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

by Dennis Carstens

  “What!?” Marc practically yelled which caused Margaret to raise her head up from the file she was working on. “Are they sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah,” Carvelli answered.

  While Marc listened, a bead of sweat lightly broke out on his forehead. Carvelli went over each victim. He started with the first one, the appellate judge who had presided over Traynor’s appeal. Then he revisited Rhea Watson who had prosecuted the case and Judge Ross Peterson who was the trial judge.

  Before Carvelli got to the man found that morning in Mueller Park, Marc interrupted him. “What about the guy found this morning? He wasn’t a judge or lawyer. I was his lawyer.”

  “Elliot Sanders. Does the name sound familiar?” Carvelli asked.

  “No, should it?”

  “No, probably not. It’s been a while. Anyway, you ready for this? He was the jury foreman.”

  “Holy shit, sonofabitch,” Marc quietly said. “Do you think I’m…”

  “Yeah, Marc. They do think you’re on the list. Probably me too.”

  “Why you?”

  “I arrested his ass. Me and Jake Waschke and a few others.”

  “Jesus Christ. Now what?

  “What?” a concerned Margaret almost yelled.

  Marc held up an index finger to her and softly said to her, “I’ll tell you in a minute. Relax.”

  “Jefferson has surveillance on him and…”

  “Wait a minute,” Marc interrupted. “I thought you and Maddy were doing that for Vivian. What happened?”

  “We stopped a few days ago. He hadn’t done anything so…”

  “Were you watching him when any of these other victims were killed?”

  “Yeah, we were,” Carvelli said.

  “Then how…”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Carvelli replied. “I don’t know. We had him covered for the time frame of the first two but not Judge Peterson and this Sanders guy.”

  “That’s a pretty solid alibi,” Marc, the lawyer in him said. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. He could’ve slipped past us but his car never moved. How did he get out and get up to Bemidji, do that judge up there then get back by morning in time for Sunday church?”

  “The cops could have it all wrong,” Marc said. “They could be looking at the wrong thing entirely.”

  “Yeah, they could. The Minneapolis cops are contacting everyone involved with this case so I told Jefferson I’d get a hold of you. You want some protection?”

  Marc thought about that for a moment then said, “No. I have a carry permit and I’ll start using it for now.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Carvelli said. “Be careful.”

  “I will, you too,” Marc replied.

  Before Marc could set the phone on the table, Margaret started in. “What the hell was that?” she almost shouted. She was staring at him with an astonished look on her face because of what she had overheard. “You’re going to start carrying a gun?”

  It wasn’t the fact that he was going to start carrying a gun. She knew he had a concealed carry permit as did she. A lot of judges do. In fact, Margaret knew of at least two Hennepin County judges, both very liberal, who kept a gun hidden on the bench. What concerned her was the reason why Marc told Tony he would. She wanted to know why.

  Marc relayed the conversation to her and explained the police suspicions about Howie Traynor. “I can’t see how it could be him. He was under surveillance for all but a couple of the killings,” he said

  “Don’t you think you should demand police protection?”

  Marc simply shrugged and said, “They can’t protect everybody all the time. I don’t believe it’s Howie so I’m not too worried about it.”

  The next day George Lynch and his ten-year-old black lab were taking their usual mid-morning walk. It was cloudy and cool with a forecast of rain predicted for later that afternoon. George was a retired fireman and still married to his high school sweetheart. Because of the chill he had on a hat and coat. Zeus was loosely held by a long leash which allowed the dog a little freedom to roam.

  The two of them were on the walkway surrounding Lake Harriet, one of the lakes that make up the chain of lakes in Minneapolis. The weather being what it was there were far fewer people out than normal.

  Up ahead, about a hundred yards, George could see and hear a flock of about twenty crows. The birds were on and around a small copse of birch trees standing between the asphalt trail and the lake. As George and his companion got closer, he could tell that something on the ground among the trees had the scavengers’ attention.

  When they reached that point on the walkway, George decided to find out what it was. He tightened Zeus’ leash and the two of them walked toward the commotion. Being city birds and used to people, they didn’t fly off until George got within ten feet and set Zeus loose. At the bottom of the half dozen or so trees was some brush about three feet high. Because of this, George had to walk around the trees to see what had attracted the birds. When he got there he almost wished he had not.

  The first police officer to arrive had been at Mueller Park the day before. He spoke to the retired fireman who was waiting on the walking path and called it in on his shoulder mic right away. George described to him the pose of the body and the cop knew immediately what to do.

  When Jefferson and Marcie arrived the M.E. was examining the body and a CSU team was combing over the area. They took a few minutes to hear the dog walker’s story. They thanked him then walked over to the first cop on scene, Officer Dejuan Carver.

  “When are you getting your sergeant stripes?” Jefferson asked him as they shook hands.

  “Next month,” Carver replied.

  “Really? Good. About time.” Jefferson introduced Marcie then waited for Carver to fill him in. The patrolman told the detectives what he found and did upon arriving.

  “Write it up and get it to me by the end of today,” Jefferson said when Carver finished.

  “Owen,” the patrolman continued. “I know this guy. Or, he looks really familiar but I can’t remember his name.”

