Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series)

by Dennis Carstens

  “It sounds very good,” Marc answered. “I have to let it sink in. I’ll let you know by Monday. How’s that?”

  “Good,” Haesly said as he pulled a small, shiny, brass flat container from his inside coat pocket. He flipped open the lid, removed a business card from it and wrote some numbers on the back. “Let me know as soon as you can, one way or the other. I wrote my home and cell numbers on the back. Feel free to call either one to let me know.”

  The instant Darryl Haesly closed the door of his office after returning from lunch, he hurried to his phone and quickly dialed. It was answered before the first ring finished and Haesly said, “It’s Darryl Haesly, Governor. I just got back from meeting Kadella.”

  “How’d it go? Did he bite?”

  “I think so, sir,” Haesly answered. “We’ll see if it does any good. I definitely got the impression he’d like to take the offer.”

  “We’ll have to see if he can convince his client now,” Dahlstrom said.

  “Yes. We’ll see. Sir,” Haesly said, “I’m not sure he’s an Olson, Bennett lawyer. You know the type. He’s just a little too independent. Probably not much of a team player and a little, well, you understand not really our kind of lawyer.”

  “You mean he probably would balk at kissing your ass twice a day.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Haesly said defensively.

  “Yes it is,” Dahlstrom said firmly. “That firm of yours owes the Party big time and besides, if you don’t like him, dump him after ninety days. By then it’s too late and who cares? I’d be forever grateful, Darryl. Remember that. Goodbye, Darryl. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Haesly said as the phone went dead.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  When Marc arrived back at his office he found Maddy Rivers impatiently flipping through an old PEOPLE magazine. She was dressed in jeans and a loose cotton blouse, her hair pinned up against the late July heat.

  He stood in the reception area and looked her over as she dropped the magazine onto the coffee table and stood up. She’d stop traffic if she was dressed in a tent, he thought. She just can’t hide it, even when she tries, which she doesn’t very much. He turned to Sandy, who sat smirking at him, obviously reading his mind and lecherous thoughts. Sandy handed him his mail and one pink message slip which he saw was from his daughter. A pang of guilt swept over him as he read her name and moved toward his office door with Maddy on his heels.

  “Thanks for coming,” Marc said as he dropped the mail on his desk and placed the message slip next to his phone.

  “I finally caught up with that Olson guy this morning,” she said.

  “What Olson guy?” Marc asked.

  “The deputy. You remember. The one that stood guard while the two guys worked over Carl in the jail.”

  “Oh yeah, him,” Marc said. “Did you serve the subpoena on him?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. It’s his word against Carl’s and he says Carl’s lying. Says he wasn’t there. Didn’t see anything, doesn’t know anything,” she added.

  “Where are you with Waschke?”

  “I’m going to do him, for sure, the next couple days,” she said.

  “I thought you already had,” he said, obviously irritated.

  “Hey, I have other clients. I can hardly live on what you’ve been paying me,” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right,” Marc said holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “Still friends?”

  “I suppose,” she said, flashing that beautiful smile. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  “We have a trial date. August eighth,” he said. “So, we need to get going.”

  “August eighth? I thought we’d have another week, at least.”

  “Prentiss moved it up. Wants to get started. I’ll be ready. The first three or four weeks will be used up by jury selection and the prosecution’s case, anyway. We won’t have anything until at least September.”

  “I asked you here because something’s come up,” Marc continued. “There’s been a plea offer made and I wanted to kick it around with someone before I put it to Carl.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking about taking it?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I am. Look, hear me out before you jump to any conclusions. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m hoping you can be objective and play devil’s advocate for me.”

  “Okay,” she said flattered by the rare compliment about her intelligence rather than her physical assets.

  He told her what the prosecution had offered and the judge agreeing to the sentence. They spent the next two hours going over the case and the evidence against Carl. The witnesses, the scientific reports and the likely testimony. They looked at all of it from as many sides, angles and perspectives as they could possibly think of. Discussed the various ideas they each had for putting it all in the best light possible to a jury. Trying to find ways to cast reasonable doubt on the totality of the prosecution’s case.

  “I think it’ll come down to a couple of things,” Marc finally said. “The eyewitness. That Hobbs character can be shaken at trial. It’s not that tough. But the knife. That’s another matter. That cop that was in the bedroom when the knife was found by Waschke, what’s his name?”

  “Mike Carlson,” she said.

  “He’s sure he hadn’t looked in the closet before Waschke?”

  “Absolutely,” she sighed.

  “So, it may very well come down to the jury believing Waschke. A decorated, veteran police officer with impeccable credentials. A spotless record.”

  “You put it that way and Carl’s hosed.”

  “What other way would you like me to put it?”

  She crossed her legs, placed an elbow on her knee and holding her chin in the palm of that hand said, “So, we have to find a way to convince the jury that Waschke planted the knife. Simple.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said sarcastically. “And of course, figure out how he got the knife in the first place.”

