2019-10-08 - Expert Witnesses

It is getting too cold to swim in the morning.

There's nothing for it but to run, though the Autumn morning makes the experience pleasant enough. The breeze carries with it a wintry bite, its fangs sharpened by the tundras of the North, promising a particularly harsh climate by the end of the year. That darker eventuality remains far away, however, and it is easy to forget or even ignore it when Gray Harbor's idyllic, but haunted beauty is all around them - green leaves have turned, sporting shades that are more vibrant and fiery than their cooler counterparts. There must be something in the soil, for the reds run the gamut between blazing scarlet and darker blood, and the yellows and golds are bright to the point of blinding the unwary. These branches extend to the sky, forever out of reach, and today is particularly clear - an endless blue canopy that goes on for miles, all the more visible in the harbor where it touches on the line that marks the beginning of the Pacific, rendered dark by the cold, and frothed with white when it rushes against the beachhead.

By the time the detectives find their quarry, she's in the front of her houseboat, taking the few steps necessary to reach her front door. After their discussions with the local environmentalists, passionate as they are about the conservation of Gray Harbor's more unique members of its marine ecology, they've thrown her name around - Isabella Reede, a visiting scholar from the University of Oxford who specialized in underwater archaeology and a certified master diver, who in the last few weeks has donated her time to their cause - understandably, such oceanic concerns would be part of her list of many interests, if not just because she actually makes a living from the water, and a consultation job had brought her here in a search for something that might lie at the bottom of it.

She's young - late twenties at best, her slender form clad in workout clothes; running shoes, a pair of black yoga pants, a slim-fitting runner's hoodie halfway unzipped that reveals her tanktop and the hot pink fabric of the sports bra she wears underneath it; Autumn also means dressing in layers, and she is no exception. Dark hair has been pulled up in a loose knot behind her head, tendrils clinging to her face and the sides of her throat, green eyes shot with flecks of gold brightened by the exercise. Her sunkissed skin is dewy from her minutes-past exertions, flushed and luminous with sweat.

She also doesn't look well, despite all the trappings of some degree of athleticism. Recent weight loss and the harrowing events that followed her illness have taken at least five pounds of her face and figure, the hollows of her cheeks and the visible outline of her collarbone more pronounced than they would be normally. A white gold chain is visible against her skin, though whatever it carries is tucked in securely within the confines of her top.

Gabriel's appearance screams "cop," and there is not much he can do about it, so he leans into it. As a detective, he has the right to be plainclothes, and he exercises it. He is in a Joseph A. Bank blue blazer (buy one, get eight half off!), a button-up dress shirt, and gray slacks that are definitely rayon and not wool. Police don't pay that much. He does the assertive knock, knock, knock on the houseboat door that makes clear that there are people here to see Isabella.

When the scholar arrives at the door, Gabriel badges her, showing off his GHPD credentials for a flash of a second before they are tucked back into his jacket. "Ms. Reede? I'm Detective Quintanilla, this is Detective Morgan." He gestures at Charlie next to him. "We're with the Gray Harbor Police Department investigating a double murder, and we heard you might be able to help us with a lead we're trying to track down. Can we come inside?" He gestures past the threshold and into the house boat where she lives. He takes in her appearance, both flattering and not, but doesn't quite check her out. At least not too much.

The moment her door closes to let her inside, there's a knocking against it, prompting a faint furrowing of her brows and a look over her shoulder. There is no hesitation, however, when Isabella opens it, her gaze falling on the official-looking faces beyond her threshold. This wouldn't be the first time she has had to negotiate with members of law enforcement, having acquired enough experience to be inured to the aura they carry whenever they're within close proximity. Her visible puzzlement - clear on a face so expressive - only grows when Gabriel flashes his badge.

She says nothing for the time being, taking the moment to examine the identification presented - the only person in the local police department she is in regular contact with is Captain de la Vega, and she hasn't had much opportunity to come across others under his direct purview, with the exception of Detective Johnson. But she seems satisfied with the badge and pushes her door open further to admit Gabriel and his partner inside. "Good morning, detectives," she says at last, her contralto low and somewhat thready - she has yet to reclaim the full volume and clarity of her voice. "And I'm as always happy to cooperate, though I'm not quite certain how much I can help with in a homicide case. Which two murders?" The last stated in a resigned and somewhat acerbic fashion; the Gazette is full of them, these days.