  Jefferson and Marcie stood behind Clyde Marston, the on-site M.E. The victim was posed exactly as the others. His arms were spread apart and his hands were nailed to two trees. His throat had been slit open, his shirt covered in blood and the crown of barbed wire thorns atop his head. Even from a few feet away the two detectives could see the damage done to the man’s fingers and toes.

  “Lift his chin and let me take a look please, Clyde,” Jefferson said.

  Marston complied and as soon as he did so Jefferson quietly said, “Sonofabitch. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “You know him?” Marcie asked.

  “Yeah, I know who he is,” Jefferson answered. “He ripped me to shreds on the witness stand a few years ago, before he was appointed to the bench. It’s Julian Segal, a Ramsey County judge. I think I better give St. Paul a call.”

  Jefferson found the number of a St. Paul detective he knew and called him. The man answered immediately and without a greeting said, “So, you’ve got yourself a shit storm over there. Glad I’m not you,” John Lucas said.

  “Yeah, well suck it up buddy ‘cause I’m about to drag you into it.”

  Jefferson explained the most recent victim to Lucas. When he finished Lucas told him he would put together a search team to go through Segal’s house. While on the phone Lucas had looked up the judge’s Summit Avenue address and Jefferson agreed to meet him there.

  Jefferson, Marcie and Lucas were the first to arrive at Segal’s home. It was their responsibility to inform the new widow of what had happened to her husband. She told them she had called the St. Paul police to report him missing.

  “We’re Jewish,” she said through her sobs. “He’s supposed to be buried…”

  “Within 24 hours,” Jefferson said. “I know ma’am.”

  “Do they have to do an autopsy?” she asked.

  “Yes, legally it must be done.
I’ve already requested that it be done as quickly as possible to get him back to you,” Jefferson answered. “Mrs. Segal, we need to search your home. We would like to have your permission to do so.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It’s a routine request,” Marcie politely said. “To look for any clue as to who might have done this. We’ll be as careful as we possibly can.”

  “Oh, yes, I see,” the widow answered. “Yes, sure. Do what you have to do.”

  An hour later Jefferson told John Lucas they were leaving and to let him know if they found anything.

  “You taking this?” Lucas asked referring to jurisdiction.

  “The body was found in Minneapolis. Unless we find out he was killed somewhere else, it’s ours.”

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” Lucas said.

  Marcie Sterling was on the phone with Jeff Miller, the MPD computer tech, while Owen Jefferson stared at the whiteboard. They were back at the office trying to find a connection between their theory and Julian Segal.

  “Thanks, Jeff,” Marcie said into the phone. “Get anything you find to us as soon as you can.”

  “He has a thing for you,” Jefferson said after Marcie hung up the phone.

  “Shut up!” she said which made Jefferson laugh. Their boss, Selena Kane, entered the room at that moment and sat down at the head of the table.

  “Tell me you have something,” she said.

  “We’re looking,” Jefferson dejectedly answered.

  “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. What if it’s something and someone else?” Kane said looking at the names on the whiteboard.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Jefferson answered.

  “It’s here,” Marcie interjected referring to the names on the board. “That’s the only thing that makes any sense. Otherwise, what, someone’s randomly murdering judges, lawyers and this guy who was a jury foreman? That’s too much of a stretch.”

  “What do I tell the chief and the mayor, three victims in three days?”

  “Tell them it’s time to be honest. Tell them we have a serial on the loose,” Jefferson said. “We’ve contacted everyone we can think of who might be connected to Traynor’s trial…”

  Jefferson’s cell phone went off, he looked at the ID and answered it.

  “You wanted a run down on Howie Traynor?” he heard the head of the surveillance unit, Lieutenant Rod Schiller say.

  “Yeah, what do you have? We got another one last night.”

  “I heard,” Schiller replied. “We picked him up yesterday at the church at 4:10. My guy was there by 3:00. Traynor’s car was in the lot and he came out of the church at 4:10.

  “We took him straight home and he stayed there until 5:45. He went to a gym called A Plus Workout. He was there from 6:00 until 7:25. On the way home he stopped at a small grocery store. He was in the store for twelve minutes. From there he went straight home and didn’t come out.”

  “Did you sit on him all night, Rod?”

  “Yeah, including a guy in the alley. He didn’t come out and his car didn’t move.”

  “Shit. Well, thanks Rod.”

  “We’ll stay on him.”

  When he finished the call Kane said, “I take it there was nothing there.”

  “No,” Jefferson replied then told the two women what Schiller told him.

  “So, it’s not Traynor,” Kane said.

  “Unless he’s working with someone else,” Marcie said.

  “I just thought of something,” Jefferson said. He picked up his phone and dialed a number he had recently memorized. It was answered on the third ring.

  “What’s up? I heard you got another one, third one in three days,” Jefferson heard Tony Carvelli say.

  “Yeah and it’ll be a shitstorm around here and soon. Listen, you know Traynor’s ex-lawyer,” he continued. “Do me a favor. Call him and ask him if Julian Segal had anything to do with that trial; anything at all to do with Traynor.”

