Exquisite Justice

by Dennis Carstens

“Yeah, would you mind?”

  “I’ll be there at nine forty-five,” Carvelli said.

  “He’s probably okay and someone I can handle but….”

  “I’ll be there. It’s eight thirty now, I’ll make it, no problem.”

  “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it.” Gretchen said with obvious relief.

  “What?” Vivian asked. “I want to go, too. I’ve never seen a hooker in action.”

  “What do you think we’re gonna do? Watch them go at it through the peephole?”

  “You are so bad,” Maddy said again, only laughing hysterically this time.

  Carvelli quickly told the two women what was going on and what the favor was.

  “I still want to go,” Vivian said.

  “No,” Carvelli emphatically said. “The idea is to blend in and be inconspicuous. Half the people there will know who you are. Besides, this is nothing. I’ll take Maddy. All we’re going to do is watch two people have a drink. Gretchen will know by then if everything is okay. No big deal. Nothing to see.”

  The Frontier Room is an upscale bar and restaurant in a downtown hotel. The place was humming when Carvelli and Maddy strolled in just after 9:30. They got lucky and found a table in a corner behind some foliage with a good view.

  Gretchen arrived at 9:55. At first, she stood in the entryway of the bar area looking for her date. Unable to see him, she took a seat at the bar. Gretchen knew all three bartenders and all four waitresses. Normally, a restaurant in a hotel of this caliber would never permit a hooker to ply her trade here. But Gretchen was always dressed tastefully and never looked the part. Plus, she treated the wait staff very well. While the bartender was getting her beverage, a soda with a twist, her date came in.

  Carvelli turned his head to his left just in time to see Gretchen’s date come in. It took a couple of seconds for it to register who he was. When it did, Carvelli involuntarily tucked his head in and covered the left side of his face with his hand.

  “Don’t look,” he whispered to Maddy.

  “Why? What?”

  “Sssh,” he said. Carvelli slowly turned his head to see Gretchen and her date arm-in-arm going to a booth.

  Gretchen sat on the side facing Carvelli and Maddy. Her date sat with his back to them.

  “Okay, you can look,” Carvelli said.

  Maddy looked and saw Gretchen but could not tell who her date was.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “It’s that reporter. That Philo guy,” Carvelli quietly said.

  Maddy immediately covered her mouth with her left hand to squelch her laughter.

  This caused Carvelli to do the same thing.

  “Now what do you want to do?” Maddy asked.

  “I don’t know. Should I text her? Tell her who he is and that she can kick his ass if she needs to?”

  “Why are we hiding? So what if he sees us? How can he tie us to Gretchen? We’re just sitting here having a drink,” Maddy said.

  “True, but it would be better to get out of here,” Carvelli said.

  “This could be perfect,” Maddy said. “You had suggested we might try to use her to find out everything he knows about the Ferguson shooting.”

  “Yeah,” Carvelli replied.

  “We both thought he knew more than he was telling.”

  “Yeah, we did, and he does,” Carvelli said. “I’ll send a text, then we’ll get out of here. She’ll be okay. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Forty-Seven

  “I’m not even sure I want to go back there with you,” Arturo Mendoza said to Marc.

  “Oh, it’ll be alright. Don’t be such a wuss. Just nod your head in agreement if she asks you anything,” Marc replied.

  “That’s why I don’t want to go back there with you. I don’t need to be made an accomplice,” Arturo said.

  It was 8:10 A.M. on Monday morning, the first week of the trial. The two lawyers were seated at the defense table. Marc had grabbed the closer of the two tables to the jury box.

  Marc had called Steve Gondeck at home the previous evening and told him he had some things to discuss in camera this morning. Marc had hung up while Gondeck was still cussing at him.

  There were already a dozen or so people either in the reserved section for the media or scattered about the gallery. Gondeck and his very capable second chair, Jennifer Moore, came in. As they passed through the gate, Gondeck asked, “Where’s Maddy?”

  “She broke up with me, said she never wanted to see me again and was moving back to Chicago.”

