A Matter of Trust

Chapter 44





I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here,” Eli told Ben McFadden, one of Tami Gordon’s former clients. Judging by the stink of cigarette smoke that wafted from Eli’s chair cushion every time he sat down, this rule had not been enforced by Tami when it had been her chair and her office.

From what Eli had heard about Tami, she had not been much for following rules. The only thing she believed in was her clients’ absolute innocence. In Eli’s view, it was the judge or the jury’s job to determine guilt or innocence based on the evidence and the arguments presented; it was his job to make as effective a case as possible. Most defendants were neither completely innocent nor completely guilty. The truth was a slippery thing.

The skinny man sitting across from Eli plucked the unlit cigarette from between his lips and began to tap it on the edge of the scarred desk, flipping it over and over. The tips of his fingers were stained yellow with nicotine.

“I still don’t understand.” McFadden’s hazel eyes flashed up to Eli’s and then back to his cigarette. “Who are you? Why did you call me to come down here? Where’s Tami?”

“Tami’s no longer employed by this office. I’ve been asked to take over her cases. She left in something of a hurry.” This was a euphemism for what happened when you were caught having sex with one of your clients—a suspect in a double homicide—in an attorney-client visiting room on the eleventh floor of the King County Jail.

Eli had heard that Tami claimed it was all a misunderstanding. That while she took full responsibility for not stopping her client from hugging her, all that had happened was a simple embrace. That the deputy hadn’t understood what he was seeing.

“But I want to talk to Tami,” McFadden said, chewing on his lower lip. “I need to.”

Eli’s gut clenched. Was McFadden another “special” client of Tami’s?

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Am I still going to be able to plead out? She promised I wouldn’t go back to prison.”

“I’ll be talking later today to the prosecutor, Katrina Nowell. I’m going to make sure she’s still on board with the offer she made you.”

McFadden’s hands stilled. “Why wouldn’t she be? It was her idea.”

According to Tami’s notes, the plea deal called for McFadden to give up the names of the people in the identity theft ring, plead guilty, and accept eighteen months of probation. It was a very good deal. Maybe better than McFadden, who had never managed to keep his nose clean for more than three months in his adult life, deserved.

“I just need to make sure we’re all on the same page,” Eli said patiently.

“I can’t go back to prison. I won’t.” McFadden had been in and out of prison since he was nineteen. Now he was thirty-four and could pass for fifty-four. With trembling fingers, he pushed up the sleeves of his gray long-sleeved T-shirt. His right bicep was tattooed with SS lightning bolts. The underside of his left forearm bore a spiderweb tattoo, common among racists who had spent time in prison. Sometimes you earned it by killing a minority inmate, although when he looked in McFadden’s haunted eyes, Eli hoped fervently that this was not the case here.

“So you’re in the Aryan Brotherhood?” The white power group preyed upon the confused, the angry, the troubled, and the weak. It made men who had never felt special for a single day in their lives believe that they were part of something important, something bigger than themselves.

“I was. But I’m not anymore. Not since I got me a half-black girlfriend. But the Brotherhood says the only way you really leave them is in a body bag. If I go back to prison, both sides will be after me. I’ll be lucky to come out alive. You need to remind Katrina that I kept up my end of the deal.”

“You’ve already given up the names of your accomplices?” There had been nothing about it in Tami’s notes. If you could call them notes.

His nervous eyes skittered over Eli’s face. “Right. That’s what I did.”

From what Eli had been able to figure out from Tami’s fragmented files, Tami had made a number of plea deals with Katrina Nowell, more than with any other prosecutor in Violent Crimes. Maybe Tami had found the sweet spot in the King County District Attorney’s Office—a prosecutor with a kind streak.

While a defense attorney couldn’t steer a case to a certain prosecutor, you could request that a case be assigned to one who had been involved in any area of your case—even just a bail hearing. Tami might have taken advantage of that perfectly legal tactic to ask for Katrina whenever possible.

