Lethal Defense
A Nate Shepherd Novel
Michael Stagg
Contents
Prologue
Local Counsel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Discovery
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Trial
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
Epilogue
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Also by Michael Stagg
Lethal Defense
A Nate Shepherd Novel
Copyright © 2020 Michael Stagg
All rights reserved
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For more information on Michael Stagg and his other books, go to michaelstagg.com
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Prologue
The first time I saw Hank Braggi, he was covered in blood. He was walking out of a hotel surrounded by four police officers and his hands were cuffed in front of him so that I could see the blood that coated his arms, elbows to fists, like he’d just dipped them in a bucket of it.
He had a beard but if it matched his curly blond hair, I couldn’t tell because there was blood dripping off it too, spattering the front of his shirt like someone had thrown a jar of red paint at him for wearing a fur coat.
For a split second, he looked up at the camera with calm, blue eyes. He didn’t seem the least bit agitated or upset as he followed the four officers, all a head shorter than him, to a squad car.
I was surfing my way up the channels to SportsCenter so I didn’t read the scroll at the bottom of the television screen; I didn't see the names Lizzy Saint or Dillon Chase or Hank Braggi, and I certainly didn’t see a description of the murder. Instead, I clicked right past him to ESPN, where Scott Van Pelt was showing highlights of the Detroit Red Wings beating the Minnesota Wild, and I didn't think about the name Hank Braggi for another two months.
Local Counsel
1
As I walked out of the Carrefour courthouse, I turned on my phone for the first time that morning. Twelve calls from a number I didn't recognize scrolled up my screen. No messages. These robo-calls were getting out of control.
A moment later, my phone buzzed again. Same number.
I answered. “Nate Shepherd.”
“Mr. Shepherd, I need to hire local counsel.”
I looked up at the domed courthouse. “Proximity is my best attribute.”
“It's for a murder trial.”
I sighed. I’d handled all sorts of cases at my old firm – malpractice, injuries from industrial machines, and disputes between businesses that had more money than sense. But no crimes and certainly no murders. “Sorry, I don’t handle murder cases. You may want to call—”
“You worked at the prosecutor's office, didn't you?”
“Years ago.”
“Then I have the right man.”
I needed to fire the person who screened my calls. Oh yeah. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you do.”
“It seems to me that a lawyer who’s newly out on his own might want to expand his horizons.”
I sighed. “I appreciate your interest but if you want to stay out of jail, I’m not your best bet to represent you in a criminal case.”
There was a matching sigh from the other end of the phone. “Mr. Shepherd, you wouldn’t be representing me in a criminal case. Obviously. You’d be helping me handle one.”
“I'm not sure how.”
“Did you handle the Reynolds case?”
Brain-damaged baby case. An awful one. “I did.”
“And the Hanover-Rigson case?”
Industrial accident. Hot press. Gross and awful. It was also settled before word of it reached the paper. “There was no Hanover-Rigson case.”
A chuckle. “You're definitely the person I need. Listen, my name is Christian Dane and I’m a lawyer out of Minneapolis. I’ve been hired to represent a client there in Carrefour and I need a local attorney to manage relationships with the Court and the prosecutor.”
I shifted gears. I was dealing with a lawyer in Minneapolis instead of a criminal—excuse me, accused criminal—or a family member. “Christian, I could do that but one of the local criminal guys will have a better relationship with the prosecutor. Let me give you the number of—”
“It’s in front of Judge Gallon.”
Judge Anne Gallon and I had been friends since we’d served in the prosecutor’s office together right out of law school. She was smart and fair. She was also scrupulous about not showing favoritism. “She’s not going to cut your client any breaks because I’m on the case.”
“I wouldn't expect her to. But I assume you know what kind of arguments will carry the most weight with her.”
“I suppose so.”
“That's what we need. I'll handle the law. You handle the relationships. I think you’ll find the fees in the case are more than fair.”
“How much an hour?”
Another chuckle. “Mr. Shepherd, your past is showing. We don't bill by the hour, we charge by the job. And the result.”
“So what do we charge for the job?”
“For local counsel?” He said a number.
Sweet Jesus.
“Mr. Shepherd?”
“You just hired yourself local counsel.”
“Excellent. We have a pretrial tomorrow morning. Judge Gallon’s court, 8:30 a.m. I'll see you there.”
“Right.”
We hung up and, as soon as I did, I realized that I didn’t know the name of the client.
