Hard Bitten

by M. K. York

  “Okay. Good to know.” Lukas seemed preoccupied.

  “Something on your mind?”

  Lukas shook his head, laughing a little. “It’s just—you know I’ve done depositions before, for divorce, and a couple of times I’ve been in court. So this isn’t all new. I’m still freaking out, though.”

  “Of course you are, this is a murder case.”

  “You seem pretty chill today.”

  “Seem is the operative word there. Inside, I’m a cat on a hot tin roof.”

  Lukas got a speculative look on his face and opened his mouth.

  “No Tennessee Williams jokes.”

  “Fine, but it was good.”

  “I doubt that very much.” They’d gotten to the building Mark needed to be at. “Look, I better go. Any questions about your testimony tomorrow?”

  “No, I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on it. It’s all facts, right? That’s kind of my wheelhouse.”

  “Yeah. Right.” They were standing, looking at each other, and Mark was trying to memorize the way the late-afternoon light that made it to street level was giving Lukas a diffuse glow. Almost a halo, with that light, fine hair, and the look on his face as he stared at Mark.

  “See you,” said Lukas quietly, and turned and headed down the street. Mark couldn’t stop watching him, for a few long seconds, until he jerked himself around and forced himself into the building.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Did Gina Carville go to the warehouse of the building where she worked with the intent and the means to commit premeditated murder?” Lena was wearing a black skirt suit and low-heeled black pumps, and her hair was pulled back into a French twist. She looked every inch the regal, imposing defense attorney. If either of them was going to create reasonable doubt, it was going to be Lena.

  “That’s the question the prosecution has failed to really answer. And you are going to hear evidence that they have deliberately failed to answer it, because the answer is no. Gina Carville went back to the warehouse, but not to start a fire, and not to commit murder. The murder was planned and executed by someone else, who has not been thoroughly investigated by the police or the DA’s office.”

  Her opening statement was electric—it got the jury’s attention, for sure, and the attention of everyone in the gallery. The media had been putting out the expected pieces on the progress of the trial that didn’t tell much because there hadn’t been much to tell, but this had the potential to get more interesting.

  Mark wasn’t entirely comfortable with how much more interesting.

  The character witnesses took up a chunk of the morning. They had managed to put together a fair parade of people who were, individually, not particularly fascinating, but who together helped paint a picture of Gina as a relatively inoffensive person. Dauer’s cross-examinations of those witnesses was as desultory as Mark’s questions for the prosecution’s character witnesses the day before.

  Then it was Katie Deacon’s turn. She’d danced this particular dance before, and Mark found that questioning her went smooth as silk. The key was that she had been on a different track than Lukas entirely; she went through why they’d initially been so suspicious of Melinda Kupfer, and how that line of inquiry had been closed off, and managed to leave it on the note of what other suspects they’d been seriously considering. “Of course,” she said, very seriously, “we wanted to verify whether any other parties had significant interest in Mr. Kupfer’s death.”

  Dauer tried to dig at her a little—hadn’t she found in her investigation that Gina had signs of mental instability, and so on—but she was maddeningly unflappable, and he gave up after a fairly short time. She wasn’t going to be where they made or lost the case, and he had to see it.

  It was close as to whether Judge Kline was going to have them continue to the next witness or recess for lunch, but lunch won out, around eleven fifteen. Mark found Lukas in the hallway.

  “Lunch,” Mark said. “When we come back from that, you’re on.”

  “Sounds good. What are you doing about lunch?”

  “Lena and I are going to talk over the plan.” Mark smiled ruefully. “For about the millionth time, but better overprepared than underprepared, right?”

  “Can’t argue with that. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Mark shook himself, like a dog shaking off water. “Just a lot riding on today.”

  “No kidding,” murmured Lukas.

  “See you in a few.”

  “See you.”

  *

  Lukas was waiting, tense, in the hallway. Everyone had shuffled back into the courtroom, and he knew it had to be almost time for his testimony.

  “Mr. Nystrom?”

  “Here.”

  The walk up to the witness stand was more intimidating than he’d been expecting. The gallery was full of people—fucking packed—and there had to be room for at least a hundred people in there. The courtrooms he’d been in before, the handful of times he’d been called on for family law issues, had been much smaller, room for maybe thirty people and half that many actually there, if that.

  But today there was a low, electric buzz of voices. He found his eyes locking on a piece of inspirational art on the wall. It was a big, faded poster of an eagle swooping over water. It fit in perfectly with the abundance of wood paneling, somehow; they both had that early ’90s feel.

  He took his seat, and was sworn in on the Bible, an experience he had to regard with some small personal humor. His father didn’t even know he was in court today—he’d barely spoken to his parents in weeks—but gestures with the Holy Book were more his dad’s line.

  Mark got up from the table and approached him. Lukas had to fight the sensation of nearly being hypnotized, the cold sweat breaking out on his palms. He was vividly aware of all the eyes on them. He needed to come off as calm. Normal. Mark looked calm. Mark looked suave, that fucker.

