Exquisite Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Thirty-Seven

  “Have one of the ex-cops check with guys still in the department. See if they can find out who this guy is. Try detectives. They would be the ones to work with him,” Marc told Maddy.

  The two of them were in Marc’s office discussing Rob’s case and Maddy’s investigation. So far, she was not having any luck finding out who the prosecution’s investigators were since there were no written reports done––probably because they had not discovered witnesses who saw much. There were no names of investigators from written reports.

  “In fact, try to get a list of all of them, everyone who they have working for them. Even those who did not work Ferguson’s shooting. I’ll put them all on my witness list,” Marc said.

  “Okay,” Maddy agreed. “What do you want me to do about the reporter, Philo Anson?”

  “What do you think? You know, I’ve kind of missed you,” Marc said going off on a tangent. This was the first time they had seen each other for almost four days. Trial preparation is time-consuming for everyone involved.

  “Me too,” Maddy replied. “When this is over, maybe we should take off for a few days. Go lie on a beach somewhere.”

  “Hold the thought,” Marc said.

  “Now, what about Philo?” she asked.

  “We need to find out what he saw,” Marc said.

  “I’ve been thinking, and I hate this idea, maybe I go after him in a strip club dressed up like a hooker. See if I can get him out of there and into a motel room where Tony is waiting.”

  “I don’t like that, but…”

  “We’re running out of time. At least he likes a better class of strip clubs,” she said.

  “You looking to apply for a job?”

  Maddy put on her best come-hither look and said, “I do private shows only.”

  “Don’t say that right after I tell you I’ve missed you,” Marc said.

  Maddy audibly sighed and said, “Yeah, me too.”

  “Philo,” Marc said. “Try the next couple of nights. Coordinate with Tony if you think you can get him. No felonies!”

  “Me? Tony? Cross the line and bend the law? I’m insulted and if he were here, he’d be too.”

  “No wonder I worry about you,” Marc said. He was about to say something else when a thought occurred to him.

  “What’s Gabriella’s phone number?”

  “Home or work?” Maddy asked as she removed her phone.

  “Her cell number,” Marc replied.

  Maddy found it on her phone and read it to him while he dialed. It rang once then Marc heard a familiar voice.

  “Hi, Marc,” she cheerfully said.

  “Hello, gorgeous, how have you been?”

  “Hey! Watch the flirting,” Maddy said.

  “Let me talk to my buddy,” Gabriella said referring to Maddy.

  “Not yet. I need a favor. If you can’t do it, just say so,” he replied.

  “Okay.”

  “You guys had cameras covering the protest marches that went on, the ones that Reverend Ferguson was in when he got shot, didn’t you?”

  “Sure,” Gabriella said. “The station had two or three handhelds for the first couple of days. I think the third day, too. We blew it and missed the day he was killed if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “That would’ve been nice, but I was wondering if Maddy or I could review the film you have. Anything with Ferguson in it, even the days before the shooting.”

  “I don’t know,” Gabriella said. “I’m not sure the station would allow outside personnel to do something like that. The county attorney requested it and we turned them down. Hunter thought there would be a subpoena coming, but they dropped it,” she said referring to her boss, Hunter Oswood.

  “If they didn’t let Gondeck do it, they wouldn’t let me,” Marc said.

  “They would fight you over a subpoena…”

  “And probably win,” Marc said. “What if I asked for something very specific?”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m looking for film of a homeless man, or someone who looks like a homeless guy, hanging around Ferguson during the protest marches.”

  “I could ask,” Gabriela said. “Why do you want this guy?”

  “Off the record and promise me you won’t use this or any part of it?” Marc said.

  “Sure,” Gabriella replied. “But I want an exclusive interview after the trial.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” Marc said. “We have witnesses who say they saw this guy both before and after the shooting. He was right behind Ferguson and we would like to find him.”

  “A homeless guy? Good luck. You could check out Tent City along Franklin Avenue.”

  “Waste of time,” Marc said. “Unless we have a photo.”

  “I’ll check with management and let you know. I’d be willing to look through the film myself,” Gabriella said.

  “Thanks, kid. I appreciate it.”

  “Let me talk to Maddy.”

  “Should I leave the room while you two talk about me?” Marc said into the phone.

  “You’re not that interesting,” Maddy said loud enough for Gabriella to hear her.

  Marc let the two women gab for three minutes then pointed at his watch and mouthed the words “we have to go” to Maddy.

  She nodded and said, “We need to leave. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  After ending the call, Maddy said, “She’s dating someone.”

  “I gathered that,” Marc replied.

  “An anchor for another station who claims to be getting a divorce,” Maddy told him.

  “Are you serious?” Marc asked. “What is she thinking?”

  “That’s when I said we need to talk,” Maddy replied.

  Marc parked in front of a well-kept house and yard. They were in a residential area in the Near North neighborhood of Minneapolis. The house was a brown and white, two-story sitting up above street level. There were fourteen concrete steps, including a landing, to the top of the hill. By the time they reached the top step, a serious looking black man was standing on the porch waiting for them.

