Marc followed the big cop and took a chair directly opposite from Waschke who had seated himself in the farthest corner.
“Now, counselor, what did you want to talk to me about?” Jake began.
“One of your jail guards stood by and watched while a couple of the other inmates worked him over.”
“First of all, they’re not one of my guards. I have nothing to do with what goes on in the jail,” Jake answered as he leaned back and calmly crossed his legs. “More importantly, you got any proof of this pretty serious accusation? Other than the word of your client?
“Not yet. How much do you think it’ll take to get one of your jailbirds to start singing? Especially if a guard did put them up to it. I’ll find out. Count on it,” Marc said, anger creeping into his voice.
Waschke quickly uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and jabbing an index finger toward Marc, menacingly said, “You listen to me, lawyer. This is a police matter and I suggest you steer clear of it. It’ll be investigated like any other crime. You got that?”
“That sounds like a threat, Lieutenant,” Marc said calmly. “Maybe you’d like to go discuss this in front of your chief or a judge. Or, better yet, how about I walk down the hall and get the police department a little more free publicity? Sunday’s a slow news day and I’m not sure they got enough footage a few minutes ago.”
With that, both men sat back in their chairs and silently stared directly into each other’s eyes. Marc, surprising himself at how calm and unintimidated he was. Waschke calming himself trying to regain some measure of control knowing full well that Marc could do exactly what he threatened.
After almost a full minute of the staring contest, Waschke blinked first by saying, “Okay. You’re right. Point taken. But I promise you, I will look into this. What’s the name of the guard?”
“Olson,” Marc replied. “And I will investigate this myself. I have every right to and I will.”
“Do what you have to,” Jake said as he opened a small notebook to write down the guard’s name. “Who were the inmates?”
“He doesn’t know their names but I’m sure he’ll be able to identify them.”
“Okay, counselor. You okay with me talking to him now?”
“No, he’s sleeping. Maybe later, but under no circumstances is he to be questioned unless I’m there. I want to make that absolutely clear, okay?”
“No problem,” Jake said.
“I’m going to take off for a while. I’ll be back in about an hour or so. You can talk to him then. In the meantime, nobody except hospital personnel goes into that room.”
“Absolutely, counselor. I’ll send a detective to start checking out this Olson, but don’t hold your breath. Seems no one at the jail saw or heard anything,” Jake said with a shrug.
With that, both men rose to leave and to Marc’s surprise Waschke stuck out his big right hand to Marc, which Marc took, both men with the brief handshake acknowledging that each had a job to do and hard feelings wouldn’t interfere. They parted company in front of Carl’s room, Waschke to oversee security and assign a detective to discreetly check into Carl’s allegations. Marc to finish his press conference and to make the allegations public.
FORTY-SEVEN
Several days after the hospital fracas, Maddy Rivers wore a puzzled expression as she drove toward an appointment with her current employer. She had spent the past week or so checking out their client. Interviewing his few friends, neighbors and co-workers. Attempting to come up with an alibi for Carl. At first, she began by checking into where he was just for the nights of the two murders he was charged for. Coming up empty there, she expanded her search to at least come up with something to cast some doubt that Carl had anything to do with any of them. Not surprisingly, she drew a complete blank. Very few people can positively establish where they were on any given date and time and Carl was no exception.
What puzzled her was Carl himself. Since being released on parole the previous December, he was obviously living a pretty quiet life. The people in his apartment building all said pretty much the same thing. None of them knew him too well except to say he was friendly enough on the occasions when they passed in the hallway or ran into each other by the mailboxes. Kept to himself. Few friends or visitors that anyone had noticed.
Coworkers had basically said the same thing. Carl had obtained a job through his parole officer at a small mail order warehouse in Southeast Minneapolis shortly after his release from prison. It had been the Christmas rush time for them but Carl had worked hard and been very dependable so, they kept him on after the seasonal rush had died down. His fellow employees all seemed to like him well enough. Dependable and helpful. Always willing to work hard and lend a hand when needed. Even joining them a few times for an after work beer on a Friday night.
His supervisor had thought so highly of him that he had recommended Carl for a raise just before his arrest. Always on time, never called in sick and did a good job. A rarity for the type of transient workers the business normally employed.
Maddy had interviewed his parole officer and she, too, had nothing but positive things to say. Good reports from his job and always made their meetings on time. No rescheduling with excuses and seemed to be staying out of trouble. All of which added up to Maddy’s current bewilderment. Hardly the profile, or so it seemed to her, for some kind of mad dog stalker, rapist and serial killer. Then again, she thought, maybe it was the precise personality. After all, whenever one of these whackos gets caught, isn’t it always the neighbors being interviewed on TV talking about what a quiet, nice man he seemed to be? How surprised they all were?
She parked her car in the small lot behind Marc’s building, went in through the back door and up the stairs to his office. She cheerfully greeted Carolyn, Sandy and one of the lawyers, she didn’t know his name though she did recognize the stunned look on his face as he looked her over. The same one that she normally elicited from men that rarely flattered her, normally bored her and this time annoyed her.
