Marc, noting the return of the smile and the sparkle in the eyes, replied “I’ve been fine. And you?”
“Good,” she said, “Especially since I decided to get rid of a couple hundred pounds of dead weight.”
The clerk and the judge laughed heartily at this as Marc stood there, feeling foolish and left out, not getting the joke.
“Did I miss something?” he asked.
“I’m getting divorced,” she said
“Oh yeah, okay I get it,” he said. “Yeah, I’d heard that somewhere. Me too.” It was the first time Marc had said it to someone outside of his office and he felt strangely relieved, as if finally admitting it out loud for the first time.
“Are you really?” she asked seriously. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why?” asked Marc, immediately regretting it. “Sorry. It’ll be all right. How are you doing with yours?”
“I’m good,” she said. “In fact, best decision I ever made. The marriage was going from bad to worse and it needed to be done.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Mine too,” he said.
“Have you talked about a plea?” asked Tennant as she held up the file to indicate Marc’s client.
“No, judge,” he said. “Not yet.”
“Okay. I’ll be in my chambers. Let me know when the Ms. Moore gets here and you want to talk to me.” With that, the judge and her clerk left through the door behind the bench.
Marc took a seat at one of the lawyer’s tables in the now deserted courtroom to wait for his opponent from the Hennepin County Attorney’s Office. To help kill the time he opened his file of Raymont Fuller, took out the complaint and started to read through it again. Looking for what, he wasn’t sure. After fifteen minutes he heard the door behind him open and he turned to see Jennifer Moore come through it.
“Have you talked to the judge?” she asked as she came through the bar gate.
“Not about the case, no,” Marc replied. “But I checked in with her. She’ll see us whenever we want.”
Moore took the seat next to Marc at the same table putting several case files on the laminated table top. She quickly searched through the short stack of manila folders and removed the one for Marc’s client. “What do you want to do with Mr. Fuller?” she asked.
“How about reducing bail, for starters?”
“Let’s see,” she said, opening the file. “Oh yeah, I remember this guy now. Forget reducing bail. No way. As far as we’re concerned, he’s exactly where he should be.”
“What does your office want for a plea?” Marc asked, not at all surprised with her response to the reduced bail request.
“Got a note here says, if he pleads to the attempted murder and armed robbery, we’ll dismiss the rest.”
“You’ll drop the drug bust. Big deal. Give me something to take to my client.”
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Plead to the robbery,” he answered.
“No way, he’s lucky no one was hurt.”
“Bullshit. He was supposedly four feet from the store clerk and missed him by five. No one’s that bad a shot.”
“Forget it. Look, I have to go to another courtroom. Let’s go see the judge about scheduling. You can make your pitch for bail and we’ll talk on the phone about the plea. All right?”
“You’ll check about the plea to robbery?”
“Sure, but I know what I’ll be told.”
They waited in the back hallway separating the courtrooms from the judge’s chamber and clerk’s offices. Tennant was on the phone forcing the two lawyers to wait.
“How long have you been a prosecutor?” Marc asked the young woman.
“About a year,” she responded.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s all right. It’s not what I want to do forever, but it’s a job for now,” she replied pleasantly. “Good litigation experience, but mostly it’s a pain in the ass. It is nice to put scumbags away.”
“Wow,” Marc said, feigning surprise, “and I’ll bet you were a liberal before you got this job. Went to law school to study environmental law to save the planet and then found out trees don’t pay?”
Before she could respond, Tennant’s clerk signaled them through the window in front of her desk that she was off the phone and they could go in.
On the way back to the chamber’s area, Moore whispered to Marc, “Fuck you,” which elicited a laugh from him.
“Margaret Tennant,” said the judge shaking hands with Moore while remaining seated. “Have a seat.”
“Jennifer Moore, your Honor. I’m pleased to meet you. You know Mr. Kadella?”