The interior of the houseboat is orderly and modern, whoever refurbished the catamaran has spent a good amount of time and money turning it into a comfortable home. The main living area is designed with trendy, minimalist chic in mind - the kitchen has pale granite countertops and high-tech appliances, though the entire section isn't without its clutter. The detectives would find traces of an extremely busy mind, with books and documents taking up most of the low coffee table in front of the couch that doubles as a pull-out bed. No television, no signs of wi-fi, but this, in the end, is deceptive - there are panels on the walls that hide them from view, ready to be pulled out of their camouflaged states when the houseboat's tenant deigns to use them.

"Would the two of you like some coffee?" She is hospitable at least, moving to her French press to start the brew. She wants one, but she extends the invitation to her present companions also. "Feel free to sit anywhere." There's the couch, but there are also stools closer to her, by the granite counter next to where she is preparing her morning repast.

"Some coffee would be wonderful, thank you," says Gabe as he makes his way in, just as Charlie gets a call from the Station she has to take, excusing herself and stepping out for it.

"We can go on without her. I'll catch her up. I promise, we don't think you did it or anything." As he stands and waits for his coffee, he grabs one of the stools near the counter, sitting astride it so he can drink in the room. Even though Isabella isn't anything more than a helpful source, he has the cop habit of needing to check out every room he's in for potential clues or potential threats. It's just a detective thing.

"It's a double murder at the Sea View Motel. Not sure if you have heard of it. It was in the paper."

But then again, what murders aren't in the paper these days?

"But we've heard that it might have something to do with the cutthroat trout?" Despite following this lead for a few days, he still says it with a question at the end, as if he is wrapping his head around the thing. "And from asking around, your name came up as one of the foremost cutthroat trout experts in the area." He then gestures in front of him, as if to say that is what brings them here.

There's a quick smile directed Gabriel's way, the archaeologist pouring hot water into her press. It doesn't take long to brew up two fresh cups of coffee, and with good, freshly ground beans - someone takes this morning ritual seriously.

The mugs themselves are nondescript - his coffee comes in a heavy ceramic receptacle dyed a rich green, while hers is white, sporting big black letters: GOOD MORNING, I SEE THE ASSASSINS HAVE FAILED inscribed upon the porcelain. Isabella takes a quiet sip and closes her eyes to savor it. She takes it plain, with just a bit of cream, never one to be enamored of too-sweet things.

With the double murder cited, those green-and-gold eyes lift to find Gabriel's. "The Krugers?" she wonders. "The owners of the Sea View. It-- " And her expression grows more serious when he continues, the pearly edges of her teeth worrying over her lower lip, pushing blood to the surface and flushing it with color. "I'm not an expert in the trout itself." The correction is delivered mildly. "But marine conservation has always been a serious interest of mine - I dive for a living, in a sense. My involvement with those efforts is very recent, and related to a development project that other like-minded people would like to see stopped, but before I get into all of that, I would like to ask you why you thought the Krugers were connected to the trout?"

She takes a seat on one of the stools and gestures for him to join her - the easier to look at him in the face, and she's too tired at the moment to keep standing.

Out of cheer curiosity more than anything else, Gabriel leans forward and squints slightly to read the writing on Isabella's cup, chuckling to himself when he sees what it is. He then moves to sit on the nearby stool, scooting it to make sure that the diver has some personal space and he isn't right up on her.

"Yes, that's right," confirms the detective. "The Krugers." Those are the victims. "And I apologize. You know how rumors get. But marine conservation. And that is what we are interested in. The fight about the casino development and the trout. We've heard the Sea View or something with the land around it might be part of it all somehow? I admit, it's not anything too specific. We're just trying to learn all we can to see how it all fits together."