Maddy took one of the chairs in the reception area as Carolyn lifted the telephone receiver to let Marc know she had arrived. A few minutes later Marc appeared through his office door, greeted her and politely stepped aside as she went past him into this office.
“Who’s the leering lech?” she asked as she slumped heavily into one of the chairs.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Marc replied. “That was Barry Cline,” Marc continued as he took his chair. “Why, did he do something?”
“No, he didn’t,” Maddy sighed. “Forget it. You’re right. I’m just in a rotten mood. PMS, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Oh, good,” Marc said smiling. “PMS and you carry a gun. There’s a combination.”
“And don’t forget it,” she said as she threw her head back laughing heartily.
“So,” Marc said as he got down to business. “What do you have on our boy?”
“Like I said on the phone,” she replied shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. “Not much. Nothing for an alibi, but then, Carl wasn’t much help there. As far as what I could find out about him, nothing unusual. Pretty quiet guy living alone. No real close friends but everybody he knows seems to like him well enough. All pretty surprised by the arrest and everything. Nothing to suggest anything like this but nothing to rule it out either. “
“Other than the rape conviction.”
“Right. Other than that. Listen,” she continued, “what about a shrink? Have you thought about calling one as a witness? Having one examine Carl?”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think so. I don’t want to open that door for the prosecution. Our defense is going to be the standard SODDI. Some other dude did it. Plain and simple. We just need to come up with some way to prove that. Or, at least, cast reasonable doubt on their case. Which brings me to your next assignment. Their main witness. This Hobbs guy. I want you to start on him.”
“You want a written report on what I’ve found on Carl so far?
”
“No, nothing that might be discoverable. Nothing I would have to turn over to the other side.”
“I have more coming on Carl anyway. Arrest reports, prison record. Stuff like that.”
“How are you getting all that?”
“Don’t ask. Let’s just say Tony’s been helpful.”
“Okay, I won’t ask. Start in on their witnesses. Hobbs first. Background check. Friends, neighbors. You know the drill. Take a few days. Give me a call and we’ll look at what you’ve found. Then I’ll set up an interview with Hobbs.”
“You don’t want me to talk to him?”
“No, not yet. Let’s see what we can come up with on him. How’s the money holding out?”
“I’m okay for now. I’ll do up an itemized statement today or tomorrow and get it to you. You having problems getting paid?”
“A little. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got more coming. At least, I’m supposed to.”
“You looked real good on TV the other night. You know, that business at the hospital.”
“You liked that?” Marc asked, grinning broadly.
“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing her delightful laugh. “Very convincing stuff.”
“There’s an editorial in yesterday’s paper about it too. Did you see it?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Very pious and righteous sounding. You know, ‘police zealousness’ and all that crap. This, of course, is the same paper that was all over their ass before they made an arrest. Quite humorous actually.”
“I’m sure,” she agreed. “I have to go,” she said looking at her watch as she rose to leave. “I have an appointment with a snitch. Tony tells me he may be able to give us some background on Carl.”
“Do the cops know about him?” Marc asked as he came around the desk to get the door for her.
“I don’t think so,” she said, slightly shaking her head. “Tony knows him. He told Tony he knew Carl and hinted he knows some things about him. I’ll check it out and call you later,” she answered as they made their way through the reception area to the exterior doorway.
“Okay, Maddy. I’ll talk to you later.”
After the door had closed behind her, he turned to go back to his office just as Sandy said, “The mail’s here Marc. You’re not going to like this.”
“Now what?” he wearily asked.
“The IRS has filed an appeal.”
“What?” he asked disbelievingly as he took the single paged document from Sandy’s outstretched hand. He quickly read it over, dropped his hands to his side allowing the Notice of Appeal to drop to the floor, slumped his shoulders, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and said, “What in God’s name is wrong with these people?”
“Can they win?” Carolyn asked.
“No,” Marc said emphatically as he stooped to retrieve the document.
“Are you sure?” Sandy asked, obviously relieved.
“Yes, I’m sure. Hell, Deirdre McConnell even admitted it to me after we were in court last time. The judge’s decision is entirely within his discretion. No way would an appeals court overturn it. In fact, I’ll get more money out of them for this,” he said waving the paper in the air.
“What about Karen’s liability for the taxes? Can they get that overturned?” Carolyn asked.
“No. They agreed to that. That’s not appealable.”
“What are they appealing then?” Sandy asked.
“The award of attorney fees,” he answered as he walked quickly to his office. He went to his desk, pulled a card from his rolodex, dialed the number and heard the familiar female voice answer it on the second ring.
“Deirdre, it’s Marc Kadella,” he said tersely trying to keep the anger from showing. “What the hell is this about?”
“I’m sorry, Marc,” she replied, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “I had to file it in order to preserve the right to appeal.”
“You can’t win this thing,” he said.
