TRIBAL COURT
David Brunelle Legal Thriller #2
Stephen Penner
Published by
Ring of Fire Publishing
Tribal Court
©2013 Stephen Penner. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity with real persons or events is purely coincidental. Persons, events, and locations are either the product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Cover images by B. Franklin and Sascha Burkard.
Cover design by Stephen Penner.
DAVID BRUNELLE LEGAL THRILLERS
Presumption of Innocence
Tribal Court
By Reason of Insanity
A Prosecutor for the Defense
Substantial Risk
Corpus Delicti (coming 2014)
Case Theory (Short Story)
Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (Short Story)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
Preview: By Reason of Insanity
About the Author
TRIBAL COURT
It is a defense to a charge of murder that the homicide was justifiable.
The State has the burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that the homicide was not justifiable. If you find that the State has not proved the absence of this defense beyond a reasonable doubt, it will be your duty to return a verdict of not guilty.
—State of Washington Pattern Criminal Jury Instruction 16.01
Chapter 1
"Don't you hate it when the victim kinda deserved it?"
Seattle Police detective Larry Chen crossed his thick arms under his police-issue raincoat and looked to his friend for a reply. Dave Brunelle, King County homicide prosecutor, didn't look up from the dead body splayed at their feet. Instead he nodded and pushed his hands deeper into his own raincoat—thrown on at one in the morning when he got Chen's call.
"Just try not to say that on the stand," he said.
The murder victim was a man, late forties, overweight, and most definitely dead. His blood glistened black in the cracks between the cobblestones of Founder's Park in Seattle's Pioneer Square district. He was on his back, arms sprawled, shirt cut away by the same paramedics who left behind the adhesive chest pads they'd used to attempt resuscitation despite the multiple stab wounds to his chest. The rain was coating his face in droplets that trickled into his ear and the folds of his neck. He lay at the base of the plaza's 56-foot totem pole, like an offering to the spirits represented in the carvings, their faces made all the more grotesque by the forensic team's floodlights and the red and blue strobe of the cop cars clogging the narrow streets surrounding the square.
"So why did he deserve it?" Brunelle asked, more concerned with the potential jury nullification issues than the justness of the man's death. "Was it self defense?"
"No," Chen was quick to answer. "Witnesses said there was an argument, but nothing physical until the killer pulled out the knife and stuck it into our guy's chest."
Chen extracted his notebook from his damp pocket. "It's not what he did. It's who he was."
Brunelle finally looked up from the corpse. "Who was he?"
"George Traver," Chen read from the latest page of his running notebook. "Child molester. Registered sex offender. Failed to update his registration six months ago. Last known address was a trailer down near Tacoma. Had a warrant out for that, plus two more for shoplifting and drunk in public."
"Ah," replied Brunelle, wiping some rain from his nose. "Still, not exactly worthy of a knife in the chest."
"He was the suspect in two more child luring and indecent exposure cases."
"Okay," Brunelle agreed. "That might do it. Kind of a community service killing, huh?"
"Exactly," Chen confirmed.
Brunelle peered around the plaza. It was almost closing time. Intoxicated gawkers stumbled past the crime scene tape trying to get a glimpse of what lay at the base of the totem pole. "So where was he living?"
"He was homeless," Chen answered. "Sleeping on benches downtown mostly."
"Probably why he didn't register," Brunelle observed.
"Probably," Chen agreed, "although they're allowed to register as 'homeless.'"
Brunelle frowned. "I always thought that was stupid. It kind of defeats the purpose"
"Sure does."
"So, who's our suspect?" Brunelle asked. He needed a suspect before he could get involved. Unsolved would mean no defendant to charge. "Another homeless guy?"
"Nope, the homeless guys liked him," Chen answered. "I sent two patrol guys to interview some of them. Most scattered, but the few who stayed said ol' George here was a great guy. Salt of the earth."
"I'm sure," Brunelle scoffed. "What's the suspect description?"
Chen looked down at his notepad. "Male, twenty-something, Hispanic or Native."
"Wow, not very helpful," Brunelle observed. "That describes about twenty-five percent of the people in Pioneer Square tonight."
"Maybe," Chen shrugged, "if you include Hispanics. But if you limit it to Natives, then it's probably one, maybe two percent."
It was Brunelle's turn to shrug. "And if we reduce it to Native men with one testicle and a prosthetic elbow, we can really start to narrow it down."
Chen cocked his head at his friend. "One testicle?"
Brunelle threw up his hands. "I'm just saying, you can always narrow it down. Why would you limit the description just to Natives if the witnesses said Native or Hispanic?"
Chen looked down at the lifeless body before them. "Our victim is Native."
Brunelle pursed his lips. "I don't see why that matters. It's not like murder stays in one race. If somebody killed you, I wouldn't assume the murderer was Chinese."
Chen smirked. "You should. If I wind up murdered, you can be pretty sure it was my wife."
