Tribal Court (14 page)

Brunelle laughed a bit. "My detective said it was justified."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. And once my medical examiner heard what the victim had done, she changed her opinion from homicide to suicide."

"Now, that seems unlikely," O'Brien said.

"Well, she's the expert," Brunelle replied. "If anyone could hide a homicide as a suicide, it's her." He looked at his watch. "Which reminds me, I better get going. I'm having dinner with her in half an hour. If I'm late, it's my homicide she'll be passing off as a suicide."

O'Brien grinned. "Well, then, by all means, depart." He stood up. "It was nice to meet you. Thank you for discussing the case with me."

"No, thank you," Brunelle insisted as he shook the professor's hand. "You can expect a subpoena from me. I don't know if it'll help my case or not, but I think it's important the jury hears what you have to say. The truth is always a good thing."

"I'll look forward to receiving it," O'Brien replied. "Enjoy your dinner."

Brunelle considered the initial apologizing and groveling he'd need to do. "Thanks. I'll try. Goodbye, professor."

Chapter 26

Donatello's was packed. Upscale Italian on a Saturday night. Prime date material. Ordinarily, Brunelle might have avoided the U District on a Saturday night, but he had needed to be close to campus. Within walking distance. There was no way he was going to risk a traffic jam and stand Kat up again. He knew she wouldn't give him a third chance.

When he stepped into the restaurant and saw her, he was thankful he hadn't screwed up the second chance. She was gazing absently out the window, her shiny black hair reflecting the lights from the bar, and the glow of the table candle highlighting the angelic curves of her face. She was beautiful. And smart. And tough.

"Good evening, Dr. Anderson," Brunelle greeted her as he approached their table. "You look stunning this evening."

She looked up at him and smiled. Brunelle was glad to see the smile seemed genuinely warm. She had been genuinely angry, but she seemed willing to move on.

"Good evening, Mr. Brunelle," she replied in that cuddly voice of hers. "Glad to see you made it this time."

Brunelle sat down opposite her at the cozy table. "Yeah, sorry about that. This case is starting to get intense. Omnibus is Monday and trial starts the Monday after that."

"I know," Kat smiled. "I got my subpoena yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Brunelle nodded. "Good to know those got out on time."

The waiter came over and took their drink orders. When he left, Kat picked up where they'd left off. "So lots to do on the big case, huh?"

Brunelle shrugged. "Yeah. I guess so. Sorry. I don't mean to bring my work home with me, so to speak."

Kat raised an eyebrow. "Slow down, lover boy. We're not married yet. Hell, we're barely able to make a dinner date work."

Brunelle smiled and nodded. "Right, right. I just don't want to bore you or complain. I was just explaining why I've been so busy lately."

Kat was quiet for a moment. "So you were in Tacoma, huh?"

Brunelle looked down quickly at the menu. "Oh. Um. Yep. 'Cause, you know, that's where the tribe is."

Another pause.

"What were you doing exactly?"

Brunelle's eyes stayed glued to the menu. "Oh, just working the case. You know, lawyer stuff."

"Lawyer stuff, huh?" Kat confirmed, with a smirk and a nod. "Were you meeting with the defense attorney?"

Brunelle finally looked up. "Hm? What's that?"

"The defense attorney," Kat repeated. "You know, the hot one? Were you meeting with her? Is that why you stood me up?"

Brunelle rubbed his chin. Several possible lies raced through his mind. 'No,' was the obvious one, followed by, 'Yes, but that was scheduled at 3:30,' thereby suggesting he was done well before she had called him. But he decided to just be honest—mostly. It was easier. Besides, he could still spin it a little.

"I guess so," he started, lowering the protective menu. Good body language, he knew. "I was supposed to meet with her at 3:30, but she made me wait an hour and I ended up being too late to make it back up to Seattle in time."

Kat nodded. "Oh, okay. I figured it was something like that." She looked down at her menu. "How was the coffee?"

"Not bad," Brunelle replied. "Just—" He stopped himself, but it was too late.

"I heard the background noise, Romeo." Kat shook her head at him. "Really, David, I don't care if you have to meet with a hot defense attorney. I don't even care if you do it over coffee. Whatever. But don't lie to me about it."

Brunelle grimaced. "Okay. Sorry. It's just… I didn't want you to think the wrong thing."

"Don't worry about what I think," Kat replied. "Just tell me the truth and let me decide what to think on my own."

Brunelle nodded. "Okay. That's fair." Then, for the umpteenth time lately, "Sorry."

Kat smiled. That wonderful, heart-dizzying smile. "You're forgiven. Besides, two can play at that game." The smile deepened. "How's my ex-boyfriend, Freddy? Does he like working with a big-time prosecutor from Seattle?"

"Oh, fuck," Brunelle gasped. "I haven't told you, have I?"

He knew his face had gone pale. He saw Kat's do the same.

"What?" she said. "What is it?"

"Freddy," Brunelle started. "He's, he's dead."

Kat blinked at him several times, her mouth contorted sickly. Then she swallowed hard. "Dead?" she repeated. "Dead how?"

"Shot," Brunelle answered numbly. "Somebody shot him."

Kat shook her head against the information. "Shot? Why would somebody shoot him? That can't be right."

"It was a drive-by," Brunelle explained. "Right outside the tribal police headquarters. He had just run outside when—"

But Brunelle stopped, remembering why Freddy had run outside.

