"Yes, your honor," Brunelle was relieved to answer. "She was mentioned in the reports we provided Mr. Welles prior to the bail hearing."
The judge nodded. "Then you may proceed."
Faust cat-walked through the courtroom to the witness stand. As she brushed past Brunelle, she whispered, "Just don't ask what we were doing when I told you everything."
Brunelle managed a poker face and quickly began his direct examination. "Please state your name for the record."
"Debra Thompson."
"Do you go by any other name?"
Faust smiled and tipped her head slightly. "People call me Faust."
A slight chuckle rippled through the jury box and mister computer guy scooted forward in his seat.
"How are you employed, Miss Thompson?" Brunelle continued after a moment.
Faust turned and directed her answer to the jurors. "I'm a bartender at Darkness."
"Is that a tavern?" asked Brunelle.
"No," Faust smiled, "because it's not 1644. It's not a tavern; it's a night club."
More light laughter from the jurors. A polite smile from Brunelle.
"How long have you worked there?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Long enough."
Brunelle nodded and crossed his arms. At least the jury wouldn't think he'd coached her.
"Okay." He decided to move on. "Are you acquainted with the defendant, Arpad Karpati?"
She paused, then offered a soft, "Yes."
She didn't look at Karpati, but everyone else did. And he was trying to stare a hole right through her. Sometimes the best evidence is how a defendant conducts himself in court.
"How do you know Mr. Karpati?"
"He's a regular at Darkness," Faust answered. "Or he was anyway."
"When was the last time you saw him there?"
The answer was direct. "The night he murdered that girl."
"Objection." Welles smacked the table again. Ouch, ouch, ouch. "There's been no foundation for this witness's outlandish claim that my client was in any way involved with the unfortunate death of that young lady."
Judge Quinn looked down at Brunelle. "Can you lay some foundation, counselor?"
"I'd be happy to, Your Honor." He turned back to Faust. "How do you know he murdered her?"
Faust cocked her head slightly, with an almost puzzled expression on her beautiful face. "Well, duh. He told me."
And that, Brunelle knew, was the end of Welles' motion to dismiss. It's not hearsay if it's the defendant's own statements. It's evidence.
Brunelle nodded and paused before his next question, allowing Faust's testimony to sink in on the jury
"Let's back up." he said. "How often would you see Karpati at Darkness?"
Faust considered for a moment before answering. "Like I said, he was a regular. Not every night, but more nights than not."
"Was he associated with any particular group?" Brunelle still needed to prove the aggravator.
"Objection!" Ouch. "Calls for speculation."
"Lay some foundation first, Mr. Brunelle," Judge Quinn instructed.
"Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle nodded. He raised a hand to focus Faust's attention. "This is a yes or no question. Were you aware whether Mr. Karpati was a member of any particular group?"
Faust nodded crisply. "Yes."
Brunelle returned the nod. "And how do you know?"
Another full-lipped smile. "He told me."
Brunelle let himself exhale. Welles couldn't object anymore. Anything his client said could be used against him. Even to a bartender.
"And what did the defendant tell you about this group?"
Faust frowned for a moment in thought, then answered, "They called themselves 'No Bloods' and claimed to be vampires."
Again, a murmur rippled through the jury box.
Brunelle stopped and thought for a moment. Faust hadn't given him a lot, but it was what he needed and it was enough. He'd survive the halftime motion now. And the jury already knew Karpati was guilty; now they'd be allowed to render the verdict.
He could take Faust back to the beginning. Circle through her testimony again to make sure the jury heard and understood all of it. Flesh out the details. Expand it to its full potential.
Or not.
"No further questions."
Brunelle quickly sat down next to Yamata.
Faust had given him what he needed and he had no idea what else she might say. Best to shut up before any damage was done.
The good news was that Welles wasn't totally prepared for the abrupt ending to Brunelle's direct exam. He shuffled some papers together and stepped a little too quickly to the bar opposite Faust.
"Ms. Thompson," he started. "You claim my client confessed the murder to you?"
