Brunelle finally stood up and started toward her. “What do you have in mind, Dr. Anderson?”
She reached out and grabbed his shirt, then lowered her eyelids and kissed his cheek. “Research.”
Chapter 8
The next morning, Brunelle felt like a regular expert. His research assistant had helped greatly. But he was about to be reminded what he was truly an expert in, and what he wasn’t. And that being an expert didn’t always ensure making the right decision.
“Knock, knock.” His legal assistant, Nicole, rapped gently on his door frame just before lunch. He’d been working all morning on a response to a motion to suppress the DNA results on another of his cases. He loved being in court, but he hated writing briefs. He welcomed the interruption. “Nick Lannigan is here to see you,” said Nicole.
Brunelle smiled. Maybe Nick had come offering to plead the guy out and get the case over with. That was his usual m.o. “Great. I’ll be right there.”
“Is this on the BDSM case?” Nicole asked.
Brunelle cocked his head. “BD..?”
Nicole rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. “BDSM. Bondage, discipline, and sado-masochism,” she explained. “The sex club case?”
Apparently Brunelle needed to do more research—at least on the terminology. But he smiled at the thought of his research partner and the neckties he couldn’t wear again until they’d been to the dry cleaner’s. “Right. Uh, yeah. That case.”
He realized he might be blushing, so he changed the topic slightly. “Lannigan doesn’t usually do homicides, so, ya know, I think he’s a little in over his head.”
Nicole gave Brunelle an appraising glance, then smiled again. “He’s not the only one.” Before Brunelle could react, she turned away. “I’ll go get him.”
Brunelle frowned at Nicole’s comment but before he could think of the come-back he should have given, Lannigan was rolling into his office, hand extended and face grinning. “Dave, great to see you again. Sorry about dropping in unannounced.”
Brunelle shook the defense attorney’s hand and they sat down across from each other over Brunelle’s desk. “No problem,” Brunelle replied. He gestured toward his computer monitor. “I needed a break from this brief anyway.”
“Great, great,” Lannigan answered. “Well, I’ll get right to it. I think you should cut my guy a reckless endangerment. He’ll plead to that today and we can both get on with our other cases.”
“Reckless endangerment?” Brunelle repeated. He shook his head. “That’s a misdemeanor. No way, Nick. I’m not cutting your guy a misdemeanor. He killed someone.”
Lannigan shrugged. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Brunelle agreed. “That’s why it’s manslaughter. Accident plus dead body equals manslaughter. If it was intentional, it’d be murder.”
Lannigan shifted in his seat and put his nervous hands together in a sort of wringing prayer position. “Look, reckless endangerment fits. It’s doing something recklessly that puts people in danger. That’s what happened here.”
“If she’d only been injured, I might agree with you,” Brunelle replied. “But she’s dead. Reckless endangerment is for stupid shit like shooting a gun off on New Year’s Eve, not strangling your lover to death.”
Lannigan wasn’t a very good negotiator. “But it was an accident,” he repeated, almost whining.
Brunelle nodded, almost patiently. “Right. That’s why it’s manslaughter.”
Lannigan pursed his lips and looked away. “I thought you’d be more reasonable, Dave. Hasn’t my guy suffered enough? He lost the love of his life.”
“He killed the love of his life,” Brunelle corrected. “And I’m not really interested in how much he’s suffered. He broke the law.”
“What about mercy?” Lannigan pleaded.
“Not to be clichéd,” Brunelle answered, “but tell it to the judge. My job is to obtain the conviction for what he did. He did manslaughter. The judge gives mercy, or not, at sentencing. Why not just plead him out as charged, and make a pitch to the judge for leniency? He’s more likely to get a light sentence if he accepts responsibility.”
Lannigan chewed his cheek for a moment. His usually genial expression clouded by a furrowed brow and hesitant frown. Then his features snapped back to the amiable mask he wore. “I know! You talk to him.”
Brunelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? I don’t talk to the defendants. That’s your job.”
