Marc was staring at an 8 x 10 photo of a section of the floor in Catherine Prentiss’s bedroom. He had looked at this specific picture at least ten times already and there was something about it that nagged at him; an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. It was mostly a photo of moisture in the carpeting of Catherine’s bedroom. It was from the vodka that had splattered about the room when the bottle that had struck Gordon’s head exploded. Marc turned the picture upside down, sideways and right side up trying to figure out why the pattern of the wet carpeting looked odd. The carpeting itself was a light blue and the wet stains were much darker and easy to see.
Marc looked up when he heard a soft knock on his closed office door. Carolyn opened it and informed him that Maddy Rivers and Tony Carvelli were here to see him. Carolyn stepped aside as the two investigators entered his office then she quietly closed the door behind him.
“Are we interrupting?” Maddy asked.
“No, it’s okay. What’s going on?” Marc asked looking back and forth at them. “Hey, look at this and tell me what you see.”
Maddy and Tony took the two client chairs in front of his desk as Marc handed the photo to Tony. Tony held it so they could both look at it together. After just a few seconds, Tony said, “I see a wet carpet with an outline of a shoe on it.”
“Yes,” Maddy said pointing at the picture. “Behind the door. It could be the outline of the front of a shoe that was made by whatever splashed on the carpet.”
“I think so too,” Marc said, a little excited that his friends also saw it. “That’s the carpeting in Catherine Prentiss’s bedroom. This photo was taken the night she was killed. That spot is exactly where Prentiss said someone hit him from behind.”
“It’s a little thin,” Tony said as he handed the print back to Marc.
“Hey, it’s one piece to maybe create reasonable doubt. We’ll see,” Marc shrugged, a little deflated. “Why did you drop by?”
Tony said, “I think our two cases may be overlapping.”
Tony spent a few minutes filling in Marc on his investigation of Leo Balkus. He told him about the expensive pleasure palace Leo was running and the hook Leo had in Gordon Prentiss.
“And you didn’t think this was important enough to tell me?” Marc angrily asked.
“Hey! How was I supposed to know…?” Tony began to respond.
“Stop!” Maddy loudly said to both of them. “We’re not going to do this ‘mine’s bigger than yours’ little boys game.”
“Sorry,” both men meekly said.
“Marc, look,” Tony said, “I talked to some guys with the MPD and the Prentiss thing looks like a done deal. I couldn’t understand why you even took it. Plus I have a client whose confidence I have to respect. Last night, she gave me permission to tell you everything I learned.”
“Last night, he found me sitting in front of Leo’s banker’s house. Except, I didn’t know he was Leo’s banker,” Maddy interjected and also told Marc about Tony sneaking up on her and scaring five years off her life.
“That’s when we got to talking and I told him about Prentiss claiming there was someone else in the room. A third person hit Prentiss with a bottle and framed him.”
Marc thought over this news for a minute or so before saying, “You think Leo might’ve had something to do with this?”
“Maybe,” Tony answered.
“Why? What would Leo have to gain by murdering Catherine and framing Gordon for it?” Marc asked.
“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I’ve been thinking about it and I’m not sure. Maybe he lost control of him with this senate appointment thing.”
“Maybe he was looking to scare him and it got out of hand,” Maddy added.
“Do you two have some time now?” Marc asked which both of his guests answered affirmatively.
“I think it’s time we paid a visit to Gordon Prentiss and asked him about this.”
Tony took out his phone, dialed a number by heart and spoke to a deputy sheriff he knew. Tony told the man to fetch Prentiss and have him available when they got downtown.
After Tony ended the call, Mark said, “That’s all there is to it? You just call ahead talk to one of your buddies and they do things for you. If I tried that they’d laugh at me.”
“What can I tell you?” Tony said. “It helps to know people. Besides, they have good taste and don’t like lawyers.”
“We’ll take my car. You can sit in back,” Marc said to Tony.
As the three of them were walking down the back stairs to the parking lot, Marc asked Tony, “Did you really pull the flashlight under the chin trick on her?”
“Yeah,” Tony replied with a laugh. “It was perfect. She jumped a foot.”
Madeline, who was ahead of them on the stairs, turned her head back, gave them both a dirty look and said, “It was not funny! He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him.”
The three of them filed into the conference room and found Prentiss already waiting for them dressed in his standard county orange jumpsuit. Marc introduced Tony and Madeline and the two of them leaned against the back wall while Marc sat at the table.
Without any preamble, Marc said, “Why didn’t you tell me Leo Balkus has his hooks into you?”
Not expecting the question, Prentiss hesitated a moment and his eyes shifted just enough to let the others know he was lying. A little too quickly he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Marc calmly replied. “Answer my question. What is your deal with Leo Balkus?”
“All right, I admit I’ve had dealings with Leo Balkus. But,” he quickly added, “he has nothing to do with this.”
“How do you know that? Did he want to keep you on the bench? What’s going on here? Give me something. I need to give the jury an alternative. I need a viable candidate who could have done this.”
“It’s not Leo. Just leave it alone. Besides, your threats to withdraw as my lawyer won’t work. It’s too late and you’ve been given too much money. Leave Leo out of this.”