  “Could you please state your name and occupation for the court?”

  “Lukas Nystrom, private investigator.”

  “Mr. Nystrom, can you tell the court a little bit about your background?”

  That was his cue to rattle off the facts—how long he’d been in the business, his experience. That took a couple of minutes, and then Mark let out a silent breath. Lukas doubted anyone but him could see it; it reminded him of the exhalation before a sniper fired.

  “Mr. Nystrom,” Mark said, leaning in, “could you please tell the court what you found when you looked into the alibis of the persons involved in this case?”

  “Ms. Carville had been drinking at the Brown Recluse until shortly before the arrest, according to the employees I interviewed.” That much had been established multiple times in court. She’d been seen by another employee heading back in as he’d been leaving, so they also knew she’d gone back to the warehouse. She had no alibi. “Mrs. Kupfer stated that she had been out shopping with a friend at the time of the crime. Mr. Williams stated that he had been at home, with his housekeeper, all evening.”

  “Did you find any evidence to suggest that any of these alibis were not genuine?”

  “No direct evidence.”

  They went on like that for a bit—just the facts, back and forth, nothing Dauer could have conceivably objected to—and then Mark said, “Did you notice anything that raised your suspicions?”

  “I looked into the financial records of West Cascades Shipping and Transport, Limited.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “It had occurred to me that if there were any irregularities in the business, Mr. Kupfer would likely have been aware of it.”

  “Did you believe that this might provide an alternative motive for the crime?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you find?”

  He went over the financial findings—the business running too smoothly, too well, not crashing during the recession.

  “At that time, I recommended further analysis. To the best of my knowledge, a forensic
audit of the company was ultimately authorized.”

  There were faint murmurs from the gallery. Lukas didn’t look up at them; he kept his eyes fixed on Mark, who was nodding thoughtfully.

  “Did you have any suspicions about why there might be financial inconsistencies in the company’s records?”

  “Yes. I suspected that the company might be involved in smuggling drugs.”

  “Mr. Nystrom, that’s a significant claim to make.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “What actions did you take based on that suspicion?”

  “I engaged in surveillance of the company over several nights.”

  “Please tell the court what you found.”

  He talked about the suspicious transactions, Ron Williams’s trips to the company in the middle of the night; they showed the footage he’d shot on an aging television.

  Mark folded his arms. “I’m sure you recognize that none of that is direct evidence of any wrongdoing on Mr. Williams’s part.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you have any other indication that illegal activities were occurring at the company?”

  “No.”

  “Did you look into the victim’s financial records?”

  “I did. Only what was publicly available.”

  “Did you find any obvious irregularities?”

  “He seemed to be living beyond his means. He had three cars. They were all high-end sports cars. I believe the auditor may have done more investigation into Mr. Kupfer’s finances.”

  “Did you, at any point in time, engage in any illegal activities to obtain more information about Mr. Williams’s business dealings?”

  “No.”

  “What further actions did you take to obtain more information about Mr. Williams?”

  “I contacted his ex-wife, Beatrice Williams. She had moved to Florida.”

  “Mrs. Williams will be testifying separately. We will not ask you to repeat anything that she said to you. Thank you, no further questions for this witness.” Mark walked back to his table, confident and leisurely, and sat down between Lena and Gina.

  And then came the part he’d been dreading, more than any of the rest of it: John Dauer got up.

  “Mr. Nystrom.”

  “Yes, sir?” His pulse was thundering in his ears. He hoped he sounded all right.

  “You have just accused a respected businessman in this community of being involved in an illegal operation.”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said I had suspected that his business was involved in illegal activities, but I did not obtain any proof of that.”

  “So you admit there’s no proof of a drug ring at all, much less one that Mr. Williams is responsible for.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why did it come up at all, then?”

  “You’ll have to ask the defense.”

  “I think we both know why it came up. Did you find any exculpatory evidence concerning the defendant?”

  “No.”

  “No. No, you didn’t find any evidence suggesting that the defendant was innocent. You found nothing to indicate that, for instance, she wasn’t at the scene of the crime at the time of the murder?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t find any evidence to suggest that she hadn’t, in fact, been having an affair with the victim?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t find any evidence to suggest that she wasn’t intoxicated at the time of her arrest?”

  “No.”

  “No. I didn’t think so.”

  It felt unreal—like a reprieve—when Dauer said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Redirect.” Mark stood and came back to stand in front of him. “Were you able to determine whether Gina Carville had ever purchased a firearm?”

  “There were no records of any firearm purchases.”

  “Any prescriptions for Valium?”

  “No.”

  “And yet the prosecution’s case hinges on my client having been able to procure both a weapon and the drug that sedated the victim prior to his death.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “That’s all.”

  When Lukas was able to get up and leave, he felt like his legs were barely working, but he pushed through the little swinging gate and made it to the door and out into the hall, where he promptly sat heavily on a bench.

