An Insignificant Case

Chapter Forty-Five

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Bridget Fournier crept out of bed as quietly as possible to avoid waking Charlie, who didn’t have to be in court until one o’clock. She dressed in the walk-in closet in the condo she and Charlie had moved into three months earlier, then went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she carried a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a toasted bagel into the dining room. Through the condo’s floor-to-ceiling windows, Bridget could see the metallic green arches of the Fremont Bridge as it crossed over the Willamette River and the snowy slopes of Mount Hood, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, sights that always delighted her and helped her relax before she went into battle.

Charlie was dead to the world after getting in late. He had been prepping a witness he was going to put on to counter the expert the prosecution was using to bolster its evidence in a pretrial motion in a burglary case.

Bridget’s case, a federal drug prosecution she had no chance of winning, was only being tried because the US attorney refused to plea bargain. Bridget couldn’t blame him. When she was prosecuting, she probably would have done the same thing with a prosecution case this strong and a defendant this degenerate. But she wasn’t a prosecutor anymore. She was a name partner in Fournier and Webb.

Bridget had started dating Charlie after the case against Guido Sabatini was dismissed. The publicity had brought Charlie a few new clients, but no case as spectacular as Guido’s. Then Lloyd Beecham, the son of a multimillionaire tech CEO, made front-page news when he was charged with drowning his wife during a fishing trip. His family hired Charlie to defend a case everyone assumed he would lose. But Charlie’s jury had delivered a not guilty verdict, and a flood of clients who could afford to pay healthy retainers had poured in. That’s when Charlie asked Bridget to join his firm.

Accepting Charlie’s offer had not been an easy decision. Bridget had spent several sleepless nights tossing and turning as she weighed the pros and cons of quitting the DA’s office and representing the type of people she used to put in prison. In the end, she decided that she had been a prosecutor for almost ten years, and a new challenge sounded exciting. Not to mention that she and Charlie would be working together. As soon as Bridget accepted his offer, Charlie had given her star billing in the firm’s name to show his appreciation.

The firm was doing very nicely, and they and their two associates had just moved into new digs in the same building where Henry Roman practiced before he was sentenced to serve ten years in the Oregon State Penitentiary. One of the associates was handling divorce cases, and the other one was an experienced personal injury lawyer that Charlie had lured away from a big plaintiff’s firm. That let Bridget and Charlie concentrate on the criminal cases, many of which were still referrals from the Barbarians, who always got a discounted fee.

Bridget finished her breakfast, grabbed her attaché case, and left for court, closing the door quietly so Charlie could continue getting his beauty sleep.

Charlie held his breath when Judge Sarah Belmont began to tell the parties how she was going to rule on Charlie’s motion to suppress. The State’s forensic experts had found a set of latent prints in the house Fred Tremaine and his two schoolmates were accused of burglarizing. Fred was a tenth grader with no police record and no prints on file. After Fred was arrested, his prints had been taken when he was booked into the Multnomah County jail. At the pretrial hearing on Charlie’s motion to suppress, the police expert testified that the fingerprints found in the burglarized house matched the prints taken from his client during the booking process.

Charlie had argued that his client had been illegally arrested without probable cause. If his reading of the law was correct, the judge would have to exclude the evidence of the fingerprints obtained when Fred was booked into the jail. Since the fingerprints were the only evidence linking his client to the burglary, the prosecutor would have to dismiss the case if the judge granted the motion.

“This is a close case,” Judge Belmont said, “but the totality of the evidence leads me to conclude that the officers did not have probable cause when they arrested Mr. Tremaine. So, I am going to grant Mr. Tremaine’s motion and exclude any mention of fingerprint evidence at his trial.”

“We won,” Charlie whispered to his client. Fred sagged in his chair. The prosecutor objected to the ruling and indicated that his office would appeal. Then the court went into recess.

As soon as Judge Belmont left the bench, Fred’s mother hugged Charlie, and his father shook his hand. The Tremaines were wealthy residents of Lake Oswego, an upscale suburb, and solid citizens. Fred had been a good student, but he’d started hanging out with a group at school that had talked him into breaking into a house in his neighborhood. His arrest had shocked Fred. Charlie believed his client was sincere when he told him that he’d been an idiot to break into the house on a dare and was going to stay away from the other boys, who were also facing burglary charges.

Charlie walked to his office with a smile on his face. Unlike many of his clients, Fred Tremaine was a decent human being, and Charlie was glad he’d kept him from getting a criminal record that would screw up his future. The prosecutor had put on the record that he was going to appeal, but Charlie was certain that the law was on Fred’s side and that the judge’s decision would not be reversed.

Charlie arrived at Fournier and Webb at a little after four. Bridget was still in trial, and he didn’t expect her to return to the office until after he’d left for the evening. She’d told Charlie that she’d be prepping a witness and to eat without her.

Charlie booted up his computer and checked his emails. There was nothing he couldn’t handle the next day. Then he organized the Tremaine file and put it in a filing cabinet. He’d need it when the State appealed, but that wouldn’t be for months.

Charlie had scarfed down a food-cart burrito on the way to the courthouse and hadn’t eaten anything else. His stomach started to rumble, and he was preparing to go home when his receptionist told him that an inmate was calling from the jail.

“Is it one of our clients?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t think so. It’s a woman. Her name is Alexis Chandler.”

The call wasn’t entirely unexpected. Charlie had read about Alexis’s arrest in Mexico.

“Put her through.” When he was connected, he asked, “Why are you calling?”

“You’re not mad at me, are you, Charlie?”

“That question can’t be answered with a simple yes or no. I would need a multipage essay.”

Alexis laughed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re pissed. I lied to you and used you to get to Guido.”

“I’ve seen the snuff film, and I know why you did what you did. What I’ve never decided is whether you were justified in taking the law into your own hands.”

“Why don’t you come to the jail and we can talk about the conflict between morality and the law during a confidential attorney-client meeting.”

“You want me to represent you?”

“Of course. I’ve been charged with a slew of violations of the criminal statutes of Oregon, including multiple counts of murder, and I need the best representation possible.”