Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set

by Stephen Penner

  Curt smiled that smile of his. “Ask it again, but say ‘accomplice’ instead of ‘brother,’” he instructed.

  Talon wanted to say no, but she enjoyed Curt’s combination of drama and intelligence. She wasn’t sure what he was driving at, but she trusted him enough to say, “If we’re not going to interview his accomplice, who do we interview?”

  And saying it that way, she knew the answer. “His victim’s accomplices,” she realized.

  They could hardly interview the murder victim. He was, by definition, dead. But just as Michael had been with Ricky, the late Jordan McCabe had been with two friends of his own. They were alive, and they could be interviewed. If they could be found.

  Curt anticipated the question. “Their names are Reggie Oliphant and Earl Daggett. Oliphant is finishing up an eight-year sentence for armed robbery. He’s already at Shelton, getting ready to process out. Daggett got out of prison two years ago after a stint for manslaughter. His last known address is all the way over in Spokane. His last reported job was working at a scrapyard outside of town, but that data is six months old.”

  Talon frowned. The Washington Correctional Facility in Shelton, Washington, was the main processing center for incarcerated felons in Washington State. It was where they all went first, before getting assigned out to one of Washington’s eleven other prisons, and it was the place they all came to last, to get ready to re-acclimate to life on the outside. It was also a one-hour drive from downtown Tacoma.

  Spokane was on the other side of the state, on the other side of the Cascade Mountains, and at least four hours by car. The choice was easy: drive an hour to talk with someone who would be exactly where they could find him, or drive four hours to hope they might find someone who could be anywhere now.

  “Spokane it is,” Talon announced.

  Curt’s eyes flew wide. “Spokane? Are you kidding? We could be in Shelton before lunch.” He looked at the clock on Talon’s wall. “Hell, we could be there before McDonald’s stops serving breakfast.”

  “They serve breakfast all day now,” Talon pointed out. “And no. We’re going to Spokane.”

  Curt’s expression betrayed his confusion. Then it softened into a sly smile. “Oh, I get it. You want to spend four hours in a car with me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Talon smiled back, but coldly. “We’ll drive separately. Give me his last known address and I’ll meet you there. We can work out the details later.”

  Curt’s smile dropped into a frown. “I don’t understand,” he started.

  “You don’t have to,” Talon interrupted. “I’m the lawyer and I call the shots. We’re not going to Shelton. We’re going to Spokane. If you have any further objections, keep them to yourself because I don’t care.”

  Curt’s frown shifted from confused to hurt. “Okay. Right. You’re the lawyer. Whatever you say.” He stood up. “I guess I should be going now. I’ll go check my schedule and let you know my availability for a trip to Spokane.”

  He turned to go, but Talon stopped him.

  “Curt.”

  He looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  She nodded toward her monitor. “If you found out all that stuff on your own, why did you need to get on my computer?”

  Curt shrugged, his smile returning. “I didn’t. I was just curious what your password was.”

  He stepped into the hallway and Talon let him go without further conversation. She lost herself in thought for several moments, then shook her head and returned to her surroundings. She turned to her computer and pulled out the keyboard to type in her password:

  W-I-L-L-I-A-M-1-2-3.

  CHAPTER 11

  The drive to Spokane always seemed to take both longer and shorter than Talon expected. Longer, because four-and-a-half hours is just a long time to be sitting behind the wheel of a car. Shorter, because there really wasn’t much between Tacoma and Spokane, so the milestones were few and far between. She took the State Route 18 bypass to Interstate 90 to avoid the perpetual Seattle traffic. It was a drive through yet-to-be-developed exurbs then up the side of the Cascade Mountains. There was a ski resort at the pass, but it was closed that time of year, and then it was downhill from there, literally and figuratively. She drove past small Eastern Washington towns with names like Cle Elum and Vantage, but mostly it was farm after farm, broken halfway by the Columbia River.

  She’d left early enough that when she arrived in Spokane it was only a little after 1:00. That gave her time to grab lunch before meeting Curt at 2:00 at the fountain in Spokane’s Riverfront Park.

