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

by Dennis Carstens

  “I can’t argue with any of that,” Espinoza agreed. “How about this, how about an additional five thousand that they have to pay to offset taxes that you owe?”

  “What do you think?” Marc said turning to Karen.

  “I want an apology,” Karen said. “In fact, I want them to take an ad out in the paper apologizing.”

  “Well,” Espinoza said laughing, “I don’t think they’ll agree to taking out an ad in the paper, but I think we can get an apology for you. I don’t blame you, either. They owe you one. How about if we do it in the courtroom and make it part of the record? Would that be enough?”

  “And I’ll get a copy of it from the court reporter for you. Okay?” Marc said.

  “What about the five thousand?” Espinoza asked, turning serious again.

  “That’s fine,” Karen answered, pleased with the thought that the government, after all the years of aggravation she had been put through, was finally going to have to admit they were wrong and apologize to her for it.

  “Done deal,” Marc said as he stole a quick glance at the clock behind Espinoza and noted they had been in there alone with her for only five minutes.

  “Good. Why don’t you send them in now and I’ll see what we can do,” Espinoza said as Marc and Karen rose to leave.

  They waited in the empty courtroom, Karen seated while Marc paced, for about fifteen minutes. They could hear the voices coming from the magistrate’s chambers, loud and obviously acrimonious, though they couldn’t make out what was being said. Finally, Karen looked at Marc and said, “Is there a place we can get a cup of coffee around here. Sounds like they may be a while.”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “There’s a cafeteria down in the basement. Let me just stick my head in and let them know,” he said as he walked over and lightly knocked on the door.

  Espinoza told them she would send her clerk for them when they were needed and Marc and Karen went down to the cafeteria.

  “What do think? “ Karen asked as they sipped their coffee. “Do you think they’ll take it?”

  “I’m praying they don’t.”

  “Are you serious? I’m scared they won’t.”

  “If they don’t take the deal we go back in front of the original judge and he’ll know we accepted the deal proposed by the magistrate and they turned it down. Oh, yeah, I hope like hell they turn it down because this judge will nail their ass good.”

  A half an hour after they had gone downstairs they re-entered the still empty courtroom. The loud voices were no longer to be heard coming from the chambers and Marc looked at Karen and shrugged his shoulder to indicate he didn’t know what it meant. They resumed their previous places and a few minutes later Espinoza came out smiling brightly to announce they had a deal.

  A short while later Espinoza, having donned her black robe and taken her seat on the bench, presided over the formality of reading the agreement into the record. Marzell, with obvious distaste, apologized to Karen into the record on behalf of the federal government. Thus ending the case of Karen Kadella vs. The United States of America.

  “Let me see if I have this straight?” Karen asked Marc as they stepped through the building’s glass and chrome doors to exit into the afternoon’s warmth and bright sunshine. “When we brought the lawsuit against the government we owed them, either together or just me, over forty-five thousand dollars in taxes. Is that about what it was?”

  “Yeah, sounds about right,” Marc answered as he turned to go toward the lot where they had parked.

  “And now,” she continued walking alongside her estranged husband “we owe maybe two thousand total.”

  “Maybe a little less. Two grand at most,” Marc answered grinning at the thought.

  “And on top of that, you get over eleven thousand in attorney fees for doing it?”

  “Amazing isn’t it,” he said looking down at the shorter woman.

  “What happened up there, anyway? While we were in the cafeteria,” Karen asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Marc replied. “Lot of yelling. I think Espinoza chewed their asses and let them know they better settle or the judge was going to nail them good if they didn’t. Several phone calls back to Washington. I guess they weren’t too crazy about being fined like that.”

  “Tough shit,” Karen said. “Is this it? Is this thing finally over?”

  “Yeah,” Marc sighed. “I think it is. They don’t want to hear from me again, that’s for sure. Marzell told me,” he continued with a soft laugh, “they have my picture up on a dart board at the Justice Department. I think she was kidding but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

  “So, how does it feel to kick the ass of the United States Government?” she asked.

  “Not bad,” he said grinning from ear-to-ear. “Not bad at all. Actually, I’m just glad it’s finally over.”

  They arrived at the street corner and while they waited for the traffic light, she said, “How’s your trial going? I haven’t been following it real close, but the way the papers make it sound, your guy’s guilty and is going to get nailed.”

  “Really?” he said with a quizzical look as they stepped off the curb. “I think we’re doing okay. You never know though,” he continued with a shrug. “I think we’re scoring our points. I guess we’ll just have to see what the jury says.”

  “How’s business?”

  “You’d think with all of this publicity and free advertising I’ve been getting I’d have a line at the door. But it’s not happening. Maybe if I win. Who knows?”

  They arrived at her car and as she was opening the door, she said, “Try to see the kids. They’re wondering if they still have a father.”

