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

by Dennis Carstens

  Marc turned back to the TV while Sandy passed the message along to Gondeck.

  “I’ve also received information about the evidence they have against him. They searched Traynor’s apartment and found barbed wire, wire cutters and leather work gloves hidden in his apartment. Forensic testing has matched the barbed wire to that found on the victims. The wire cutters are an exact match to the cuts used on the barbed wire crowns and they found Traynor’s DNA inside the gloves.”

  By now, Marc had begun to calm down. He had been through this before, seeing news of evidence on TV that should have been sent to him first. There wasn’t much point in getting angry about it; better to deal with it in court.

  “Finally, ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you that Howard Traynor is innocent until proven guilty. That, at this point, these charges are only allegations and he must be given the benefit of the doubt. We’ll be back after a short break.”

  Marc was seated on the front edge of Carolyn’s desk staring at the screen. A commercial came on and he picked up the TV’s remote and shut it off. Everyone in the room had gone silent waiting for Marc to speak. Marc sighed heavily then said, “First my mother and now this. Quite a day. Can someone remind me why I went to law school instead of getting a job at, oh, I don’t know, maybe a grocery store or car wash?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have this much fun and meet such interesting people. Of course, you’d probably make more money,” his friend and officemate, Barry Cline said.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” Marc lightly replied. “I forgot how much fun this is. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He stood up and headed toward his office while saying, “At least I get to chew Gondeck’s ass.”

  “Marc, I’m sorry. I don’t know how she got it. There’s a messenger on the way right now with a copy of the indictment and all of the discovery we have for you,” Gondeck said even before he said hello. Knowing Marc was royally and rightfully fuming about Melinda’s show, Gondeck tried to preempt the blast he was about to get.

  Instead, Marc calmly but passive-aggressively said, “Okay. I’ll look it over when I get it. Thanks,” and hung up the phone without another word. Fifteen minutes later Gondeck’s messenger arrived.

  Marc was now in his car going north on Lyndale toward downtown. It was after five o’clock and the staff was packing to leave when he finished scanning the documents. Marc made a copy of the indictment and was in a hurry to meet with his client.

  While Marc was seated on the edge of Carolyn’s desk seething over Melinda Pace, Howie Traynor was in the jail’s common area also watching her show. The Court Reporter was a favorite among the inmates in the various jails scattered throughout the Cities. Melinda was a particular favorite among the guests of Hennepin County. Occasionally one of them would be featured, usually in the “dumbest criminals” segment of the show. Being the level of intellectuals that most of them are, seeing themselves featured as the dumbest criminal was considered a badge of honor. Melinda’s show was never missed and always attracted a large and attentive, if somewhat captivated, audience.

  When Melinda finished reporting the information she had about Howie’s case, several of the inmates turned to look at him. A couple of them even tried to give Howie a little good-natured ribbing about it. Instead, as they started to speak, Howie gave each a look that turned their blood cold. Not another word was spoken to Howie as they all stood and moved away from him to other seats.

  Marc looked up when a knock on the door broke the silence of the room he was in. He was seated on a cheap, molded plastic chair at a small, metal table in a conference room at the jail. Marc had been there for almost twenty minutes waiting for a deputy to bring Howie down to him.

  The door opened and Howie shuffled in while the deputy held it open.

  “Hey, Big Train,” Marc said smiling at the large black man. “How you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I’m good, Mr. Kadella,” the deputy said flashing a large, toothy grin. Carl “Big Train” Johnson was a Viking offensive lineman until bad knees ended his career. Ever since he had been one of the most respected and liked guards in the jail.

  “Knock when you’re done,” he told Marc.

  Fifteen minutes later Howie finished scanning through the indictment then looked at his lawyer. “They’re throwing everything they can think of at me,” he calmly said.

  “Hoping something sticks. They’re hoping if the jury buys some of it maybe they’ll buy all of it,” Marc answered. “Or if they cannot make the case on all of it the jury will believe you must be guilty of some of it.”

  “What do you think?” Howie asked Marc.

  “Nothing at this point,” Marc replied. “Here’s the deal. They’re going to arraign you again on the indictment. We’ll waive reading of the charges, you plead not guilty and we’ll argue about bail which will be denied again.

  “We’ll schedule an omnibus hearing to argue admissibility of the evidence. We’ll see about that. I’m inclined to push for an early trial date. I don’t want to give them more time to find more evidence. What do you think about that?”

  “Sounds good. I’m innocent and I believe God will not let them convict me of something I didn’t do.”

  “The downside of pushing for a speedy trial is that it gives us less time to prepare. But they don’t have witnesses except cops and technical people. We’ll have their reports.