"Oh yeah?" Brunelle laughed.
"Yeah," Chen laughed too, but it faded and he shoved his hands in his pockets. He pushed a foot out toward the dead man splayed out at the base of the totem pole. "You gotta know someone to hate them enough to kill them."
A set of fingernails dug into Brunelle's back. "Hey there, Mr. Brunelle," came a sweet female voice from behind him. Assistant Medical Examiner Kat Anderson had arrived. She pulled her nails down the length of Brunelle's back as she walked past him. "Lo
ng time, no call."
Brunelle stiffened at the voice, then relaxed slightly as she passed him and knelt next to the corpse. He knew she was right. "Yeah," he offered. "Sorry about that. Been busy."
She turned and smiled at him. Her smile held warmth, but other thoughts too. "Of course you have. Me too."
She returned to her examination of the murder victim. She wore a long raincoat that covered her curves, but the hood was pushed back, leaving her black hair and soft face exposed to the rain. He supposed her knees were getting wet and cold from the rain-drenched cobblestones. He remembered the last time they'd really talked and he regretted not having called her since then. Their last case together had ended badly. Or at least, it had almost ended badly, and he'd been reluctant to draw Kat, or her daughter, into danger again. He knew he'd been distant for the right reasons; he just didn't know if she knew it.
"A-hem," Chen cleared his throat. Then he took Brunelle by the elbow. "Why don't we step over here and discuss next steps."
Brunelle looked up sharply, then nodded. He allowed Chen to lead him toward the street. "Right. Next steps. What are the next steps?"
"The next steps are you stepping away from her while she does her job," Chen said. "I thought you two were an item or something, but it sure doesn't seem like it now."
Brunelle shrugged. "I think maybe we were going to be, but I haven't followed up. I don't like what happened on the Karpati case. I don't want to let that happen again."
Chen looked over his shoulder at Anderson. She had pulled on her latex gloves and was palpating the corpse's neck. "I'm pretty sure she can take care of herself."
Brunelle looked too. He sighed. "Yeah, I know."
"Maybe this has more to do with you," Chen started, but before he could say more, Anderson stood up and stepped over to them.
"No mysteries here," she announced as she pulled her gloves off. "Two stab wounds. One to the stomach, ruptured his small intestine. That would have been survivable, with prompt medical intervention, but the second one was directly to his heart. I'll need to do a full autopsy to determine where exactly it struck, but he was dead as soon as the blade went in."
"Sounds intentional," Brunelle replied.
"Maybe even premeditated," Anderson answered. "Murder one?"
Brunelle allowed a grin. "That's what we'll charge. Just don't let Larry on the stand. He thinks it's justifiable."
Anderson cocked her head at the detective. The motion sent rain drops cascading off her thick hair. Brunelle wished he hadn't noticed, and pretended the sight didn't send his heart racing.
"Justifiable?" she asked.
Chen shrugged. "Community service killing. Guy was a child molester."
Anderson frowned. She looked back at the body. "Did I say murder? I meant suicide. Obvious suicide."
Brunelle shook his head and laughed. "Great. Lead detective says it's justified and the M.E. says it's suicide. No way I get a conviction now."
"Lighten up," Chen slapped his back. "You need a defendant first anyway. Hopefully one that's even worse that ol' George there."
Just then a patrol officer hurried over to them. "We located the suspect," she announced. "Down on Alaska Way. Still had the blood on his hands. They're taking him to the precinct right now."
Chen turned to Brunelle. "You coming to watch the interrogation?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he answered, both relieved and saddened to have an excuse to escape from Kat.
Chapter 2
"Fuck you."
Johnny Quilcene sat defiantly in his plastic chair. He probably would have crossed his arms and leaned back with a grin, but his hands were cuffed behind him so he could only offer a slouch to go with his shit-eating grin.
"Nice language," Chen replied evenly. He was seated opposite Quilcene. Next to him was Emily Lassiter, one of the newer detectives. Normally she did property crimes, but it was three in the morning and it was a murder. All hands on deck. Good experience for her and someone to play bad cop to Chen's good.
"Let me explain a few things to you, Johnny," Chen went on. "Then maybe we can reach an understanding."
"Fuck you," Quilcene repeated. The grin turned into a scowl. Almost menacing, Brunelle thought as he watched the proceedings through an obvious two-way mirror with the adjoining room.
Quilcene was young. Nineteen. Shaved head with a bit of black stubble showing. Thin, but wiry. And a nose that wasn't exactly big, but came to a pronounced point. He had tattoos up both arms and some script Brunelle couldn't quite make out crawling around his neck. There was no teardrop tattoo yet—the badge of honor for murderers—but Brunelle had no doubt he'd earned himself one a few hours earlier. The most important tattoo was the one they couldn't see, but was on the information sheet from his last booking: "NGB" across his chest. Native Gangster Blood. He was a member of the Blood gang, a set that was exclusively Native American and centered primarily around the Duwallup tribe near Tacoma. The same tribe George 'Child Molester' Traver was a member of.