  Talon knew it would have made more sense to drive over with Curt, but she didn’t want to spend four-plus hours trying to come up with small talk. Laurieskank would undoubtedly come up, and that would lead to Kyle the Barista, and her love life generally. Even if they talked about the case, that would just have led to questioning about why they’d come all the way to Spokane rather than just down the road to Shelton. And anyway, there wasn’t four hours’ worth of material about the case. Not yet.

  But hopefully that was about to change. Lunch was soup and sandwich at a small restaurant near the park, then she walked across the street and found a bench in front of the fountain. She was five minutes early. Curt was six minutes late.

  “Did I ever mention,” he asked as he walked up to her, rubbing the back of his neck and looking more haggard than she was used to seeing him, “that I hate driving?”

  Talon smiled at that. It was always good to acquire information on other people. Plus, she kind of liked the idea of him having to do something he didn’t really like. Payback for her night with Kyle.

  “No,” she answered sweetly. “But then again, I never asked.”

  Curt took a moment, then laughed. “Okay then. You’re still vaguely angry at me about something. Good to know. That should make this whole thing go quicker, but seem longer.” He rubbed his neck again. “Kind of like the drive over here.”

  Talon looked up at him, but he had turned away to gaze at the fountain. This time her smile was smaller, but more genuine, at their shared sentiment about the drive. She wasn’t going to be able to stay mad at him for long.

  “So what’s the plan of attack?” she asked him.

  Curt nodded and pulled his Jameson file out of his shoulder bag. “I did some more research after we talked. It’s hard to verify where someone works when they’re a laborer getting paid under the table, but I was able to find a recent apartment application for a place here in Spokane. Under employment he wrote ‘meat packer’ and listed a business east of town.”

  “Meat packing?” Talon replied. “So he works at a slaughterhouse?”

  Curt shrugged. “I guess so. Why? Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “Hardly,” Talon answered as she stood up. “It’ll remind me of being a kid.”

  Curt cocked his head at her. But before he could ask, she said. “This time we can carpool. But you’re driving.”

  “Why?” Curt responded as she walked past him.

  “Because,” she smiled over her shoulder, “you hate driving.”

  * * *

  The Inland Empire Meat Company was about fifteen minutes outside of Spokane, east on I-90 toward Idaho. There weren’t any signs, but there also weren’t really any other buildings around. The curse of the slaughterhouse, Talon supposed. She vaguely recalled learning about the pivotal role slaughterhouses played in the development of western zoning laws. But she’d forgotten most of it after the final exam. She wanted to be in a courtroom, not a municipal zoning department.

  And there she was, in the dusty parking lot of a meat packing plant. Not as far from the courtroom as one might think. No one likes to see the sausage made, literally or figuratively. People just want to know the bacon is on the grocery store shelf and the criminals are in jail.

  They stepped out of the car and were immediately hit by the smell that led to all those zoning law decisions. Talon knew modern ventilation technology had undoubtedly made the situa
tion more tolerable than in days past, but it was still bracing. But there was no way she was going to let Curt know it bothered her.

  He wasn’t nearly as concerned about appearances. “Yuck. Glad I don’t work here every day.”

  “If you worked here every day,” Talon supposed, “it wouldn’t bother you.”

  Curt admitted as much with a loose nod. Then he started for the building. “Come on. Let’s go ask for Daggett at the main office.”

  It smelled better inside; again, the ventilation. The business office was right off the main entrance. There was a young woman working at the reception desk. Talon and Curt introduced themselves by name only and asked if the manager was in. He was, and a few minutes later the young woman took them back to the office of a Mr. Derrick Reynolds.

  “Call me Derrick,” he insisted as he sat down again behind his paper-covered desk and motioned toward the guest chairs. He was a heavy-set man in his fifties, with thinning hair and a thick moustache. The office sported several bookshelves of binders, family photos, and a large stuffed-and-mounted bass. “How can I help you?”

  Talon took the lead. Curt had gotten them there, but it was her case. “As I said, my name is Talon Winter. I’m a criminal defense attorney from Tacoma. This is my investigator, Curt Fairchild. I represent a man named Michael Jameson who is charged with murder. We’re looking for a man named Earl Daggett who may work here.”