It had been a long time since I’d handled a criminal case. Seven years at least. Maybe eight. Jumping back into that arena with a murder case for a client I didn’t know didn’t seem like the best idea, but I figured that easing back in as local counsel wouldn’t be too bad.
Turns out that was optimistic.
2
As I pulled into my driveway that night, I parked my Jeep next to the Honda and noticed for the twelfth time that the Honda’s left front tire was low. I'd left the porch light on accidentally that morning but other than that the house was dark. I didn't have to go inside to know it would be quiet too.
I sat there for a moment. I thought about going to the Railcar for a sandwich and a beer but I knew I had to be up early for the pretrial tomorrow. I figured I’d be better off going in, making an eggs and rice two-fry, drinking a beer, and going to sleep.
So I did.
3
The next morning, I was sitting in the Carrefour courthouse, a magnificently ornate building built back in the late 1800s. I
was in the judge’s office off of Court Room 1, the courtroom of Judge Anne Gallon.
Judge Gallon was the perfect judge for our community—honest, pragmatic, and whip-smart. She had short, light brown hair and sharp looks that were all angles. She wore glasses that I was pretty sure she didn’t need but which softened the hard edges and a piercing glare. She was an altogether practical, skilled, and dedicated judge who, above all else, hated lateness.
My co-counsel, Christian Dane, was late.
Judge Gallon made a point of looking at her phone. “It's 8:30, Nate.”
“It is,” I said.
“Much as I enjoy catching up, that's when the pretrial that Mr. Dane requested starts.”
“Yes, Your Honor. He's coming in from out of town.”
“The trial is in this town.”
“That is true, Your Honor.”
“So he'll need to be here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave me a look and a raised eyebrow at the “ma’am” business but let it go. “Where is he coming in from?”
“I believe his motion said his office was in Minneapolis, Judge.” That came from the prosecutor, Jeff Hanson, who was sitting in the chair beside me. Jeff was a heavy, jovial, self-deprecating assassin. “That is a long way but you know I made it, even with my breakfast.” He chuckled and slapped his belly lightly on the side.
“Still live down the block, Jeff?” I said.
“Oh sure it’s close, Nate, but I did have two helpings of eggs.” Jeff smiled and the edges of his eyes crinkled as if he hadn't just poked at me. “I didn't realize you were still doing this kind of work.”
“I haven't been,” I said. “Civil cases mostly.”
Jeff’s eyes crinkled further. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this reunion then?”
“I'm just local counsel on this one.”
“Seen the pictures yet?”
“No.”
“Almost made me lose my appetite.” He tapped his belly. “Me.”
“I’ll be sure to time my lunch.”
Judge Gallon tapped the back of a pen on her desk. “As local counsel, I assume you'll tell your co-counsel that our local practice is to be on time.”
At that moment, a man walked into the judge’s office that I assumed was Christian Dane. He was tall, in his late 50s, and had thick, swept-back white hair. He wore a crisp navy suit without a wrinkle on it and looked as if a Hollywood agent had cast him in the role of lawyer and sent him over today.
“My apologies, Your Honor.” His voice was as deep as you'd expect. “My flight was late.”
“Perhaps earlier flights from now on?” said Judge Gallon.
“There will be no more flights, Your Honor. I'm here for the duration until trial.”
“Where did you come in from?”
“Minneapolis, Your Honor.”
“That’s a long way to our little court. Are you licensed in Ohio?”
“No, Your Honor. My co-counsel will be filing a motion to admit me pro hac vice.”
That was news to me but I kept it off my face as Christian handed me a motion. I saw the title of the case for the first time: State of Ohio vs. Hank Braggi. It seemed familiar but I didn’t place it as I scanned the boilerplate language and signed it. I noticed that it was thicker than normal for what was usually a pretty standard motion to obtain permission for an out-of-state lawyer to appear in a case. “Here you go, Your Honor,” I said, and handed it to her.
Judge Gallon straightened her glasses and flipped to the end of the motion to look at Dane’s resume. “Ohio has strict rules about who’s allowed to try a murder case, Mr. Dane.” She looked at Hanson. “The State is seeking the death penalty?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And even stricter requirements for trying a capital murder case.”
Christian pointed a manicured finger at the motion. “We’ve attached a list. You'll see I've handled a number of them, Your Honor. Including capital cases.”
“Any in Ohio?”
“May I, Your Honor?” Christian put a hand on the back of a chair.
“Of course.” The side of Judge Gallon’s mouth ticked. “The scolding is over.”