“He got to you in here, didn’t he?” Tony interjected.
Prentiss didn’t answer Tony’s question which was a clear admission Tony was right.
“We can get you protection,” Marc said knowing it was nonsense.
Prentiss laughed ironically then said, “Even if you could, which I doubt, I have two children. Neither of them would piss on me if I was on fire but I’m still their father and I have to think of them.”
“Tell me about Nathan Tollman,” Marc said, shifting the conversation’s direction. Tony had briefed Marc about Leo’s banker on the ride down so he knew all about him.
Prentiss didn’t look at all surprised at Marc’s inquiry. He merely shrugged, pushed away from the table, crossed his legs and asked, “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you let him out of prison so early?”
“As a favor to Leo, of course. Leo wanted it and I delivered. After that, what he did for Leo, I never bothered to find out.”
“You expunged his record?” Tony asked.
“Yes,” Prentiss answered.
“He sent a threatening letter to you. Do you think Nathan Tollman could have done this?”
“As I recall,” Prentiss said, “he wasn’t personally violent. In fact, I meant to destroy his letter. Plus, he has no reason to harm me. He received a huge break.
“Now,” Prentiss continued as he stood up. “I’m done indulging you about Leo Balkus. He has nothing to do with this.” Then the haughty, arrogant ego of Gordon Prentiss returned. He pounded on the door for the deputy, then turned and said, “Do your job. Find reasonable doubt. I did not murder my wife.”
“Does your corruption bother you?” Marc asked him.
“That’s not your concern,” Prentiss haughtily replied as he left.
SIXTY-THREE
Despite Minnesota’s reputation as the nation’s icebox, a reputation the natives do everything they can to promote, the heat of mid-July can be st
ifling. The first day of the trial, Marc awoke before 6:00 A.M. and by the time he left for court at 7:30 the temperature was already in the low seventies and headed for the mid-nineties. The freeway traffic on 35W, despite the additional lanes that had been added, was already quite heavy and slow.
Marc always liked to arrive early for court, especially the first day of trial. Not because he was inherently punctual. In his personal life, he never gave it a second thought. Being early for court gave him some additional time to relax and prepare for it.
He arrived at Judge Rio’s courtroom and claimed the table closer to the jury box. Marc had read somewhere that closer proximity to the jurors was an advantage. It allowed the jurors an opportunity to see the defendant up close and “humanize” him in their eyes. Like most of these so-called trial theories, Marc believed it was mostly nonsense. But on the other hand it couldn’t hurt.
A few minutes later, Steve Gondeck and Jennifer Moore arrived. By this time the gallery was almost full. Three rows toward the back had been reserved for the media and the rest of the bench seats were taken up by the public on a first come first served basis.
Gondeck and Moore set their cases on the remaining table and after greeting Marc, indicated they wanted to talk to him privately. The three of them walked toward the door leading to the jury room and after the court deputy told them it was empty, they went in and sat at the table.
“What’s up?” Mark asked.
“We have an offer to run past you and your client,” Gondeck replied. “He pleads to the murder two charge, we ask the judge for thirty years he gets out in twenty.”
Up to this point there had been no plea negotiations at all. Prentiss insisted he was innocent and would not allow Marc to make any overtures. The prosecution believed their case was a certainty and they had made no offer. Having heard what Gondeck was willing to do, Marc was a little startled.
Misinterpreting Marc’s silence as a rejection, Jennifer Moore interjected. “That’s pretty generous. It beats life without the possibility of parole if he is convicted of one of the murder one charges.”
“Oh, I’m aware of how generous it is, Jennifer,” Marc replied. “In fact, I’m a little surprised.” He turned back to Gondeck and said, “Why? What’s the catch here?”
“No catch,” Gondeck said leaning back in his chair. “He’s what, fifty-six? He’ll be in his mid-seventies by the time he gets out. He won’t be a threat to anyone at that age.”
“Whose idea was this, yours or Slocum’s?” Marc asked referring to Gondeck’s boss, the county attorney.
“Slocum.” Gondeck smiled.
“The good old boys club doing Prentiss a favor. I take it you’re not on board?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“How long does this stay open?”
“Until we begin jury selection.”
“About an hour,” Marc replied looking at the wall clock. “I’ll talk to Prentiss but don’t hold your breath.”
“Personally, I hope he turns it down,” Gondeck said.
Marc was sitting across from his client in a small conference room attached to the courtroom. He had relayed the prosecution’s offer to him and Marc sat quietly while Prentiss thought it over.
“No, I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to say I killed my wife when I didn’t. If that means I spend the rest of my life in prison then, so be it.”
“Okay,” Marc replied hiding his disappointment. “Straighten your tie a little bit. Let’s go.”
The three lawyers who were going to try the case spent a half hour with the judge finalizing her instructions as to how the jury selection would proceed. When she had finished, the three of them went back into the courtroom.