“Yes, we’ve met,” she replied. “Now, I assume Marc wants a bail reduction. I’ve looked at the file,” she continued as she put on the glasses that she had sitting on the desk and held up the court’s file, “and I won’t reduce bail. If you want it on the record we’ll get my reporter in here, but I won’t do it,” she said looking at Marc.
Marc glanced briefly at Jennifer Moore and noticed her mouth curve into a slight smile with the news of her minor victory.
“No, your Honor, that won’t be necessary,” he said as flatly as he could. “If you’ll just note the court’s file that I made the request and you denied it, that should be sufficient to preserve it.”
“Sure, no problem,” said the judge. “Any plea discussions?”
“Yes, your honor,” Moore said. “We want a plea to the attempted murder and the robbery. We’ll dismiss the drug charges.”
“Mr. Kadella?” Tennant asked, turning to Marc.
“I can probably get him to go with the robbery, judge, but he really didn’t try to kill anyone,” Marc said. “Maybe an attempted ag assault…”
Tennant leaned back in her chair, removed her glasses, and said, “Of course, I can’t tell either of you what to do, but how about this: he pleads to the attempted murder, second degree, and I sentence according to guidelines without deviation?”
“We’d insist on an upward sentencing departure, your Honor. Probably double,” replied Moore.
“Mr. Kadella’s right, Ms. Moore. He really didn’t try to kill anyone and you may have trouble getting a conviction on it. On the other hand,” she continued turning from Moore back to Marc, “he fired a gun during a robbery. He got lucky no one was hurt.”
“I understand that, your Honor,” said Marc. “I’ll run it by my client and see what he says. Does anyone have his history score?”
“Not yet,” said Moore. “We’re still waiting from probation. I’m not sure I can agree to this.”
“I’m confident your boss will see it my way, Ms. Moore,” said the judge with a smile. “They’re pretty sensible people up there.”
With that comment, Marc clamped his teeth tightly together not wanting to comment on how sensible he believed the county attorney’s office was.
“Well,” Moore said pausing, “I’ll check but it would help if you could throw in a sentencing departure. Say, fifty percent over guidelines.”
“No way can I sell that to my guy. He’s already making waves about any jail time,” Marc said.
“No departure,” said the judge. “If we want to make a deal it has to be acceptable to everyone, including me. You get your conviction and Mr. Kadella will politely explain to his client that I’ll nail his ass but good if he turns the deal down. Okay?” she said to Marc with a charming smile.
“I’ll see if I can make him appreciate your Honor’s advice,” Marc answered. He looked at Jennifer Moore who had turned to stare out of the chamber’s window, obviously not pleased.
“Give me a call next week, Monday or Tuesday, and let me know. If it’s no deal by then, we’ll set up a conference call for scheduling. My calendar’s pretty light right now and I see no point in putting this off too long. Mid-June at the latest. If we have a deal we can schedule a time for the plea next week. All right?” said the judge adding, “anything else? Good. Call me next week then.”
> “That’s fine, your Honor,” said Marc. “In fact, I’ll stop over at the jail and see him now.”
“Good,” Tennant said. “Ms. Moore?”
“I don’t like it much, but it’s not up to me,” she replied, clearly annoyed.
“Well, you two talk and let me know,” the judge said as a way of dismissal. As the lawyers rose to leave, she added to Marc, “Marc, it was nice seeing you again. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“My pleasure, your Honor,” he responded.
“Goodbye, Ms. Moore. Marc,” she said.
“Thank you, your Honor,” they both replied.
As they exited the courtroom into the outer hallway, Jennifer Moore turned to Marc and said, “What’re you, sleeping with her?” an obviously annoyed look on her face.
“What? What are you talking about? It’s not a bad deal. Not great but it could be worse,” said Marc.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Moore. “At the end there I thought she was going to ask you to stay. I oughta file on the bitch,” she continued as they headed toward the bank of elevators on the deserted floor. “But it wouldn’t do any good,” she sighed.
