Tribal Court (5 page)

Chapter 8

An hour later, Brunelle and Freddy were still in the casino parking lot. They were both leaning against a cop car, its lights flashing against the back of their damp heads. Officers from the Tribal Police and the Pierce County Medical Examiner were still investigating the scene across the parking lot, the steady mist unrelenting in the dark.

Brunelle looked at his watch. It was almost 1 a.m. "This still won't give us an excuse to be late, will it?"

Freddy surrendered a tired laugh. "Nope. We'll be exhausted, but we better not be late."

Brunelle nodded. "Well, hopefully they'll get to us soon."

He was used to coming and going from crime scenes at his pleasure. But he didn't know these cops or these M.E.s and he wouldn't be prosecuting this murder. He was just a witness. A cold, tired, wet witness.

Then he realized something.

He turned to Freddy. "Hey, why were you even still around? You left a good half an hour before I did."

"Eh?" Freddy looked over at him, then away again. He rubbed the back of his wet neck. "Oh, I was just, um, sitting in my car. You know, talking on the phone with, uh, someone."

"Oh," Brunelle nodded. He didn't ask who. Maybe Freddy had heard him shout 'Hi' from Kat after all.

A few quiet minutes later a patrol officer finally made his way over to them. They'd already been separated once to give their initial verbal statements. This cop had some blank-lined statement forms in one hand and some pens in the other.

"Thank you for your patience, sirs," the officer said. "If you could each fill out a written statement of what you saw, you can get going. Be sure to include a good phone number and address at the top of the form. You may get contacted by a detective."

"Understood," Brunelle said as he took the form and a pen.

He stepped around the back of the patrol car and sat on the bumper to fill out his statement. He was completely sober again so the only trouble he had writing was getting the ballpoint pen to start on the damp paper.

'At approximately 2330 hours…'

But then he overheard Freddy ask the officer to step to the front of the patrol car. Curious, Brunelle strained to hear and could just make out Freddy saying, "I'm sorry, officer, but like I told you before, I'm going to decline to make any statement."

Chapter 9

"All rise!" commanded the bailiff as Judge LeClair entered the courtroom. "The Duwallup Tribal Court is now in session."

Brunelle rose quickly from his seat at counsel table, despite the late night. The brick in his head was an unwelcome reminder that he was well past the age when he could stay up after one o'clock and feel no worse for wear the next day. Fatigue pressed down his back. Luckily, the hotel coffee had been strong.

He had to at least pretend not to be tired. The courtroom was packed—mostly with tribal members, including at least three rows of Quilcene's extended family in the front rows. There were also two television cameras. Local stations; it was just the arraignment. But Brunelle knew the trial itself would end up being national news. Duncan had already fielded phone calls from all the major cable outlets and a half-dozen true crime shows.

"Are the parties ready in the matter of the John Quilcene?" Judge LeClair asked from his perch on the bench.

"The defense is ready," Talon announced before Brunelle could answer. He was used to replying first; that's how it was done normally. She wanted to throw him off his game.

Too bad.

"The State is ready," Brunelle announced.

Judge LeClair's face fell.

Freddy leaped to the rescue. "The
Tribe
, Your Honor. The Tribe is ready."

Shit
, Brunelle thought.
And damn Talon.
He was already off his game. Not 'too bad.' Too late. He decided not to face his opponent to look at the grin he could spy out of the corner of his eye.

"Correct, Your Honor," Brunelle regained himself. "The Tribe is ready. May it please the Court, Frederick McCloud and David Brunelle on behalf of the prosecution."

He glanced down at Freddy who gave him a disapproving little shake of the head, coupled with the slightest shade of that smile of his.

"We are ready," Brunelle went on, "to proceed with the arraignment. We have filed the original criminal complaint with the clerk of the court and provided copies to defense counsel and your bailiff. It charges Mr. Quilcene with—"

"One count of murder in the first degree," the judge interrupted. "Yes, I can read, Mr. Brunelle. This is my courtroom, not yours. I shall control the proceedings."

Brunelle nodded slowly, aware of the courtroom full of eyes on his back. "Yes, Your Honor."

He knew he was going to get kicked in the crotch a lot during this trial. Better get used to it.

"Ms. Winter." The judge turned to her. "Have you had an opportunity to review the charging documents?"

"Barely, Your Honor," Talon complained. "We only received it this morning. But I've reviewed it enough to know my client is one hundred percent not guilty."

Brunelle rolled his eyes.
Why do defense attorneys always play to the cameras?

"The plea of not guilty will be entered," LeClair declared. "Next we will discuss bail and conditions of release."

