosecutors’ club. He liked least of all that he had to take it if he wanted Westerly to offer his client a deal. “But that’s okay. I’m hoping maybe we can settle this case and I can get back to Seattle and put on my white hat again.”

  Westerly rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I don’t know, Dave. Your guy murdered his wife. I’m not sure what kind of deal I can give.” He opened his file absently, as if there were some secret documents inside that would tell him exactly what offer to make. And as if he hadn’t already considered it and decided what the offer would be. If he had, it was important that Brunelle talk to him. If he hadn’t, it was even more important.

  Having been reminded of Jessica Edwards, Brunelle tried his best to emulate her. He couldn’t replicate the hair toss, but she’d let it slip once that there were three things she always told the prosecutor during negotiations. First, her guy wasn’t a bad guy; he just made a mistake. Second, it was never going to happen again; he’d taken steps—drug treatment, anger management, whatever—to help him not re-offend. Those two were important because prosecutors were scared to death of cutting a deal to the wrong guy. They didn’t want to end up on the front page because some guy they gave a deal to ended up shooting kids in a park or running over grandma in a crosswalk.

  The third thing was the tricky one. She pointed out the weaknesses in the prosecutor’s case. Gently, fairly, but unequivocally. Prosecutors, you see, were spoiled. They usually won their trials. They were supposed to win. They weren’t supposed to prosecute innocent people, and they had entire police departments doing all their investigation for them, Throw in twelve jurors who don’t want to live in a country where innocent people are prosecuted, and the defendant had almost no chance of an acquittal. So losing stung. Defense attorneys were used to it. Prosecutors were scared to death of it. So show them where their case was weak. Make them sweat a little bit. Make them scared of coming back up to the office and having to tell everyone that the jury acquitted. And do that right after you’ve told them what a great guy your client is and how he’ll never, ever do it again. Really. Pinky promise.

  Thankfully, Halvorson excused herself, and Brunelle went into his pitch. “Look, Jim. I know this seems like a bad case, but let me tell you a little bit more. Maybe some stuff you don’t know. First off, Stephenson isn’t that bad a guy. He’s got no criminal history at all. He’s a professional. And he’s got a great daughter living up in Seattle, who loves the ballet. You like the ballet?”

  Westerly grinned and crossed his arms. “No,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Sorry.”

  Brunelle kept his smile pasted on. “No worries. The point is, he’s never done anything like this before, and he’s not likely ever to do it again. He’s a doctor, a father, a husband—“

  “Ah, see,” Westerly interrupted. “That’s the issue. He’s not a husband. Not anymore. Because he killed his wife. And I’m not too worried about him doing it again, because he’s never getting out again.”

  Hmm, Brunelle frowned. This must be what it’s like for Jessica. Well, she would have pressed forward, so he did too. Parts one and two were only going to go so far in a murder case. Time to move to part three.

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Brunelle said. “He only never gets out again if you convict him as charged. Premeditated murder. But your case isn’t as iron-clad as you made it sound when we first met. I’ve reviewed the reports. There are holes.”

  Westerly’s smile faded. Brunelle hoped that, although he was doing the defense attorney shtick, he might have more credibility given his normal job.

  “What kind of holes?” Westerly asked.

  Okay, good. I’ve got his attention.

  “Well, for one thing, the case is completely circumstantial,” Brunelle started. “He didn’t confess and you have no eye witnesses. You’re piecing it together based on who the most likely suspect is.”

  Westerly shrugged. “Plenty of cases are circumstantial.”

  “Sure they are,” Brunelle agreed, “and a jury will convict on circumstantial evidence if it’s no big deal. If it’s a burglary and the defendant is arrested a few blocks away with the stolen TV. Okay. Fine. They know he’ll get some jail time, but not the biggest crime in the world. But this is a murder case. Even if we don’t tell them what sentence my guy is looking at, they’ll know it’s a lot. Hell, some of them might think it’s a death penalty case, and you and I both know the case law doesn’t let the judge tell them it’s not. So there they are, twelve jurors, faced with the biggest decision anyone could have, and you’re going to tell them my guy did it because, hey, usually the husband does it and he never said he didn’t.”