But Lannigan shook his head. “No, he won’t listen to me. I’ve tried to explain why he’s gonna get convicted, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He figures he hired me for something and not just to plead guilty. He could do that without me.”
“He hired you for legal advice,” Brunelle replied. “And you should advise him to plead guilty.”
“Yeah, well…” Lannigan trailed off for a bit. “I’m not sure he trusts my advice.”
Brunelle just nodded, in a way he hoped was noncommittal.
“He only hired me because I quoted such a low fee,” Lannigan admitted. “Half what everybody else charges for a homicide.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit, Dave, I didn’t think you’d actually charge it. It was an accident.”
Brunelle folded his hands on his desk. “Yeah, we’ve been through that.” He frowned for a moment, then leaned forward. “Look, Nick, it’s not really my problem if your client doesn’t trust you because you low-balled the fee. The truth is, there were plenty of people in my office who thought we should charge murder. But I charged manslaughter because it was manslaughter. And that’s what he needs to plead to.”
Lannigan nodded. “So tell him that,” he practically begged. “He’ll listen to you.”
Brunelle shook his head. “Nick, you know I can’t talk to defendants. Not directly. The rules of professional conduct forbid it. I don’t need that kind of hassle.”
But Lannigan waved it off. “It’s okay if I’m there. I’ll set it up. I’ll tell him you won’t budge and I’ll let you explain why.”
Brunelle raised steepled fingers to his lips. “I don’t know, Nick. Why should I do that?”
Lannigan’s face lit up. “Easy, Dave. We both get rid of another case. Don’t you have enough to do?”
Brunelle glanced again at the suppression brief on his computer. He’d do almost anything to avoid going back to that. He tapped his chin. “You think it’ll work? You think he’ll plead out if I explain how strong our case is?”
Lannigan nodded enthusiastically—a defense attorney bobblehead. “Absolutely. I guarantee it.”
Brunelle didn’t believe the guarantee, but he figured the whole thing was worth a shot. “You’ll be there the whole time, right?”
More exaggerated nods. He could tell he’d won Brunelle over. “You bet.”
“And no questions,” Brunelle insisted. “I don’t want him asking me questions. I explain it and he decides. That’s it.”
Lannigan stood up and stuck his hand across Brunelle’s desk. “Deal.”
Brunelle looked at the hand dubiously, then shrugged and shook it. “Okay. Set it up. But if he doesn’t plead out, I’m asking for the maximum sentence.”
Lannigan smiled. “Sure, Dave. Whatever you say.”
But Brunelle could feel he’d already said too much.
Chapter 9
Somehow, when Brunelle had accepted Lannigan’s offer, he’d pictured himself meeting with Master Michael in one of the small attorney-client conference rooms inside the jail. But he’d forgotten that bail was a lot lower on a manslaughter charge than murder, and Michael Atkins wasn’t some gangbanger or drug addict. He had a respectable job and a mortgage. He wasn’t a thug, just a pervert. Once the judge set the bail, it took Lannigan less than a day to set up a bail bond, secured by his client’s suburban home. So the meeting was at Lannigan’s office, and Atkins was wearing khakis and a button-up shirt rather than jail jammies or leather pants. He stood up when Brunelle walked in to the conference room that Lannigan share
d with the other small time attorneys on the floor.
“Mr. Brunelle.” Atkins extended a hand in greeting. “Nick says I should talk to you.”
Brunelle shook his hand. He didn’t like how Michael had phrased that. “He told me the same thing.”
Lannigan jumped in, directing Atkins back into his seat and gesturing for Brunelle to sit opposite. Lannigan sat between them, at the head of the table. “Thanks for coming, Dave,” he started, talking a bit quickly. “I just thought it might be a good idea to lay everything out on the table and see if we can’t just work this all out.”
Atkins nodded and looked to Brunelle. “I’m guessing you don’t understand my and Tina’s relationship. It wasn’t abusive.”
Brunelle nodded back, but it was noncommittal, designed to elicit additional information rather than ratify that already provided. “Okay.”
