Exquisite Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Okay.”

  “But, because Damone is smart, he only talks on burner phones and he gets a new one every day. I can only record Damone’s end of the conversation.”

  “You’ll understand what they’re talking about,” Sorenson said.

  “Okay, start it up,” Carvelli said.

  The next sound they heard was the door opening after Ferguson had been escorted out.

  “You know, maybe we can use this trouble the good reverend has created for our purposes,” they heard Damone say and then continue. “Monroe, give Jeron a call and get him on the phone for me or have him call me as soon as possible. Do you have a new phone for me?”

  “Yes, Boss,” they heard Monroe say.

  The audio went silent for a few seconds, during which they assumed Monroe gave Damone the new phone.

  “You want me to give him that number?” Monroe asked.

  “Yes, do that and tell him it’s urgent and thank you,” Damone said.

  “You asked me to remind you about the accountant,” they heard Lewis tell Damone.

  “Yes, I remember. He’ll be here in forty minutes. What does he want?” Damone said.

  “He wants to talk to you about supply.”

  “Okay. Jeron?” Damone said, apparently answering his phone.

  Conrad shut off the player for a moment and looked at Carvelli.

  “This is where the conversation between Damone and his brother begins.”

  “Okay,” Carvelli acknowledged.

  Conrad started the player again.

  “Give me a minute,” Damone said. “I need to take this in my office. Shut off the recording equipment in there.”

  They heard Damone get up and leave, then Carvelli said, “Wait a minute. He ordered his guys to shut off the recording equipment where he’s going. In his office. Did you get the rest of this?”

  “Um, yeah,” Conrad said. “They don’t know about all of the equipment. I’m the guy who sweeps for it.”

  “You are playing with a rattlesnake wrapped around your neck,” Carvelli said.

  “I know. That’s why I’m with you guys. I gotta get out.”

  “Turn it back on,” Carvelli said.

  “How are things?” Damone asked.

  Silence while Jeron replies.

  “Your numbers are fine. We knew Chicago would be difficult.”

  Another break while Jeron spoke.

  Damone again. “We knew that when we set out. Keep your eye on the ball. Remember what our goal is and why we are doing this.”

  “Stop it for a second,” Carvelli told Conrad.

  “What is he referring to? Our goals and why we are doing this? Any guesses? Conrad, have you heard anything about specific goals or plans?”

  “No, uh, uh,” Conrad replied.

  “Interesting. Usually, that’s just money. What else do these guys have in mind? Keep that in mind while we’re going through this stuff. Listen for a goal they may have.”

  “Tony, we need a couple more guys,” Sorenson said.

  “I know. Go ahead and get them. Okay, Conrad, start it.”

  “I have a delicate job. I need a professional––not some street thug who’s going to spray the streets with bullets. I need a surgeon. Not a fool. Do you know anyone like that?” Damone said.

  “You don’t know who he is?” Damone asked, after a brief silence.

  “He got a positive response,” Carvelli excitedly said.

  “Wait,” Sorenson said.

  “And is he good?” Damone asked.

  Again, Jeron must have answered affirmatively.

  “This sounds exactly like what I need. Find out what you can. How do we get in touch with him? Find out everything you can,” Damone replied.

  Silence.

  “As soon as possible. There is too much trouble and protesting on the streets here.”

  Silence.

  “It’s not important for you to know. At least not over the phone. Do what you can to get this man for me.”

  Silence.

  “Good. Call back today.”

  Conrad shut the player off. The four men had been listening so intently, they all needed a moment to stand up and stretch.

  “Let’s get a beer,” Carvelli said.

  “I have a transcript of that for you,” Conrad said. “I knew you’d want it.”

  “Good. You’re right, I do.”

  In the kitchen, each of the men retrieved a bottle of Michelob from the refrigerator, then found a place to stand or sit. Carvelli was in the breakfast nook with Dan Sorenson. The transcript of Conrad’s recording was lying on the table top. Franklin and Conrad were leaning against the sink counter.