“Gimme a break,” said Marc as he pushed the down button. “You heard her, if you go to trial you don’t get the conviction you want and . . .”
“How does she know that?” Moore interrupted sharply.
“Because she’s the judge and she decides what the jury does,” said Marc. “And she’ll know it was you guys that turned it down. Go ahead and file on her. Get her removed. You have to practice here more than I do and she’ll put her notes in the file so the next judge knows what happened anyway.”
With that Marc’s elevator arrived and he left her standing in the hall, her face grimly set. But she was now a wiser, more experienced lawyer than she had been a half hour before.
TEN
The enormous, ex-Viking deputy sheriff unlocked the door to the conference room in the jail of the basement of the Old City Hall. Located directly across the street from the government center, Marc had walked the tunnel under Fifth Street to meet with his client, for whom Deputy Carl ‘Big Train’ Johnson was just now unlocking the door.
Raymont Fuller entered the eight by ten conference room with the one-way mirror and flashed a big shiny smile when he saw Marc already seated at the small table.
Raymont took the chair opposite Marc and said, “Hey man, you get bail reduced?”
“I tried Raymont,” Marc said with a shrug. “I really did but the judge is a bit of a hard ass. Said no way.”
“Shit, man,” Raymont said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. Looking at Marc, he said, “How the hell am I s’posta come up with a hundred fifty thousand dollars, man?”
“Fifteen, Raymont. The bondsman only needs ten percent.”
“Fifteen, one fifty, fifteen million. I aint got it anyway. I needs to get the hell out of here, you know.”
Marc sighed heavily, placed his elbow on the table and his chin in the palm of his upturned hand. He sat this way, staring at the county’s involuntary guest, silence between them as Marc stared and Raymont nervously looked about the small room.
“What?” Fuller finally asked, clearly annoyed.
“Raymont,” said Marc without moving. “I’m not your mother. I’m a lawyer, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know. You my lawyer. So what you doin’ to get me out of here?” he angrily asked.
“When you’re ready to listen to me,” Marc said as he began to pick up the case file from the table, “give me a call.” And he rose to leave.
“Okay, man, okay,” said Raymont calmly. “I just hates it in here. There are really bad people in here.”
“I know you do Raymont,” Marc said as he sat down again. “I didn’t put you here. Try to remember that.”
“Did you talk deal with the other lawyer?” Fuller asked.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well?”
“The judge suggested a plea to the attempted murder and she’d go as easy as she could on the sentence.”
“Oh, bullshit, man. I didn’t try to kill nobody. I was just, you know, kinda warning that clerk dude. You know that.”
“Yeah, I believe that. But the judge also indicated if you turn it down and go to trial, she’ll nail your ass for everything.”
“That’s bullshit, man. You s’pose to be my lawyer. Fight for me, you know.”
“I am Raymont. I got just about the best sentence you’re going to get,” said Marc, annoyance now creeping into his voice.
“Yeah, right. Man, I wants what you s’pose to do. You know, jealous representin’. I wants the O.J. defense, man.”
“Zealous representation, Raymont,” Marc said laughing. Sitting back in his chair he continued in mock surprise, “You should’ve said you had two or three million dollars to spend. Well shit, I’ll call Johnny Cochrane when I get back to the office for you and turn your case over to him. Oh wait, that’s right, he’s dead. But for three million we can find his replacement.”
With that, Raymont busted out in a hearty laugh which Marc joined. Both men laughed for almost half a minute at the exchange until, finally calming down, Fuller said, “Okay man. I get it. Okay, okay. What do you think? How much jail time?”
“Not sure,” said Marc, wiping his eyes from the laughter. “We haven’t gotten your criminal history score from probation yet.”
“Not much there,” said Raymont, slyly. “Just a couple. . .”