His squinting has Isabella's smile tilting upwards further, and she willingly shows him what's inscribed on the cup. "I collect them," she tells him, nodding to her cupboard. "Most of them aren't here, but my father's kept a few for me in this houseboat - this is technically his vessel." Dock 47, home of The Surprise, aptly named for the primary frigate in the Aubrey and Maturin novels. The Reedes are an old name in Gray Harbor, though they aren't wealthy, pervaded with a tradition of maritime pursuits. Seafaring of all and different stripes is in the blood.

The connection between the Krugers and the cause that she has admitted a personal interest in has her widening her eyes, the realization clicking into place. There's a visible frown as she looks down at her mug, before taking a quiet sip of it, though she takes a moment to gather her thoughts. "I'm part of the coalition that's trying to prevent the casino from being built by Mister Foster - Joshua Foster, largely on the environmentalists side. The entire thing on our end is bankrolled by a man named Joseph Pursley, who I've chatted with on occasion in relation to the case, and whose investment on waterfront properties isn't insignificant. His motivations on that end are financial, in the end, but our involvement makes his case stronger. The Krugers..."

She reaches for her phone and accesses her e-mail there. "The only reason why I know of the Krugers' connection to this case is because I'm on the list for potential expert witnesses for Mister Pursley, though I don't know if his lawyers will actually call me to the stand. The Krugers were also part of that list. So far, there's a temporary injunction preventing further development on the Casino, but there's a trial scheduled to decide whether it will stay and my e-mails from the environmentalist group assisting with the case just informed me yesterday that with the Krugers' deaths, the defendant, Mister Foster, has just filed a motion to dismiss the case in court. If you're right and that the Krugers' deaths are connected to the issue regarding the trout, whatever they have to say about it might've been significant enough to have this happen to them. Is Mister Foster a suspect? Then again, he could just be being opportunistic. If the Krugers were star witnesses and they're out of the picture, he could've been confident enough to make this sort of move and get the case thrown out."

"Huh."

Gabriel takes that in. And then he is silent for a few moments, to see if more might come out of Isabella. When nothing does, he then speaks for himself.

"Well. That is interesting. So you are saying that Pursley is bankrolling you because he doesn't want his waterfront properties messed up by a casino on the water." The detective reaches into a pocket and pulls out his steno pad and clicks open a pen to begin to scribble. "You mind if I take notes?" Whether she does or not, he is apparently going to do it anyway.

"But you said the Krugers were going to be witnesses at the trial? Do you know what they were going to testify about? What they might know?"

There are phone calls, and then there are Phone Calls. Whatever phone call Charlie had kept her away from things for a little while, but soon she arrives, letting herself in without more than a cursory knock. "Sorry about that..."

She's at least polite enough to apologize, tucking that phone away in her pocket as she moves to where they've relocated themselves from the door, glancing at Gabriel with a quick upwards tick of her eyebrow.

Another sip of her coffee. "I asked Mister Pursley before what his interest was in the matter, and why he's fighting Mister Foster about it. It's largely to protect his investment, he owns a significant amount of properties by the water - he feels that the Casino will devalue the land he's already bought, not to mention it's an eyesore, at least, according to him. All of which secures his personal stake in seeing the thing not being built." She pauses, her contemplation a thoughtful thing before she continues. "When I looked into it, myself, as far as I managed to gather, Mister Pursley and Mister Foster are strangers. They both deal with real estate, on some level, but there weren't any other connections to one another until this trial."

She nods at his request to take notes. "You do what you need to, detective." The last is said teasingly. "I don't think anyone expects you to remember everything without help."

The last, though, is the million dollar question, and it's plainly evident on her delicate features that she is thinking the same question the moment he revealed that the Kruger murders might be connected to her personal project. "Unfortunately not," Isabella murmurs. "But if you're right and that they might've been killed because of their connection to this, whatever testimony they might've been slated to offer could be important and I think the only people who might know that are the lawyers involved in Pursley's side." There's a hint of a grin, there. "Attorney-client privilege is ironclad, detective. From what Google tells me, it extends post-mortem." Meaning the privilege stays even after the client dies. "But the Krugers are witnesses. It's Pursley that's the client. I think now might be the time to use that..." She nods to his badge. "And catch a face-to-face meeting with Pursley, maybe. See if you and your partner can convince him to authorize his lawyers to tell you about the contents of the Krugers' possible testimony. I mean, they could've been killed before they said anything to them, but they wouldn't be on that list if Pursley's attorneys didn't know something about what they were going to say in court."