  “There’s your pro,” Sorenson says.

  “Is there more, Conrad? Is there more of Watson talking about him as if he showed up?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t had time to go through all of it,” Conrad said.

  “Tell you what,” Sorenson said. “Why don’t we skip ahead to the day of the event. Listen to everything a few days before, during and after. They are bound to have said something.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Now what?” Franklin asked.

  “I’ll take this transcript to Marc and see what he thinks,” Carvelli said.

  “There’s more,” Sorenson said.

  “God, I hate this,” Franklin said.

  “What?” Carvelli asked.

  “You know who Jalen Bryant is, the councilman?” Sorenson asked Carvelli.

  “Sure. He seems like a good guy. At least for a Democrat,” Carvelli said.

  “What’s that about?” Conrad asked.

  “Cops don’t vote for Democrats,” Sorenson said. “Anyway, we got him on audio soliciting a bribe from Damone.”

  “Ah, man, are you kidding? I like this guy, Bryant. Hell, he could be a Republican he’s so much on the side of cops,” Carvelli said. “What happened?”

  “Damone’s guys stripped him naked looking for a wire. Bryant hit him up for the money, then Damone threw him out. Didn’t bite,” Franklin said.

  “You think Bryant might be the leak in the city council?” Sorenson asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t seem the type. Too acrimonious. Do you think he might’ve been setting Damone up?” Carvelli asked.

  “It doesn’t sound right,” Franklin agreed. “He’s never had one bit of trouble. Now, totally out of the blue, he hits up the number one gangster this side of Chicago for a million bucks? Just doesn’t sound right,” he repeated.

  The kitchen went silent while they thought this over and sipped their beer.

  “It’s been a long day,” Carvelli said. “And I’m not getting any younger.”

  He stood up, picked up and folded the transcript, put it in his coat pocket and said, “Time to get some sleep. Conrad, make a couple CDs for me of the stuff we listened to tonight. I’ll pick them up some time tomorrow.”

  “Will do,” Conrad agreed. “Um, ah, I got a question. I don’t mean to sound greedy and I really enjoy working with you guys to shut down a good customer but…”

  “I’ll get you paid,” Carvelli said. “More people,” he said to Sorenson.

  “I got a couple people, including Sherry Bowen, coming by in the morning,” Sorenson said.

  “Sherry’s a good gal,” Franklin said. “I know she can use any extra money she can make. Any work you can throw her way…”

  “I’ll do it,” Carvelli said. “Get her driving for Jake.”

  “She is,” Sorenson said.

  “I’ll tell Maddy, too. She can use some help from time to time. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  Fifty

  Carvelli stepped off the elevator on the seventeenth floor of the Hennepin County Government Center and turned left. It was a few minutes past 10:00 A.M. Before leaving the house this morning, he had completed, what was for him, a difficult task.

  The first thing he had done was to call Paxton O’Rourke in Chicago. He had dialed her pe
rsonal phone to avoid any monitoring. They talked for at least a half-hour. At first, Carvelli brought her up-to-date on his undercover. That took maybe five minutes. The rest was the two of them chatting like a couple of teenagers.

  The difficult task came next. Tony, not the most tech-savvy guy, had to figure out how to scan the transcript into his computer. After fifteen minutes and no luck, he called Paxton back.

  Holding back her laughter, she tried to explain to him how to take pictures of the document with his phone and send it that way. While she explained this, an idea came to him.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I’m gonna see Maddy in a little while. How about I have her do it.”

  When Paxton finished laughing, she agreed that would work best.

  Carvelli quickly found Courtroom 1745, the one with two sheriff’s deputies guarding the door. Fortunately, Carvelli knew both of them. They were both ex-MPD cops now working as county deputies, double-dipping their pensions.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sam Spade, private eye,” one of them said as Carvelli approached.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Carvelli replied using an extremely fake laugh. “Whew. That’s pretty funny, Johnson. Did you come up with that all by yourself? I always wondered why you didn’t go into comedy. Do standup.

