A Deadly Business (20 page)
When Mia went back to her office, Frank had sent her a draft of a statement he was planning to release to answer Raines’s charges.
Sadly, my opponent is trying to score political points by capitalizing on the tragedy that has left Tamsin Merritt gravely injured. But this case will not be tried in the press.
Instead, it is the prosecutor, and the prosecutor alone, who is officially charged with the duty of seeking the truth and pursuing justice in this case. The prosecutor is in the best position to know the gravity of the crime, the evidence that supports the filing of charges, the criminal history of the accused, and the impact of the crime upon the victim.
Thus the prosecutor has the best reference point from which to make the critical decisions that will affect the victim as well as the offenders. I trust Mia Quinn, a prosecutor in the Violent Crimes division, to carefully weigh all sides in this case before making her decision on how to proceed.
C
harlie and Mia discussed strategy as he drove them to the Youth Service Center, where both Jackson and Dylan were being housed.
“How many hours left in your forty-eight before you have to charge them?” Charlie asked.
Mia looked at her watch. “Less than twenty-two.”
“I’m sure Frank took Raines’s press conference this morning well.” Charlie’s face was innocent.
“Yeah, right.” Mia’s mouth twisted. “He’s still telling me it’s my choice, and he’s even putting out a press release saying that, and emphasizing that the case shouldn’t be tried in the media. But if I decline to charge these two as adults, you can be sure that Dominic Raines will claim it’s even more proof that our office doesn’t take crime seriously.”
“There’s another option,” Charlie offered. “Charge them as adults in the preliminary complaint. You can always amend it later. But right now it would get Raines off your back. And if it turns out he’s your new boss, then you can decide what’s best for everyone all the way around.”
It was what Frank had hinted at, a variation of what had originally
been done with Dylan. Except instead of pressuring a boy to get help, it would provide Frank with political cover. It might even protect her job if Raines ended up being elected. But should Mia play politics when she wasn’t a political appointee?
“I’m just hoping things will be a lot clearer when we’re done here,” she said as they pulled into the parking garage next to Youth Services.
“If wishes were horses”—Charlie held his hand up to his chin—“we’d all be up to here in horse . . . poop. So how do you want to play this?” he asked as they got out of the car. “Good cop, bad cop?”
“Don’t you think that’s a little obvious? I mean, look at you and look at me. It’s almost typecasting.”
“I’ll let you be bad cop if you want.” Charlie offered one of his lopsided grins.
At the thought of herself leaning into the boys’ faces and making threats while Charlie solicitously offered to get them soft drinks and snacks, Mia had to smile. “I’m guessing both of these kids have spent a lot of time parked in front of TVs. They’d realize what was going on within the first thirty seconds, no matter which one of us plays bad cop. Let’s just do this without any games.”
“None?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Of course we’ll still start with softball questions and see if we can get them to open up. Or let down their guard.”
“And we might want to make it worth their while for one of them to roll over on their buddy.”
“Okay, Charlie, you win. We’ll play games. Just not good cop, bad cop.”
First they met with Dylan’s lawyer, Naomi Fairchild. Naomi had sleek brown hair cut in an angled bob. Only a few years out of law school, she was the youngest lawyer in the public defender’s office. Despite her low salary she was dressed in a striking red cashmere jacket that Mia guessed had cost as much as one of Mia’s house payments. Naomi’s father had made a fortune as a software developer.
Rumor had it that his money allowed her to pursue her passion for defending the downtrodden.
“Okay,” Naomi said as soon as Mia had introduced Charlie and they had sat down at the battered square conference table. “We want all the records you have on file for Dylan, as well as his mother, his stepfathers past and present, and his nine siblings.”
“What?” Mia was shocked. “That’s immaterial. It has nothing to do with the charges your client is facing.”
“Oh yes it does. We will be raising the issue of child abuse. Dylan is a victim as much as Tamsin Merritt is, if not more. His abuse has lasted for years. It’s left him brain-damaged and mentally incompetent. He doesn’t even understand what happened that day. He operates on the level of a ten-year-old. And that’s being generous. We’re still having him evaluated.”