  Westerly had to laugh. “You know I can’t tell him he lawyered up.”

  “Even better for me,” Brunelle replied. “Your coroner will say she died before the fire. Great. So somebody choked her out, but how do you know it was my guy? It could have been anybody. A burglar, an angry client, a lover.”

  Westerly’s eyebrows shot up. “A lover? You’re going to say she was having an affair and her lover killed her?”

  Brunelle smiled. He was kind of liking this defense attorney gig. “It doesn’t matter what I say. I don’t have to say anything. You have the burden of proof. Can you prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she didn’t have a lover, that she wasn’t killed by that lover?”

  Westerly pressed his fingertips together and tapped the index fingers against his lips. Finally a smile unfurled across his face. “I’ll tell you what. I’m not buying your jilted lover story, but you have a point about your guy having no history and likely never doing anything like this again. I’ll offer a Murder Two and Arson One. He pleads to both of those, he’ll be eligible for parole after twenty-five years.”

  Brunelle suppressed his own smile. Jessica’s little spiel had worked. At least in part. Brunelle knew Westerly had most likely walked in that morning willing to make the Murder Two offer, but that didn’t mean he was just going to do it. Sometimes you just don’t make deals—at least not until the defense attorney points out the weaknesses in your case. And Brunelle thought it was a pretty fair offer. Probably exactly what he would have offered.

  “I’ll talk to my client,” Brunelle said.

  “Good,” Westerly replied. “The offer’s open for one week. If he turns it down, then we’re going to trial on the Murder One and he can die in prison.”

  “Understood,” Brunelle answered. Then he smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. I can be pretty persuasive sometimes.”

  Chapter 9

  “No. Fuck no. No fucking way.” Jeremy pounded a fist on the shelf of the consultation room. “I’m not pleading guilty to murder. I’m not pleading guilty to anything. I didn’t do anything!”

  Well, fuck, thought Brunelle. This wasn’t going to go well after all.

  “It’s a fair offer,” Brunelle said. “Probably what I would have offered.”

  “Well, fuck you too, then.” Jeremy was furious. “You’re not a prosecutor any more, Brunelle. Not on this case. You’re a defense lawyer. You’re my defense lawyer. So get it through your thick head: I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything. And I’m not pleading guilty to anything.”

  Brunelle frowned and leaned back in his chair.

  “Understood?” Jeremy pressed.

  Brunelle didn’t like being pressed. He grinned and leaned forward. “Understood. Perfectly. No deals. Fine. It’s not my ass that’s looking at life in prison. But I understand where you’re coming from. I’ve been doing this a while. I throw around numbers like ‘twenty-five years’ as if they don’t mean anything to anyone. But I hear you. You’re innocent. Good. That makes my job easier. But there are plenty of innocent people in prison, Jeremy. So if this doesn’t work out, and you do get l
ife, I want you to remember this offer and that is was you, not me, that turned it down.”

  “Fine.” Jeremy waved an angry hand at him. “I’ll remember.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence for several seconds as each man got lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Jeremy said, “Do you believe me?”

  “About what?” Brunelle asked.

  “About being innocent. Do you believe I’m innocent?”

  Brunelle thought for a few moments, holding his chin in his hand. He sighed. “Yeah, I do. Not that it matters. You could tell me you were guilty and exactly how you did it, and I’ll still do my job. But yes, damn it, I believe you.”

  Jeremy visibly relaxed in his chair. Then he smiled. “Why ‘damn it’?”

  “Because there would be a lot less stress if you were guilty,” Brunelle admitted. “Sitting next a man who might go to prison for the rest of his life is bad enough. Sitting next to an innocent man who might go to prison for the rest of his life? Now, that’s stress.”

  “I can think of something more stressful,” Jeremy said.

