Exquisite Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Sure. We’ll email it.”

  “No, no email. They can be traced,” Maddy said. “I’ll deliver it.”

  * * *

  “Does it look okay?” Marc asked.

  Carvelli was reading the letter to Jefferson. He was sitting behind Marc’s desk in his executive chair while Maddy looked over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, that should be fine,” Carvelli said when he finished. “What do you think?”

  “Looks good,” Maddy agreed.

  Marc regained his chair and typed a short cover letter to go with it. While he did this, Carvelli gave Jefferson a heads up. In addition to Jefferson, Marc would send a copy to Paxton O’Rourke and printed one for himself.

  “I don’t know what else we can do,” Marc said. “You and I need to get going,” he said to Maddy.

  “You’re really looking into helping Rob Dane?” Carvelli asked.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Marc replied. “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. Word I’ve heard is he’s a good cop. I don’t know about any disciplinary problems. From what I hear, everyone who knows him is pretty shocked by what happened.”

  Before Marc and Maddy reached the front door, it was opened and Arturo Mendoza was standing in it.

  “Thanks for coming,” Arturo greeted them.

  He led them into the living room where Rob was waiting. Marc introduced Maddy to both men. Ron was in a recliner near the TV. Marc and Maddy took the couch and Arturo an armchair by Rob.

  Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Rob blurted out, “He had a gun. He pointed it right at me and…”

  “Whoa,” Marc said and held up a hand to stop him. “Slow it down.”

  Marc looked first to Arturo then at Rob and asked, “Why am I here?”

  “My lawyer won’t listen to me,” Rob replied. “He doesn’t seem to care what I want. All he does is what he wants.”

  Marc looked at Arturo and asked, “Why won’t you listen to him?”

  “Very funny, smartass. You know he’s talking about Burke.”

  “I know. I just thought I’d try to lighten the mood a bit,” Marc said looking at Rob, who had laughed at his joke.

  “That’s probably the first good laugh you’ve had since this thing started,” Marc said.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Marc said. He looked at Arturo and said, “I take it that the fact he shot the bullets that killed Ferguson is not in dispute.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Arturo replied.

  “Okay,” Marc said. He looked at Rob and said, “I want you to tell me everything. Go slow and speak the way you would to an eight-year-old kid.”

  “He means that,” Maddy said, which brought a smile to Rob’s face.

  Rob started at the very beginning of the protest parades. The very first day of duty. With Marc asking an occasional question, usually to clarify a point, Rob went through the entire story up to today.

  When he finished, Marc told him to tell it again.

  “Why? That’s what happened?”

  “Indulge me,” Marc said.

  “Okay,” Rob said, a little frustrated.

  Fifteen minutes later, he finished it for a second time. Only this time, Marc did not ask any questions.

  Marc turned to Maddy and asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” she said. “There were just enough minor inconsistencies to be truthful.”

  “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Rob sarcastically said.

  “Clients lie to their lawyers all the time,” Marc quietly replied. “I don’t know you. You seem like a straight guy, but I’ve been fooled lots of times.”

  “He got the shooting absolutely the same,” Maddy said.

  “Yes, he did,” Marc agreed. “You’ve probably been over it in your head a couple of hundred times.”

  “At least,” Rob replied.

  “His story is also consistent with the police reports, which he has not seen,” Arturo said.

  “Any witness statements?” Marc asked referring to written witness statements.

  “No,” Arturo replied. “They have interviewed at least a hundred people and didn’t write any of it down for discovery. That’s why their investigation report is barely two pages and doesn’t have anything.”

  “How did that picture of Ferguson’s body lying in the street get into the paper the next day?” Maddy asked.

  “One of their reporters was on the scene, this Philo Anson guy,” Arturo said.

  “The cops who were closing off the crime scene let him walk right up and take pictures,” Rob told them. “I saw him parading with Ferguson every day. He’s not cooperating with the cops. Or so I’ve heard.”