“The very fact that Dylan ran away afterward proves he knew what he did was wrong,” Mia pointed out.
Naomi was undeterred. “We intend to show a systematic pattern that led to Dylan’s not being responsible for his actions. I’ve made a list of everything we need.” She slid a printout across to Mia, and Charlie leaned in to look.
For Dylan and all his family members, Naomi was requesting every conceivable record. Medical screenings and treatment. Counseling. Drug rehabilitation. Alcohol rehab. Results from psychological tests. Any and all results from any standardized tests, including school records. Every family member’s offense history, referrals for placements, disciplinary actions, and any other records held by any department of King County or its affiliates.
With a shake of her head, Mia slid the paper back toward Naomi. “Any records kept on these other individuals are confidential and not material to Dylan’s case. If you try to subpoena them, I’ll tell the judge this is nothing but a fishing expedition.” She managed a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t go looking for records of violent video game purchases.”
Mia was being sarcastic, but Naomi nodded thoughtfully and scribbled in the corner of the paper. Then she looked up and said, “And before you speak to my client, I want to set some ground rules. I will be in the room with you two and Dylan at all times. And I want the right to be able to pull the plug at any time.”
Even though she planned on agreeing, Mia didn’t say anything. She was still ticked at Naomi’s demands.
“And I want immunity for anything Dylan says.”
Immunity meant that Mia wouldn’t be able to use anything she learned from Dylan against him at trial.
“No.” Naomi started to interrupt, but Mia raised her hand. “However, we are prepared to offer a plea bargain if Dylan will freely admit that he and Jackson both participated in this crime, both today and at trial.”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of plea bargain?”
“If he completely cooperates with us, then I am prepared to agree to some type of intensive treatment. Perhaps another stay in a therapeutic foster home.”
Naomi just made a humming noise, then went outside to tell them that they were ready for Dylan to be brought in. When he came into the room, his head hung so low that he was curled over like a comma. He kept his eyes on his black shower shoes scuffing over the worn tiles. His brown hair was cut short enough that his scalp was visible between the bristles.
“Can you tell us your name, please?” Mia didn’t say
honey
, but it was in the tone of her voice.
“Dylan.”
“And, Dylan, how old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Tenth.” His voice was so soft that Mia had to strain to hear it.
“Do you have any siblings?” Mia asked.
“She means brothers and sisters,” Charlie leaned in to explain.
Maybe it wasn’t exactly good cop/bad cop, but he was still trying to find an angle.
“There’s ten of us.” Dylan looked up for half a second. His face was blotched with red. “Plus my mom.”
“Things must get kind of crowded at your house,” Charlie said. “Do you ever go out and do stuff with your friends?”
“Sometimes.” He was speaking to his shower shoes again.
“Who do you hang out with?”
“Jackson mostly. And sometimes Manny.”
“And how do you know them?” Mia asked.
“From school.”
“Are you guys good friends?” Charlie said.
Dylan glanced up at them again, and Mia had the sad thought that the two boys were his only friends. “Yeah.”
It was time to cut to the chase. “Dylan, were you with Jackson and Manny on Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you go?”
He picked at a cuticle, which was already raw. “We took a bus. To a mall.”
“And what did you do there?”
His answer was slower now. “Fooled around.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“We dropped some things over the bridge.”
“What did you drop?”
“Cans. At first.”
“Whose idea was that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“What about the shopping cart?” Mia said. “You were playing with it, right? Giving each other rides?”
He nodded.
“And then you picked it up and balanced it on the railing. Do you remember whose idea that was?”
He was perfectly still.
“Did you try to hold on, Dylan?” Mia offered him an out. “Did it just slip?”
He continued to be silent.
“Look, Dylan, if you can help us, we can help you. If you are willing to testify—”
“To say in court,” Charlie interjected.
“Say in court that this was really someone else’s idea, then things could go much better for you.”
He shook his head. “But they’re my friends.”