  “What did you do, you idiot?” an incredulous Gondeck seriously asked.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” Jennifer interrupted, “she’s with the police escort bringing the defendant here.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Marc said. “I forgot she did say she was gonna do that first. One of these days I am calling your wife. I could represent you in the divorce.”

  “I wouldn’t need a lawyer. I’d need an undertaker. So, why are we here so early?” Gondeck asked.

  Before Marc could answer, Lois, Judge Tennant’s clerk, came through the back door next to the bench.

  She took her usual seat and addressed the lawyers.

  “Everybody here?”

  They all answered affirmatively.

  “Uh, where’s your client, Mr. Kadella?”

  “On the way, your Honor,” Marc said and immediately regretted it.

  “Call me that again and I will hurt you,” she replied.

  “Sorry,” Marc meekly replied. “I was kidding.”

  “You want to wait for the defendant?”

  “No,” Marc replied.

  “Okay, go back and you, watch yourself. You’re lucky I like you.”

  As they were going through the back door, Lois quietly said to Marc, “Pissing off the judge’s clerk is not the way to start a trial.”

  “I’ll send flowers,” Marc told her.

  “You better.”

  “Good morning, everyone. Have a seat,” Judge Tennant said to the four lawyers.

  “Ready?” she asked the court reporter who nodded his assent. She then read the case name and court file number for the record.

  “Note your appearances,” she told the lawyers. When they finished, she looked at Marc and said, “Mr. Kadella has some last-minute issues to bring before the court before we begin jury selection. Mr. Kadella.”

  “Thank you, your Honor,” Marc began. “It’s no secret that the defendant told the police that he saw the deceased pointing a gun at him. We believe it may have been someone else who was alongside Reverend Ferguson who was holding the gun and pointing it at Officer Dane. We believe we have found the person who did that by photographic evidence.”

  “What? Why haven’t we…” Gondeck started to say.

  Judge Tennant held up her left hand to silence him while she said, “Mr. Gondeck, please, let’s see what he has.”

  “We found witnesses who saw a man, a homeless looking man, following Reverend Ferguson. We went to a source with Channel 8, Gabriella Shriqui, who reviewed their film of the first three days of the protests. They found him. He was, in fact, filmed by them. They did not film the protest the fourth day, the day Ferguson was killed, but we have witnesses who saw him on the fourth day.”

  Marc removed two plastic cases from his coat pocket. He handed one to Jennifer Moore and one to the judge.

  “Do they show the mystery gun?” Gondeck asked.

  “No,” Marc admitted. “But we have reason to believe he is wearing a disguise. His real name is Charles Dudek and he is a professional contract assassin.”

  “Hold it! What? How…”

  “I’ll take it from here, Mr. Gondeck,” the judge said. “Mr. Kadella, I’ve known you to be a straight, honest lawyer. With that being said, tell me how you came to find this out?”

  “Your honor,” Marc began, “even if I could, I admit the foundation for admissibility is tenuous at best.” He turned his head to look at Gondeck and continued, “Steve, I thin
k I can say you know me well enough to know I am not one to resort to wild histrionics, but I’ll tell you something, I believe this is absolutely true. Ferguson was being stalked by a contract killer who induced Rob Dane to pull his gun and shoot Lionel Ferguson.”

  Tennant looked at Arturo and asked, “Mr. Mendoza, what do you have to say about this?”

  “I believe Mr. Kadella, your Honor. I am not privy to how he came to this conclusion, but I believe it. Absolutely.”

  “Your Honor,” Gondeck said.

  Tennant held up her hand again to stop him, then said to the court reporter, “Off the record.”

  “Marc,” she began, “I know you well enough to know that you’re not lying, at least in the sense that you believe this man is this Dudek character. But I gotta have more than that. At least tell me how you came to this conclusion.”

  “I can’t, Judge. Attorney-client privilege precludes it. It’s that simple. Even if I could tell you, it probably wouldn’t be good enough.”