Again, Brunelle was used to going first, but he checked himself and waited for the judge to indicate whom he would hear first. It seemed to be a test; he may even have passed. After a moment, the judge smiled ever so slightly. "I'll hear first from the prosecution."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Brunelle began. "The prosecution asks the court to set bail in the amount of one million dollars. This is a charge of murder in the first degree, with a mandatory minimum sentence of twenty years in prison. He was arrested blocks away from the victim with blood on his hands. I submit to you that his responsibility for the death of George Traver is not in question. Therefore, based on his actions and the likely penalty, we believe the defendant is a flight risk and a danger to the community. One million dollars will secure his presence for future proceedings and protect the community."

Judge LeClair frowned at Brunelle for a few seconds, then turned to the other counsel table. "Ms. Winter?"

"Thank you, Your Honor." Talon stepped out from behind her large table and raised her hands slightly as she spoke. "The defense respectfully requests that Mr. Quilcene be released to the custody of his family where he can remain under house arrest, until such time as he is acquitted of the charges."

House arrest?
Brunelle thought, but managed not to blurt out.
That's crazy. It's Murder One.

He looked over at her. She had balls, so to speak; he had to give her that. Even in her perfectly tailored alpha-female suit, she had balls.

Talon gestured to the gallery. "As you can see, Your Honor, Mr. Quilcene has tremendous family support. They will act as agents of the court, ensuring that Mr. Quilcene neither flees nor poses a danger to anyone in our close-knit community."

Nice touch
, Brunelle thought. The community he wasn't a part of. He hoped the judge saw through the flattery too.

"In addition," Talon's voice softened and Brunelle looked to see her pause and stiffen her chin—quite dramatic, he thought, "the court may have heard the tragic news of early this morning. Mr. Quilcene's teenage cousin—more like a little brother to my client—was brutally stabbed and murdered last night."

LeClair nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I am aware of that tragedy."

Shit
, Brunelle thought again.

"Mr. Quilcene's family needs him at home, Your Honor," Talon implored. "Release him to the care of his family. You won't regret it, Your Honor."

Brunelle stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He started to stand up. "May I be heard, Your Honor?"

"No," the judge barked without taking his eyes from the defense table. "The defense request will be granted. This court believes that Mr. Quilcene poses neither a flight risk nor a danger to our close-knit community. Accordingly, home detention is appropriate and so ordered."

Quilcene's family started to squeal and clap, but Talon quieted them with a sharp shake of her head and slash of her hand.

Quilcene himself was ecstatic. Brunelle watched as his face explode into a smile and he grabbed Talon's hand to shake it emphatically.

She shakes that murderer's hand
,
but not mine.
He surrendered a smile to himself.
Of course, I'm a jackass…

LeClair waited a moment for the last of the family cheering to die down. "We have already scheduled our trial and pre-trial dates. Are there any other matters?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Brunelle said, standing fully this time. He reached into his file and pulled out the other pleading he had drafted before leaving the office the previous afternoon. He handed a copy to Talon and one to the bailiff to hand up to the judge.

"This is a motion," Brunelle explained, "to exclude the defendant's claim of justifiable homicide based on 'blood revenge.' We believe a careful review of the applicable law and facts will show that the defense is spurious and ought not to be argued to the jury."

LeClair pursed his lips. He looked at Talon. "Any response, counsel?"

Talon took a moment, then looked up from her initial scan of Brunelle's pleading. "Not at this time, Your Honor. I won't be ambushed into making an ill-prepared response."

Damn
, Brunelle thought. That was exactly what he was hoping for.

"I would ask the court," Talon continued, "to set the matter for a hearing in two weeks. That will give me time to respond.

Brunelle looked down at Freddy and gave him a 'that's fair' shrug. Freddy offered the same back.

"And," Talon went on, with a new edge to her voice that made Brunelle look over and see her grin at him, "we can also address the defense motion to exclude."

She extracted her own pleadings from her briefcase and handed copies to Brunelle and the bailiff.

"Motion to exclude what?" Judge LeClair asked as the bailiff handed him Talon's pleading.

"To exclude Mr. Brunelle," Talon grinned. "He's not a tribal member and should not be permitted to practice before this venerable court."

Chapter 10

Brunelle slammed through the administration building's doors and out into the parking lot.

"Of all the racist, prejudiced, bigoted…" He shook a fist at the ground.

Freddy hurried out after him. Some of the spectators started to file out too. Luckily no cameramen yet. They stayed back to interview Talon. She was far more photogenic than Brunelle.

"Sorry about that," Freddy apologized. "She's just doing her job."