  “What about the locker key?” she asked ignoring Marc’s comment. “Have you asked Carl about it?”

  “Sure. Says he found it lying on the street. Has no idea who it belongs to.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I think I’m going to gently try to convince Carl to take the deal.”

  “He won’t.”

  “I know he won’t want to, but the downside is horrendous. If he’s convicted of one, just one count of first degree murder it’s a mandatory life sentence and a minimum thirty years. And with a case like this I can see this judge, hell any judge, giving him consecutive sentences for more than one conviction and he never gets out. He dies in prison.”

  “When’re you going to talk to him?”

  “No time like the present,” Marc said looking at his watch. “Want to ride along?”

  “Sure,” she said quietly. “But I won’t help you. I still think you have a case to put on.”

  “Yeah, I know I have a case to put on. Although winning it, that’s another matter. Let me put it this way: Do I believe there’s enough evidence to convict? That’s the question.”

  “Do you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  They waited silently in the jailhouse interview room while the deputies were retrieving Carl. Neither spoke for several minutes, Marc occasionally looking at his watch while Maddy stared straight ahead from her chair alongside the table.

  “Have you changed your mind yet?” she broke the silence by asking.

  “I don’t know. A lot of ambivalence,” he answered.

  “Don’t even tell him.”

  “I have an ethical obligation to at least put it to him. It’s his decision to make. Not mine,” Marc said as he heard the key turning in the door.

  Carl entered the room followed by the looming presence of Big Train Johnson who nodded a brief greeting at Marc and Maddy and said, “Let me know when you’re done,
counselor.”

  “Sure thing, Deputy,” Marc replied as Big Train turned and left the room. “Hey Carl, how are you doing?”

  “Okay, Marc. Miss Rivers,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Sit down, Carl. I want to go over your case with you. The evidence and everything.”

  “Shit, Marc,” Carl said as he slumped into the chair opposite his lawyer. “We been over this shit ‘til I’m sick of it.”

  “We can’t go over it too many times. You never know when we might think of something new. Besides, you got something better to do today?”

  “Good point,” Carl said smiling. “Say, uh, Miss Rivers, you got a smoke?”

  “Sure Carl,” Maddy answered reaching for her purse. “Please, call me Maddy. Miss Rivers makes me feel like an old maid.”

  “This is Hennepin County, Carl.” Marc said. “There’s no smoking in Hennepin County. You want to get arrested for smoking?”

  “Yeah, no shit,” Carl laughed as he lit the cigarette. “Getting busted for murder is one thing in this state, but you better be careful not to let them catch you smoking or the cigarette Nazis will nail your ass.”

  “Really,” Maddy said smiling.

  “Okay. Let’s get down to business,” Marc said as he slid his chair up to the table and placed a legal pad in front of himself with a neatly penned list on the first sheet. “The evidence, so far at least, ...”

  “You mean there might be more?” Carl asked.

  “Who knows?” Marc shrugged. “They’re supposed to tell us everything but you never know what they’ll come up with at trial and claim it came up at the last minute.”

  “First off,” Marc began, “the victims. All sexually assaulted. At least that’s what the medical examiner will testify. Except for the one semen sample there’s no physical evidence found on or around any of them linking them to you or anybody else. No hair, fibers, blood samples, nothing. The M.E. will testify that they were vaginally penetrated with an object of some kind.”

  “How does he know that?” Carl asked.

  “Because he’s a doctor. A pathologist. An examination of the women’s pubic area, vaginal walls would show this. Look, Carl, trust me on this. He can tell and he’ll explain it at trial. What he can’t tell is who did it or with what.

  “All the victims,” Marc continued, “killed with a single stab wound by a long serrated knife, like the one the police have, under the chin upward into the brain. The rarity of that fact is enough to link all six of the Hennepin County victims together.”

  “Then there’s the physical evidence. The semen sample found on the Gavin woman. Our own DNA analysis matches it to you and ...”

  “I told you about that,” Carl said crushing out the cigarette under his shoe and angrily kicking it across the room.

  “Relax Carl. I’m just going over it,” Marc said, rubbing his palm on his forehead before continuing. “Look, Carl. Let’s get this straight. This is all going to come out at trial and you’re going to have to sit there and quietly take it. Get angry, show your frustration and annoyance in front of that jury and we may as well pack it in now. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he answered softly.

  “Do you really?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Every time we talk about this you get all pissed off. Let me tell you something. It’s not only going to come out, but it will be a helluva lot worse. The prosecutors are gonna make you look like some woman-hating, mad dog. And I have to tell you, I’m very concerned about how you’ll react. I don’t see you sitting there and calmly taking it.”

  Maddy shifted slightly in her chair moving her eyes back and forth between the two men. Marc calmly looked at his client while Carl stared at the floor.

  “Where am I?” Marc asked looking at his list. “Oh yeah, the physical evidence. The blood samples from the knife. Two of them. Donna Sharon Anderson found by Lake Calhoun by an old guy walking his dog. Says he saw the guy who did it run off. Can’t positively identify him but says he matches your size, height, weight and build.