  “Hey, Stu,” Carvelli said to greet the other one who was suppressing a laugh.

  “What do you want?” the now annoyed Deputy Johnson asked.

  “Ooo. Testy. You can dish it out but not so good at taking it. Relax. I was just tossing it back at you,” Carvelli said.

  “Okay, fine,” Johnson said trying to sound more conciliatory. “What do you want?” he asked again.

  “I need to go in,” Carvelli said.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure the judge wants the interruption,” Johnson said.

  “Stu, you know who Maddy Rivers is?” Carvelli asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Stu replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Get her for me, will you please?”

  “You bet. I’ll be right back.”

  Less than a minute later, Stu brought Maddy into the hallway.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I need to see Marc and I’m afraid I’ve annoyed Deputy Johnson here. He won’t let me in,” Carvelli said.

  “Oh, stop it, Jamie,” Maddy said in a flirtatious voice, then lightly slapped him on the shoulder. “Let him in. He’s with me.”

  “You should’ve said that in the first place,” Johnson said.

  “I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”

  While Maddy led him up the center aisle toward the gate, Judge Tennant looked at him, smiled and wiggled her fingers at him.

  There was a young woman sitting by herself in the jury box. Jennifer Moore was politely asking her questions when she let it slip that she could not sleep for several days following the death of Reverend Ferguson. Up to that point, she had seemed acceptable.

  Maddy and Tony took chairs behind Marc when the young woman admitted this. Marc and Arturo both started to rise when Judge Tennant held up a hand to stop them.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Adams. Why couldn’t you sleep for several days after the death of Reverend Ferguson?” Tennant asked.

  “I was just so upset that someone could do such a horrible thing,” she replied.

  “Thank you for your candor,” Tennant told the prospective juror. “You’re excused.”

  “What? Why? I can be fair…”

  “I’m sorry, you’re excused. The deputy will show you out.”

  As the deputy led the dejected woman out, Tennant asked, “Time for a break?”

  “Yes, your Honor,” both tables replied.

  Marc wheeled his chair around to face Carvelli and Maddy. Rob asked one of the deputies to escort him to a restroom. Arturo was due to question the next venireman, so he was preparing for that.

  “That was close,” Marc whispered, referring to the young woman who had been excused by Tennant. “We had her listed somewhere between acceptable and maybe. She would have probably been accepted.

  “You think she said it on purpose to get kicked loose?” Carvelli asked.

  “I doubt it,” Marc said. “Besides, she’ll find out it didn’t work. They’ll take her back to the jury pool and reassign her. So, what’s up?”

  “Come out in the hall,” Carvelli said.

  While Arturo stayed at the table, Marc and Maddy followed Carvelli out. There were several people lingering in the hall, so Carvelli went onto the bridge connecting the two sides of the building. He stopped halfway across and handed Marc the copy of the transcript.

  With Maddy reading over his shoulder, the two of them read through the recorded conversation. When they finished, Marc gave it back to Carvelli.

  “What can we do with it?” Maddy asked.

  “At this point, nothing,” Marc replied.

  “Can’t you take it to Steve?” Maddy asked.

  “And say what? It’s not really proof of anything. We know what it likely means, but what does this have to do with Ferguson’s killing? Is this enough for motive? Probably, but we have no way of getting it into evidence.”

  “But we do know who did this,” Carvelli said.

  “We think we do,” Marc said. “I think we have it but presenting it in court with what we have is barely speculation. We’re pointing the finger at someone else for a murder with inadmissible evidence.

  “Wait a minute. How did you get this?” Marc asked.

  “Conrad,” Carvelli said. “Conrad Hilton. Didn’t I tell you? He’s the guy who set up Damone Watson’s recording equipment inside his office and apartment. I got some of the guys going through it now.