Christian Dane sat and somehow managed to keep all the lines of his suit in perfect order. He crossed his legs and said, “One in Portsmouth and one in Akron.”
“How does a lawyer in Minnesota wind up trying murder cases in Ohio?”
Christian picked a piece of non-existent dust off the cliff-like crease in his pants. “You go where the clients are, Your Honor.”
“And the clients are in Ohio?”
“Sometimes.” Dane smiled. “It is God's country here after all.”
Judge Gallon looked at him sharply. “We like it here, Mr. Dane.”
“I do too. I meant it.”
Judge Gallon stared at him and then, apparently satisfied that he was indeed serious, nodded and continued. “The Court finds that your qualifications are sufficient and will admit you pro hac vice for this case but you must practice in association with local counsel.”
Christian nodded. “That's why we've retained Mr. Shepherd, Your Honor.”
Judge Gallon changed her focus to me and the look she gave me wasn’t much kinder than the one she’d given Christian a moment before. “You've been doing a lot of civil work, Nate. Are you still qualified to handle a murder case?”
Barely but yes. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then the Court grants the motion to admit Mr. Dane so long as he appears in association with Mr. Shepherd. You’ll submit an order to the Court, Nate?”
I handed her one. She smiled and, as she signed it, said, “I take it you’ll be filing a motion to discharge the public defender and take her place?”
Christian Dane pulled another set of papers out of his thin leather attaché and handed it to her. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Did you tell her, yet?”
“No, Your Honor. I’ll call her when we leave here.”
“Don’t be shy about getting her involved again if you’re in over your head.”
Christian Dane gave her a look that was completely respectful of the Judge and completely dismissive of the idea in a way that I would not have thought possible.
“Very well.” Judge Gallon flipped through her calendar. “We’re only thirty days from trial. I can give you a little bit more time but not much since he has to be tried by—”
“We’re not seeking a continuance, Your Honor,” said Christian Dane.
Judge Gallon put down her pen and crossed her hands. “This is a capital murder case, Mr. Dane.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You’ll be ready to go in thirty days?”
“Yes, Your Honor. My client does not want to be incarcerated any longer than necessary.”
Jeff Hanson coughed as Judge Gallon raised an eyebrow. Christian smiled and his teeth were as white and as straight as his hair. “You have to keep an optimistic outlook in this business, Your Honor.”
Judge Gallon didn’t look convinced. “I suppose you do.” She tapped the pen again. “I'm not going to grant you a continuance later, Mr. Dane. You ask for one now or not at all.”
“I understand, Your Honor. We’ll be ready in thirty days.”
I kept my face straight because that's what lawyers do. Good ones anyways. But thirty days was going to be pushing it and I started mentally reorganizing my life.
Christian Dane seemed unconcerned about what he’d just committed us to. “I understand the Court set a two-million-dollar cash bond?”
Jude Gallon looked at Jeff Hanson, who nodded and said, “Mr. Braggi has spent the last three years touring the world with a rock band, Your Honor. We continue to believe that he’s a flight risk. Given the brutal nature of the murder, we believe that he should remain in custody until trial. Your Honor compromised by setting a full cash bond.”
Judge Gallon looked back at Christian Dane. My new co-counsel nodded and said, “Leaving asi
de the questionable constitutionality of a requiring a full cash bond as opposed to a ten percent insurance policy, we’ll be posting the money this afternoon.”
Jeff Hanson started. “If that’s true, we’ll want to file a motion to reconsider.”
Christian Dane smiled. “And if the State is going to ask for bond to be reconsidered once we actually produce the cash, we believe that the bond is illusory and doubly unconstitutional.”
Jeff squirmed because Christian was right. “The State would want community control measures in place, Your Honor,” Jeff said.
Christian appeared unconcerned. “Again, I don’t know if that’s appropriate but we intend to use one of the people your court uses, Your Honor. I presume Mr. Shepherd knows some.”
It had been a while but I did. One. “I do, Your Honor.”
“Who?” she said.
“Cade Brickson.”
Judge Gallon thought. “He’s perfect for this. The Court agrees. Cash bond is granted in the amount of two million dollars as previously set by the Court.” She smiled. “Better warn the county office though, Jeff. They’re going to have a heart attack. Is there anything else?”
“No, Your Honor,” said Christian Dane and Jeff Hanson together.
“Good. Then I will see you all in thirty days. And I mean it, counsel. I don't want a call three weeks from now telling me that you need more time.”
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