  “Oh yeah? What?”

  “Being that innocent man.”

  Brunelle nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  They sat in silence for a few more moments. Then Brunelle sat up a bit straighter and leaned onto his own little shelf. “I’m going to have to do some research. I’m going to talk to people and ask questions. If you’re right about your partner, that’s something I’m going to have to pursue, even if it’s embarrassing. I’m going to make some people uncomfortable, maybe even mad. That’s probably a good thing, but I need to know, before I go wading into that, I need to know the truth. About everything.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Okay.”

  “So, I believe you when you say you’re innocent,” Brunelle repeated. “But is there anything else I should know? Anything you’ve kept secret or hidden that impacts this case in any way? Because I don’t want to be surprised by anything.”

  Jeremy looked down and thought for several long moments. Finally, he looked up again. “No. There’s nothing else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  And so was Brunelle. Of two things. Jeremy Stephenson was in fact innocent. And he was still lying.

  Chapter 10

  “I don’t know, Kat,” Brunelle said into his cell phone that night as he sat propped up on his hotel bed, the TV tuned to the sports channel and muted. “I can’t put my finger on it. But there’s something not quite right. The prosecution’s case theory is bullshit—you don’t murder your wife and burn down her studio just because you run out of money—but I can’t seem to figure out what our case theory should be.”

  “Case theory?” Kat laughed over the phone. “You are such a fucking lawyer sometimes. How about the truth is your case theory?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” Brunelle answered. “I don’t know what the truth is. If I’m going to tell the jury Jeremy didn’t do it, they’re damn well gonna want to know who did. So I need to get them another suspect, but I don’t have an entire police department to find one for me. This defense attorney thing kinda sucks.”

  Another laugh. “I don’t know, David. You seem to be having a pretty good time, all things considered. Matt better watch out or he’ll be trying cases against you when you get back to Seattle.”

  “Not likely,” Brunelle replied. “Although that reminds me. I should check in with him tomorrow. Just to see how things are going. I don’t want them to forget about me.”

  “Mmm, don’t worry, Mr. Brunelle,” Kat purred. “You’re pretty unforgettable.”

  Brunelle felt his heart quicken. “Oh. Well. Wow. Thanks. You too.” Then he thought for a moment. “You home alone tonight?”

  “Mm-hmm,” came another low purr. “Lizzy’s spending the night at a friend’s. So I’m all alone and missing you. You’ve been gone too long.”

  And for the first time since he’d arrived in California, Brunelle felt homesick. Well, something-sick anyway. “You’re killing me. Maybe I should fly home tonight or something.”

  Kat laughed. “Tonight? No, don’t hurry. By the time you got here, I will have taken matters into my own hands anyway.”

  Brunelle groaned. “You’re coming back again soon, right?”

  “Yeah. Two weeks. If it’s bad now, think how bad it’ll be in thirteen days.”

  Brunelle didn’t want to think about that.

  “But,” Kat said, “think how great it’ll be on day number fourteen.”

  Now that was something Brunelle was glad to think about. He smiled and enjoyed his racing heart. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” Kat replied. Then, “It’s getting late. I should go. And you should get some rest. I can tell you’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”

  Brunelle shrugged. “I have plans, but I’m not sure how big they are.”

  “What are your plans, Mr. Brunelle? I want to know what you’re doing while I’m carving into a day’s worth of dead bodies.”

  Brunelle laughed despite the darkness of the comment. Or maybe because of it. Being a homicide prosecutor could screw with your head. It was nice to have someone even more screwed.

  “I have a phone call to make,” he answered. “And then some people to visit.”

  “Sounds mysterious,” Kat said. “Think of me.”

  “I will,” Brunelle answered. And he definitely wasn’t lying.

  Chapter 11

  “Matt Duncan.” Brunelle’s boss answered the phone with his usual amicability. It reminded Brunelle to be grateful he had a boss he could also call a friend.

  “Hey, Matt. It’s Dave. Just checking in.”

