EIGHTY-THREE
When Maddy left the courtroom following Carl’s tirade, she walked around on the bridge between the two sections of the government center, ignoring the gawkers, impatiently waiting for Marc. After a half-hour or so, she spotted him exiting the courtroom, his head down, shoulders slumped, practically dragging his briefcase as he wearily plodded toward the elevators. They rode down together, not speaking except to exchange a brief greeting when she first intercepted him. Maddy didn’t know what to say and Marc was obviously not interested in discussing the spectacle they had just witnessed. They separated in the underground parking garage, Maddy to head home, Marc to wander around the city until he stopped on the park bench in Powderhorn Park.
She made the short trip to her high-rise building on the edge of downtown and took the elevator to her eighth floor apartment above LaSalle. She quickly exchanged the dress and heels for sweats and sneakers, spent several minutes washing her face and brushing out her hair then took the elevator back down to the street and headed out for a brisk three mile run.
Maddy made a conscious effort to work her mind while she ran. Tried to think about anything else except the outburst by Carl, but it proved to be too difficult. She didn’t feel the same sense of personal loss, personal betrayal, that Marc was going through. Hers was a more detached, objective analysis of the damage done. She still believed in Carl’s innocence, part of the team that was standing up for what she believed was right. Justice? She wondered. Maybe. But it was even more basic, more simple than that. It was the difference between right and wrong and she couldn’t help wondering if Carl had thrown it all away.
She stood in the shower letting the hot water stream over her. Rinsing her body and clearing her head and giving her a chance to get back in focus on what she had to do. After a light lunch, she laid down for a nap and awoke two hours later, surprised at how easily she had fallen asleep and how well she had slept once she did.
Maddy drove to the address for Waschke’s mother and waited in her car, parked two doors down the street. She sat for about fifteen minutes in the midafternoon sun, watching the house looking for signs of activity, before deciding to give the doorbell a try. She moved the car to the front of the house, marched up the sidewalk and rang the bell. Just as she was reaching for it to ring it a second time, she heard the deadbolt snap back, the doorknob turn and found herself looking down at a woman in a motorized wheelchair.
After spending two hours with Louise, she had driven back into the city, placing her call to Marc from inside the car while heading down 35W. She picked him up at his office a short while later and listened with rising optimism as he explained to her the events of his afternoon. He told her about his chance encounter with Antoinette Hardy, the burned out streetlight and the revelations by John Lucas at Como Park. Despite repeated inquiries from Marc about what she had learned from Louise Curtin, she managed to keep the information to herself, merely repeating several times that he should be patient and hear it from Curtin herself.
She made a quick stop at a liquor store a few blocks from Louise’s home. Maddy was in and out in a few minutes and they arrived at the house just a few minutes later.
They exited the car and Marc followed her up the front walk, impatiently waiting while she rang the bell, holding her purchase by the neck still in its brown paper bag. Maddy looked down at Marc standing on the handicap access ramp just below her while they waited for the door to open. She smiled at him, patted him on the shoulder then turned her head back to the door at the sound of the deadbolt being opened.
After introductions were made, Marc followed behind the whirring wheelchair as Louise led him into her living room while Maddy went into the kitchen. He glanced around taking in the small, neatly kept home, noticed several well tended plants and the large, beautiful Himalayan Siamese lying in front of the TV, licking his paws and with an indifferent expression, surveying the intruders. Marc took a seat on a small sofa, noting with mild surprise the absence of cat hair from the beast in front of the tube. The two of them made a little awkward small talk while they waited for Maddy to return. Marc studied her face and realized that, at one time, this was a woman that could have given Maddy competition. Age and alcohol had taken their inevitable toll, but in better days Louise Curtin had been quite pleasing to the eye.
Maddy entered the room carrying three small glasses, the fingers of her right hand inside of them clamping them together, and a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, now bagless, in her left. Without comment, she placed the tumblers on the table, unscrewed the cap from the bottle and began pouring. She half filled one, handed it to Louise, and splashed a small amount into each of the other two, sliding one in front of Marc as she sat on the sofa next to him and took a small sip from her glass.
“Hi, Bubba,” Maddy said looking at the feline who stared back, his pale blue eyes unblinking. “Isn’t he the most beautiful cat you’ve ever seen?” she asked Marc, giving his ribs a light poke with her elbow while they waited for Louise to finish her drink.
“Don’t mind Bubba,” Louise said to Marc as she pushed the chairs control stick forward to move closer to the coffee table. She stopped at the table directly opposite Marc and held the empty glass up for Maddy. “Thank you, dear, you’re very sweet. And so beautiful,” she sighed as Maddy poured two fingers for her.
“He won’t attack, will he?” Marc asked, half-seriously, nodding toward the cat.
“Oh no,” Louise said with a throaty laugh from a voice that had endured too much scotch over the years. “He’s really quite nice. A very calm cat. Besides, I’ll let him out in a bit and he’ll go out and find something to kill. He only eats things smaller than himself.”
