SIXTY-FIVE
Marc awoke with a start, feeling as if he had been sleeping for just a few minutes. He rolled his head to his left to look at his alarm clock. The digital read showed the time to be not quite 4:30 A.M. Seeing the time, he realized there was a good reason he felt as if he had barely slept because he had barely slept. Marc had tossed and turned, dozed off and on and finally fell asleep between 1:30 and 2:00 A.M.
He rolled to his right, his back to the clock and tried to go back to sleep. Marc lay there for another fifteen minutes before giving up and tossing the blankets aside. He shut off the alarm on the clock, picked up a pair of sweatpants off of the bedroom floor and headed toward the bathroom.
A half hour later he was standing at the living room window watching the snow come down. The weather geeks had called for another three to four inches by morning. Because it was so late in the winter, no one was going to get too excited about three inches of snow. That much would barely affect rush hour traffic.
Standing in the dark, the only light coming from the small kitchen, he was sipping his coffee when his phone went off. A jolt of fear gripped him and he immediately thought about his son and daughter, worried that something happened. Marc snatched the phone from the coffee table, looked at the caller I.D. breathed a sigh of relief and answered it.
“Good God, Connie,” Marc said without preamble. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Do you know what time it is?”
“Good morning, Marc,” Connie Mickelson said ignoring his admonishment. “Don’t bullshit me. I knew you’d be up. So is today the day you put your client on the stand?”
“Why do you want to know? What are you trying to do, win the office pool?”
“No, smartass. I know you. You’ve been trying to decide for weeks. I’ve been following the trial and I figured you must be down to her. So, knucklehead, I thought I’d call and give you some support. But if you don’t want…”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Marc quietly apologized. “I’m a bit stressed. And I actually decided a couple weeks ago she has to testify. The jury needs to hear from her, I think. They need to hear her say she didn’t do this.”
“And today’s the day and you’ve been second guessing yourself all night.”
“Yeah, I have. It’s just, well. I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk. I think I have this thing bagged…”
“Really? According to our self-proclaimed media professionals, you’re getting your ass kicked.”
“That’s what I hear. Fortunately, Melinda Pace isn’t on the jury,” Marc laughed.
“Marc go with your first instinct. Is Brittany ready for it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then she’ll probably do just fine.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Hey, thanks, Mom. I’ll call you later and let you know how it went.”
Marc swiveled around in his chair to face the gallery just to look them over. The usual support group was there on behalf of Brittany plus a few more. In the front row were Brittany’s two new best friends, the large Butch Koll and his even bigger friend Andy Whitmore. With them were all three Rileys, including her brother, Tim. The second row contained Maddy Rivers, Tony Carvelli, Vivian Donahue and Brittany’s aunt and uncle, Charlotte and John Daniels. Marc stood up and walked to the rail. Starting with the bodyguards, he went down the line, shook hands with each of them and took a minute to thank each of them individually for being there.
Obviously, Connie Mickelson wasn’t the only one who had guessed what was coming today. Before retaking his seat, he noticed Gabriella Shriqui directly across the aisle from Madeline. She looked up at Marc, smiled and wiggled her fingers at him. He returned the smile, sat back down and swiveled back to the table next to Brittany.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he took her right hand in his left.
“I’m pretty nervous.”
“You’ll be fine. Once I get you to start talking, you’ll be fine. And it’s okay to be nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Just remember, when Hart cross-examines you, she’s going to want you to get angry and lash out at her. Don’t do it.”
“I know. I understand. Are you sure she will question me?”
“Yeah, they’d be damn fools to let a man come after you. If it is Vanderbeck, same thing applies. Take your time and do your best to stay calm. I’ll do what I can to help you. Don’t worry. You did great when Barry cross-examined you and he’s better at it than either of them.”
Judge Connors took the bench and when everyone sat back down, told Marc he could begin. Marc called Brittany Riley to the stand a slight buzz went through the crowd and Brittany was sworn and seated.
Marc started her out by having her tell her life’s story to the jury. She had done this in sessions with Dr. McDowell and they had used those session notes to prepare her testimony. This allowed Marc to move her along and prevent the prosecution from using those notes to impeach her. The doctor’s notes had been given to the prosecution as well and if she testified about something that was significantly different, Marc believed Hart would drill her with the inconsistency.
A half hour into the direct exam, Vanderbeck stood and objected as to the relevance. Marc was a little surprised it was Vanderbeck who objected since it is normal that the lawyer who will conduct the questioning should be the one to handle objections.
“May we approach, your Honor?” Vanderbeck asked before Connors ruled on his objection.
The three lawyers stood at the bench and Vanderbeck said, “This is all very interesting your Honor but totally irrelevant.”
Before Marc could say anything Connors said, “No, the jury wants to hear from her. I’m going to allow it.”
“Objection overruled,” the judge said while the lawyers went back to their tables.
Marc and Brittany continued and by the time 10:30 rolled around, the entire courtroom was convinced the Rileys were one messed up family. Having been fully warned ahead of time what was coming, the three of them, Barbara, Floyd and Tim, sat stoically in the front row keeping their thoughts to themselves. With a tiny exception, a single tear trickled from each of Barbara’s eyes when the jury looked at her after Connors called for a break.
