“I know,” she said in a measured voice, “that my ethical requirements are different from yours.”
Alcott huffed. “I hardly think that’s true. We’re both officers of the court.”
Talon pasted on a patient smile. “Yes, but we have different charges. Yours is supposed to be to seek justice. Mine is to represent my client to the best of my ability, regardless of what justice might look like to an outside observer. Yours sounds a lot better at cocktail parties. You get to wear the white hat, but that hat comes with responsibilities too. So, you can try to shame me for filing a motion to suppress evidence on a case where you’re trying to lock an innocent man in a cage for the rest of his life, but what do you want me to do? I just came to you with the name of a witness who says my client is innocent. And do you show even the slightest interest in that potentially justice-y development? No.
“You cross your arms and reject it because it doesn’t fit into your already closed-minded conclusion about the case. Oh, and your own personal career advancement. Just forget that sometimes justice requires amending charges down or even dismissing cases when you get new evidence that casts doubt on the guilt of the accused. Who has time for that sort of intellectual engagement?”
She stood up and jabbed a finger at Alcott.
“So excuse me if I bristle at someone like you giving ethical advice to someone like me. I’ll do my job, thank you, since it’s obvious you won’t do yours. Goodbye.”
She grabbed her briefcase and stormed out, finding her own way back to the lobby, lest her parting words be lessened by a helpful series of ‘turn left’ and ‘turn right’ and ‘last door on the left’ from her foe.
Once safely out of the Prosecutor’s Office and back in the elevator alone, she finally let out her breath.
“God, I love that rush,” she said to herself.
“Someone like you… Someone like me…” she recounted as she pressed the button for the lobby. She looked at her watch and smiled. “Time for a drink,” she told herself. “Let’s see if there’s anyone out there worth someone like me.”
CHAPTER 17
As it turned out, there wasn’t. To be sure, the bartender was interesting to talk with, and the woman on the next stool from the accounting firm across the street had some surprisingly entertaining stories after her second drink. But overall, there wasn’t anyone worth changing Talon’s default after-work plans of going home to her own condo.
Well, hers and Will’s.
She put the key in the lock and steeled herself for what lay within. Maybe, she thought, I should have had a third drink myself. When she pushed open the door, she was sure she should have. “Who the hell are you?!” she shouted
A half-naked woman was sitting upright in the middle of the couch. She had limp blond hair and bony shoulders, ashen skin, and pink blotches around her eyes and nose. She looked sick. Talon knew she was high.
The woman didn’t answer, but Talon’s brother propped himself up enough from his position under the woman to show his head over the back of the couch. “Oh, shit! Sis. You’re home early.”
“It’s seven-fucking-thirty,” Talon yelled at him. “What the hell is going on here?”
Will forced himself to his feet, sending the sitting woman scrambling onto the floor. The coffee table went flying, spilling pills and pipes onto the floor.
Will came around the couch slowly, palms raised in an effort to calm Talon. A doomed endeavor. “Sis, it’s not what it looks like.” He was wearing just a pair of sweats, his chest and arms covered in prison tattoos, his face smudged with stubble, and his dirty-looking hair falling limply into his face. Worst of all, the sweats weren’t baggy enough to hide the evidence of what he and his companion had been up to on the couch.
“It’s not what it looks like?” Talon laughed. “Here’s what it looks like: You’re in my home, snorting drugs off of my coffee table, while you bang some drug whore on my couch. That’s what it fucking looks like."
“Hey!” the woman cried. “Fuck you! I’m not a whore.”
“Shut up, Kelly,” Will told her, pointing back at her but keeping his gaze fixed on Talon, like she were a predator about to leap. “Sis, look, I’m sorry. She’ll leave. I’ll clean this all up. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Talon swallowed the emotion that threatened to derail her anger. “You’re high again. God damn it, Will. You’re using again? Already?”
“No, no, no,” Will insisted, waving his hands. “Kelly was, but not me. I’m clean. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me, Will,” Talon growled. “And you’re not gonna stay clean if you’re hanging out with drug whores.”
“That’s it!” Kelly threw her fists down to her sides. “You wanna go, bitch?”
Talon wanted nothing less. Kelly was small and skinny. Talon would snap her in half. But Will jumped between them.
“I told you to shut up, Kelly.” He snatched her jacket and purse off the floor and shoved them into her arms. “Just go. I’ll handle this.”
He didn’t give her time to protest, shoving her toward and out the door in an almost expert manner. He’d done that before.
When the door was closed and locked, Will turned around and leaned against it, panting. The sweats were flat again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Talon demanded. “You bring some whore in here to do drugs and blow you? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kick you out right now!”
Will leaned forward again, his shoulders drooped and his eyes wide. “Look, I screwed up. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me. I’m trying. It’s not that easy to get back on your feet, ya know? I was in there a long time.”
Talon was still shaking, but she could feel the tingle in her fingers and the adrenaline started leaving her bloodstream. “You’re not going to get back on your feet by getting some crack whore off of hers.”
Will laughed weakly at the joke, but he didn’t argue.