  The bailiff called the financial auditor, who’d been waiting patiently nearly as long as Lukas, and he figured that signaled the next phase—the discussion of just how irregular the company’s books were. He could leave. He could go home. It would probably be another hour.

  It would probably be—

  He bought a cup of coffee and went back to wait.

  *

  When Mark emerged from the courtroom, he felt wiped. Getting Lukas and the auditor on the stand meant that their cards were on the table now; Williams, Dauer, Kline—they’d all know exactly what the play was. If something crazy was going to happen, this was the time.

  “Lena.”

  She turned around, and Mark turned with her. “John.”

  “Are you expecting a better plea deal at this point, just because you’re going after Williams?”

  “No, of course not. I’m expecting an acquittal.”

  “I think you’re more optimistic about that than I would be in your position.”

  “Lucky for both of us you’re in your position and I’m in mine.”

  Dauer laughed. It sounded strained, but not unkind. “Rough week for both of us, I’m guessing. Eliades,” he added, turning his intense gaze on Mark, “not bad. You’re holding up pretty well in there.”

  “Thank you,” Mark said, trying to keep his voice toneless.

  “Well, I’ll see you back tomorrow. I assume Beatrice will be taking the stand?”

  “You’ll know what you know when you know it,” said Lena. She still sounded as polished as she had first thing in the morning.

  “Touché. We don’t have any further offers forthcoming at this point, but you should consider what you’d want to ask for if we did.”

  Lena just waved her fingertips, sarcastically, until Dauer rolled his eyes and left.

  “He’s scared as shit,” she said under her breath. “If this were a normal case, he would have just made a plea offer. And I think he wanted to be seen talking to us so he could claim he did.”

  “Damn.” Mark watched Dauer in a huddled conference with his junior attorney.

  There was a voice behind him. “Mark?”

  When he turned, he was already feeling a wash of anticipatory pleasure. Lukas was smiling hesitantly at him. “Hey,” he said, breaking into a smile that he could feel was too wide, too warm.

  Lena put her hand on his arm. “Tomorrow’s the big thing. You want to prep?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Can I meet you upstairs?”

  “Go for it.” She shot him a sidelong look. “Don’t take too long. I have to get home eventually tonight.”

  “Damn,” said Lukas as she left. “I was hoping we could grab dinner.”

  “Well, we could get a cup of coffee. Lena’ll want one anyway.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Mark already knew he was going to be hopeless at talking about anything besides the case. News, politics, normal human things, no. His brain was buzzing with the precise questions he needed to make sure he asked Ron Williams when they recalled him after Bea’s testimony. It was going to be his shot. He found himself humming Eminem, much to his dismay, as they walked away from the courthouse, Lukas holding his thermos of tea in one hand, Mark with a drink tray with two cups of decaf.

  *

  “Oh fuck, it’s raining.” Mark squinted into the haze. It was misting, more than anything else, the streetlights turning the drops into glowing chandeliers. “I didn’t bring an umbrella today.”

  “How are you doing?” asked Lukas.

  “Oh, good, dandy, fine. I mean,
I’m pretty sure I’m single-handedly keeping my dry cleaner in business, I sweat like I’m running a marathon every morning before I even get in to court. Have you noticed that this courtroom is gigantic? I think it’s not even the biggest, I think it’s like the second biggest, and it’s huge.”

  “Yeah,” said Lukas, and felt a laugh bubbling up. “Superior court is scary.”

  “You look perky, though. What is it? Relief? It should be relief. You’re probably done testifying—I mean, we’re not planning to recall you, and you’re not on Dauer’s list, I think he could decide to rebut you—no, no, don’t make any puns about it, I can see you thinking it—but you’re done, unless you want to come back tomorrow and watch me crush it, or, hopefully crush it, anyway, who knows what’s going to happen—”

  They were, at that exact moment, passing an alleyway. That classic Pioneer Square red brick, with iron fire escapes. It was getting dark. Lukas didn’t have any excuses, and he was tired of them, anyway.

  “No.” He put a hand on Mark’s arm, pulling him into the alley. “I’m done testifying.”

  Mark was staring at him, looking lost, hungry. Lukas leaned in and whispered, “I want to celebrate.”

  “We—” Mark sounded dazed. “We shouldn’t—” He was white-knuckling on the flimsy cardboard of the drink tray.

  “Come on, do you really think they’re going to put me on the stand again?” Lukas was still just a few inches away from him. “Let me—let me give you a kiss, for luck.”

  “For luck.” Mark was almost laughing, grinning, sides shaking a little. The rain, light as it was, had started to bead up along his face, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his forehead.

  “Tomorrow. You might need it.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll—yeah. A kiss for luck.” Mark did laugh, then, just a breath of it. Lukas had to lean down over the drinks Mark was clutching to his chest to kiss him. It wasn’t quite like the kiss at the Locks, or in the car; it wasn’t so close, or so desperate. Lukas wanted to say hello and let’s start this and yes, and it seemed like Mark had gotten the memo, for once in his life.