Miller stared at her, saying nothing and revealing nothing. She showed no anger, no sadness, no joy or elation. Slowly, her hand reached up and her fingers found the cross around her neck. “You’re sure?”
“We’ve positively identified his car as the car that hit your son,” Tracy said. “And we’ve obtained a video of that man at a convenience store not far from the intersection and only a short time before the accident.”
“What did he say?” Miller asked, fingers rubbing the cross.
“Initially he said his car had been stolen and he had not been in Seattle. Tonight, when shown the evidence, he chose not to say anything. He’s requested a lawyer.”
Despite the evidence to the contrary, Trejo had continued to maintain that the man in the video was not him. Then he went silent. Usually Tracy and Kins could get a suspect to talk, especially when they had video evidence to contradict his story. The suspect didn’t always tell the truth, but they would usually, at least, try to explain the evidence. Perhaps Trejo had decided that he couldn’t explain the video, and it was best not to say anything.
“Who is he?” Miller asked.
“He’s an enlisted man.”
“Army?”
“Navy. He’s stationed on Naval Base Kitsap in Bremerton.”
“What happens now?” Miller asked.
Tracy would return to SPD, where Trejo was being held prior to booking. “He’ll be booked at the King County Jail. His first appearance will be tomorrow afternoon. We’d like you to be there . . . if you can.”
Miller didn’t answer right away. She looked past Tracy, her eyes losing focus. After a moment she reengaged. “What time?”
“Two o’clock.”
She sighed. “I have to work. I don’t have a choice. I still have two more boys.”
“The hearing is for the court to determine whether there is probable cause to keep the suspect in custody. He won’t enter a plea until the arraignment, which won’t take place for about two more weeks.” She paused, certain Shaniqua Miller was not interested in the criminal procedure. “Would you like me to explain the situation to your employer?”
“I won’t get paid either way,” she said.
Tracy nodded.
“What time did you say?” Miller asked.
“Two o’clock.” Tracy provided the location of the district court on the first floor of the jail. Then she handed her a business card with her number and another card for the Victim Assistance Unit. “You can call me or you can call the number on that card. Someone has been assigned to keep you advised of and to explain the procedures as we go forward. They can also answer any questions you may have about the hearing or about the arraignment.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Shaniqua said. Then she stepped back and slowly and quietly closed the door.
Leah Battles clipped her shoes into the bike pedals, churned south on Westlake Avenue, and cut over to Fifth Avenue. She lived in an apartment in Pioneer Square, on the southern, or opposite, end of town. Not having to live on the naval base was one of the perks of being an officer. Tonight it had another perk. Laszlo Trejo had told her on the phone that he’d been placed in the SPD precinct holding cell in preparation for booking at the county jail. Both SPD and the King County Jail were located between her training class and her apartment, so she wouldn’t be going out of her way to stop, speak to Trejo, and gather more information.
Battles knew it was not likely her officer in charge would assign her to be Trejo’s defense counsel if she served as the command duty officer. Her role was to provide immediate legal support to the enlisted person arrested. Assigned defense counsel did not get involved with the arrests of Navy personnel, especially when the alleged crime occurred off base, and they didn’t get assigned until ten days to two weeks after the arrest. Local police handled the booking. The suspect notified the command duty officer, who advised naval command of the details of the arrest, and it went through the proper channels. If deemed necessary, NCIS investigated, and, if the Navy took jurisdiction, charges were filed. Only then did Battles, as a defense attorney, get involved, and only if assigned to handle the case. Those instances were seemingly becoming more and more frequent since the airing of the documentary The Invisible War, recounting sexual assaults on female enlisted personnel throughout the armed forces. The public outcry had put commanding officers on military bases under intense pressure from Congress to clean up the military’s problems, and every branch had become hyperaggressive about prosecuting cases. The Navy was no exception.
This case was not a sexual assault, but it sounded serious, and potentially embarrassing to the Navy. A hit and run of a twelve-year-old boy was tragic and, if proven, cowardly. Battles also knew that the Defense Service Office was understaffed, particularly in the current climate, and she was the senior defense counsel. Therefore, though serving as CDO, her chances of being named Trejo’s attorney might actually improve if she was already involved, to a limited extent, which would be simple enough for her to accomplish.
And she wanted this case.
She wanted it very much.
At 8:30 at night, traffic on Seattle’s surface streets wasn’t an issue. However, the temperature remained butt cold and her sweat-soaked shirt further chilled her. By the time she reached SPD, her face felt numb and she was shaking beneath her workout clothes. She slid off the bike and locked it in a courtyard in front of the building. Yeah, like that made her feel better. Her first week in Seattle, she’d locked her bike in the rack outside her apartment building. She woke the next morning and found only the chain and the lock. Now, the bike came up in the elevator with her. If anyone complained, they could take the stairs.
Battles exchanged her bike shoes for flip-flops—which she wore with socks, a major fashion faux pas even for eternally liberal Seattle.
Inside SPD’s building lobby, she made her way to a uniformed officer seated at a desk behind a sheet of bulletproof Plexiglas. He looked to be in his early thirties, about Battles’s age, with his hair cut military short and a chest puffed up by a bulletproof vest fitted beneath his uniform. He looked up as Battles approached and dropped his gaze over her body.
“Good evening. I’m here to see Laszlo Trejo,” she said. “I understand he was arrested this evening and is being held.”
“I wouldn’t know,” the officer said. “If he was, you’d have to wait until he’s processed over at the jail. But visiting hours are over.” He smiled like a pubescent boy who’d seen his first picture of a naked woman. “Looks like tomorrow morning is the earliest you can see him.”
She put her credentials up to the glass. “Despite my professional appearance, this isn’t a social call to chitchat about the annual salmon run. Mr. Trejo called and requested legal counsel. I’m his legal counsel. I’d like to talk to him before anyone else does.”
“You’re a naval officer?” he said, eyeing the credentials and seeming surprised. “Lieutenant Battles?”