Atkins grimaced slightly at the response. “See, that tells me you don’t understand. Most vanillas don’t. But don’t judge me. I’m sure you’re tolerant of gays, and May-December relationships, and I’m guessing by your bare ring finger that you understand polyamory.”
Brunelle knew gay people, and he thought he’d heard the term ‘May-December relationship’ once about a decade earlier. He had no idea what polyamory was. But none of those was the term he fixated on.
“Vanillas?” he asked.
Atkins smiled and nodded. “Right. People like you who don’t get people like me and Tina. It’s fine if you want to do it in the default position twice a month, but that doesn’t work for everyone.”
It was like Atkins was speaking in code. A rude, snarky code.
“The default position?” Brunelle questioned.
Atkins laughed slightly. “That’s what Tina and I called the missionary position. The default position. But there’s so much more. And for two people who enjoy the same play, from complimentary angles—oh, you have no idea how perfect and rare that is. It’s not like I went to that club and picked up the first sub I saw. Tina and I met a long time ago. We both joined the same hiking club. It took a while until we realized how compatible we were sexually, but then… Well, I can’t explain it.”
Brunelle wasn’t thrilled about being called a vanilla who only did it in the default position. For a moment he even considered telling Atkins and Lannigan just how non-vanilla he and Kat had been the previous night. But two things stopped him. First and foremost, Kat would have killed him. Slowly. In a way no one would have been able to detect. Second, he felt a bit intimidated by the Master and wondered if he might laugh at Brunelle’s undoubtedly clumsy imitation of his lifestyle. So he turned prosecutorial.
“You better explain it,” Brunelle responded. “You’re looking at prison time for what you did.”
“Prison?” Atkins’ eyes widened. “You want to put me in prison?”
Brunelle shrugged. “You’re putting yourself there, Mr. Atkins. You killed someone.”
“I killed the woman I loved,” Atkins replied sharply. “Isn’t that punishment enough?”
Brunelle thought for a moment, then shook his head. “The legislature doesn’t think so.”
Atkins crossed his arms and scowled. “Then fuck the legi—”
But Lannigan interrupted him. “I think we’re getting a bit off track here, fellas. What matters most is that this was an accident. Just a tragic accident. No one wanted to kill anyone that night, least of all my client wanting to kill the love of his life.”
“Accidents happen,” Brunelle agreed. “And sometimes those accidents are crimes. Manslaughter is, by definition, an accident. But it’s still a crime, with a minimum seven years in prison.” He shrugged and met Atkins gaze. “Sorry,” he lied.
Actually, it wasn’t a lie. It’s not a lie if you know the other person won’t believe you.
“I’m not going to prison for seven years,” Atkins declared.
Brunelle raised an eyebrow. Master Michael had been a blubbering mess that night at the Cu-CUM-ber club. Brunelle had found it difficult to imagine Atkins mastering anyone. But now he was showing a bit of his inner control freak. Good. If Lannigan was stupid enough to put him on the stand, Brunelle would make sure the jury saw it too.
And Brunelle figured Lannigan was all but certain to put Atkins on the stand. Usually, defendants didn’t help themselves. Good attorneys knew how to get their side of the story to the jury without exposing their client to the destructive force of a cross examination by the prosecutor. But Lannigan wasn’t a good attorney.
“You may not have a lot of choice in the matter,” Brunelle said. Then he decided to poke the bull. “How does it feel to have someone else in control?”
The good news was, Brunelle was enjoying himself. The bad news was, that wasn’t why he was there. He was there to explain to Atkins why he was going to get convicted, and thus convince him to accept responsibility.
Lannigan could also see it wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned. “Look, maybe we should start over,” he said. He turned to his client. “I wanted you to meet Mr. Brunelle because he’s a good and honest lawyer and he doesn’t lay on the bullshit. He’ll tell it like it is, and maybe he’ll point out some weaknesses in our case that we can’t see.”
Atkins frowned and looked at Brunelle, then back to his lawyer. “I’m not sure I want to discuss the weaknesses in our case in front of the prosecutor. That doesn’t seem smart.”