Brunelle was trying to control his anger, but he didn't feel like trying very hard. "Look," he said," I never wanted to be down in here in front of this stupid court. You people are the ones who decided to assert some archaic treaty right. You people are the ones who insisted a murder trial be held in a converted gymnasium. You people are the ones who agreed to have a real prosecutor included. And now, you people are the ones who just let a murderer out on the street because some gang thug in his family got shanked over some drug debt or fucking some rival gang member's girlfriend."

Freddy blinked at him. "You people? Dave, I'm on your side."

Brunelle closed his eyes and sighed. "I know. That's not what I meant." He opened his eyes and put a hand on Freddy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know we're a team. It's just— I'm just frustrated, that's all. And tired. I'm really fucking tired."

Freddy's smile blossomed again. "No worries, partner. I'm tired too. And I don't blame you. Talon's ruthless and smart. It's actually a compliment she wants you off the case. It means she's worried about you."

A smiled cracked Brunelle's scowl. "Hm. Yeah. I hadn't thought of it that way."

"And the way she used Quilcene's cousin's murder to spring Quilcene?" Freddy shook his head admiringly. "Man, I didn't see that coming."

Brunelle could feel his heart slowing. Damn Talon for pissing him off. He wanted off the case, didn't he? Just concede the motion and drive back up to Seattle. If they wanted to walk a murderer, why should he care?

But he did care.

He looked down at Freddy. He knew he needed to do these next bits alone. Talon was a little too quick to seize onto Bobby Quilcene's murder. She was probably just a cold-hearted opportunist, but he needed more information. More information was always good. But given what he'd overheard Freddy tell the officer the previous night, Brunelle didn't think it wise to bring him along.

"I'm going to get away from here and get a few things done," Brunelle said. "Maybe you can do some more research on blood revenge? If we can convince LeClair that it didn't justify this type of murder even back when the treaty was signed, he might keep Talon from arguing it to the jury."

Freddy clicked his heels and saluted. "Yes, sir." Then he looked over at the police station. "Uh, I don't have a computer in my office yet. Maybe I'll head home to do that research."

"Perfect," Brunelle replied.

~*~

Brunelle waited for Freddy to drive away, then turned and walked into the Tribal Police station.

"Hello," he greeted the officer behind the glass—a man this time. "I was a witness to the murder last night and I'd like to speak with the detective about the case."

The officer's eyes widened just a bit. Brunelle guessed they didn't get a lot of murders in their small jurisdiction. "Yes, sir. I'll get him right now. I'm sure he'll want to talk with you."

Until he realizes who I am
, Brunelle thought. "Thanks."

He took a seat in one of the three plastic chairs in the small lobby and looked down at his hands. His pale, pink hands. He was pretty sure he could make out a couple of age spots under the hair. It reminded him of the gray starting to fleck his temples. He sighed.

After a few minutes, the door buzzed and the detective stepped into the lobby. At least Brunelle assumed he was the detective. Either that or a male model. Fabio meets Geronimo. Tall, buff, chiseled features, smoldering eyes. And a gun on his hip to boot.

"Good morning, sir," he said, appraising Brunelle for a moment before extending his hand. "I'm Detective Sixrivers. Officer Jones said you were a witness to last night's homicide?"

Brunelle stood up and shook the detective's hand. "Yes. I'm Dave Brunelle. I'm a prosecutor with the King County Prosecutor's Office. I'm down here prosecuting the Quilcene case."

Sixrivers extracted his hand. "Oh. I thought Officer Jones said you were a witness."

"I was," Brunelle assured. "In fact, I was the first to the victim. But the reason I was even down here last night is that I'm prosecuting the Quilcene murder case. The defendant on that case just got released to home detention, in part because the victim last night was his cousin. I was hoping you might have time to brief me on the case."

The detective's eyebrows lowered and he crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, Mr. Brunelle. We don't discuss details of ongoing investigations. Especially with witnesses."

Brunelle frowned. "Well, I'm not just a witness. I'm a prosecutor, and that homicide is impacting my case."

"That homicide," Sixrivers said, arms still crossed, "is the subject of an ongoing investigation. I can't discuss it with you."

"Can't?" Brunelle asked. "Or won't?"

Sixrivers set his superhero-like jaw. "The bottom line is the same, Mr. Brunelle. I'm not going to discuss the case with you. If and when a suspect is identified and charged, then you may be contacted by a prosecutor. Until then, I'd suggest you forget about it."

Brunelle nodded. "Okay," he relented. "Thanks anyway, detective. I appreciate your time."

He shook Sixrivers' hand again and stepped back out into the cool autumn day. At least Sixrivers had let one thing slip.

"They don't have a suspect yet."

It wasn't much, but it was something.

His next visit should fill in at least some of the gaps.