“This woman was very badly hurt, Dylan. She didn’t do anything wrong, and now she’s in the hospital.”
“So?” His head jerked up and his eyes were blazing. “I don’t care.”
Mia was shocked. “But what happened hurt her. Hurt her badly.”
“I don’t care,” he repeated.
“She might die,” Mia stammered.
In a warning tone, Naomi said, “Dylan! Stop talking! Now!” She grabbed his arm.
He ignored her. “So? Some rich lady in her clip-clop shoes? Someone like that doesn’t matter to me! Who cares? Who cares about her?”
But Mia heard another sentence beneath his words.
Who
cares
about
her
when
no
one
cares
about
me?
“That’s it,” Naomi said, standing up so fast her chair flew back and nearly tipped over. “We’re done here.”
M
ia’s mind was still whirling when Eli walked into the room. Had Dylan played more of a role than she had thought? Had he targeted Tamsin deliberately?
She thought back to how Tamsin had been dressed when she was hurt. She was pretty sure the woman had been wearing heels, or “clip-clop shoes” as Dylan had termed them. Had he spotted Tamsin and decided to punish her for being a woman who could afford nice things? For being the kind of woman who looked like she ran the world?
Eli’s greeting was professional, nothing more. Yesterday he might have asked her to brunch, but today they were colleagues on opposite sides of the table. Even if they were seriously dating, however, the law didn’t preclude them acting as prosecutor and defense on the same case. The only rule was that the potential conflict of interest had to be disclosed to the client.
“Eli, do you remember Charlie Carlson?” The two men had met at one of Gabe’s football games. “He’s a detective with the Seattle PD. And Eli Hall is with the public defender.”
Charlie stood up, and unsmiling, the two men shook hands. Mia
couldn’t help but contrast them. Charlie with his black tousled hair that nearly brushed the back of his collar. Eli with blond hair cut short as fur. Charlie took his seat again, resuming his customary slouch.
Eli sat with his back ruler-straight, both feet on the floor. He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you in the homicide department, Detective?”
Charlie nodded. “That’s right.”
He turned to Mia. “Don’t you think it’s a little prejudicial, having a homicide detective conduct the investigation?”
She blinked, suddenly wishing it had been Eli doing the cross-examination in class Tuesday. Maybe then this side of him wouldn’t have been such a surprise. “This is a preliminary investigation, and Charlie’s working for me. He’s been identifying himself as I did just now, strictly as a member of the Seattle PD. Besides, no one knows yet whether Tamsin will live.” Mia crossed her arms and leaned back. Eli wasn’t the only one who could come out swinging. “To be honest, I’d be more worried about your client, Counselor. He’s got a lengthy juvenile record. He’s charged with a serious offense. And obviously past rehabilitation has been unsuccessful. Everything argues for him being tried as an adult.”
Eli’s mouth tightened. “First of all, there is no proof of intent. None. These were kids just fooling around. The cart slipped from their hands. Jackson had no intention of dropping it on this woman. But it weighs fifty pounds. Once it reached a tipping point, they both lost their grip on it, and then it was too late.”
Charlie sat forward. “You’re trying to tell me that after they watched five cans of Mountain Dew explode on the concrete they had no idea of what that shopping cart—and as you say, it weighs fifty pounds—would do to a woman’s skull?” A muscle in his jaw flickered.
“I’m saying that there is no proof they intended to hurt anyone. If they did, why didn’t they drop those cans on people? They were
leaning over the railing, watching what was happening underneath them. They could easily have targeted someone. But they didn’t.”
Eli was painting things in a flattering light.
“They came pretty close, though, didn’t they?” Mia pointed out. “Especially Jackson.”
“That can was still at least ten feet away from anyone. And there was no more malice in what he did than in a kid who puts Mentos in a Diet Coke and tries to make a fountain. These are just kids, Mia. They were giving each other rides in the shopping cart before they lifted it up. They weren’t planning anything. At their age and their stage of social development, they’re not really capable of planning.” He took a breath. “Look, can I be honest with you?”