  “I wasn’t looking for your case. I was looking for evidence of the drug business. We came across this by dumb luck. Dan Sorenson heard it and knew it was significant. Now, we’re looking for both.

  “I told you, I’m working with the Feds on this, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you did. You should give this to Paxton,” Marc said.

  “Oh, man,” Carvelli said as he lightly slapped himself on the forehead. “Thanks for the reminder.” He looked at Maddy and said, “I need a favor. Can you use my phone, take a picture of this transcript and email it to her?”

  “Why can’t you?” Maddy asked, knowing the answer was tech deficiency.

  “Are you gonna squeeze my shoes or do me a favor?”

  “Give it to me,” Maddy laughed.

  “Use her Gmail address. That’s her personal one,” Carvelli said.

  “I should get back in there,” Marc said. “Where are you off to?”

  “To see my Feebs and give them what I have,” Carvelli replied.

  “Is that a good idea?” Marc asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been kicking the idea around and I’m not sure.”

  “Hold off for a couple of days. In fact, I’m going to keep this to just us for now. I won’t tell Rob or his cop pals or even Arturo. Not until we come up with more to connect it together.”

  “Could Conrad testify? He’s not working for law enforcement,” Carvelli asked.

  “That might work, but it’s still too tenuous. Plus, putting Conrad on a witness stand doesn’t fill me with a warm, fuzzy, happy glow.”

  Maddy came back and handed Carvelli his phone and the transcript.

  “It might be fun to watch,” Carvelli said. “Thanks,” he told Maddy. “I’ll see you later.”

  By noon of the second day, they had finished with the first batch of fifteen potential jurors. They had selected two of that group yesterday, none so far today. Marc had used three peremptories and Steve Gondeck one. Margaret Tennant was being very careful. Of the thirteen excused for cause, she had excused ten of them herself. Apparently, the media and community scrutiny of the trial was bringing out the caution in her.

  Following the afternoon break, they started in again. Oddly, after scoring only two of the first fifteen, they accepted three of the next four. Believing they might be on a roll, Judg
e Tennant pushed them until 6:00 P.M. and they managed to get one more. Six were selected in the first two days of a highly publicized homicide case; a very good start and a happy judge.

  Unfortunately, it would be three days, Friday afternoon, before number seven was selected. It would be almost another week before all twelve, plus six alternates were selected, sworn and instructed regarding the media, the public and communication with each other.

  A rumor had gotten to them that they were to be sequestered. When Judge Tennant kicked them loose for three days, the relief on their faces was palpable.

  “Opening statements Monday morning, nine A.M.,” Judge Tennant told the lawyers. “Have a good weekend.”

  Fifty-One

  “She’ll be with you in a minute,” Lois, Judge Tennant’s clerk told the lawyers. All four were standing in the back hallway where the judges’ chambers were located. It was Monday morning, the first day of trial and Marc wanted to make one final request.

  “You can come in now,” Lois said from her desk through the door.

  “Go in,” she said to Marc. “You know the way,” she added with a grin.

  “Good morning, your Honor,” Marc said as he led the others into her chambers.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Your Honor,” Marc began when everyone was seated. “I want to make one more request that Mr. Gondeck not be allowed to use racism as a motive. He has one cop who claims he heard the defendant…”

  “And you have a half-dozen who say they didn’t hear it,” Gondeck said.

  “Come on, Steve, we both…”

  “Address the court, Mr. Kadella,” Tennant said.

  “Yes, your Honor. As I was saying, we all know that once that word is spoken, it will hang over this trial like the sword of Damocles. There will be people on that jury who won’t wait, won’t keep an open mind. Racism. Case closed. Get a rope.”

  “Marc, the last time we were here on this issue, I weighed it for three days. Believe me, I thought of little else,” Tennant said as she leaned on her desk, her hands folded together. “The state has a right to bring this in for motive. It’s prejudicial, but it’s also probative.