After the morning break, for the last forty-five minutes of the direct exam, Brittany told the jury about her brief marriage, her young husband’s death and her life with Becky. This was the first time since the trial started that the jury saw her brighten, enlivened and appearing happy. She went into almost trivial detail describing the day-to-day routine of loving and caring for her daughter.
“I have sat in that chair,” Brittany said, unfolding her hands from her lap and pointing at the defense table, “for weeks listening to people accuse me of a terrible crime. I go to my parents’ house at night and I try not to pay attention but I can’t help see how much people hate me…”
“Your Honor,” Vanderbeck softly said as he rose from his chair.”
“I’m going to allow it. Please sit down.”
“As hard as that is to handle,” she continued, “It’s nothing next to hearing my baby described as ‘remains’ and ‘the body’ and listen to people explain how she was found.” Brittany stopped here, took a deep breath and a drink from a glass of water she had.
“I, ah, I, I, just want to crawl in a hole sometimes,” she sobbed and the tears started to flow. “I just want it to be a bad dream. To wake up and and ah,” she sobbed again. “To, ah, have my baby back…” She stopped and put her left hand turned into a fist, to her mouth and looked away from the jury. Marc stood up and showed a handkerchief to the judge who motioned for him to come forward. Marc handed her his handkerchief which she immediately used to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
Marc returned to his chair and quietly sat waiting for her to indicate she was all right. While waiting, he took the opportunity to sneak a look at the jury. If he could have, he would have whooped for joy. Including the men, there wasn’t a dry eye to be found.
Brittany took seve
ral more sips of water and a couple of deep breaths before looking at the judge and saying, “Sorry.” He smiled at her and indicated to Marc to continue.
“Brittany,” he began without the formality of calling her Ms. Riley, “I only have one more question. Did you kill your daughter, Becky and throw her body in the Mississippi River?”
Brittany took another deep breath, turned to look at the jury and softly, almost in a whisper, said, “No.”
Judge Connors adjourned for lunch and Brittany sat down next to Marc. As the jury filed out almost every one of them turned to give her a quick, sympathetic look. Marc noticed this and if he could, he would have ended the trial that exact minute. Instead, he put his arm around Brittany’s shoulders, gave her a little hug and said, “You did just fine.”
“I wish it was over,” she quietly said.
“It will be soon.”
Maddy sat down in the chair on the other side of Brittany and held her hand “I’m proud of you. That took a lot of courage.”
“We’re all set?” Marc asked Maddy.
“Yes, for the tenth time.”
“Sorry. I’m just, you know, that way.”
“It’s okay,” Madeline said. “Yes, we’re set.”
SIXTY-SIX
“You may proceed,” Connors said looking at the prosecution table.
“Thank you, your Honor,” Vanderbeck replied.
Upon hearing Vanderbeck’s voice responding to the judge, Marc’s eyebrows went up and he stole a quick glance at Danica Hart. Hart slyly returned Marc’s curious look. She had both hands flat on the table and raised just her thumbs as if to say, “What can I tell you? It’s not my idea.”
Marc pressed his lips in a tight smile, looked at Brittany who was staring at him and winked at her. Having a man go after Brittany when there was a woman who could do it and do it better in Marc’s opinion, was a serious mistake.
Vanderbeck started out softly, probably a concession to Hart and her influence. He went over the day Becky first came up missing and what Brittany claimed she did, getting her to simply repeat her story of how she searched for Bob Olson and her daughter.
“You spent the entire day driving around trying to find them, is that your testimony?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw no one, talked to no one, told no one what happened, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t call the police, your parents, your friends, no one, is that true?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“And after spending the entire day in this exhausting, fruitless search for your daughter, you went out partying with your friends that very night didn’t you?” At that moment one of the photos of Brittany and her friends at a bar appeared on the television screen.
“Yes, but…” she tried to explain.
“And that evening,” Vanderbeck said cutting her off, “you did not tell any of these three best friends your daughter was missing did you?”
“No,” she quietly answered.
Using this same technique Vanderbeck took her through the entire period before Becky’s disappearance was reported to the police. Every day was recalled in great detail and he again forced her to admit she did not tell anyone. In fact, he made her admit over and over that she spent the entire ten day period lying to her friends, co-workers and family.
Vanderbeck spent almost twenty minutes on just the night of the wet T-shirt contest. Of course, the picture of her holding the trophy was up on the TV during this line of questioning. To break up his rhythm, Marc finally objected and to his surprise, Connors sustained him and told Vanderbeck to move along and remove the photo from the TV screen.
During most of this, Marc kept a close eye on the jury to gauge their response. At times, this stoic bunch of Minnesotans was very difficult to read. All of them watched and listened mostly stone faced. Fortunately Marc’s officemate, Barry Cline, had put Brittany through a mock cross-exam far worse than what Vanderbeck was doing or what he could get away with. Brittany was handling it fairly well, although at times she was noticeably embarrassed.