“Wonderful,” Marc dryly replied.
“Louise,” Maddy softly began. “You need to tell Marc what you told me this afternoon.”
“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “You know, dear, I feel a lot better than I have in years. Talking to you today, telling you about it and all. Getting it off my chest. Well, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel sad, too.”
“Marc needs to hear it, Louise. A man’s life depends on it.”
“Yes, I know,” she whispered. “It’s just, well, it will be difficult for the boys. Especially Daniel. But it’s time. Time it came out. It’s just that, well, it was so long ago and,” she paused to sip from her glass. “I guess I had hoped it wouldn’t matter anymore.”
She turned her head to look at Marc and lowered her eyes to avoid the intense look on his face. She began in a soft, quiet voice that was difficult for Marc to hear. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together, his head directly above the untouched glass Maddy had placed before him. Having already heard the story, Maddy dropped her purse on the floor by her feet, leaned back and crossed her right leg over her left, moving only to splash more scotch into Louise’s glass a few times while she Marc the story.
When she finished, Marc stood up and casually paced about the room. Thinking it over and contemplating how best to use what he had been told to help his client. After a couple of minutes he took his place back on the couch, picked up the still untouched glass and tossed the small shot down his throat before beginning.
The three of them discussed the trial and Louise, reluctantly, agreed to testify. They made arrangements for Maddy to pick her up Monday morning and escort her to court. Finally, just before they were preparing to leave, Marc noticed Louise’s hair. The years had caused it to noticeably fade and it was streaked with ample amounts of gray but he could clearly see that she had once been a very attractive, striking, brunette.
“How tall are you?” he abruptly asked Louise.
“What?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice. “Five-ten, why?” she answered looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“Oh, um, nothing. I was just, um, curious,” he stammered as Maddy looked at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.
It was dark when they left her and as they walked toward t
he car Maddy reached over and gripped his arm, a little too tightly, her nails digging in. Marc was too stunned to notice, his mind almost numb, as she asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking? That Daniel’s symbolically killing his mother?”
“I don’t know,” Marc replied, weariness in his voice. “It’s a theory. You didn’t think of it before?”
“No, I guess not. I guess I didn’t notice she was a tall brunette. You know, like the victims...”
“Listen,” he said as they reached the curb in front of her car. “We’ve got some things to do. It’s a little late tonight, but I’ll see you at the office in the morning. We have to plan our strategy and get some subpoenas served this weekend. This thing isn’t over.”
EIGHTY-FOUR
The court deputy unlocked the hallway door and as soon as Marc heard the bolt click open he pushed the door back and led the crowd into the empty room. He went through the thigh high gate and as the spectator section began to fill, emptied his briefcase onto the defense table. He removed everything from his briefcase and placed the contents on the table in an orderly arrangement, preparing for the upcoming testimony.
After completing his task he casually strolled the few steps to the table where the deputy had arranged all of the exhibits entered, so far, into evidence. He stood at the table gazing down at the assortment of items used by the prosecution as evidence against his client, his hands in his pants’ pockets, trying to appear casual so as not to be noticed by the crowd finding seats behind him. With his left hand he picked up the sealed, plastic bag containing the locker key and as he lifted it close to his face, he took his right hand out of his pocket bringing with it a small, metal object. With his back to the spectators, he held the bag and without anyone else able to observe him, compared the key in the bag with the one he had removed from his pocket. Finding what he believed he would, he quickly placed the bag back on the table, calmly looked over three or four more items strictly for appearances and turned back to the defense table slipping the key in his hand back into his pocket.
A short while later a contrite and chastened Carl was led in and took his seat next to Marc. They made some idle small talk, Carl fully aware by now of everything Marc and Maddy had discovered over the weekend, and waited for the other players to appear.
A few minutes later Slocum and Steve Gondeck appeared, took their seats at the prosecution table as the jury was being ushered into the box seconds before the bailiff intoned the “All rise” for Prentiss’ entry. After allowing everyone to retake their seats, Prentiss spent two or three minutes sternly rebuking Carl for his behavior on Friday, just in case any of the jury members had forgotten about it, as if they possibly could. Marty Hobbs was recalled to the witness stand and the show was underway.
Slocum solemnly, slowly rose from his seat, his hands grasping the lapels of his suit coat, and informed the court that he had no more questions of the witness. Prentiss looked down at Marc, politely nodded and gave Marc permission to begin his cross examination.
Before his stroll through Powderhorn Park and his chance encounter with Antoinette Hardy, Marc had prepared a cross exam of Hobbs that could easily last all day. Maddy had investigated Hobbs all the way back to the cradle and Marc had decided to attack this witness. Show the jury that maybe he wasn’t the upstanding citizen that Hobbs and Slocum had claimed. He was going to put the life of Martin Dale Hobbs under a microscope and refocus the entire trial away from Carl and onto the credibility of the State’s eyewitness and hope the veneer would crack away. At least enough to create some reasonable doubt. In the process of the preparation, he had almost completely filled two legal pads with questions and Saturday had tossed both of them into the trash. He had new ammunition and decided, the less said, the better.