  “Are you getting inside information?” Mark asked referring to friends in the department.

  “Well, yeah. I’ve talked to some friends in-”

  “You better stop it now,” Marc told him. “Until this is done, you don’t have any friends in the department.”

  Marc looked at Arturo and Rob and asked, “So what do you want from me?”

  “I thought you’d figure it out,” Rob said.

  “I have to hear it,” Marc said.

  “I want you to take over my defense,” Rob said.

  “Are you sure?” Marc asked.

  “Yeah, you’ve got a good reputation and I wish we’d gone to you in the first place.”

  “You have to understand something, Rob. I would be coming in late. And, I won’t work with Sheldon Burke.”

  “That’s no problem,” Rob said. “I’d love to fire his ass.”

  “What about money? Ms. Rivers here doesn’t come cheap.”

  “There’s money in a GoFundMe account. A half a mil that was used for bail. That will be available, assuming he doesn’t skip. There’s more from the union and still some in the GoFundMe account,” Arturo said.

  “Okay, sounds like money should be covered.” Marc looked at Arturo and said, “I don’t second chair…”

  “No problem,” Arturo said. “Whatever you want me to do. You call the shots.”

  “Who’s the judge?” Marc asked.

  “Margaret Tennant,” Arturo answered.

  “Oh, oh,” Maddy said and looked at Marc.

  “Oh, oh?” Arturo asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Ah, we, ah, had a personal relationship…”

  “Romantic,” Maddy said. “Do you want to recuse her?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. That could be a bit insulting. I’ll talk to her.” He looked at Rob and said, “It’s kind of up to you, too.”

  “Will she be fair?” Rob asked.

  “We parted on good terms. Even if we didn’t, she wouldn’t let that affect her. Besides, I hear she’s engaged, so it’ll be okay.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing her again,” Maddy said. “She’s a nice lady. Besides,” Maddy continued. “Steve Gondeck might recuse her for us.”

  “No, no he won’t,” Marc said. “Prosecutors have to deal with judges all the time. To recuse one is risking their wrath. No, Margaret will recuse herself before Steve does.”

  “Are you in?” Arturo asked.

  Marc had a leather folio with him. He removed a two-page document and handed it to Rob. Rob glanced it over then gave it to Arturo.

  “You should read it,” Marc told Rob.

  “It’s a retainer agreement that means I owe you my soul,” Rob said.

  “And the souls of your children,” Arturo added while reading.

  “This is fine,” Arturo said when he finished.

  After it was signed, Marc and Maddy stayed for another hour. Marc went through the entire file Arturo had and they discussed everything that had happened up to that point, again.

  While Marc questioned Rob about specific details, Arturo wrote a letter for Rob terminating Team Burke.

  On the drive back to the office, Marc gave Maddy her first assignment.

 
“This reporter, what’s his name?”

  “Philo Anson,” Maddy told him.

  “What the hell kind of name is that? Philo Anson?”

  “I don’t know,” Maddy said. “Finnish?”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I have a feeling he knows more than he’s telling. Put that at the top of your list.

  “When we get back, I got a job for Jeff,” Marc said referring to Jeff Modell, the office paralegal. “He can find every article or anything this Philo guy as written. He knows something, and we need to know what it is.”

  Twenty-Eight

  “You have the dedication of the Damone Watson Park this afternoon at three,” Lewis reminded his boss.

  Lewis, Damone and Monroe were meeting in the living room of Damone’s third-floor apartment. Following a late night the previous day, Damone had slept in. Meeting with Imam Sadia and his bootlickers was becoming more and more tedious. The never-ending demands and the Imam’s attitude were wearing on Damone. If he trusted the Imam more, he might have taken him into his confidence. Since that was out of the question, Damone could only feel relief that he had not allowed the fool to know his true business.

  Monroe filled the coffee cups of all three men while Lewis continued.