  “Is that who it was?” Carvelli asked. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Yeah, we’ll release that later today. Keep it to yourself for now, okay? Will you call him for me?”

  “Sure, no problem. He’d talk to you. He’s a good guy, not your normal defense lawyer but I’ll call him and call you right back.”

  About the same time Owen Jefferson was identifying the third victim in three days, Marc Kadella was arriving at his office. His burglary trial had been resolved with a last-minute plea bargain. His client pleaded guilty to third-degree burglary which is still a felony. The judge agreed to a sentence of eighteen months in prison and suspended twelve months of it. As part of his three years of supervised probation, he agreed to complete an accredited drug rehab program. He would also submit to random drug testing and remain law-abiding. If he did this, the conviction would reduce to a misdemeanor. It was a good deal if he completed all of the terms. Marc believed there was maybe a ten percent chance that he would.

  “He’s with a client, Tony,” Marc heard Sandy say into the telephone. Marc and Connie Mickelson were showing a client out and he heard Sandy say his name. The woman was a very well off divorce client of Connie whose nineteen-year-old son had a criminal problem. Marc had agreed to take his case and the woman had written a nice check as the retainer. Knowing Carvelli was calling, Marc used it as an excuse to get away from the woman.

  “What’s up?” he said when he got back to his desk.

  “Owen Jefferson asked me to call you again and ask you a question.”

  “Okay,” Marc curiously answered.

  “You know who Julian Segal is?”

  “Sure. Everyone in the Cities knows him. Why?”

  “Have you seen any news today?”

  “No, I haven’t. God, don’t tell me…”

  “Yeah, they found him this morning alongside Lake Harriet. Same deal. Keep that to yourself for now. They haven’t released his name. Did he have anything to do with Howie Traynor’s trial way back when?”

  “Let me think,” Marc said. After ten to fifteen seconds he said, “No. Not that I can think of. Unless he was somehow involved in the appeal, which I doubt. That was handled by the state P.D. office.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, Marc. I’ll tell him.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Thanks, Tony,” Jefferson said into his personal phone, “I owe you one.” He ended the call and looked across the conference room table at his partner. They were still in their squad room looking for a connection of Segal to their case. Marcie was on the phone with her admirer, Jeff Miller, giving him more instructions for his computer search.

  When she hung up the phone, Jefferson said, “That was Carvelli. He spoke to Traynor’s lawyer. As far as the lawyer knew, Segal had no connection to Howie Traynor. I’ve been thinking,” Jefferson continued. “Maybe Kane is partially correct.”

  “I’m not following,” Marcie said.

  “Remember, she said maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe it’s none of these guys.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “But we’re pretty certain that’s too much of a coincidence. Maybe it is one of the guys on our list but he has an accomplice.”

  The phone on the table rang and Marcie answered it. She said hello then listened for a moment.

  “Are you sure? You did. Okay and thanks, Jeff,” she said. Marcie hung up the phone and without a word, stood up and went to the whiteboard. She picked up a marker, drew a red circle around a name and next to it wrote the name “Segal”.

  “What?” Jefferson asked.

  “His lawyer,” Marcie replied. “Jeff Miller caught it right away and double checked it to be sure.”

  Jefferson got up from the table, slipped into his sport coat, looked at his watch and said, “It’s almost suppertime. Maybe he’ll be home.”

  “Should we call first?” Marcie asked as she grabbed her things to join him.

  “No, let�
�s try to surprise him. I think it’s time you and I had a chat with Mr. Aaron Forsberg.”

  Having parked the department issued sedan in front of the house, the two of them walked up the sidewalk to the front door. Jefferson rang the bell and a moment later they heard someone moving inside the house. An older man with a friendly face and smile opened the door. The two detectives showed the man their badges and ID’s and Jefferson asked if Aaron was home.

  “No, I’m sorry, he’s out,” the affable elderly man said speaking through the screen door.

  “Are you his uncle, John Forsberg?” Jefferson asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you know when he might be back?” Marcie asked.

  “No, I don’t. He comes and goes. He doesn’t keep regular hours.”

  “I noticed you didn’t ask us what this is about or why we’re here,” Marcie said.

  Uncle John hesitated for a moment, sighed then said, “Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk?”

  The three of them took chairs in the living room and John Forsberg said, “You’re here about these killings that are in the papers. I recognize you,” he continued looking at Jefferson. “From TV.”

  “You seem like you have something you want to tell us,” Marcie quietly said.

  The older man said, “I believe Aaron was innocent of killing his wife. I’m about the only one that stuck with him. But prison changed him. He was never a real touchy-feely kind of guy. Prison hardened him and made him real angry and bitter.”

  “Prison does that to a lot of people,” Jefferson interjected.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it does,” Forsberg agreed. “On the nights of these killings, starting with that judge up North, I’ve been keeping track and he’s been out every night. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. If I ask him he gets annoyed and acts like it’s none of my business. I’m worried about him.” Forsberg was seated in a chair that matched the sofa the detectives sat on. While he told them about his nephew being out on the nights of the killings, he was kneading his hands with his head down looking at the floor. He didn’t notice the quick glance Marcie and Jefferson exchanged.