Talon crossed her arms. “Okay, here’s the deal. No more drugs. No more girls. No more screw ups. Or you’re gone. I don’t care where you go, but you won’t be able to stay here. Understand?”
Will nodded.
“Say it out loud,” Talon demanded. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Will answered.
“Do you agree?” Talon pressed.
“Yes, yes.” Will laughed. “Geez, you drive a tough bargain. Wish you’d been my lawyer. I woulda got out years ago.”
“You never would have gone in,” Talon returned, with an offer of a half-smile.
Will nodded. “Well, maybe next time.”
Talon glared at her brother. “There won’t be a next time. Right?”
Will stood up a little straighter, but cast his eyes away. “Right, sis,” he said. “Sure.”
CHAPTER 18
Talon set the hearing on her motion to suppress as quickly as she could under the court rules—one week from serving it on the prosecutor. She was hoping it might jam her up. Maybe one of the cops was on vacation. Maybe Alcott had another case that was about to go out to trial. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But probably not.
Alcott didn’t ask for a delay of the hearing. She had her cops and she had the time. So Talon made sure to arrive early and prep her client accordingly.
“We’re going to lose.” Those were her first words after the corrections officers brought Ezekiel Frazier into the courtroom and seated him at the counsel table next to her.
Zeke looked at her, then laughed darkly. “Damn. I’m glad you’re so confident. Maybe I should do that say-I’m-guilty-and-appeal thing after all.”
“Not the whole case,” Talon clarified. “Just today’s hearing. We’re going to lose today’s hearing. But we need to do it anyway.”
“Why?”
Talon offered a sly grin. “Because we might win after all.”
Alcott came in soon after that and set up her materials, making no effort to engage, or even really acknowledge,
Talon or her client. A few minutes later, the clerk and court reporter entered the courtroom and took their stations. And a few minutes after that, the judge took the bench.
“All rise!” the clerk commanded. “The Pierce County Superior Court is now in session, the Honorable Arthur Haroldson presiding.”
Talon frowned. She’d known who the judge would be, of course. When she docketed the hearing, court administration had assigned it to Haroldson. He wasn’t the worst judge on the bench, but he was one of the oldest. And one of the Whitest. It wasn’t that he was racist, exactly. It was just that he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about any more. When he was a boy, Blacks and Whites went to different schools and couldn’t marry each other. Hell, there were literally still lynchings in the South. It was a racial Nirvana now compared to that. He wasn’t going to get Talon’s point. They weren’t going to win.
“Are the parties ready in the matter of,” he asked, pulling on a pair of reading glasses, “the State of Washington versus Ezekiel Frazier?”
Alcott stood up. The prosecutor always spoke first. “The State is ready, Your Honor.”
Talon followed suit. “The defense is ready, Your Honor.”
“Very well then,” Haroldson replied. He looked again at the papers he’d brought with him onto the bench—the parties’ briefs, and any other materials he might want handy. “This is a motion to suppress evidence, brought by the defendant, alleging violations of his constitutional rights in the search of his person and his vehicle.” Talon wondered if the judge’s summary was for their benefit or his. He was pretty old. He might need help keeping himself focused. “The allegation of a violation of constitutional rights being once made, the burden falls upon the State to show, by a preponderance of the evidence, that no such violation occurred.”
Talon and Alcott both nodded.
“So,” the judge looked to Alcott, “is the State ready to call its first witness?”
“Did Your Honor wish to hear opening statements first?” Alcott asked.
Haroldson had practiced back in the day when attorneys waived opening statements even in jury trials. That was never done any more, if for no other reason than it was poor advocacy. But if he’d thought opening statements were unnecessary in a trial, how much more unnecessary were they in a preliminary evidentiary hearing.
He sighed. “If you wish.”
Alcott cleared her throat. “Thank you, Your Honor.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then began. “The defendant is moving to suppress evidence on a claim that the officers who searched the defendant and his vehicle had no lawful authority to do so, and that therefore the fruits of that search, to wit: a baggie of crack cocaine and a semi-automatic pistol, should be suppressed from evidence. The State will call two witnesses: Tacoma Police Officers Mike Flaherty and Shelby Ruck. Officer Flaherty will testify that he stopped the defendant’s vehicle for a faulty license plate light, that he contacted the driver, who was identified as the defendant, and that he determined the defendant was driving on a suspended license, which is a crime, so he placed the defendant under arrest. Officer Ruck will testify that she conducted a search pursuant to arrest of the defendant’s person and the immediate lunge area inside the vehicle, where she located the crack cocaine in the defendant’s pants pocket and the semi-automatic pistol under the driver’s seat where the defendant was seated. Each step by the officers was lawful and therefore both the drugs and the gun were lawfully obtained and should be admissible at trial. Thank you.”
Haroldson nodded to Alcott, then turned to Talon. “Any opening comments, counsel?”
Talon stood up. She had nothing to lose, so she decided she might as well cut to the chase. “Thank you, Your Honor. May it please the Court. My client was stopped for the unwritten crime of Driving While Black. His person and his car were searched without a warrant. And now the State wants to put him in prison for the rest of his life with all the other Black men they can possibly lock up.”