  “Delmar has a report about that reporter for you, Philo Anson. He says it’s pretty important,” Lewis said.

  “Okay,” Damone replied. He looked at Monroe and said, “Go in the kitchen and call him now.”

  Damone looked at Lewis and asked, “Do I have time now?”

  “Yes,” Lewis said. Lewis looked at Monroe and said, “Tell him to drop what he’s doing and get over here right away.”

  “Will do,” Monroe replied as he walked off to make the call.

  “Jimmy wants to see you,” Lewis said.

  “Jones?”

  “Yes, boss. He says he has found a white man to take the place of the tennis player to service the country club set…”

  “The tennis player?” Damone asked.

  “Chip Osborne,” Lewis reminded him.

  “Why do I need to see him? Why doesn’t Jimmy decide for himself?”

  “Don’t know. He just said this guy should be okayed by you personally.”

  “A street-level dealer? He better have a good reason for it. Call him now. Tell him to get here right away. Then he can wait while we meet with Delmar.”

  “The surveillance guy is coming in today to sweep the building,” Lewis said.

  “What time?”

  “Two-thirty. Monroe will stay with him while we attend the ceremony at the park.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The phone call to Chicago from Jeron at noon.”

  “He’s on the way,” Monroe said as he re-entered the living room.

  “Yes, I remember the call with Jeron,” Damone said. “I’ll want to meet Delmar in the conference room. I want it taped. Make sure the equipment is working.”

  “Come in, Delmar,” Damone politely said as Monroe led the young hacker into the conference room.

  “Have a seat, please,” Damone said gesturing to the conference table armchair to Damone’s right. This particular chair had the best location for filming.

  “What do you have on this reporter?” Damone asked.

  “Well, sir,” Delmar began. Being in Damone’s presence always made the younger man a bit nervous. Even though he was merely making a report to him, today was no exception.

  “Um,” he continued looking at his notes, “he pretty much is what he seems to be. He’s a progressive liberal, or at least he claims to be…”

  “You don’t get a job with that newspaper unless you are,” Lewis said.

  “…from a well to do farm family in Wisconsin. He lives well, better than a reporter on what they make.”

  “How so?” Damone asked.

  “Well, um, Mr. Watson, he has a townhouse that goes for four-hundred-grand. No mortgage on it. He drives a two-year-old Jaguar that appears to be paid for. His credit cards show a taste for high-end strip clubs and call girls. The five-hundred to a thousand bucks a night type.”

  “How can he afford that?” Lewis asked.

  “He can’t. Not on what they pay a reporter,” Damone said.

  “Now for the interesting stuff,” Delmar said, warming to the subject. “He’s the reporter that has done most of the stories in the paper that have fueled the racial problems. And he was the one who got the pictures of Reverend Ferguson lying in the street after the cop shot him. I made copies of all the newspaper stories he wrote,” Delmar said as he handed a large envelope to Damone.

  “So, he was there when Reverend Ferguson was killed,” Damone said.

  “Yes. He wrote it up for the paper. It’s in the envelope.”

  “I’ll read it later,” Damone said. “Anything else?”

  “I got a copy of his resume from the paper’s files. It’s in there,” Delmar said referring to the envelope.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, sir. Do you want me to keep digging?”

  “No, I don’t think so. At least not for… oh, wait. There is something. Can you get into the computers of the Hennepin County Attorney’s office?”

  “Probably,” Delmar said. “I haven’t tried for a while, but I was able to in the past. What do you need?”

  “Get in there. Find out if he’s on the witness list for the state against the cop. See if they have a written statement from him. Get what you can. And find out what you can on this cop, the one charged with shooting Ferguson.”

  “Okay,” Delmar said.

  Damone pointed a finger at Lewis then at Delmar. Lewis removed an envelope from his sports coat pocket and slid it across the table to Delmar.

  “A little something extra for your trouble,” Damone said.

  Inside the envelope were twenty, one hundred-dollar bills. Delmar the junkie would spend it on his habit effectively giving it back to Damone.