"Right," Chen replied. "Fuck you too. Now, let's get to it…"
Quilcene jerked his head at Chen's reply. Chen had his attention. Good.
"We know Traver was a dirt bag," Chen continued. "Honestly, between you, me, and the wall, I'm glad he's gone. One less child rapist I gotta track down and waste a jail bed on, ya know? So really, I'm just looking to wrap this up. He had three active warrants, including some pretty sick stuff. I dunno, maybe you knew this guy. Knew he was a child molester, and maybe worse. Maybe he comes at you in the dark and you figure he's gonna rape you too. I dunno. But maybe you pull out that nice little knife you left behind—"
"With your fingerprints," Lassiter interrupted.
"You don't got no fingerprints back yet, bitch," Quilcene sneered. "Those fingerprint dudes are fat fuckers sitting at a desk all day. I seen 'em testify before. They ain't up at three in the fucking morning checking no fucking fingerprints."
Brunelle smiled. Quilcene was an asshole, but he was right.
Lassiter bristled, but Chen kept going.
"She's just saying what we all know. There's probably prints on that knife handle, and if there are, they're probably yours. And Johnny, that's bad news for you."
"And bad news for you if no fingerprints come back," Quilcene countered. "Why don't we just wait and see what bullshit evidence you think you got on me before you start saying you got my fingerprints on the fucking murder weapon and shit."
Chen rubbed his chin. "Well, that's just it, Johnny. Waiting is bad for you."
"Really bad," Lassiter tried. She was new to the game. It was showing.
Brunelle rolled his eyes and hoped Chen could overcome Lassiter's rookie performance.
Quilcene shifted in his seat. His eyes darted from Chen to Lassiter and back again. He was clearly thinking, but he wasn't saying anything.
"Waiting is bad for you," Chen repeated. "This is your chance, Johnny. Your one chance to come clean and tell us your side of the story.
At that, a grin replaced the concern that was starting to show on Quilcene's face. "Naw, I got plenty a' time to tell you my side a' the story. Like, after you give my lawyer all the police reports and I see what you actually got on me and my lawyer finds all the holes in your case."
Brunelle had to nod begrudgingly. The kid knew how the game was played.
"Now, look, Quilcene," Lassiter started. She leaned onto the table and jabbed a finger at him. Her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a simple pony-tail. She might have looked like a simple angry schoolteacher, except for the .45 semi-auto on her hip.
Before she could say more, though, Chen gently pushed down her accusatory finger and nodded congenially to his subject.
"Well, Johnny," he said. "You could do that. But let me tell you why that's a bad idea."
Lassiter yanked her hand out from under Chen's and shot him a narrowed-eye glare. Chen wasn't letting her play her role. Brunelle wondered if she'd be able to let the affront go and channel her
'bad cop' again later if it were needed. He hadn't really dealt with her before—just a nod in the hallway a couple of times. If she was good, she'd be doing homicides soon enough. Best to get to know her now. So Brunelle had two subjects to study through the mirror.
"First off," Chen pointed to a finger on his left hand, "we all know you did it."
Quilcene started to protest, but Chen raised a hand to quiet him. "Now, now. Just hear me out. You don't have to agree with me or confess to anything. Just listen. You did it. You stabbed him. Even if you don't admit that right now, it's important to keep in mind that you did do it and the evidence is almost certainly going to show that."
"Almost," Quilcene laughed. "You said almost. See, man, even you know you ain't got shit."
Chen nodded. "No, right now, I ain't got shit. But I will. Which is why you better get real smart, real fast. That knife may or may not have fingerprints on it, but if it does, we both know they're yours."
Quilcene shrugged and looked away. "Whatever, dude."
"And there are witnesses, Johnny," Chen continued. "They may or may not be able to pick the killer out of a photomontage, but if they can, we both know they're gonna pick you."
"Bunch a' homeless drunks," Quilcene dismissed them with another shrug.
"And Johnny," Chen allowed himself a small smile, "you had blood on your hands. They swabbed your hands when they arrested you. You know, those big Q-tip things? Those are going to the crime lab, and unless you cut yourself on a fucking bottle cap, that blood's gonna come back as George Traver's. No maybes about it."
Quilcene narrowed his eyes at Chen as thoughts raced unexpressed behind them.
"When that happens, Johnny," Lassiter interrupted, "you're going down for murder."
Okay, Brunelle nodded, that kind of worked. Good job, Lassiter.
"Unless," Chen raised a finger, but then let the thought linger, unexpressed.
Quilcene just sat there, but his eyes started to get shifty. Experienced detectives like Chen knew that people hate silence. They'll fill it themselves if they have to. Chen was waiting for Quilcene to blurt something out. Brunelle hoped Lassiter knew enough to stay quiet too.
Tribal Court (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 2) Page 1