  “Mr. Howard?” Marc asked when they reached the porch.

  “Bill,” the man replied and put out his hand to Marc.

  “Marc Kadella,” Marc said as they shook hands.

  “And you must be the girl who talked to Tonya and her friends,” Bill Howard said. “She said you were very pretty. She didn’t lie.”

  “Thank you,” Maddy said as she also shook the man’s hand.

  “We weren’t expecting you,” Marc said. “I talked to Mrs. Howard and she said you would be at work.”

  “I took a half day off. I want to know what’s going on with my daughter,” he replied.

  “Absolutely,” Marc said.

  “Are you going to let these nice people in or make them stand on the porch all day?” They heard a woman’s voice say through the screen door.

  Inside they met Tonya’s mother, Sheila Howard, and found Tonya waiting in the living room. They all found seats, Sheila served coffee and cookies and Bill Howard started the discussion.

  “So, you want Tonya to be a witness at the cop’s trial,” he said.

  “That’s a maybe at this point, sir,” Marc said.

  “She didn’t see much,” Bill replied.

  “I understand,” Marc continued.

  “And to be blunt, while I know that fat Ferguson was a phony asshole…”

  “Language,” Sheila said.

  “I’m not sure I want my child involved in this. Especially if you get him off. Sorry, but that’s how I feel.”

  “You’re entitled to feel whatever you want to, and you have to look after her,” Marc said. He looked at the family photos lining the window sill in front of the bay window. Several were of a young man in an Army uniform. The uniform of an army ranger.

  “Let me ask you this,” Marc said. “What if your son shot and killed someone overseas? And what if he truly believed it was justified? Woul
dn’t you want him to get the best representation? The fairest trial? One that all of the evidence was told in court?”

  Bill looked at a picture of his son, turned back to Marc, smiled and said, “Okay, you got me there. Of course, I would. All right, girl,” he continued, “tell the man what you saw.”

  Tonya told Marc what she had already told Maddy. Marc let her go and only asked three or four questions to clarify a few points. When she finished, Marc thanked her.

  “The other two girls, her friends…” Marc hesitated, trying to remember their names.

  “Bethany and Ronnie,” Maddy said.

  “I’ve talked to their parents on the phone and they are willing to testify if Tonya does. They’re nervous. I really don’t believe you have much to worry about. This isn’t a gang shooting and by the time this trial is over, the good Reverend Ferguson won’t look so righteous anymore.”

  “You’ll only use her if you have to?” Sheila asked.

  “Of course,” Marc replied. He looked at the sixteen-year-old Tonya and asked, “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ll testify,” she said. “I won’t lie…”

  “Absolutely not,” Marc said, “You just listen to the questions carefully and tell the truth. You didn’t see the actual shooting so don’t say that you did. But, I have to know, you did see the homeless man walking right behind Ferguson. Then when you heard the shots, you saw him running away along with everyone else.”

  “Yes, I’m sure of that,” Tonya said. “But I did not see the shooting or see a gun.”

  “Then don’t say you did. In fact, I want you to say that. Say you didn’t see the shooting or a gun. We will go over your testimony again before trial, so you’re prepared and not nervous. We will not put words in your mouth. You just stick to what you honestly saw and did.”

  “All right. I will.”

  Marc looked at the parents and asked, “Are you two okay?”

  “Yes,” they both said.

  Marc and Maddy were halfway down the front steps when Maddy’s phone rang.

  “Hey,” she answered after checking the ID. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Yeah,” Gabriella replied. “I talked to Hunter, the news manager, and his boss, Madison, and they okayed me to go through our film and see if the homeless guy is there.”

  “Great,” Maddy said in the phone. She then moved the phone away from her face and said to Marc, “Good news from Gabriella-”

  “Hold on!” she heard Gabriella say. “There are conditions.”

  “Just a second,” Maddy told her. “Tell Marc.”

  By now they were at the bottom of the stairs standing on the sidewalk. Marc took Maddy’s phone and said hello.

  “There are conditions. First, we want to know why we’re doing this…”

  “I can’t tell you that without violating the court’s gag order. I’m right up to the line now. If Margaret finds out she may find it amusing to put me in jail just for old times’ sake. If that’s a deal breaker then, so be it.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell them that. Second, we get exclusive interviewing rights after the trial. Promise me you’re going to win.”

  “I promise I’m going to win,” Marc quickly complied.

  Gabriella was laughing and had a difficult time speaking. “You can’t promise that,” she said.

  “Why not? I’m a lawyer. Of course, I can tell you that. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Before we let you see anything, they will want a proprietary property agreement to protect the station.”

  “No problem,” Marc said. “As long as I can use what we find in court if you find him.”

  “And if the station balks at that?’

  “Keep this between us,” Marc said. “I’ll subpoena everything and because I’ll be able to honestly say I saw what you have and need it for my case, the judge will give it to me.”

  “You think so? The station has pretty good lawyers and…”

  “…and I’ve got a first-degree murder defendant. Gabriella, I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with your bosses. Be a doll, check the film and see what you can find. We’ll take it from there.”