"When what?" Kat insisted. "Why did he run outside? What happened, David? Were you there?"

"Uh, yes," Brunelle stammered. "Yes, I was there. I, um, I'd just been talking with him—about the case—when he stormed outside right when the shots were fired."

"What are you talking about?" Kat demanded. "Why would he storm out? What did you say to him? It better not have been about me."

"No, no. It wasn't about you. It was about…"

He trailed off.
How can I possibly explain?

"It was about what, David?" Kat's voice was ice cold.

Brunelle swallowed.
Okay, you say you want the truth…

"I thought Freddy might have been the one who murdered Quilcene's cousin."

"What?!" Kat shrieked. Patrons at nearby tables turned to look, but Kat ignored them. "Why the hell would you think that?"

"Well, the knife that killed Traver went missing from the property room," Brunelle explained. "Or rather, we thought it did. And Freddy was the one who checked it out. Or we thought he did. He went on and on in court about how a blood revenge killing was fine, but someone needed to take up the blood feud on behalf of Traver. And that 's what he and I were kind of doing by prosecuting Traver's killer. And you said the same knife killed Traver and Quilcene's cousin—"

"Whoa!" Kat flashed up a palm. "You stop right there, buster. I did
not
say it was the same knife. I said the injuries were consistent with it being the same or a similar knife. That's a big difference."

"Maybe to a pathologist," Brunelle countered, "but to this prosecutor that sounds a lot like 'the same knife.'"

"Did someone say knife?" a cheery voice came from over Brunelle's shoulder.

He turned around to see O'Brien, wearing a happy grin and holding the hand of a wife or girlfriend.

"It looks like I timed this just right," O'Brien said. He nodded to Kat. "This must be the medical examiner you said you were having dinner with. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Bill O'Brien, professor of Native American studies here at the U. Dave and I met just before your dinner date and made some plans."

Kat cast a vicious glare at Brunelle. Before he could even try to explain, O'Brien dug him in deeper.

"So anyway, the knife." He put a hand on Brunelle's shoulder. "You said it was decorative. I was thinking, there's a fine line between a justifiable blood revenge killing and a plain, old, not-justifiable murder. I would think, strangely enough, the more this was planned—the more it was premeditated, as you lawyers say—the more it was ceremonial, then the more likely it was blood revenge."

"Uh sure," Brunelle replied weekly. "That makes sense."

"Excellent," O'Brien chirped. "I'm glad you agree. Yes, if that knife was ceremonial, then that would lend credibility to the claim of blood revenge. The only thing better would be if you could show that the same weapon had been used in another such killing."

O'Brien smiled at Kat. "But I suppose that's more your area of expertise."

Kat's glare turned into an outright glower. Then she tore her dagger-casting eyes from Brunelle and looked up at O'Brien with a saccharine smile. "Why yes, it is. Mr. Brunelle and I were just discussing that. He's assembling quite a collection of expert witnesses for his case."

She lowered her eyes at him again, her own daggers glinting within. "That's why he's such a good lawyer. He knows how to get people to say whatever he wants. He's very good at using people that way."

The iciness in her voice was apparent to everyone. O'Brien's lady friend tugged his arm. "Come on, Bill. Let's get to our table. It was nice to meet you."

The academic let himself be pulled away after a last parting shot. "Nice to have met you, doctor. Impeccable timing, eh, Dave?"

Brunelle groaned affirmatively and lowered his head into his hands as they finally, mercifully departed.

"You bastard," said Kat. "This whole thing was a set up."

Brunelle's head jerked back up. "No. I swear. I did meet with him earlier today, but I did not set up him coming to our table like that."

"You obviously told him you were having dinner with the medical examiner on your case," Kat pointed out.

Brunelle nodded. "Yes, I did. But I didn't say, 'Please stop by our table and talk about the knife.'"

Kat crossed her arms. "Well, then. What did you say?"

Brunelle tried to recall the specific of his conversation with O'Brien.
Truth. She wants the truth.

"I told him I was having dinner with the M.E. and I better not be late again because if anyone could disguise a homicide as a suicide, it would be you."

Brunelle looked for some sign that Kat thought his little joke was endearing. He got nothing.

Fuck
.

After several moments, Kat began nodding. Then she stood up and dropped her napkin on the table. "Fine, Mr. Brunelle. I hope this little chance encounter helps you win your case. I hope it was worth it."

Brunelle motioned her back toward her chair. "Kat, please…"

"No," she replied. "I think we're done. Thanks for remembering to tell tell me that a dear friend of mine was killed because you falsely accused him of murder. I hope Professor O'Brien finds my autopsy report useful. I'll see you in court whatever fucking time my subpoena says to be there. And I'll be damned if I ever see you again after that."

Brunelle stood up. "Kat please. Don't do this."

"Don't so this?" she spat. "Me? What about you? How about you stop using people, you selfish asshole. How about you care about someone besides yourself? About more than just winning your next fucking case?"

Kat shook her head. "Damn it, David. You just messed up something that could have been really great. I'm pretty damn special. I'm smart and I'm funny and I could have really liked you. I was ready to. But you're too… too… You're too
you
to see that."

Brunelle just stood there, unsure what to say.

So Kat said it instead. "Goodbye."

And she walked away.