  “Earl?” Reynolds replied. “Sure. He works here. Good worker. Hope he’s not in any trouble.”

  Talon shook her head. “No. It happened a long time ago and he was just a witness.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Good to hear. Earl’s a good guy. Works hard. Never causes trouble.”

  “Is he working right now?” Talon asked. She was glad to hear they’d found him. She was hoping they wouldn’t have to wait three days until his next shift.

  “Oh yeah,” Reynolds confirmed. “Been here since six. His shift’s just about over. I’ll have Cindy go get him. You can use my office.”

  Talon considered protesting the offer of Reynolds’ office, out of politeness, but decided to accept it after all. It was useful, so why stand on ceremony? She doubted they had a conference room. “Thanks, Derrick.”

  Reynolds took his leave and a few minutes later, Cindy the Receptionist escorted Earl the Witness into the office.

  Daggett was pretty much what Talon expected, maybe even a little tougher looking. Not rougher; he was sharp even in his Inland Empire Meats uniform, with a shaved head, neatly trimmed goatee and athletic build beneath the one-piece jumpsuit. But he was tall, with hard eyes, and dark brown skin. Intimidating. Perfect for a wingman on a shooting. But then again, he may have been a lot less tough-looking twenty years ago, before he’d spent a dozen years in and out of prison.

  “Mr. Reynolds said you folks wanted to speak with me?” Daggett started. He had a smooth voice, deep and confident. There was no trace of the trepidation Talon thought their visit might generate.

  Talon stood up and extended her hand. “Yes, Mr. Daggett. My name is Talon Winter. I’m a criminal defense attorney from Tacoma. This is Curt Fairchild, my investigator.”

  Daggett nodded and shook Talon’s hand. “Okay. Am I in some sort of trouble? I been checking in with my probation officer every week.”

  “No, no,” Talon assured. “This isn’t about you.”

  They all sat down.

  “It’s about Michael Jameson,” she explained.

  Daggett didn’t give the reaction Talon expected. He just shrugged. “I don’t know that name.”

  Curt finally spoke up. “How about the name Jordan McCabe?”

  The dead man. It was funny how, after a murder, the one name everyone forgets was the victim’s. The case was named after the defendant: State of Washington v. Michael Jameson. The witnesses all said their own names to the jury. But the victim, his name hardly mattered any more. Except to his friends.

  “Jordy?” Daggett confirmed. “Shit. Yeah, I know that name.”

  “I represent the man charged with killing him,” Talon admitted. “We’d like to talk to you about what happened.”

  Talon had expected some sort of negative reaction. Either an explosive, ‘No!’ or a crossed-armed ‘Sorry, I can’t help you.’ Instead she got another shrug.

  “I can tell you what happened,” Daggett said. “I don’t know how much it’s gonna help your guy, though.” He paused. “Huh, they finally solved it, huh? How’d they do that?”

  “They found the gun that fired the shot,” Curt answered. “But that doesn’t mean our guy did it.”

  “Well, he was the only one there,” Daggett replied. “So if it was his gun, he fired it.”

  “Wait,” Talon interrupted. “The only one? Are you sure?”

  Daggett frowned in thought. “Well, there were four people there. Jordy, Reggie, me, and whoever shot Jordy. I never seen the guy before. Anyway it was dark and I was pretty fucked up. I probably wouldn’t recognize him after all this time anyway. So that’s good for your guy.”

  Talon had to admit as much. But she wanted more information. “What happened? Was it a drug rip gone bad?”

  Daggett smiled at the vernacular. “Drug rip?” he repeated. “Nice, Mrs. Lawyer. Yeah, it was a drug rip. Well, it was supposed to be. Jordy had it all set up. Said there was some kid trying to step on our territory. But he didn’t tell us who it was. He just wanted us with him. Figured the kid would drop the drugs as soon as he saw our guns.”

  “But he didn’t?” Talon encouraged.