  “For now,” Marc continued, “you take that with you,” he pointed to the indictment. “Read it over carefully. Memorize it. Go over every fact. Every claim they’re making especially dates and places. Let me know where you were and what you were doing. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir, Marc. I’ll get right on it,” Howie politely replied.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Marc was, as usual, early for Howie’s second arraignment. Being a criminal defense lawyer, punctuality was mandatory. Because the news of the hearing was leaked to the media, by the time he arrived, there was a mob of people jamming the hallway of the fourteenth floor. Before Marc realized how bad it was, he had become stuck in the middle of it. He couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back either.

  Marc pressed forward, eliciting several dirty looks, snarls and barely concealed cursing. When he got within twenty feet of the courtroom doors, one of the four deputies guarding the doors recognized him. Two of the deputies brusquely shoved their way through to him and led him past the unruly crowd.

  Once inside he looked over the gallery, shook his head a couple of times and smiled. It always amazed him how many people would stuff themselves into uncomfortable benches for a meaningless court appearance. Marc walked up the aisle dividing the gallery and just before he reached the gate, a woman stood up to block him.

  “You still owe me an interview,” Gabriella Shriqui said.

  “Why are you people even here?” Marc said loud enough for the entire quiet crowd to overhear. “Nothing’s going to happen today.”

  “When will I get my interview?” Gabriella asked a little too loudly.

  Marc leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Thanks for putting that on Melinda’s show so my mother could see it.”

  Gabriella looked up at him with a puzzled expression and said, “How was I supposed to know and why would I care? You were the one that asked me to do it, remember? I’ll call you to schedule the interview.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Marc muttered then walked past her through the gate.

  He dropped his briefcase on an empty table and an older, burly man seated in the first row leaned over the rail. Marc recognized him as a local news reporter for the Star Tribune.

  “What’s up, Gary?” Marc asked.

  The man motioned Marc to come closer then whispered, “How does she merit an exclusive interview?”

  Marc looked at Gabriella who was not paying any attention to them. He turned back to the man and answered loud enough for the media people in the front two rows to hear him.

  “Are you blind or are you gett
ing to the age where it doesn’t matter anymore?”

  When the laughter died down a deputy approached Marc and said, “Your client is in the jury room, counselor.”

  Marc followed the deputy across the courtroom to the jury room door. Just before he opened the door for Marc, the deputy quietly said, “The judge told me to tell you to take all the time you want. She has nothing else on the calendar for this afternoon so she’s in no hurry.”

  “Okay and thanks,” Marc replied. A moment later Marc took a seat across the jury room table from Howie. He was a little surprised to see the priest, Father John, seated next to his client.

  “I realize you know the drill for what we’re doing today,” Marc said. “But I just want to be sure so I’ll go over it again. Yours is the only case on the docket this afternoon. When the judge comes out she’ll call your case. We’ll get up and stand in front of her. She’ll ask if you’ll waive reading the charges and I’ll say yes. She’ll ask if you understand your rights; you say yes then she’ll ask you to plead. Oh, I almost forgot, she’ll ask if you have received a copy of the indictment.

  “Again, I know we’ve been over this but I want to make sure. The courtroom is overflowing with media and spectators. When we go out there, no matter what happens or is said, show no emotion. No matter what you do, the media will misinterpret it and blow it all out of proportion. So don’t give them anything that they can use to make it worse.”

  Marc looked at Father John and said, “You can sit at the table with us but when his case gets called I want you to stay there when we go up. If the judge addresses you just answer her questions. I doubt she will. She may have you come forward to stand with us. If she does, come on up.”

  “Okay,” the priest replied. “Will there be cameras in the courtroom?”

  “No,” Marc said. “The TV people are appealing the judge’s order but they’ll lose. It’s totally in her discretion and I am completely opposed to it. So, no TV.”

  “Good,” Howie said.

  The three of them went into the courtroom and Marc saw Steve Gondeck seated at a table. Marc quietly told Howie and Father John to sit at the table on which he had left his briefcase. He then motioned to Gondeck to come to him.

  Anticipating Marc’s question as soon as Marc closed the jury room door behind them, Gondeck said, “I know you’re pissed, I get it but it wasn’t my fault. I can’t prevent others from leaking stuff to the media.”

  Marc stared at him for several seconds showing no expression on his face at all. Finally, he said, “I know. I just wanted to see you squirm a little.”

  “I wasn’t any happier about it than you,” Gondeck said. “If I find out who’s doing it I’ll have their ass. You want a gag order, I won’t oppose it.”

  “A gag order only stops me. Your cops will still ignore it. Actually, the reason I wanted to talk to you is I’m surprised to see you here. Isn’t an arraignment a little beneath your totally lofty status?”

  “Kiss my ass, Kadella,” Gondeck replied smiling. “Tell you the truth; I got Slocum looking over my shoulder. He wants a conviction on this one desperately. He knows you’re defending and…”

  “So tell him to try it,” Marc said.