  Brunelle was still in his hotel room. He’d slept through the hotel’s breakfast. He was usually an early riser—or at least didn’t usually sleep too late—but he’d had trouble getting to sleep after hearing that purr in Kat’s voice. To make up for the late start, he began his day with the one thing he could do while he was still in his t-shirt and boxers.

  “Well, that’s nice of you,” Duncan replied. “But no need. Everything’s under control.”

  Brunelle was glad to hear that. Mostly. It would have been okay to be missed a little bit too. “Oh yeah? Well. That’s good. How’s Yamata holding up?”

  “Great,” Duncan enthused. “Fantastic. What was that word you used to describe her?”

  Brunelle winced. “Exquisite,” he nearly groaned.

  “Yeah,” Duncan agreed. “Exquisite. She’s really taken the bull by the horns. She worked up every case, even got a few things done that you hadn’t quite gotten to yet.”

  Brunelle felt stung. And a little embarrassed. “Hadn’t gotten to yet? Like what?”

  “Oh, nothing major, Dave. Don’t worry. Just little things. Like one case needed a witness list filed. Stuff like that, you know?”

  He did know. But he didn’t like people correcting his work. She was supposed to be baby-sitting them, not taking them over. “Which case?”

  “I’m not sure,” Duncan replied. “She said it was coming up for trial next month, but subpoenas hadn’t gone out yet, so I gave the okay to do up the witness list.”

  “McAllister,” Brunelle guessed the defendant’s name. He knew which case was coming up for trial next month. He also knew why he hadn’t done subpoenas yet.

  “Yeah, I think that was it,” Duncan confirmed. “The McAllister case.”

  “Well, see, that one’s going to settle,” Brunelle felt compelled to explain. “His lawyer accepted the Murder Two offer. We just haven’t set the plea date yet.”

  “Oh, okay,” Duncan answered. “Well, Yamata didn’t seem to know that. Maybe McAllister changed his mind. Anyway, she felt there was a need to send out a witness list and subpoenas, so I okayed it.”

  Brunelle surrendered a begrudging nod, a gesture entirely worthless over the telephone.

  “But, yes, anyway,” Duncan filled up the ensuing silence, “she’s doing a bang up job. I
may even let her keep a case or two when you get back.”

  Brunelle was too stunned to protest immediately. Take my cases?

  Duncan took advantage of his hesitation by turning the conversation. “You are coming back, right? You haven’t fallen in love with the dark side or anything, have you?”

  Brunelle laughed. “Oh, no. No chance of that. Your friend Dombrowski made sure of that.”

  “Uh-oh,” Duncan replied. “For the record, he wasn’t really a friend. More like an acquaintance. What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s just a true believer is all,” Brunelle replied. “He told me every prosecutor in San Francisco is dirty.”

  “Just San Francisco?” Duncan laughed.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure he thinks you and I are dirty too, but he was polite enough not to say anything.”

  “I bet they knew you were a prosecutor the moment you stepped in their office,” Duncan said.

  Or a sex offender. “I bet you’re right.” Then, to steer away from that particular embarrassing memory, Brunelle said, “You know what really sucks about being a defense attorney?”

  “Defending guilty people?” Duncan ventured.

  “Well, I’m telling myself that I don’t have that particular problem,” Brunelle replied. “No, what really sucks is not having the entire police department to do whatever follow up investigation I want done.”

  “So do it yourself,” Duncan answered. “You know how the game works. Besides, you’re still really a prosecutor. Turn on that good guy charm and they’ll be helping you anyway. Especially if your guy really is innocent.”

  There was silence for a few seconds as Brunelle considered the advice. But Duncan followed up with the other part of his statement.

  “Is he really innocent, Dave?”

  That mattered. It mattered to Duncan. He was a prosecutor. And it mattered to Brunelle. Present circumstances notwithstanding, he was a prosecutor too.

  Brunelle shrugged. “I hope so, Matt. I hope so.”