Gabe looks over at Charlie when she enters, and then tosses his head at Isabella, to suggest that they might be on to something here.

At first, he seems almost like he is ready to say that they can work out the next steps themselves, but what Isabella says. Well. It makes a lot of sense to him, actually.

"Yeah. Those are all smart suggestions. I appreciate that, ma'am. I do. If you don't mind me asking. What is your testimony going to be? What did you learn from your research about the trout and how it relates to the waterfront? Especially around the Sea View."

Since Gabriel seems to be pretty much handling everything on his own, Charlie doesn't chime in with anything. Instead she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and loiters. She's excellent at loitering. When Gabriel asks about what Isabella's testimony will be there is a flash of curiosity that crosses over her face, her attention focusing in on the woman with interest. Again, however, she seems to be content to let the other detective continue with his line of questioning.

With Charlie re-entering the houseboat, Isabella looks up, and smiles faintly. "There's coffee if you want it, detective," she tells her, already rising in the event that the woman would like some. It also gives her the opportunity to join the brain trust that she and Gabriel are forming against her counter. "Should I get you a cup?"

She needs a refill of her coffee, anyway, so she's moving to retrieve her press by the sink. "My testimony in the event that I do get called and Pursley's lawyers can't find an actual, qualified marine biologist to talk about how the habitats of the cutthroat trout are almost preposterously delicate and that they require cold, clear, well-oxygenated water and streamside vegetation, and that major construction developments and additional tourist and local traffic, and all the garbage and pollution they might bring, would threaten all of that?" Her eyes lift to regard the detectives in her abode. "Basically that, in a nutshell. From what I've learned and managed to research on my own, expert witness testimony is just as rigorous in preparation as any other. There's coaching involved, so whatever I have to say would also have to reflect whatever Pursley's lawyers would also want me to say. But I'm only a potential witness, detective. There's no guarantee that I'll be on the stand and it makes more sense for Pursley's attorneys to get someone with a degree in the area and a relatively good track record in lecturing and publishing about the issue."

"The coffee's really good, Charlie," confirms Gabe as he holds up the ceramic mug he's been nursing for this entire conversation, taking notes as he does. "Heads and shoulders above the swill we have at the Station."

At the additional information about what Isabella might say, Gabe's pen continues to move on his pad. But he looks to Charlie, to see if she has additional questions she might want to ask.

"Thanks, I wouldn't mind some." Charlie will accept coffee, because her veins are mostly coffee these days instead of blood, anyways.

"Since I missed this with the phone call, I'll go ahead and apologize if it's already been covered." Charlie says carefully, glancing over Gabe's shoulders to see if she can't sneak a look at his notes, which might save her from chewing on her foot because she missed what was being talked about. "The Krugers, and yourself, were being called as witnesses for Mister Pursley?"

The coffee is poured in another mug, but unlike Gabriel's - and like hers - it has a slogan on it: I SURVIVED ANOTHER MEETING THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN AN E-MAIL. It's red. The scent of black roast fills the air, steaming when it hits it, and this, she passes to Charlie.

"Potential, in my case - as an expert." Isabella retakes her seat and nudges one out for the other detective to join them. "But chances of that happening are slim to none, if Pursley's lawyers are wise anyway. I have a feeling I was entered in the list because it's convenient - I lived most of my life in Gray Harbor, and my family is well-known for having seafaring pursuits, and I'm also involved in the environmentalist group that is assisting with the case. The Krugers, as far as I know, are actual, testimonial witnesses, because if what your partner is telling me is concrete, they had a direct economic stake in the effects of the development on their property. And if they were killed because of it, whatever they had to say could have been important. The defendant - Joshua Foster, the man developing the casino, also just recently filed a motion to dismiss the case, according to my e-mails about the matter, at the wake of the Krugers' deaths, but like I told Detective Quintanilla - it might've been opportunistic." She taps her finger thoughtfully on her cup. "But what the move tells me is that, whether opportunistic or not, Foster probably knows something about what the Krugers were going to say in the trial, too. At least, enough to be confident to file that dismissal now that the Krugers have died."