Both the prosecution and defense had been given a copy of the jury panel list containing the names and basic information of the prospective jurors. Marc had hired a firm to conduct an analysis of the people on the list and make recommendations as to who he should try to get on the jury. There are volumes written on jury selection; firms with psychologists, investigators, lawyers, retired judges and any number of ‘experts’ that hire themselves out to help pick a jury. Every trial lawyer has a theory about it and the simple truth is that they are all right and probably all wrong. No one really knows. Virtually everyone agrees you can take the first twelve people through the door and do just as well. No one has the nerve to do it.
Marc had spent most of the weekend, helped by Barry Cline and Connie Mickelson, going over the jury panel list and the report from the research firm he had hired. Despite all of the thought, research and discussions they had, sitting at the defense table, waiting for the first prospective juror to be brought in, Marc had no idea who or what he wanted on the jury. Twelve blind people who would not be able to view the pictures of Prentiss lying on his wife would be good. That, of course, was not going to happen.
Because this was a case of first-degree murder, each prospective juror must be examined individually. Each one would be brought into the courtroom by him or herself and sworn in. The judge would then ask a series of routine questions, most of which had already been asked in the jury questionnaire, looking for blatant bias. After the judge completed her questioning, she would then allow the lawyers an opportunity to examine the juror with the defendant going first.
What both lawyers were really trying to do was to “bond” with each individual juror. To show each juror that this lawyer is not what people really believe they are. For Marc, his job was to get each prospective juror to believe that if this nice, kind, pleasant man was willing to represent the defendant then, maybe, the accused isn’t really the scumbag TV shows make them out to be. Since Marc would be the first lawyer each candidate would talk to, his job would be a little easier. The prosecution would not yet have their opportunity to try to subtly influence the juror against his client.
The first one brought in was a woman in her mid-forties named Alison McKnight. She was an office manager for a three-person dental practice. Married for almost twenty years, she had two children in high school and she and her family owned a house in South Minneapolis.
Obviously quite nervous, Judge Rios tossed some soft questions at her which helped calm her down before the judge turned her over to Marc.
Marc, seated at the table introduced himself and his client being sure to use Prentiss’ title of judge. He spent a few minutes quietly, politely asking her the standard questions about reasonable doubt, presumption of innocence, her ability to keep an open mind throughout the entire trial and if she had made up her mind before coming to court based on the publicity of the case. Her answers were all satisfactory and even admitted she had seen the news reports and read a bit about it in the papers. Alison went on to say she generally didn’t believe much of what she got from the media because they couldn’t really be trusted.
“Mrs. McKnight, I know you were asked this for your personal experience but let me ask you this anyway: You personally have never been a victim of domestic abuse, but what about friends or relatives; has anyone close to you been abused?”
“Well, um, yes, actually,” she nervously began as if she was being accused of hiding something. “I had a neighbor, a few years ago, whose husband was, well, an alcoholic and the police came a few times. She was really nice and they eventually got divorced and moved away.”
“And quite naturally, you felt sorry for her.”
“Of course,” she answered.
“Thank you, Mrs. McKnight,” Marc said with a smile. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“May we approach, your Honor?” Marc asked.
Judge Rios waved them forward and when they reached the bench, Marc said, “Excuse for cause, your Honor.”
“Your Honor,” Gondeck protested. “If we excuse every juror who has ever known someone who was a victim of domestic abuse, we’ll be here until Christmas. If he really has a problem with her, he can use a peremptory challenge. He has fifteen of them.”
“I doubt we’ll be here unt
il Christmas,” the judge said. She thought it over for a few seconds then said, “We’ll take it case by case. I’ll grant your request this time. A friend living next door is a little too close to home.”
The lawyers went back to their tables then Rios turned to the woman and said, “Mrs. McKnight, thank you for your time, but you’re excused.”
With a puzzled look, not quite understanding what she had done wrong, Alison stood up to go. As she stepped down from the witness box she asked the judge, “Does this mean I can go home?”
“No, ma’am. You’ll go back to the jury pool for possible reassignment.”
“Oh, damn,” McKnight said with a defeated look.
“Robbie! Robbie are you there?”
Melinda Pace was almost screaming into her telephone. “Damnit Robbie where the hell…”
“I’m right here Melinda. Calm down,” she heard her producer respond back to her through the phone. Robbie Nelson, a cameraman and Gabriella Shriqui were set up on the north side of the government center on the plaza in front of the fountain. The air temperature was ninety-seven and on the north side of the building they would at least be in the shade. There were several other news crews set up including one from CNN. Gabriella had talked to the local Fox affiliate reporter, a married man who had hit on her many times, who told her she would be used on Fox nationally. Like all reporters, Gabriella was hoping for a career boost with a little national exposure also.
“Robbie!” Melinda shrieked again. “We’re live in five minutes. Are you ready?”
“Everything’s all set, Melinda. We just have to find Gabriella. I think she wandered off with a sailor a while ago,” Robbie replied while Gabriella and the cameraman both laughed.
“What! What the hell…”
“Relax Melinda. We’re all set,” Robbie assured her. “Cue us in whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay, smartass. Stay tuned,” Melinda replied. Robbie was proving to be the best producer she had worked with; smart, clever, funny and willing to stand up to her. Thank God he had made it back from vacation before this trial began and her show went live to cover it.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 79