  “And the last one. Alice Faye Darwin. Murdered and assaulted in Powderhorn Park. One witness, an elderly woman, will testify she saw the victim being forced into the park by a man matching your description. But she was too far away to identify him. She told the cops that the clothes found in the locker could be the ones the guy was wearing.”

  “Can’t we keep any of this out?” Maddy asked.

  “Nope. Prentiss has already ruled. It’s coming in. He’ll give the jury the usual bullshit limiting instructions about not making too much of it. Who knows if that ever does any good?

  “The locker key found in your possession when arrested. Locker Number 119. The bad news is, that links you to the clothes found in it,” Marc continued. “The good news is, they found no physical evidence on anything in that locker to tie the clothes to any of the victims. Except, the clothes, and the bag, were washed, probably more than once, in a very strong detergent.”

  “I found the damn key,” Carl said. “I wish to God I’d left it laying there. And so what if the stuff was washed?”

  “It looks like whoever did it was trying to hide something,” Madeline answered.

  “Carl,” Marc said softly as he folded his hands together and placed them on the legal pad. “There’s something I haven’t had a chance to tell you, yet. I just found out myself a couple days ago. They found three quarters in that locker, in the change box, with your fingerprints on them.”

  “What!?” Carl exploded. “That’s bullshit, man. That can’t be.”

  “It’s true, Carl,” Marc said without reacting to Carl’s outburst. “At least, I know the prints are a match. I had them checked myself. How they got there, I don’t know but a jury can believe whatever it wants.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, shit man. I don’t know what to say,” Carl said as he raised his hands and looked around the room. “I mean, shit. This is bullshit. I don’t know what to say. Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said as he snapped his fingers several times. “You said, what was it? There’s no physical evidence on the clothes. Nothing tying the clothes to the victims. Right?”

  “That’s right, Carl. By itself, the clothes in the locker mean nothing. I don’t know, you tell me, what will a jury think?”

  “I don’t know,” Carl said quietly. “I, ah, don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know how they could’ve got them coins with my prints. Probably planted them. Like the knife. I know,” he said snapping his fingers again, “I had some change on me when they arrested me and ...”

  “I already checked that,” Marc said nodding his head. “You didn’t have three quarters when you were booked. And all the change in your pocket at that time is accounted for.”

  Maddy quietly stood up and went to a corner of the room behind Marc, lit a cigarette and silently smoked it while watching the two men. Observing the scene with the realization that Marc was gently leading Carl to accepting the plea bargain. She had been initially shocked that Marc would, even for a moment, entertain such a notion. But now, listening to the mounting tide of evidence against Carl, she was beginning to come around to the realization that maybe Marc was right. Maybe Carl’s best chance was to take the deal.

  A sadness came over her with the thought that a truly innocent man, and she still believed that Carl was innocent, could go to prison. Even admit to a crime he didn’t do just because the prospect of losing at trial was so much worse. But here, in front of her eyes sat two men, two men whom she had grown fond of and cared about, were in the process of doing just that. And she thought, an hour ago she would have been appalled at the prospect and argue against it with every fiber of her being. Now, not only was she not going to utter a peep in protest, but found herself agreeing with it.

  Maddy found herself watching Carl, the obvious agony, stress and turmoil he was going through. She found herself reflecting for a brief moment on her first meeting with him. She remembered shaking his hand and during t
he entire interview had consciously held her right hand away from herself. The thought of having physical contact with him, actually touching a convicted rapist in a friendly manner, had literally made her skin crawl. The instant the door opened afterward she had gone straight to the women’s restroom, holding her right hand in the air, where she had scrubbed as if preparing for heart surgery. She smiled to herself at the memory, wondering how this same man could have made her feel so dirty.

  Carl sat silently, his face buried in his hands as Marc stood, walked around the table and gently placed a hand on his client’s shoulder. “Carl,” he quietly said, “let’s forget that for now. I don’t think we can come up with an answer about how those quarters got in that locker box. By itself, it’s not that important.”

  Marc began to slowly pace around the small room while Carl straightened in his chair and motioned to Maddy, asking if it was okay to take another cigarette from the pack on the table.

  “They also have the so-called confession that you made at the media when you were being arrested. Again, by itself, it’s meaningless. An obviously angry, frightened man screaming at the horde like that shouldn’t even be admitted into evidence. I can’t say Prentiss is wrong in letting it in. I’m not even sure it’ll hurt us. It won’t help us, though. And they’re going to bring in everyone they can from that hallway to testify. The judge will even let them show a tape of it.”

  “We need a new judge,” Carl said.

  “Too late. Besides, we wouldn’t do any better at this point. He’s no different than most of them. Most of them would allow this stuff in. There isn’t enough reason to keep it out. The cops testified they read you your Miranda rights. Told you to keep quiet. They don’t have to gag you.