  “Nope, he turned and ran back to his car. We took off after him, but he got to his car first. Jumped in and pulled away. Jordy and Reggie shot at the car. Dude shot back and hit Jordy right in the throat. He never had a chance.”

  Daggett retold the story with almost no emotion. Just a distant nostalgia.

  “So it was just the one guy?” Curt tried to confirm.

  Daggett shrugged. “That’s all I ever saw.” Daggett shrugged. “But shit, it was dark and once Jordy got hit, I wasn’t too concerned about how many of them there were.”

  “Do you remember chasing after them in your car?” Talon asked. “Anything like that?”

  “A car chase?” Daggett’s face twisted up in thought. “Naw, I don’t remember that. But like I said, I was pretty fucked up.”

  “And you never shot at anyone?” Curt asked.

  Daggett smiled slightly. “I didn’t even have a gun. I was just there for moral support.”

  Talon nodded dubiously. “Sure.”

  “Anyway, it don’t matter if I shot. Your guy’s the one who killed Jordy.”

  “Maybe,” Talon replied.

  Curt reached into his pocket and handed Daggett a business card. “It took a little bit for us to find you. I don’t know if the prosecutor will go to that much trouble. They should, but they get lazy working for the government. Do us a favor, call us if they contact you.”

  Daggett took the card and stared at it for a moment. Then he looked up. “Why should I?”

  “Because our guy is innocent,” Talon asserted.

  But Daggett was unimpressed. “Prison’s full of innocent men.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Daggett went back to work and Talon and Curt stepped out into the parking lot. The smell was there again, so instead of lingering in the sun to debrief, they both climbed into Curt’s car and headed back toward Spokane.

  “So, what do you think?” Talon started. She was interested in Curt’s thoughts, but also still processing her own.

  “He seemed credible,” Curt responded. “I don’t know. Probably not our best witness.”

  “Friends of the victim probably aren’t going to be the murderer’s best witnesses,” Talon opined.

  Curt looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “So you think he’s guilty?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Talon insisted. “I didn’t mean Michael is a murderer. I just meant…”

  “I know, I know,” Curt interrupted as he pu
lled onto the roadway. “I was just giving you crap. If anything, maybe he does help us. He said there was only one shooter. So that’s Ricky, right? Maybe Michael wasn’t there at all.”

  “Well, that would be difficult to conclude,” Talon replied, “since Michael himself told us he was there, and gave us a pretty detailed account. If there was only one person there, it was probably him and not Ricky.”

  Curt nodded. “Maybe, but again, that’s based on Michael’s version. Maybe Ricky went alone and Michael just added himself into the story so Ricky wouldn’t get charged.”

  “Hell of a way for him not to get charged.” Talon shook her head. “Michael said Ricky is the one who pulled the gun out of the glove box and shot.”

  “No, Michael said he blacked out and didn’t remember who shot what,” Curt pointed out. “He put Ricky there, but he didn’t have Ricky pulling the trigger.”

  Talon appreciated the accuracy. “Okay, you’re right. He didn’t say it. He just strongly suggested it. But Daggett never saw Michael.”

  “Or he never saw Ricky. Maybe Michael was the one running the drugs and got jumped by Daggett and his crew.”

  Talon considered. “Maybe. It seems more likely that Michael never left the car and Daggett just didn’t see him. Didn’t Michael say he stayed in the car?”

  Curt nodded. “I think so. But we better figure it out. The prosecutor’s going to find Daggett once they actually start looking. He wasn’t that hard to find. And when he tells the jury there was only one shooter, the jury’s going to think it was our guy. Especially if our guy won’t take the stand and say it was his brother.”

  They were on the freeway, heading back toward Spokane. They’d be there in a few minutes and could split up or stay together for more strategizing. Talon considered their options.

  “Dinner,” she announced.

  Curt turned to look at her. “What?”

  “Dinner,” she repeated. “We’re going to have dinner here and figure this out. Either we can do this without bringing Ricky into it or we can’t. If we can, then we do it. If we can’t, then we tell Michael and give him a choice: do it our way or find another lawyer. I’m not going to lose my first case because my client ties my hands behind my back.”