  “Don’t start, Karen. I don’t need this from you right now, okay?” he answered with more anger and bitterness than he wanted. Without another word between them, she slammed the car door as Marc turned and walked off.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Jake Waschke stared back at the face of the old man in the mirror, the hands pushing and pulling on the sallow skin around the tired looking eyes. The face had aged several years over the last few months and he found himself wondering if he would ever sleep through the night again. He bent over the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on his face three or four times and rubbed his hands vigorously across it in an attempt at a quick revival. While the water dripped off of his chin, he leaned on the cheap vanity top and moved slowly toward the mirror until his nose almost touched the glass, staring intently into his eyes.

  “A vacation,” he said quietly. “When this thing is over, a vacation. Maybe that’ll do it.”

  He sighed heavily, toweled off his face, looked at his watch and headed for the bedroom to change his clothes. He had a late evening meeting to attend and he wanted to be early.

  The waitress, a different one than the one who had waited on him the first time he met Marty Hobbs in this small restaurant, placed the glass of beer on the napkin and walked away happy with the two dollar tip.

  The trial had dragged on at a snail’s pace and now, he glumly thought, yet another delay. This one brought on by some kind of personal problem that the judge had, he had been told. Jake had anticipated the prosecution presenting its final witness. Hopefully, the one that would nail down a conviction and undo the damage done by Wally Bingham.

  Wally had not been a total disaster. At least that was Steve Gondeck’s read on the jury’s reaction to his testimony. But Jake wasn’t so sure. He thought Wally came across as obviously lying. And worse, put up to it by the police. He had held up pretty well during Kadella’s cross-examination during the morning session. At least Kadella had not been able to get him to admit he was lying because the cops had cut a deal with him. Kadella had scored the point though and would no doubt hammer it to death during his closing argument. They needed Marty Hobbs. Needed him bad. An eyewitness who would put the defendant at the scene without anyone else to refute it should be enough, Slocum and Gondeck both believed.

  He thought about Marc Kadella fo
r a while. Jake wasn’t like most cops. He didn’t hate or even dislike defense attorneys. He understood their role and even approved of it. The thought of the police running loose without some checks and balances was not a place Jake would choose to live. He also knew it was always the cops who hated lawyers the most who ran the fastest to the best, most expensive ones when it was their ass accused of something. And Kadella was starting to earn his respect. What looked to be a slam dunk case had turned into a close thing because of him.

  While he sat in the booth waiting for Hobbs, a couple of thoughts that had been scratching the back of his mind came to the surface. John Lucas had shown up in court today. Jake had seen to it that John was kept informed of the trial’s progress and Lucas had only attended a couple of times and only for a short while each time. Why today, he wondered.

  He pushed this thought aside as another, more significant one came into focus. What had Kadella’s investigator, that Rivers woman, been doing parked on his mother’s street? Why was she digging into his past?

  He knew the answer of course. They must have guessed that it was him that had set up their client. They may have figured out who, but they didn’t know why. And the why was the most important piece of the puzzle. Without it, the lawyer could harp all he wanted trying to convince the jury his client was framed. But without the reason why, well, he thought, this isn’t L. A. and it likely wouldn’t stick. Knowing it and proving it were two very different things.

  He had tried to subtly convince Louise to get the hell out of town for a while. Even offering to pay for a trip to California to visit her sister. A sister she hadn’t spoken to for fifteen years. Louise wouldn’t go for it though and Jake didn’t want to press too hard. He had tried to keep Rivers under surveillance but that had become too impractical. Especially after those two idiots had confronted her. He softly chuckled to himself at the thought of what she had done to them. Grudgingly respecting her for it. He was concerned about what Kadella might find but not too worried. The only way he could get to the truth was through Louise and Jake couldn’t imagine she would possibly open up to him.

  Jake finished his beer and looked around the almost empty dining room, searching for the waitress. The front door opened and Marty Hobbs walked in just as he caught the waitress’ attention. He wiggled his empty glass at her and held up two fingers of his other hand. She smiled, nodded and headed for the bar as Marty slumped onto the booth’s seat opposite Jake.

  “Hey, Jake,” Marty said as he slid across the bench seat to the far corner. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, Marty. I just wanted to get together with you one more time before you testified. Just to make sure everything’s cool.”

  “Yeah, I’m cool,” Marty whispered. “Fact is, I was pissed today. I thought I’d get up there. Like, I’m really wired.”

  “You’re what?” Jake asked, wondering if Marty was on something.

  “No, no. Easy, dude. No I’m wired to, you know, testify. Man, it’s a rush, you know. Me getting to help put this psycho away.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to testify,” Jake said.

  “No, no. We gotta get this dude, Jake. Me and you. You say he did this shit, that’s good enough for me. We gotta nail his ass.”

  “Okay. That’s fine,” Jake nodded soberly as the waitress approached with their drinks. After she left, Jake said, “I want to go over your statements and your testimony again. One last time before tomorrow.”

  “Oh, man,” Hobbs said as he set his glass back on the table. “I been over this so many times the last couple days…”

  “We’ll go over it again,” Jake said holding up his left hand to silence Marty. “It’s important that your testimony comes off smooth and believable.”

