Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

The charges were worse, far worse, than she had expected.

At this stage, she had anticipated a couple of arson counts, but as she read she saw in Count Four that Wish was being charged with second-degree murder under the felony-accessory rule. He and his accomplice, Daniel Cervantes, according to the amended complaint, had committed felony arsons, and during the commission of one of the felonies Daniel Cervantes had died. That made Wish as responsible as if he had killed Danny himself.

Still reeling from Count Four, Nina came to Count Five. According to this one, Wish had with malice aforethought killed Daniel Cervantes and attempted to cover up the murder with a fire.

“I don’t believe it! Talk about trumping things up!” she said. “Premeditated murder? Are you nuts?”

“We had to rush it some, because we couldn’t let him out,” Jaime said.

“You don’t have the evidence. You’re making a mistake, Jaime.”

“It’s a murder. The coroner found kerosene traces all over the body. Somebody wanted to make sure it burned.”

“But-”

“And your guy’s camera was the murder weapon, according to a forensics report I received approximately ninety minutes ago,” Jaime said. “Like I said, it’s been a rush.”

“You-you have fingerprints?”

“Not with the heat and flames. The camera’s enough.”

“But the arsonist was up there too! Listen, Jaime, I’m going to tell you in a nutshell what happened up there.” She told him about the reward and the arsonist, leaning her head close to his. He listened carefully and nodded.

“That’s what happened,” she finished.

“Very interesting. You have any proof? Any hard evidence? Since you’re not letting your client talk?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Good. Anything you come up with, we’ll talk.” Another lawyer had caught his eye. He started to get up.

“Wait,” Nina said. She practically grabbed his coattail. She would have kissed his ring if he had held it out. She really wanted Wish out, today.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jaime said. “Words are cheap.” He looked down at her and she thought she saw a trace of triumph in his eyes. She had given something for nothing.

“I can’t talk like this to you again, Jaime,” she said. “I see that I made a mistake.”

“I have to go. See you later.”

“I want a copy of that forensics report.”

“As provided by law.”

“Don’t do this. Let him out on the trespassing charge and let’s talk. You’ll be glad you did.”

“It’s outta my hands. He stays in jail, those are my instructions.”

“Wait. Just one more thing-”

“What?” He balanced on his toes, ready to go, his face impassive.

“Did you find film in the camera?”

“Yeah. It’s a Canon digital SLR, hefty for such a high-tech item. Has a memory card, not film.”

He watched Nina’s body tense, watched her bite her lip, trying to decide if she really wanted to know the answer to her last question.

“No shots had been taken,” he said. He went off on his next errand of whatever the opposite of mercy was. She sagged against the table. So he had no bomb to explode, no photo that somehow implicated Wish in any of it.

But hadn’t Wish told her that he took many shots?

The bailiff had come in. “All rise,” he said. Nina got up. Judge Salas stepped up to the dais and sat down in his black robes. “Good afternoon,” he said, not looking at anybody.

“You may be seated.” A rustle. Nina looked at Wish, who smiled at her with total confidence that she would deliver him from his travails.

His case came last and when it was called she was waging a final battle with a flare-up of the poison-oak rash on her hip, trying not to scratch. Wish must be feeling far worse. She stood up and moved to the counsel table.

“We have an amended complaint just filed, Judge,” Jaime said.

“You have given a copy to Counsel?” Judge Salas said. He was young for the job, high-voiced, in contrast with the thick brows that come with a high testosterone level.

“I have it, Your Honor,” Nina said. Salas thumbed through the charges, reading Count Five thoroughly.

“Well?” he said.

Jaime said, “He’s dangerous, Judge. Mr. Whitefeather is a transient. He has no family here. He’s only been in the area a few weeks. After the fire he evaded questioning for several days. He’s a flight risk. The murder charge is gonna stick, Judge. We just got the news that the murder weapon was a camera owned by Mr. Whitefeather. No question he was on the ridge on Tuesday night. He admitted that with his counsel present.”

“Whitefeather. What kind of name is that?”

“Mr. Whitefeather is a member of the Washoe tribe from the Lake Tahoe area, Your Honor,” Nina said, stepping in quickly. “His mother is working with the B.I.A. on a federal project out of Washington and she’s on her way here right now. Mr. Whitefeather is working as an intern at a security firm in Carmel this summer, Your Honor. He’s a good student going into his second year in the Criminal Justice Program at Lake Tahoe Community College.”

Salas didn’t react. He looked at Jaime. “Any record?” he asked. “I don’t seem to have a sheet on him.”

“We’re still checking on that,” Jaime said.

“I can personally represent to the court that Mr. Whitefeather has never been arrested for any crime from a misdemeanor on up, let alone been convicted of anything,” Nina said, a true statement legally, since any juvenile record was officially expunged from history. “He worked in my law office at Tahoe for the past two years part-time and his behavior has been exemplary. Let me respond to a couple of points Counsel made earlier-”

The judge held up his hand, silencing her. He said to Jaime, “You charged him with trespassing and today you’re charging him with murder?”

“We don’t want him out,” Jaime said. “We ask that this be made a no-bail case. This is the third fire in a month. This defendant can’t control himself.”

“Mr. Whitefeather didn’t do anything, Your Honor,” Nina said rapidly. “It’s a mistake that comes from moving too fast. Mr. Whitefeather and Mr. Cervantes were present at the last fire because they were trying to catch the arsonist. He had never been on the mountain before-”

“That’s not what we hear from a witness who chased Mr. Cervantes home during a previous fire,” Jaime said, jumping on her words.

“I don’t want to hear any evidence,” Salas said in a complaining voice. “Am I supposed to try the case today? It’s a bail hearing. He won’t even be entering a plea for a couple of days.”

“Okay, then,” Jaime said. “First-degree murder charge. No bail is the appropriate response. Further, this guy is not a local. He stayed out of sight until the Monterey County Sheriff’s Office, acting on a tip, found him at-sorry, Nina-his lawyer’s condo in Carmel.”

“Is that right.” Salas turned baleful eyes on Nina. “I don’t know you, Counselor,” he said.

“As I mentioned, Your Honor, my offices are-were-in Tahoe.”

“Were?”

“I have closed them and am spending the summer here.”

“And where are you practicing law?”

“I share space in the Eastwood Building in Carmel.”

“Hmm.”

“The same office the defendant is allegedly working out of,” Jaime said.

“I am appearing for purposes of the bail hearing and arraignment, if it comes to that,” Nina said. “Naturally, Mr. Whitefeather might prefer local counsel in the event this goes much further.”

Jaime said, “We have a nonlocal vouching for a nonlocal. These fires-a lot more people could die. We owe it to the public to hold on to Mr. Whitefeather.”