Just before he got to the day when Barbara notified the police, Vanderbeck abruptly switched gears.
“Isn’t it true, Ms. Riley, on the Saturday when over three thousand volunteers went to Lebanon Hills, a park in Eagan, to search for your daughter, you were not there? Yes or no.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Because you knew she wasn’t there because you and your accomplice threw her body…”
“Your Honor!” Marc jumped from his seat.
“You’re risking a mistrial, Mr. Vanderbeck,” the judge sternly admonished him.
“I believe I have the right to probe into her use of an accomplice,” Vanderbeck defiantly said.
At that moment the light went on in Marc’s head and before a visibly angry Connors could reply, Marc almost yelled out, “Your Honor, please. May we approach?”
By now there was a noticeable buzz flowing through the gallery; almost everyone wondering where this business of an accomplice came from. If they were wondering, the jurors must be as well.
Connors motioned the lawyers to come forward and as they did he banged his gavel twice and snarled for quiet.
“Your Honor,” Marc whispered. “He’s doing it intentionally. He’s trying to provoke you into ordering a mistrial.”
“I resent…” Vanderbeck started to protest.
“Be quiet,” Connors said glaring at the prosecutor. The judge leaned back in his chair, narrowed his eyes to angry slits and said. “We’ll recess for fifteen minutes. Take the jury out and I want the lawyers in chambers.”
No one in the gallery, the jury or watching on TV knew exactly what had happened. But it was apparent the judge was extremely displeased.
By the time they got back to the judge’s chambers, Connors had taken several deep breaths and was much calmer. Marc didn’t wait for the judge to begin.
“Judge, he’s getting his ass handed to him and he’s…”
“I resent that…”
“…trying to provoke a mistrial. He wants another bite at the apple. And more time to investigate and…”
“That is preposterous,” Vanderbeck tried to protest.
Connors was standing casually behind his large, over-stuffed, leather chair. He was leaning on the back of it listening to this exchange. Vanderbeck and Marc were both standing in front of his desk glaring at each other while Hart sat on a couch across the room.
“The problem you have is,” Connors said addressing Vanderbeck, “I believe him.” Before Vanderbeck could protest again, the judge held up his left hand palm out, to cut him off.
Connors pointed his index finger at him and said, “I specifically warned you about this. You admitted you have no evidence of an accomplice. You’re at best, fishing and I’m not going to allow it. There will be no mistrial. Not at this point. But before you leave today, you will get your personal checkbook out and write a check to the court for five hundred dollars. The next time you try this you will add a zero on that.”
“The jury needs to be told…” Marc started to say.
“I’ll take care of it,” Connors assured him. “You can go now.”
Marc and Danica Hart followed a steaming Vanderbeck into the courtroom. A few minutes later, court resumed.
Connors addressed the jury and firmly explained to them that they were to absolutely disregard any reference to an accomplice. He went over it very thoroughly to make sure they understood that there was no evidence of an accomplice and the prosecution had no business bringing the subject up. When he finished he gave Vanderbeck permission to continue.
Vanderbeck spent the next hour going over every detail about the mysterious and vanished boyfriend, Bob Olson. He made excellent use of the fact that she dated him for weeks, claimed they had a sexual relationship yet not a single friend, family member or even casual acquaintance had ever met him, seen them together or even spoke to him. No friends, no fam
ily, no co-workers knew anything about him. And Brittany never met any of his friends, family or co-workers.
“You want this jury to believe that this went on for over two weeks then, poof, he disappeared and took your daughter with him?”
“Yes, because it’s true,” she meekly replied.
By this point, Vanderbeck was risking an objection for badgering her but Marc decided to let it go. Observing the jury, he believed they were giving off a definite vibe that Vanderbeck was going a little too far.
“Isn’t it true,” Vanderbeck quietly said, “no one ever saw this alleged boyfriend, Bob Olson, because he doesn’t exist…”
“No,” Brittany said emphatically.
“And that, along with all of the other lies you told, this was just another one?”
“No, that’s not true.”
“And isn’t it true that you murdered your daughter then threw her in the river like so much garbage just to get your single girl, party lifestyle back?”
“No! That’s not true,” she yelled back at him.
“I have nothing further, your Honor.”
“Re-direct?” Connors asked Marc.
“No, your Honor,” Marc replied.
“The witness is excused,” Connors told Brittany. While Brittany hurried back to the defense table, Maddy Rivers got up and started walking toward the exit. “Call your next witness, Mr. Kadella.”
“The defense calls Julie Makie, your Honor.”
“Objection, your Honor,” a puzzled Vanderbeck stood and said.
“She’s on my witness list, your Honor.”
“Overruled.”
Maddy came back in holding the elbow of a young woman. Makie was a sandy-haired pretty girl in a simple, unadorned way. Dressed in slacks, a sweater and plain flat shoes, she came across as everyone’s daughter or cousin you’d like to have. She passed through the gate, looked at Brittany and gave her a little smile. For her part, Brittany looked totally shocked to see her.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 135