  “You’re right. Okay. I’m cool,” Marty said.

  “You looked good today. The shirt and tie and the haircut. That shit helps,” Jake said as he pulled a small sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his sport coat and for the first time realizing that when this trial was over, Marty Hobbs was going to have to depart this life. “Let’s go over your statement here so there’s no glitches in your testimony tomorrow.”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  Earlier that same evening, after everyone else in the office had left for the day, Marc sat at his desk going over the same statement. The one made by Hobbs to the police. He went over Maddy’s investigative report on Hobbs for probably, he thought, the twentieth time. Looking for something, anything that he might be able to use to rattle him and cast doubt on his credibility. Frustrated after, once again, failing to find anything, he was about to pack it in when he heard the phone ring.

  “Marc Kadella,” he said as he answered it.

  “Marc,” he heard a familiar female voice respond, “it’s Carolyn. I just got home and I remembered I forgot to drop off the mail at the post office today and that McCarthy letter you wanted sent is still there. Sorry,” she began to apologize.

  “Oh, that’s okay, hon,” he replied. “If it goes tomorrow, that’s soon enough.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief,” she said. “With the pressure you’ve been under lately I thought I screwed up and was in for a butt chewing.”

  “No,” he laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Is the mail on your desk?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “I’ll get it and drop it off at the post office myself. I was just about to leave anyway.”

  “Good. Get out of there. Go home and relax. You need a night off. Will you be in tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see how the trial goes. I’ll check in a couple of times for sure.”

  “Okay, Marc. Bye now,” she said.

  Carolyn hung up the phone and walked back to the front entryway. She had been in such a hurry to call Marc that, when she had arrived home and came in the front door, she had forgotten to drop her purse on the small table at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, she had gone straight into the kitchen and made the call to Marc, hoping to catch him before he left the office. Carolyn, her husband and the two kids still at home, lived in an old style two-story built in the twenties with the stairs coming down right at the front door. A big old cozy four bedroom they had bought after three years of marriage, one child and a second on the way.

  She went up the stairs and instead of going into her bedroom, she turned right and knocked softly on the first door on her left and opened it a crack. She paused for a very brief moment, looking at the boy, a young man now she mused, seated on the end of the bed. He was in the last stages of dressing himself in his hockey equipment, attaching the Velcro strips that secured the massive shoulder pads. A brief smile flickered across her lips and she could literally feel her eyes sparkle while she looked at him. Jimmy was her middle child, an older brother in college at the U of M and a daughter she could hear across the hall. She loved them all, of course, but Jimmy was her secret favorite. An admission that always caused a twinge of guilt. He had been, at least in her eyes, the most beautiful little boy she had ever seen with his perfect blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Now this strapping six footer, the mischievous one of her three children, was turning into a handsome young man right before her eyes.

  “What’s up, Mom?” he asked without turning his head.

  “Are you about ready? Your dad’ll be home soon and we have to go if we’re going to be on time,” she said.

  “I could drive myself. You don’t have to be there,” he said even though he would be secretly disappointed if at least one of his parents didn’t come to watch him play.

  “Did you eat something?” she asked, ignoring his statement.

  “Yeah, I did. Heated up some spaghetti. Pasta’s good. Lots of protein.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll get changed,” she said as she quietly pulled the door closed. The door opposite opened and Sarah, the thirteen year old, stuck her head out. “Are you ready to go?” Carolyn asked.

  “I’m not going. I hate hockey.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” Carolyn answered as she turned
to go to her bedroom. “You’ve told us many times before and yes, you are going so get ready.”

  “God, I hate hockey!” Sarah practically screamed at her mother’s back and slammed her bedroom door while Carolyn quietly laughed.

  A few minutes later the three of them were walking down the front porch steps, Sarah glumly, reluctantly bringing up the rear when a car turned into the driveway. Instead of continuing to her car, Carolyn and the two kids hurried to the one pulling up. Her husband popped the Buick’s trunk lid to allow Jimmy to stow his equipment bag while Carolyn got in the front passenger side and Sarah the backseat behind her.

  “Do I have time to change?” he asked as Carolyn reached across to kiss him.

  “Nope. Sorry. Should’ve gotten here sooner,” Carolyn answered.

  “Hi, baby, What’s wrong?” he said to Sarah who sat with her arms crossed against her developing breasts, her chin down, obviously displeased.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she softly, pleasantly answered. “I hate hockey.”

  “Really? I don’t remember you ever mentioning that before,” he mockingly said to her, which brought a smile to both her and Carolyn as Jimmy took the seat behind his dad.

  “Hey, Dad,” Jimmy said as he lightly patted his father on the shoulder. “How you doing?”

  “You know,” he began to answer as he turned in his seat to look down the driveway while backing up the car. “I’m beginning to see Sarah’s point of view. I mean, spring hockey, summer hockey and now, fall hockey. Whatever happened to just winter hockey?” he asked Carolyn.