Marc held up his hands to interrupt and stop him. “Don’t go there, Raymont. It won’t do you any good to try to bullshit me. We’ll find out in a couple days. Besides, the county attorney’s office didn’t say yes to the deal yet. I think they will though. You don’t have to decide anything right now. As soon as I hear something, I’ll come back and we’ll talk. All right?”
“All right, my man. I’m sorry I got mad, okay? I did what I did and I guess I’ll take the best deal you can make,” Raymont said.
“Raymont, how many times do I have to tell you to stop admitting things to me? I don’t want to know what you did or didn’t do. It’s not important. It’s only important what they can prove. Please remember that,” said Marc.
“Right, man. I get it. Anyway,” Fuller said as he rose, shook Marc’s hand and walked to the door. “Let me know right away okay? Stillwater’s better than this place and if I gots to go I might as well get on with it.”
“Sure thing, Raymont,” said Marc with a trace of sympathy. “Probably by Friday.”
Fuller banged on the door, yelled loudly for Big Train and gave a slight wave to Marc when the big guard opened the door to take him back inside to the general population area. Marc remained seated on the hard, metal folding chair surveying his surroundings for almost another minute.
Finally, looking directly into the mirror wondering if he was being observed said, “Ah the glamour of criminal defense work. Just like on TV. Nothing but innocent clients, and the guilty party always breaks down on the witness stand in a last minute tear-filled confession. And the lawyers go away rich and happy knowing justice has prevailed.”
ELEVEN
“Oh wait, hang on a second. He just walked through the door,” Marc heard his receptionist say into the phone as he closed the office’s outer door. He looked at Sandy and silently mouthed the word “Who?” to her as she punched the hold button on her phone.
“It’s that lawyer from Washington, what’s-her-name, on Karen’s case,” Sandy replied.
“Oh good. I’ll get it. I’ll get it,” Marc said as he hurried into his office without slowing down to close the door.
He grabbed the phone from its cradle as he rounded the corner of his desk, punched the button on the console and as he dropped into his chair, said, “Deirdre, what did you find out?”
“No deal. My boss wouldn’t go for anything barred by statute. She approved the rest but nothing for fees,” came the response.
Marc slumped in h
is chair and leaned on the desk, his left elbow supporting his head with the phone in his left hand. He sat like this and didn’t respond to the obviously disappointing news.
“Marc? Are you still there?” he heard the lawyer with the United States Justice Department finally ask, breaking the silence after about half a minute.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he softly said. “So, where does that leave us? What have we settled?” he asked as he looked up to see almost everyone in the office crowding into his doorway, each with an inquisitive look on his or her face. While he listened to the response to his question, he frowned at his friends in the doorway and shook his head to let them know he had received negative news.
“We’ll drop Karen’s liability, credit the refund against your taxes and lift the lien on your house. That’s giving you everything except fees.”
“If I go forward on the twenty fifth with my motion, can we limit it to attorney fees? Will you still settle the other things?” Marc asked.
“Yes, we will. In fact, I’ll send a letter out today confirming this conversation and I’ll copy the court. If you’re willing to leave it at that, we’ll be done.”
“Deirdre, why shouldn’t I go to court on the twenty-fifth and ask for fees? What have I got to lose?”
“Well, um, uh nothing I guess.”
“Send the letter confirming that we settled everything else and I’ll see you in about three weeks.”
“Okay Marc. Sorry, it wasn’t my idea and I know it doesn’t make much sense.”
“Bye, Deirdre,” he said and hung up without waiting for her.
He leaned back in his chair, looked at Chris Grafton who had sat down opposite him, took a deep breath, rolled his eyes back in his head and looked up at the ceiling.
“What’d she say?” asked Grafton.
Marc stared at him for a few seconds, sighed heavily and finally said, “You’re not going to believe this. Her boss squelched the deal. At least the part about some fees. Everything else we settled.”
“They’ll lift Karen’s liability?” asked Grafton. “Congratulations. That’s great. It’s finally over,” he said as he leaned across the desk to shake Marc’s hand.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 5