“I know,” she answered defensively. “It’s just that, well, the solicitor general’s office hasn’t signed off on it yet so, I had to file the appeal to give them more time.”
“Call them up. Tell them to sign the damn thing,” he said, still struggling with his control.
“I can’t do that Marc. It’s not proper procedure,” she answered.
“I don’t give a damn about their procedure. What’s the number? I’ll call them,”
“Relax, Marc. I understand why you’re mad, but calling the SG won’t help. Trust me. They’ll sign off and you’ll get your money.”
“Deirdre,” he said more calmly. “I can’t just ignore this and hope it all works out. I’ll be hearing from the Eighth Circuit now and I’ll have more work to do that I don’t have time for.”
“Don’t rush into anything. We have time...”
“That’s the problem, Deirdre. Those people in Washington have been sitting on this for two months and now they have more time. Little wonder the taxpayers are getting fed up.”
“It’ll work out, Marc. Trust me,” she said defensively.
“Why do I doubt that? G’bye Deirdre,” he said as he hung up the phone without waiting for her reply.
Placing an elbow on the desk, his chin in the palm of his hand Marc stared at the wall directly in front of his desk. As he silently pondered the inefficiency of the federal government’s bureaucracy, he sensed, more than saw, someone standing in his doorway.
“What did she say?” Carolyn asked.
“Oh, the usual crap you get from those people. Sorry, some kind of mix up. We’ll get it straightened out soon. Don’t worry.”
“Are they going to go through with the appeal?”
“She says no,” he continued as he picked up the Notice of Appeal and waved it at Carolyn, “but they have. I can’t just ignore it and hope they get their act together. I have to go on the assumption that an appeal is taking place and start to prepare for it.”
“Will you get more money from them,” Carolyn asked.
“Oh, yeah,” he answered as he pulled the manila envelope of Karen’s tax case from the desk drawer. “If I have to do any more work on this thing,” he continued as he began making notes of his conversation with the government’s lawyer, “I will definitely go after them for more fees.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Jake rapped lightly on the window of the office door of the head of the crime lab unit and without waiting for a response, turned the knob, opened the door and walked in. He took two short steps, stopped and surveyed the clutter that filled the small room.
“Jesus Christ, Jacobson,” Jake said shaking his head as he took the solitary chair in front of the shabby metal desk. “How the hell can you live like this?”
“Did you come down here to critique my interior decorating?” the short bald man seated behind the desk asked. “Believe it or not, Jake,” the man continued waving an arm about the room, “I know where everything is and there is a system to all of this.”
“What, the bulldozer filing system? What do you have for me?”
“A prelim on the stuff in the locker. Let me see, what did I do with my glasses,” the little man began as he looked over his desktop.
Jake leaned forward and quietly whispered, “They’re on your bald-ass head, Paul.”
Jacobson leaned back, rolled his eyes up and said, “Oh yeah. I knew I put them somewhere. Anyway,” he continued as he slipped the half-moon glasses onto his nose and began reading from a single sheet of handwritten notes. “The contents of the locker: one pair of size ten and a half Reebok tennis shoes. One pair of Levi’s blue jeans and a black windbreaker. The shoes and jeans are the same size as your suspect’s other clothes and the windbreaker appears to be the same size or, at least, could certainly fit him. There’s no tag on it so I can’t say for sure what size it is. And one nylon carry-all handbag, slightly used.”
“Find anything in your analysis?”
“Sort of. No blood, hair or tissue samples
on any of the items ...”
“Damn,” Jake muttered.
“They’ve been washed. Thoroughly. Several times I’d say and with a very strong detergent.”
“Strong enough to remove any blood or tissues?”
“Maybe,” Jacobson shrugged. “Hard to say for sure. The obvious question would be: why would anyone use a detergent like that on ordinary clothes? A question a jury would obviously want answered.”
“Yeah, probably true,” Jake replied. “What about prints?”
“Nothing on the clothes or in and around the locker. But on the ten quarters we found in the coin box, we came up with usable matches on three of them.”
“How many?” Jake asked somewhat startled.
“Three. Good thumbprints from your boy on two of them. Perfect match. No doubt about it. A thumb and two other prints, right index finger. Enough of a match on these to testify to. No doubt about it, Jake. Your boy dropped some coins into that locker,” Jacobson said laying the sheet of paper on the desk and removing the glasses.
Jake sat back in the chair, crossed his legs and began rubbing his chin with his left hand. He sat this way silently reflecting about the news he had just been given. After about a minute, he dropped his hand to his lap, looked at the crime lab chief and said, “So what does that mean? We have clothing that he washed with a strong detergent and then hid in a locker. But what does it mean?”
“Who knows,” Jacobson said as he dropped the glasses on the desk, leaned back and placed his hands behind his head, lacing the fingers together. “You know how this stuff goes, Jake. I get on the witness stand and testify as to the scientific analysis and the finger prints and let the jury decide it means whatever they want. The pretty obvious conclusion is that your boy was hiding something. How’d you come up with the locker anyway?”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 23