His initial strategy with Hobbs had been to treat him with contempt. The same way he had treated Ed Hill and Wally Bingham. Career criminals who would say and do anything to save their ass from a prison sentence. Despite Hobbs’ clean criminal record, Maddy had dug up enough dirt and found a couple of witnesses willing to testify that Hobbs wasn’t quite so pure after all. Marc needed to cast enough doubt on his credibility to give Carl a chance. He had to reveal the names of those witnesses to Slocum and Slocum had effectively dealt with it during Hobbs’ direct exam. Now Marc had the element of surprise and had decided to go easy with Hobbs to avoid setting off any alarms that might give Hobbs the chance to explain things.
Marc started in with a few preliminary questions. He had used Maddy to play Hobbs role on Saturday, practicing the questioning for a couple of hours until he had pared it down to less than a half hour. Using a few very short questions, all of which seemed innocuous and clearly called for a yes answer, he went right to the scene of Hobbs walking down Chicago Avenue the night of the last murder.
“And then, Mr. Hobbs, you were walking down the street on the east side of Chicago, heading south, away from Lake Street, correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And you looked ahead to the next corner?”
“Right,” Hobbs answered after a pause, uncertain if the question was complete.
“And you saw a man turn the corner and come toward you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And he was running toward you on the same side of Chicago as you were on, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“He was running north and you were walking south?”
“Yes,” again after a brief pause.
“Was he running hard or jogging?” Marc asked slightly breaking the rule about not asking a question unless he was certain of the answer.
“He was running, not jogging,” Hobbs answered without hesitation.
“And you testified that as he came up to you he stopped running and looked right at you, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Hobbs answered, looking at the jury and nodding his head for emphasis.
Careful now, Marc thought to himself. Don’t make a big deal of this. Don’t give him a chance to correct himself. You just want him to say it again.
“And you testified you were about three or four houses from the corner of 35th and Chicago, passing under a streetlight, when he looked at you, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw his face from the light of the streetlight, correct?”
“Yes,” he answered with another nod.
“You kept walking south after this man passed you, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“To continue your trip to your friend’s?” Marc asked pleased with how relaxed and unwary Hobbs looked on the stand.
“Yes.”
“Did the man who passed you start running again?”
“Um, I think so,” Hobbs answered. “I can’t say for sure. I mean, I don’t remember if I turned around to look at him or not.”
“What is your relationship with police Lieutenant Jacob Waschke?” Marc asked, abruptly changing directions to see if Hobbs would look startled, which he did not.
“My relationship?” Hobbs answered with a puzzled expression. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Did you know Lieutenant Waschke before that night?”
“No.”
“Had you ever met him?” Marc asked, becoming almost imperceptibly less casual.
“No. Before that night, I had never met him,” Hobbs answered, outwardly appearing calm and truthful, inwardly reeling at the shock.
“You had never served as an informant for him?”
“A what? I’m not sure what that is.”
“You know, someone who gives the police information about crimes in exchange for favors. Had you ever done this for Lieutenant Waschke?” Marc asked as he made a half turn in his chair to look at Jake seated in the aisle seat directly behind Slocum. Jake appeared calm and relaxed, inwardly pleased at how well Hobbs was handling this and with his own foresight for having prepared him for it.
“No,” came the calm reply. “I h
ave never been a police informant for Lieutenant Waschke or anyone else.”
“Really? You had never met Lieutenant Waschke before yet, the next day you called the police and specifically asked for him, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you want the jury to believe you asked for him personally just because you had seen him on TV?”
“That’s what happened,” Hobbs answered with a shrug. “I want the jury to believe it because it’s true.”
Marc leaned forward placing his forearms on the table, his hands held together as he leaned forward and rested his chest against them. He stared, unblinking, at the witness silently sending an unmistakable message to Hobbs who looked back in Marc’s direction but avoided eye contact with him. The unmistakable message that Marc conveyed to the snitch was that he was lying and Marc knew it. The problem he had, or so Hobbs believed, was proving it.
“I have no further questions of this witness at this time, your Honor,” Marc softly said without turning his head away from Hobbs. “However, the defense reserves the right to recall him,” he finished, narrowing his eyes in an ominous gesture that only the witness saw.
“Any redirect, Mr. Slocum?” Prentiss said.
“No, your Honor,” Slocum replied after quickly regaining his composure, slightly rattled with Marc’s very brief cross examination. Despite Steve Gondeck’s assurance that Marc was a capable defense lawyer, Slocum’s opinion of him from the start of the case had not been very high. In fact, Slocum was originally disappointed that one of the local heavyweights had not been retained to represent Fornich. The media play and of course, the conviction, would have been that much better. Now, an alarm bell went off in his head. Marc’s cross of the state’s main witness left him with an uneasy feeling, something about it was not quite right. No one could be so incompetent as to barely cross examine the only eyewitness. Kadella had something up his sleeve that had not been revealed.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 44