  “Well, I’ll hang onto my disk for now and you yours,” she told Gondeck.

  “How do I know this hasn’t been tampered with?” Gondeck asked.

  “It has,” Marc admitted. “What you have there is a spliced compilation. The original is being held by security at Channel 8.”

  “If you come up with something or you decide to tell us how you got this, we’ll revisit this. Back on the record,” Tennant said.

  “What are you requesting, Mr. Kadella?”

  “That the defense be allowed to present what we believe is exculpatory video evidence that a paid contract killer by the name of Charles Dudek was following Lionel Ferguson and he induced Officer Robert Dane to shoot and kill Reverend Ferguson. He did this by slipping behind the Reverend and reaching around Ferguson’s side while pointing a gun at officer Dane.”

  “Objection. Lack of foundation and extremely speculative,” Gondeck said.

  “Sustained,” Tennant ruled. “The video of this man who may have been behind Reverend Ferguson is inadmissible, lacking foundation. There will be no mention of anyone named Charles Dudek. Anything else?”

  “No, your Honor,” Marc replied.

  “Okay,” Tennant continued. “Jury selection. You both received the list of prospective jurors and the questionnaires?”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  “We have one hundred and fifty veniremen waiting. We will bring them up in groups of fifteen. As you know, for first-degree murder, we must question each of them individually. We’ll bring them in, one at a time and leave the remaining ones in a jury room of one of the empty courtrooms down the hall. They will be guarded to keep people away, especially the media.

  “I will question them first. I’ll ask about hardship, obvious biases, their knowledge of the case through the media. Pay attention to what I ask them and what they answer. I don’t want a lot of repetition. If you think you have a bias that I didn’t catch, fine. Go ahead and inquire. But don’t flog a dead horse either.

  “The defense has the mandatory fifteen peremptories and the state has nine. Use them wisely. I will not be inclined to hand out extra ones. Am I clear about this?”

  All four lawyers answered in the affirmative.

  “Good. Well, let’s go pick a jury.”

  “There is one more thing I wanted to address again,” Marc said.

  “If it’s the camera in the courtroom, forget it. It wasn’t my idea. I don’t like it either, but it’s a done deal,” Margaret said.

  The local media had brought a motion with Chief Judge Harold Jennrich requesting that a camera feed be allowed. Due to the seriousness of the trial and the public’s interest, Jennrich agreed. He also believed it would help keep emotions in check if people could watch and see that the trial was conducted appropriately.

  Marc had already argued against it and was overruled. This morning he tried to take one more shot at it.

  Stopped dead in his tracks on the camera issue, Marc said, “Okay, then. I guess we can start picking a jury.”

  “I thought you’d see it my way,” Tennant said.

  “Do I have a choice?” Marc asked.

  “Not anymore,” she replied, a veiled reference to their prior relationship, which brought a round of laughter.

  Back in the courtroom, they found Rob Dane at the table and Maddy sitting in front of the railing. The gallery was less than half full. Jury selection could be, and usually was, long and boring. Sitting in the front row, directly behind Maddy, were three uniformed Minneapolis police officers. Rob had wanted to fill the gallery with them; Marc and Arturo had decided otherwise.

  This was a racially charged blue on black matter with a white cop shooting a respected black minister. A roomful of blue uniforms could easily be construed as an “us against them” event. A little support from the cops would be expected, but too much could be a problem.

  Also seated in the front row were Rob’s wife, Leah, her father and Rob’s father.

  “Did she give you any trouble?” Marc asked Rob, referring to Maddy.

  “A little, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” Rob replied.

  During trial preparation, Maddy had been around enough for Rob and Leah to get to know. Leah overheard Rob’s remark and said, “Yeah, right, Mister Big Talk.”

  Marc motioned for Maddy to come forward. She rolled her chair up and he whispered to her, “Do me a favor. Go ask Steve if he would like you to sit at his table. Tell him you’re mad at me and don’t want to sit with me.”

  “I will not!” she replied.