  “I will,” Gabriella replied. “Give the phone back to your better half.”

  While Marc drove, the two women talked all the way back to Marc’s office.

  Thirty-Eight

  Lewis knocked sharply twice on Damone’s office door and went in without waiting for a reply. Damone was at his desk proof-reading a speech he was to give that night at a fundraiser for Jalen Bryant. Damone had finally endorsed Bryant in his mayoral campaign. He would prefer the current office holder, the eminently unqualified featherhead, Dexter Fogel. A useful idiot.

  Fogel was disqualified from seeking another term. Bryant’s opponent, Betsy Carpenter, was the same level lightweight as Fogel. Should he win, Bryant would be too difficult to control. Damone was trying to have it both ways. Endorse Bryant then help Carpenter win. Damone decided for appearances he would support Bryant publicly. He already had a scandal to use to defeat him––an October surprise.

  “What is it?” Damone asked.

  “It’s Saadaq,” Lewis said referring to Damone’s main link with the Somali’s. “He says it’s important.”

  Lewis handed Damone the burner phone they were using for today.

  “Yes,” Damone answered.

  “I just found out something and in case you are unaware of it, decided I better call right away,” Saadaq said.

  “What?”

  “Did you know that the Imam is a significant shareholder in the bank?” Saadaq asked.

  The bank Saadaq was referring to was the Cedar/Riverside State Bank. This bank was a state-chartered bank set up specifically for the Somali community. It was also the least regulated bank in the state. The last thing the state’s politicians and the regulatory agency wanted to do was offend the Somalis.

  “I am aware he owns a small piece of it. Something like five percent,” Damone replied.

  “No, not even close,” Saadaq said. “From what I have found it, through the bank’s outside auditor, a Christian woman with Decker Flagg,” he continued referring to the accounting and auditing firm the bank used, “the Imam is the real owner of almost seventy percent.”

  The phone went silent for so long that Saadaq finally asked, “Are you there, sir?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m still here. Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, she showed me the real list of shareholders. Imam Sadia is listed as owning five percent. But there are others who are shareholders in name only, I am positive, who account for another sixty-three percent and are doing Sadia’s bidding. I have a copy of the list for you.”

  “Thank you, Saadaq. Bring it to me personally, please. You have done well,” Damone said.

  Damone looked at Lewis and was about to tell him when Lewis’ phone rang.

  “Take it,” Damone said, referring to the call.

  While Lewis was speaking to one of their wholesalers, Damone thought about the call from Saadaq. The bank he referred to was a significant part of their money-laundering. Millions of dollars each month from Damone’s business, the Somali’s business and Chicago went through more than three dozen Somali businesses and then the bank. Because the government, both state and federal, are reluctant to regulate Somali Muslim businesses, they are very safe “laundromats” for money-laundering. Due to the high volume each month, and the fact the bank was opened specifically as a laundromat for cleaning money, the bank’s fees are only fifteen percent. Still very profitable.

  What had angered Damone was the duplicity of Imam Sadia. He was not only skimming from the sales but making even more on the laundering end.

  “That was Jimmy,” Lewis said when he ended the call. “The white boy was back again today for more product. In a very short time, he has become our number one salesman.”

  “Good for him,” Damone said still distracted by Sadaaq’s phone call.

  “Jimmy said he is bec
oming more insistent on meeting you,” Lewis said.

  “Why?” an annoyed Damone asked.

  “To cut out Jimmy, I think,” Lewis said.

  “I can understand that,” Damone replied.

  Lewis’ phone rang again. He checked the ID, looked at Damone and said, “It’s the Chenault woman.”

  “It’s about time. Answer it and if it is her, give her today’s number and have her call.”

  Instead, Lewis listened then told Damone, “She wants to stop by. She has information.”

  “When?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Tell her now.”

  When Lewis ended the call, Damone told him, “You go and see Jimmy. Tell him that I want this dago to see you first. You meet him, size him up and see what he wants, then I’ll decide. He’s a little too insistent.”

  “On my way,” Lewis said.

  * * *

  Monroe knocked on Damone’s office door, opened it then stepped aside. Councilwoman Patti Chenault strolled in then tossed her jacket onto a chair. For a woman in her late forties she was still quite good looking; sexy even. Damone was on the phone watching her as she came toward him and seductively sat on the corner of his desk next to him. As she did this, she hiked her skirt up enough for him to see the lace garter and no underwear.

  “I gotta go,” Damone said into the phone. “Another meeting just came in.”

  The councilwoman sat with her legs crossed and dangling. Damone watched her expression as he ran his left hand under her skirt to the top of her thigh. He slid the hand up and down on her thigh until he could feel the heat.

  “So, what did you find out?” he asked while watching her breathing increase.

  Instead of answering him she got down on her knees in front of him.

  Playfully she looked up at him as she unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and pulled everything down to his ankles.

  “Later,” she said, then hungrily went to work as Damone gasped with pleasure.

  Afterwards, she returned to her perch on Damone’s desk as he pulled up his clothing. It took them both, especially Damone, another minute to breathe normally again. When he was calmed down, he asked her again.