Brunelle knew Welles was flustered. That wasn't a well-worded question. It gave Faust too much room.
"More like bragged about it," she answered.
Welles' eyes narrowed a bit. "You're just a bartender, aren't you?"
"I'm not 'just' anything," Faust replied.
That was perfect. Especially for the jurors who were more bartender like Debra Thompson than lawyer like William Harrison Welles.
Welles realized his mistake too. "What I meant, Miss Thompson, is that you aren't a friend or confidante."
Faust considered. "I'm not a friend, but I'm a bartender. Pretty sure that makes me a confidante. Especially after a few drinks."
Welles tapped his pen against his legal pad. He was only bolstering her credibility.
"Well, you must hear a lot of stories then, is that right, Ms. Thompson?"
Faust smiled. "Oh, yes."
"Do you believe everything you're told?"
Faust shrugged. "Depends on who's doing the telling."
Brunelle smiled. She was doing great. Welles wouldn't want to ask the next question, but if he didn't the jury would wonder why. Or worse, know why.
"What if Mr. Karpati is doing the talking?"
Faust nodded. She looked down thoughtfully. She took a moment to consider her answer. "I always believed Arpad."
Welles was in the hole. Brunelle wondered if he'd stop digging.
"And why is that?"
Nope.
The comfortable smile Faust wore disappeared. "Because he doesn't talk much. But when he does, when he tells me something, something bad, I believe him. I learned to believe him. He said he raped Holly Sandholm and sure enough, he did."
The jury box and the gallery exploded with gasps and whispers. Welles' eyes bulged in the sockets. Yamata gave Brunelle's arm an 'I can't believe she said that' bump. And Brunelle just stared up at the witness who had saved his case.
"Your Honor," Welles finally said after regaining himself. "I'd ask the court to strike the last answer as nonresponsive."
"Objection," Brunelle said quietly.
"Sustained," Judge Quinn said. "You asked and she answered. Ask your next question."
The hole was deep. More questions about Holly were probably only going to make it worse. Brunelle hoped Welles was flustered and angry enough to push forward, but Welles gathered his papers together and stepped back to counsel table. He looked like he was about to sit down. When he opened his mouth to speak, Brunelle thought he was going to say, "No further questions."
Not quite.
"You don't believe Mr. Karpati is actually a vampire, do you?"
Faust almost chuckled at the question. "No."
Welles returned the chuckle. "In fact, you would agree, wouldn't you, Ms. Thompson, that anyone who thinks he's a vampire would have to be crazy?"
Faust considered for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Thank you, Ms. Thompson." Welles nodded up to the judge. "No further questions."
"Mr. Brunelle?" asked the judge. "Any redirect?"
Brunelle considered. Welles hadn't really done any damage. He could try to expand a bit on some areas, but he could just expand it in closing. If he didn't ask any more questions, then Faust would be done and walk
out the door.
And she hadn't even once used the phrase 'fucked from behind.'
"No further questions, Your Honor. Thank you."
The judge thanked and excused Faust. As she walked by Brunelle, she offered the smallest wink. Brunelle ignored it, save his racing heart.
"Any more witnesses, Mr. Brunelle?" The judge asked.
Brunelle stood. "No, Your Honor. The State rests."
Judge Quinn nodded, then looked to the jury. "Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes the State's evidence. You are adjourned until tomorrow morning. The attorneys and I will stay in session to discuss scheduling. Thank you."
The bailiff escorted the jurors into the jury room. When the door closed, the judge looked down to Welles. "Motion denied," she said. "Any reason you can't give your opening statement first thing tomorrow morning?"
Welles forced an apparently gracious smile. "None, Your Honor. Thank you."
"Will you be ready to call witnesses as well?"
"Not only will we be ready, Your Honor, we will relish it."
This time it was Quinn who forced the gracious smile. "Wonderful, Mr. Welles. Then if there's nothing else, court is adjourned until tomorrow morning."
The judge left the bench and Brunelle exhaled a huge sigh of relief.