“Objection!” Alcott jumped back to her feet. “I— She— That is—“ She had trouble finding an actual legal objection. But she was offended anyway. So she said that. “That is offensive, Your Honor. And,” she remembered to add, “it is also untrue.”
Haroldson frowned. At Alcott’s weak complaint, to be sure, but more at Talon’s incendiary summary of the case. She’d challenged him, but he didn’t appear to appreciate the challenge. He nodded at Alcott. “Call your first witness,” he instructed, ignoring her objection or any need to rule on it.
Alcott announced Officer Flaherty and fetched him from the hallway where he and Ruck were waiting. He was in full uniform, complete with shiny badge and squeaky leather gun belt. He raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Talon hoped he meant it.
“Could you state your name for the record, and spell it for the court reporter?” Alcott started.
Talon listened, but not too intently. Attorneys weren’t allowed to lead their own witnesses. They had to ask open-ended questions that allowed a witness to answer freely and honestly. Except that in a criminal case, the police officers had already written a report of everything they’d done, and they were allowed to refer to it while they testified. That meant nothing interesting ever happened on direct exam. Not unless a newbie prosecutor forgot to ask something important. But Alcott wasn’t a newbie, and she didn’t forget anything. She took Flaherty through his report. On routine patrol in South Tacoma. Observed a vehicle with a non-functioning license plate light. Stopped the vehicle and contacted the driver. The driver had a suspended license so he placed the driver under arrest. Each step all nice and legal. Just like Alcott had said in her opening.
“No further questions,” Alcott announced when she was finished.
Then it was Talon’s turn. Haroldson and Alcott knew what she was going to argue. But Flaherty had been in the hallway.
“Good morning, Officer Flaherty,” she started as she circled out from behind her table and approached the witness stand. “Could you please tell us the meaning of the term ‘Driving While Black’?”
Flaherty’s eyes—his blue eyes surrounded by his pale skin—flew wide. But before he could answer, Alcott jumped to her feet again.
“Objection, Your Honor!” she shouted. “This is improper cross-examination.”
Talon frowned. That wasn’t really an objection. Again, it was more of a complaint. And one without any legal basis attached. She pointed out as much to the judge.
“I’m not sure what the objection is, Your Honor,” Talon said. “I’m allowed to explore the reasons for the stop. All I’ve done is ask the witness if he’s familiar with a term.”
“It’s an inflammatory term,” Alcott put in.
“So is ‘crack cocaine’,” Talon responded. “And ‘assault’ and ‘rape’ and ‘murder’. All of those are legal terms for a jury to decide, but the State uses them all the time, throughout all their trials, with no repercussions. They say a fight was an assault or self-defense was murder. I say this was Driving While Black. Either way, attorneys are allowed to inquire of witnesses, especially prosecution witnesses. Unless,” she challenged Haroldson again, “the Constitution doesn’t apply in Pierce County, Washington?”
Haroldson’s frown seemed to have calcified onto his face. “I will give you the latitude to present your arguments, counsel. But do not suggest again that I, or any judge in this county, would ignore the Constitution. Is that understood?”
Talon nodded. “Understood, Your Honor.”
Haroldson exhaled audibly. “The objection is overruled. The witness may answer the question.”
Talon nodded at Flaherty, but the officer shrugged. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What was the question again?”
“Are you familiar,” Talon repeated, “with the term ‘Driving While Black’?”
Flaherty hesitated, then admitted, “Yes, I’ve heard the term.”
“And what does it mean?” Talon followed up.
“And that does happen, doesn’t it?” Talon pressed.
Flaherty shook his head. “Not in my experience, no.”
“You wouldn’t do it?” Talon asked.
“Absolutely not,” Flaherty responded.
“Not on purpose anyway,” Talon suggested.
“Not at all.”
Talon nodded and took a moment to consider. It required everyone to wait for her. To look at her. Which is what she wanted.
“What’s a license plate light?” she finally asked.
“It’s a small white light that illuminates the rear license plate of a vehicle,” Flaherty answered.
“And it can go out, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“Why does it matter if it goes out?” Talon asked. “It doesn’t pose any safety threat, does it? I mean, I’m not going to crash into someone at night because their license plate light is out, am I?”
Flaherty almost laughed, but not quite. She was still the enemy. And she’d still, pretty much, started her examination by calling him a racist. “No, you won’t crash into someone whose license plate light is out. But it makes it impossible to read the license plate at night.”
“And law enforcement needs to be able to read your license plate at night?” Talon confirmed.
“Yes,” Flaherty said. “Or a civilian.”
“If they wanted to report a hit and run or a DUI or something, right?” Talon asked.
“Yes,” was the answer. “Or a robbery or a car theft. Anything where a vehicle might be used.”
“So the problem with a faulty license plate light,” Talon asserted, “is that it interferes with law enforcement’s ability to identify individuals suspected of illegal activity?”
Flaherty thought for a moment. Then he cautiously agreed. “Yes.”
He still didn’t trust her. He was smart not to.
Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set Page 32