Brunelle couldn’t help but nod slightly. He was right; it wasn’t smart. Brunelle could see Atkins was the more intelligent of the two other men in the room. He guessed Atkins knew it too. He was sure Lannigan knew it.
Time to cut to the chase.
“Look,” Brunelle leaned forward and folded his hands on the conference table. “I’ll make this easy. Don’t say anything, just listen. Nick asked me to explain why I’m so damn confident you’re going to get convicted. He figured if you heard it from me, you might believe it. Then you two could decide on your defense strategy. So, here goes.
“You said it was an accident. I get that. In fact, that’s the first thing I’m going to tell the jury. ‘Ladies and gentleman, this was an accident. A horrible, terrible, and preventable accident. It was also a crime.’ See, that’s the point. You get behind the wheel of a car drunk and kill someone, that’s an accident too. You didn’t intend to kill anyone. You just had a reckless disregard for the safety of others. That’s not murder. It’s manslaughter. Same here. You didn’t mean to kill Tina, but you did, and you need to be held responsible.”
Atkins twisted his mouth into a tight frown.
“Do you understand?” Lannigan asked him.
Atkins just narrowed his eyes for a moment, then started nodding. “Yeah, I understand. I understand perfectly.” He stood up. “You got your money and now you want me to plead guilty. Well, fuck that. I’m not a criminal and I’m not going to prison. You’re fired, Lannigan.”
Lannigan’s jaw dropped almost as far as Brunelle’s heart.
No, I need Lannigan on this case. He’ll make sure there’s a conviction.
Lannigan popped out of his seat. “Now, Mike, Mike, Mike. Let’s talk about this.” He threw a nervous glance at Brunelle then turned back to his client. “Don’t be hasty. This was just an idea. We can talk more. Alone.”
Brunelle knew his cue to leave. He stood. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Atkins.” Another non-lie, since Atkins wouldn’t believe that either. He winked at Lannigan. “Good luck, Nick. Give me a call once you get this settled. I’ll show myself out.”
He started to do just that, when he remembered one more term of art that had been bothering him. He turned back.
“One more question, Mr. Atkins,” Brunelle said. “What’s polyamory?”
Atkins hesitated, momentarily distracted from his anger at Lannigan. “It means being in love with more than one person at the same time,” he explained. “Can you even understand that?”
Brunelle nodded. Unfortunately, he could.
Chapter 10
C
ourthouses are small places. To be sure, they’re usually large buildings, ten stories tall or sprawling over a city block, with a hundred courtrooms, and literally thousands of people passing through them each week. But the core group of lawyers and court staff who were there every day—they’re a small group. Brunelle learned in school that nothing could travel faster than light. He learned in the courthouse that there was one exception: gossip.
By the time Brunelle passed through the metal detectors the next day, his little tête-a-tête with Master Michael was the talk of the place. But he was too distracted to notice whether anyone was looking sideways at him. His mind was racing over the events of the last twenty-four hours. Atkins’ threat to fire Lannigan. Terms like ‘vanilla’ and ‘polyamory.’ Kat almost catching him as he googled ‘polyamory’ at his kitchen table. Distracting Kat from further ‘Whatcha doing?’ questions by leading her to his bedroom for more research. And the paradoxical feeling of satisfaction and increased curiosity said research was budding in him.
In fact, he was so preoccupied that he walked right past Robyn Dunn on his way to the elevators.
But she saw him.
“Hiya, Mr. B,” she called out in that darkly sweet voice of hers. “Whatcha doing?”
Brunelle swung around, all of the thoughts in his head spilling onto the floor and bouncing away. Well, almost all of the thoughts.
“Uh, hey, Robyn,” he stammered. That dimple. That damn dimple of hers. It looked good beneath leather. And he bet that looked even better in the flesh—so to speak. “Just lost in thought, I guess. Big case.”
Robyn smiled, which just deepened the dimple. The scar on the other side of her face had faded in color but not size. Her grin made the scar stretch slightly into its own smile shape. Brunelle estimated it was higher up her face enough to be hidden under the mask. He wondered how recent that photograph was.
Substantial Risk (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 5) Page 4