  “We have to find out exactly what this reporter saw,” Damone said.

  The three of them were still in the conference room after Monroe came back from escorting Delmar out. Damone was still at the head of the table, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the highly polished tabletop.

  “We need to know if he saw our out-of-state friend set up that fat Ferguson for the cop.”

  “Grabbing and shaking down reporters isn’t a good idea,” Lewis said.

  “I know,” Damone agreed. “But this one might be susceptible to a cash inducement. I don’t want him to know where it’s coming from.”

  “We might be able to use one of his expensive hookers,” Monroe said.

  Damone looked at Monroe, nodded his head and pointed a finger at him. “That might work. There should be information in there,” Damone continued, pointing at the envelope with Delmar’s report. “Check into it. See what you can do.”

  “Jimmy Jones is waiting,” Monroe said.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Okay, fetch him.”

  Monroe held the door for Jimmy Jones. As Jimmy entered the conference room, remembering the last time he was there, Jimmy’s eyes nervously darted about the room. Instead of taking a seat at the table, he stood at the end opposite Damone waiting for permission.

  Two or three seconds went by, then Damone silently pointed at the chair to his right. Jimmy hurriedly sat down.

  “Thanks for seeing me…”

  “I hear you have a replacement for your white boy,” Damone said, interrupting him. “Tell me.”

  “Well, he’s, ah, older and he, ah, looks like an eye-talian gangster. He seems to know his business. He had that white bitch who worked with Chip Osborne with him,” Jimmy said.

  “Her name?” Damone calmly asked.

  “Oh, yeah, uh, Wendy something,” Jimmy answered.

  “Wendy Merrill?” Damone asked.

  “Yeah, I think that’s her name.”

  “Why do I know your employee’s names better than you?”

  “I know her, boss. I just forgot her name for
a minute,” Jimmy replied.

  “Why are you so nervous, Jimmy? What have you been up to?”

  “Nothing! I swear, boss,” Jimmy almost shouted.

  “What’s this man’s name?”

  “Tony Russo,” Jimmy replied. He reached in his coat pocket then handed a photo to Damone. Carvelli was wearing red-tinted glasses, a different hairstyle and nose putty. Enough of a disguise to fool any casual acquaintance.

  “Tony Russo?” Damone said holding the photo. “Pretty common Italian name.”

  “He has Chip’s customer book,” Jimmy said.

  “How did he get that?” Damone calmly asked.

  “He said he had started working with Chip,” Jimmy replied.

  “You believe him?”

  Jimmy shrugged and said, “Wendy, you know, agreed. And he has Chip’s customers.”

  “If he is what I think he is, he could get his own supply and go into business for himself,” Damone said absently flicking the photo with his fingers.

  Damone slid the photo down the table to Monroe. Both Monroe and Lewis looked it over, shrugged and shook their heads.

  “What else did he tell you?” Damone asked.

  “He said he was tired of pushing papers like some sucker for a mortgage company in Chicago. So, he split and moved here a few months ago,” Jimmy replied. “He seems cool. I asked him a lot of questions. He knows the business. Wendy was trying to supply Chip’s customers but she ain’t worth a damn. She needs help.”

  “Does he have money to buy product or are you gonna give him credit?” Damone asked.

  “He says he has money.”

  “It’s your call,” Damone told him. “Don’t be wrong.”

  “I’ll let him have enough to get him started and then, we’ll see how he does,” Jimmy said finally relaxing.

  “Okay,” Damone replied. “Any other employees that you don’t know about?”

  “Huh?”

  “This guy, this Tony. He was working with your boy Chip and you didn’t know it,” Damone said. “Any others?”

  “No, no, boss,” Jimmy said.

  “How would you know? Get your crew tightened up, Jimmy. You’re supposed to know this. You don’t just collect the money. Stay on top of them. Tighten it up. And lay off the rock.”