Some prosecutors were mirror images of Tami, viewing all defendants as guilty, guilty, guilty. They saw it as their job to demand a maximum sentence with no leniency or allowances. As a defense attorney, you wanted a prosecutor who understood that while clients were often no angels, many had also suffered from chaotic upbringings, lack of schooling, and crippling addictions that sometimes led them to make poor choices.

But it was the prosecutor alone who ultimately decided whom to charge, what to charge, and what sentence to recommend—or whether to accept or offer a plea bargain. Frank D’Amato and the heads of the various departments didn’t have time to monitor everyone’s cases. It was called prosecutorial discretion. And Katrina had exercised hers on McFadden’s behalf.

“I’ll talk to Ms. Nowell today and let you know what she says,” Eli said.

But McFadden didn’t seem reassured at all.



The secretary gave Eli directions to Katrina’s office. When he turned the corner, he saw a woman with a long, slender back and blond hair pulled back into a low bun walking ahead of him. Eli’s heart took a stutter step.

“Mia?”

She turned. “Eli.” Her smile didn’t reach her shadowed eyes. This morning word had gotten around his office that the man responsible for murdering Mia’s friend and another prosecutor had killed himself just as he was about to be arrested.

“I’m here for that meeting with your co-worker.” He hesitated and then said, “I heard about what happened. You must be relieved that it’s over.”

Instead of answering him right away, Mia closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Finally she said, “You might not have heard everything. He committed suicide by cop, right in front of us. It was awful. This was one of those cases where there are no winners.”

“I’m sorry.” Eli wished he had more than just two overused words to offer her.

Charlie Carlson came up behind Mia, standing a little closer than Eli thought was strictly professional. As if he and Mia were a team, and Eli the interloper. He thought about that moment Friday night under the hood of her car, that second when they had nearly kissed. How much of an accident had that really been?

“Charlie,” Eli said, nodding. The bottom of Charlie’s tie bore a yellow stain that looked like mustard.

“Eli.”

A woman with a head full of frizzy blond curls popped her head out of an office a few doors down. “Did I hear someone say Eli?”

“That’s right. You must be Katrina.” Nodding at Charlie and Mia, Eli walked past them to shake Katrina’s hand.

As they settled in her office, she said, “So you’re the new Tami?”

“I guess you could say that. Without some of her”—he hesitated—“quirks.”

“I actually like Tami. I also realize I might be the only one in this office who would say that. She’s caring. Committed. And very smart.” One corner of Katrina’s mouth turned up. “Except maybe when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Eli chose to neither confirm nor deny. “Well, as you probably heard, she left rather abruptly, and as a result her files are a little disorganized. I just wanted to make sure you were still on board with the plea bargain for Ben McFadden.”

“Yes, he was very helpful. He’s provided some information that’s going to help us roll up the whole thing.”

“He’ll be glad to hear that. He was in my office today, and he was quite anxious.”

“Anxious?” Katrina’s brows pulled together. “Why?”

“It’s not really what he said. It’s more what he showed me.”

She cocked her head. “Oh?”

“His tattoos.”

Her face cleared. “Oh yes. I was thinking about them when Tami and I were discussing the plea bargain. I knew that once he got into prison he’d probably end up dead or in solitary confinement for his own safety. What can I say?” She smiled and shrugged. “If someone seems like they just made a mistake, I’m willing to think about going outside the box a bit, especially if he could help us catch some bigger fish. Plus, the courts are clogged enough as it is. Why go to all the expense of a trial when I can guarantee he’ll be supervised for the next eighteen months?”

“It’s a good deal,” Eli said. “A very good deal.”

“I was feeling generous that day.” Katrina’s eyes went oddly flat, like a doll’s. “I can stop feeling generous, if that’s what you want.”

Eli hurriedly backtracked. “No, no, I didn’t say that.” If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was to get off on the wrong foot with the one prosecutor who might be more inclined to be on his side.