"That was lucky," Yamata whispered to him as they gathered their pads and papers.
"Sure was," Brunelle replied. "But we're not out of the woods yet."
"No, Brunelle," Welles interrupted, "you certainly aren't. See you tomorrow."
Chapter 39
"Thank you." Brunelle was leaning against the alley wall when Faust stepped through the backdoor at closing time.
If she was startled, she didn't show it. "I told you not to thank me for something I wanted to do."
"You didn't want to do that."
She shrugged. "I didn't want to not do it, and him walk. I don't need that guilt."
Brunelle nodded and they started walking toward Faust's apartment.
"I really do think he'll hurt someone if he gets out again," Brunelle said.
"I know he will," Faust answered. "He's a psycho. No, if he's out, someone dies. Some young girl. And if I could have prevented that and didn't...?"
She stopped and looked at Brunelle, her soft features half-lit by a nearby streetlight. "You can be pretty convincing, Mr. Prosecutor."
Brunelle glanced down and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't help the smile creeping onto his mouth. He looked up. "Let me walk you home."
Faust smiled too, but more with her mouth than her eyes. "I don't think so." She stepped close to him. "I'm not the one for you."
Then she leaned up and kissed him. A deep, probing kiss with her hands in his hair. When she finished, she pulled away and looked in his eyes.
"The one you thought of just now," she whispered. "Go home and call her."
Brunelle didn't know what to say. Faust held his gaze and stepped back.
"She's asleep right now," he finally croaked.
Faust nodded. "The good ones are. Call her in the morning." She turned to walk away. "Good bye, old man."
Brunelle raised his hand as she walked away.
"Goodnight, beautiful," he whispered.
***
"Good morning, beautiful," Brunelle practically sang into the phone.
There was a pause before Kat responded. "David?" she confirmed. "Are you drunk?"
Brunelle laughed. "It's only nine in the morning."
Kat paused again. "You know that's a non-answer, right?"
"I'm not drunk," Brunelle assured. "I just wanted to call to say hi."
"Oh," Kat said. "Well then, hi."
"So we're still on for tonight?" Brunelle asked.
"Absolutely. Unless there's a last-second, emergency autopsy. But honestly those can usually wait. It's not like they're gonna get better."
"Charming," answered Brunelle. "Maybe let's not talk shop tonight."
"What are we gonna talk about then?" Kat asked.
"I don't know," Brunelle said. "Maybe us."
"'Us'?" Kat laughed. "David, it's our first date."
"It's our second," Brunelle corrected. "Don't forget coffee."
"I'm not sure that was a date exactly," Kat argued.
"Technically, I think it was," Brunelle replied.
"'Technically'?" Kat asked. "You're going to go legal on me?"
"See? We're already talking about us."
Kat laughed. "Well done, Mr. Lawyer."
Brunelle laughed too, then got quiet for a few seconds.
"You okay?" Kat asked.
"Yeah," he sighed. "It's been a long trial."
"Almost done?"
"I think so. I don't think Welles is going to call many witnesses. We may even finish evidence today. Closing arguments on Monday."
"Well, then," said Kat. "It sounds like you could use a night out."
Brunelle smiled. "I guess so."
"Good luck today, David," Kat said. "Knock 'em dead."
"Ha ha," Brunelle groaned. "Medical examiner humor."
"You gotta have a sense of humor to do my job," Kat defended. "Yours too, I think."
"I suppose so," Brunelle said after a moment. "Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight.
"Me too," agreed Kat.
"Bye, Kat."
"Goodbye, David."
Brunelle held the phone against his forehead for a few seconds. He looked at the clock. Quarter to nine. Time to head down for Welles' opening.
Brunelle hoped it would suck. He knew it wouldn't.
Chapter 40
"Justice," Welles began. He stood in the well before the jury box, palms spread. "Perhaps the highest human ideal. Love and kindness and charity—we all aspire to those, or at least we agree that we should. But justice, and the pursuit of justice, is such a high cause, such a high ideal, that it's what we expect the very Creator to deliver at the end of days. We here on Earth do our best to try to bring some justice to a world so absent of it sometimes. Justice is what we look to, to get us through the hardest times, when the worst possible things happen to the best possible people."