At Isabella's summary of what she knows, Gabe nods his head, as if that jives with what he had heard before. He looks at Charlie, inviting her to ask any more questions that she might have. As for him, he seems to be wrapped. Well, wrapped except finishing his coffee.

Which is excellent.

"Thanks." Charlie accepts the coffee and takes the seat, blowing across the surface of the dark liquid as she listens to the rest of what Isabella says, then she sets the coffee down without taking a sip from it, "Do you happen to know who Foster is?" She then shakes her head, "Where they are from, anything about the individual in question?"

"All I know about Joshua Foster is that he's not quite a local," Isabella says. "Outside of this case, there's no connection between him and Joseph Pursley, the man suing him to stop development." She purses her lips, ransacking her memories about him. "He deals with casinos and I think he was largely responsible for the development of the Quinault Beach Casino, from what I remember reading about him. Just outside Ocean City." Half an hour from Gray Harbor's city limits.

Reminder of it has her looking up at the detectives again. "From the newspapers, he really made that place fly for the tribe. I think one of the PD's officers has connections to the Quinault, also. Andy Geroux? He mentioned to me that he was technically Quileute, but from what he told me about his mother and grandmother, he has relatively deep connections with the Quinault community. With the profile Foster has built among them, maybe he would know more, or could find out more about him?"

"Huh."

Gabe's pen moves move across the pad and he nods to Charlie, thinking on that.

"Good tip. We should just give you the badge, Ms. Reede, and watch you do it."

Rapport building here.

"That's helpful, thank you Ms. Reede." Charlie takes a quick swallow from the coffee now that it's cooled off a little, then she glances at Gabriel, a brow raising. Mental gymnastics, or general mundane non-verbal ques to the fact she doesn't have any follow-up questions.

Gabriel's remark earns him a quirky smile. "I'm not an investigator - not the way the boyfriend is, anyway, who's equally if not even more intelligent than I am and could help you guys out if you let him. I just have a good head and memory for details and I know how to do research - it's about eighty percent of what I do, and the only reason why I know this much is because of my involvement with the environmentalist group that's already involved in the case. As for Andy, I just met him on the beach one day while he was walking his dogs, and we got to talking. Both of us spent some time in Boston, so we commiserated a little."

Isabella finishes her cup of coffee. "Other than that, I don't think I have anything else. But let me know if you need additional assistance, even if it's just a meeting with Pursley about his lawyers, or anything else. I honestly thought I was just helping out on a civil lawsuit." Something more disturbed falls over her face. "I had no idea murder was going to be involved."

"And it may not be," Gabe emphasizes as he gets to his feet. "We just need to run down every lead. And we really appreciate your time."

And now for the ritual end of the interview. Gabriel pulls out a business card from his pocket and hands it over to Isabella.

"If you think of anything that might be helpful, don't hesitate to give one of us a call or a text." He nods to Charlie, who he assumes will do the same with her card. "Even it seems small to you, you never know how these things fit together."

"We appreciate you being willing to talk with us, Ms. Reede." Charlie reaches into her pocket, producing a card that she puts down next to her coffee mug as she gets to her feet, "And we both appreciate the coffee."

She takes both cards, and leaves the counter top to reach for her own wallet. Pulling out a couple of white ones bearing the famous logo of the University of Oxford, Isabella hands these in return to Gabriel and Charlie, complete with her e-mail address, phone number and (foreign) work address:

ISABELLA B. REEDE
SENIOR RESEARCH ASSISTANT
SCHOOL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

"If I think of anything else, I'll let you know," she says with a smile to both. "Happy hunting, detectives."