  “Come on. Please. If he says yes, tell him you’re calling his wife.”

  Maddy slyly looked at Gondeck and then said, “Okay.”

  She strolled over to Gondeck who did not notice her at first as he set up his table. Jennifer did, poked his arm and looked up at her.

  “Would it be okay if I sat at your table for the trial? I’m mad at him. He’s such a jerk.”

  Jennifer clamped a hand over her mouth to avoid laughing. Gondeck’s face turned red and he leaned forward, looked at Marc and said, “I’ll get you for this.”

  To finish it off, Maddy leaned down and gave Steve a quick smooch on the cheek. Unfortunately, Judge Tennant came through the back door just in time to see the kiss.

  When the courtroom attendees had returned to their seats, Tennant looked at Maddy who was now seated behind Marc, trying to hide.

  “Good morning, Ms. Rivers,” Tennant said with a slight smile. “Nice to see you again. Trying to rattle the prosecution?”

  “I am sorry, your Honor. I’m just teasing him a little. Sorry.”

  “Judging by the color of his face, I’d say you were successful.” She then looked at Marc and said, “Mr. Kadella, I assume there will be no more of that.”

  “I’ll try to keep her under control, your Honor,” Marc replied.

  By this point, Maddy was hiding her face in her hands and the entire courtroom, including the judge, was laughing.

  When everyone was settled down, the judge read the case name and number into the record and asked if the parties were ready to begin jury selection. Judge Tennant told the deputy by the door to bring in the first veniremen and the trial was technically underway.

  Forty-Eight

  The first prospective juror to be called was also the first name on the list. William C. Howell was a fifty-two-year-old retired Marine. He had joined the Corps at the age of 18 and risen through the ranks. Upon his thirtieth anniversary, Howell retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. When Arturo Mendoza, and everyone else involved in the selection, saw his name and profession, Howell was to be listed as an automatic ‘no way,’ especially by the jury consulting firm they hired.

  Marc had the final word and put him as a ‘maybe.’ The automatic impression of anyone military would be someone who is a strict law and order type. But a man who put himself through college and worked his way up through the ranks must have a solid head on his shoulders. Even with his iron-gray crew cut and ramrod bearing, Marc li
ked him.

  Judge Tennant started the questioning by probing for any bias or preconceived notion of guilt or innocence. Howell came across as honest, intelligent and even quite affable. He admitted to knowing about the case through the media and even admitted it did not look good for the defendant. Why lie about it?

  “Do you believe you can set aside any opinions you may have and decide this case based solely on the testimony and evidence presented during the trial?” Tennant asked.

  “Yes, your Honor. I can, and I will,” he answered.

  With that, Tennant passed him to Marc.

  Marc stood and walked to about ten feet from the man. He introduced himself and his co-counsel, Arturo, who stood, nodded and smiled. He also introduced Rob Dane, who did the same thing.

  “Colonel Howell…” Marc began.

  “Objection to the use of the prefix ‘Colonel’,” Gondeck said.

  “He’s earned it,” Marc quickly snapped back at Gondeck. He knew Tennant would sustain Gondeck, but he did not want to miss an opportunity to stroke the man a little and make Gondeck look petty.

  A significant purpose of jury selection by both lawyers is to sell yourself to them. Make them believe you can be trusted, someone you would not mind having as a neighbor. It is normally a little more difficult for the defense. No matter what people may claim, if you are a defendant, serious people such as the police are saying you are guilty of something. A good defense lawyer wants them to believe that if you that nice man of woman is helping the accused, then maybe they won’t prejudge.

  “We’ll use Mr. Howell for our purposes,” Judge Tennant said.

  “Mr. Howell,” Marc continued, “You joined the Corps when you were eighteen and did thirty years?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where did you get your degree?”

  “I started in California at a community college, then finished my degree at George Mason in Virginia while serving at Arlington.”

  Of course, Marc knew all of this from the witness questionnaire. What he was trying to do was build a little rapport and, more importantly, goad Gondeck into objections.