Welles paused and looked down at his feet solemnly.
"Emily Montgomery is dead. Murdered. In a terrible, almost unimaginable way. And we want justice. Her parents want it. The prosecutor wants it. You want it.
"And, ladies and gentleman," he looked up, "believe it or not, I want it too.
"However, the State is seeking something other than justice here. The State is seeking revenge. Emily Montgomery is dead. And now the State wants to kill Arpad Karpati. Not because of what he did, but because they can't kill Holly Sandholm."
"Objection, Your Honor." Brunelle didn't like objecting—especially during an opening statement—but that went too far.
"Sustained."
"Holly Sandholm admitted to this murder," Welles continued. "Holly Sandholm is guilty of this murder. But Holly Sandholm is a juvenile, and the United States Supreme Court has said that juveniles cannot be executed."
"Objection again, Your Honor." Even when you don't want to object, Brunelle knew, sometimes not objecting signals you're admitting the other side's allegations against you.
"It's an accurate statement of the law, Your Honor," Welles defended.
"It's argumentative, Mr. Welles," Judge Quinn replied. "This is opening statement, not closing argument."
"Understood, Your Honor." Welles offered a slight bow. "I'll move on to the facts."
Of course he'll move on, Brunelle thought. He'd gotten to say what he wanted. Twice.
"The facts," Welles continued, "are these: Emily Montgomery was murdered. Holly Sandholm confessed. And the only shred of evidence the State gave you that my client was in any way involved was a desperate, last-minute witness—a bartender, no less—to whom we are supposed to believe Mr. Karpati confided in because, of course, all murderers tell their bartenders everything.
"The fact that this is the only witness to connect
my client to the crime, and that she was called at the last possible second, shows just how weak and desperate the State's case truly is.
"Justice isn't just about avenging the victim. It's also about protecting the accused. Justice cries out that no one be punished for a crime unless the State, with all of its resources, can prove that crime beyond any and all reasonable doubt."
Welles stopped and pretended to think, as if his next point hadn't been rehearsed over and over in his bathroom mirror. "Actually I misspoke. They don't have to prove the crime beyond a reasonable doubt. They've done that here. There is no doubt Emily Montgomery was murdered. But before a man can be strapped to a gurney and heart-stopping poison injected into his veins, the State also must prove beyond any and all doubt that it was that man who was responsible for the crime.
"And that, ladies and gentleman, the State has utterly failed to do."
Brunelle considered objecting again at the appeal to emotion with the gurney crack, he even figured his objection would be sustained, but that 'ouch' goes both ways. And so does failing to produce evidence. So far Welles had attacked the State's case. Brunelle was curious if he'd ever explain what evidence the defense planned to put on.
"And to make matters worse," Welles continued after a dramatically thoughtful pause, "the State wants you to believe this murder was committed because Mr. Karpati is a vampire.
"Now, quite honestly, ladies and gentleman, I find that incredibly disrespectful to the memory of Emily Montgomery. She was murdered by a human being, not some imaginary monster. And again the only witness for this outlandish assertion is the attractive bartender to whom everyone tells their secrets.
"Ladies and gentleman, a criminal trial is not like a conversation in the dining room, trying to figure out which child broke the cookie jar. There are rules and there are burdens and they are there for a good reason. Indeed, the highest possible reason.
"Justice.
"The State wants you to believe that the only way Emily Montgomery receives justice is by killing Mr. Karpati."
Again Brunelle choked back an objection.
"But I tell you, the only way justice is done in this case is to hold the State to their burden and acquit a man against whom there is no evidence. In fact, ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that there are only two possible conclusions from the State's evidence. The first is that they did not prove the charge and my client must be found not guilty. The other possibility, the only other possibility, is that my client believes he is a vampire, in which case he is clearly insane and must be found not guilty by reason of insanity."
Presumption of Innocence (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 15