Free Presumption of Innocence: David Brunelle Legal Thriller #1 by Stephen Penner Page B

think there would—or should—be a lot of tolerance for a prosecutor drinking and driving.
    The bartender slid him a bottle of the latest local microbrew and was about to turn away.
    "Thanks, uh, what did you say your name was?"
    The woman stopped and stared at him. An 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me' kind of stare.
    "Seriously, mister," she said. "You're old enough to be my dad. Which means I'm young enough to be your daughter. And that's just fucking gross."
    Brunelle forced a smile. "Um, right. Sorry. That wasn't where I was headed with that. Not interested."
    The bartender cocked her head, then put her hands on her hips and stood up straight, showing off her large breasts and curvy frame. "Oh, yeah? Why not?"
    Brunelle's smile actually became a bit more genuine. He enjoyed an unscripted question and answer exchange. It's what he did for a living. "First, as you mentioned, fucking gross. Second, I have other interests right now."
    The bartender smiled at the first reason, then nodded at the second. "Mm-hmm. And what kind of interests?" She leaned onto the bar. "Nothing illegal, I hope? You totally look like a cop, so I know you're not."
    Brunelle chuckled. "Yes, something illegal. And no, I'm not a cop." He savored the dramatic pause. "I'm a prosecutor."
    Bartender stood up. "A prosecutor?"
    "Homicide prosecutor," Brunelle added.
    Bartender crossed her arms. "Homicide? Like murder? Sorry, mister, no murders here lately."
    Brunelle took a sip of his beer. "I know. The murder was in Madison Park."
    Bartender laughed. "Not too many people from Madison Park come here."
    "No, the murder was in Madison Park," Brunelle explained. "But the murderer came here."
    The bartender shifted her weight. She had abandoned her statuesque pose, but still cut an attractive figure behind the bar. Brunelle admired the long black hair flowing behind her shoulders as she processed the information she was getting from him.
    "Lot a people come here," she said finally. "What's your name, prosecutor man?"
    "Dave Brunelle. What was yours again?"
    She ignored his question. "Well, Mr. Brunelle, like I said. Lots of people come here. So I'm sure I can't help you."
    "Arpad Karpati." Brunelle figured if this guy was as much of a psychopath as he seemed, he would have made an impression on her, and everybody else.
    The barmaid didn't respond immediately, but Brunelle examined her body language. She crossed her arms again and shifted all her weight onto her back leg. She dropped her chin just a bit. "Don't know him."
    She was lying. That was obvious. The question Brunelle need to figure out was why. The two most likely candidates were protecting him and afraid of him. Preserving the sanctity of bartender-barfly confidentiality was a close third. What's said in Darkness stays in Darkness. He'd start with that one.
    "I suppose you two were friends, so I won't ask you to tell me anything he said. I just wanted to see what this place looked like."
    "We weren't friends," the bartender was too quick to respond.
    That didn't actually eliminate the third option. In fact it kind of strengthened it. It weakened the first one, though. She probably wasn't trying to protect him. But she might still be afraid of him, and she might still want Darkness to stay the kind of place people can come to without worrying that the hot bartender is going to tell everything to the cops. Or worse, the prosecutor.
    Time to explore those options, with a single statement. Not even a question.
    "He's in jail and he can't bail out."
    The barmaid didn't say anything at first. She pursed her lips and stared down her small nose at Brunelle.
    "You gonna get him?" she asked finally.
    Brunelle shrugged. "Depends. He lawyered up, so I have to prove it through other witnesses. That's why I'm here."
    One of her eyebrows rose. "You want me to be a witness against a murderer you're not sure you can convict?"
    Brunelle smiled. Actually, he wanted her to direct him to other witnesses. But she'd just given