  “…he still hates your guts. But he’s too busy with political crap, or so he says.”

  Marc smiled, turned the handle on the door and said, “Let’s go get this over with. Oh, you will allow bail, right?”

  “Take your best shot,” Gondeck said as he went through an open doorway.

  Marc shook hands with Howie who then turned to be led back to jail by two deputies. Without being consciously aware of it, Marc wiped the hand he used to shake with Howie on his pant leg.

  The hearing had gone as predicted. Howie pleaded not guilty, Marc argued futilely for bail and the whole thing was over in less than fifteen minutes.

  The sheriff’s deputies had cleared the hallway mob beforehand so the courtroom spectators were filing out unimpeded. Gondeck had made his exit through the back hallway and Marc took a seat at the table to wait for the crowd to leave. Gabriella came through the gate, took the chair Gondeck had used and rolled it next to Marc.

  “You got a camera out there?” Marc asked referring to the hall.

  “Yeah, can I get a quote from you? I see Gondeck snuck out the back.”

  “What’s the deal with Melinda Pace? I thought she got canned,” Marc asked.

  “Money,” Gabriella answered. “Ratings are down and her show is cheap to produce and the station makes buckets of money off it.”

  “I thought you were news,” Marc said.

  “We are but the lines get blurry sometimes. She’s mostly entertainment dressed up as news. Stop looking at my legs.”

  “Don’t wear dresses. Will I be on her show again?”

  “That’s not up to me,” Gabriella said. “The station management assured me she’s cleaned up her act and she’s on a short leash.”

  Marc thought about what she just told him then said, “I’ll believe it when I see it. I don’t trust her, but I do trust you. I’ll have to be careful what I say. Plus she’s not my problem to deal with.”

  That afternoon, Melinda’s show, The Court Reporter went live. Normally she taped the show to allow for editing but she had to wait for Gabriella’s report.

  Melinda spent the first half of the show indignantly reporting about judges sentencing decisions. She had two cases: one from California and one from Vermont. Both involved very lenient sentences for child molesters.

  When Melinda returned from the commercial break she reported the arraignment of Howie Traynor. Melinda held a law degree from the University of Minnesota. She also spent several years as a reporter covering the various courts around the Twin Cities. In fact, this was how she came up with the idea for her show. Because of her legal background, she was very well qualified to explain the legal process and court proceedings.

  “Basically, folks,” she said concluding her description of an arraignment, “it’s pretty much a formality. The idea is to make sure the defendant understands the charges against him. It’s also to make a formal plea and to be sure the defendant understands his rights.

  “The lawyers can then argue for or against bail. In this case, given the severity of the many crimes Traynor allegedly,” Melinda held up both hands and made air quotes around the word, allegedly, “committed, no judge would allow bail.”

  She then aired about a minute of the interview of Marc Kadella and Gabriella Shriqui. Melinda and Gabriella did a live two-minute Q & A about the case before the show went to another commercial.

  “It’s time for my favorite part of the show,” she said when the show came back. “Our dumbest criminals segment.

  “Today the award goes to Steven Walker of Tampa, Florida. After robbing a liquor store three blocks from his house, he went directly home and posted a notice on Snapchat that he was hiding there. The liquor store owner, having seen our genius many times and knowing his name because he had carded him many times, told the police who he was.

  “A police monitor of social media found the Snapchat post. While searching his house the suspect mischievously posted another message proclaiming that the police were in his house at that moment searching for him. He then decided to let the internet world know he was hiding in a cabinet, certain the cops would never find him. Of course, this little tidbit was seen by the officer monitoring his Snapchat account.

  “The resulting arrest completely shocked Mr. Walker. Have a great day folks.”

  During and after her on air Q & A with Melinda, Gabriella was watching the show on a small monitor she had on-site at the government center. The moment she finished it Gabriella was on the phone.

  “I saw it,” Hunter Oswood said without even saying hello when Gabriella called.

  “What the hell is the matter with her?” Gabriella angrily asked. “Doesn’t she get it that those little air quote gestures she makes are the equivalent of her winking at the audience?”

&nb
sp; “I’ll talk to her,” an exasperated Oswood said. “I already put in a call to her producer to have her call me as soon as she gets off the air.”

  “Okay,” a calmer Gabriella replied. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  FORTY

  Something had been bothering Marc ever since the arraignment of Howie Traynor. It was a thought just below the surface at the back of his mind, a tickle or a minor itch that he couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t there all the time but it wouldn’t completely dissipate either.

  Marc was seated at one end of Margaret Tennant’s dining room table working on a tricky divorce case. Margaret was working on several files at the other end of the table.

  His divorce case was between a couple in their mid-seventies and was quite acrimonious. Marc represented the husband and the reason for the difficulty was entirely on him. In fact, the wife had started the divorce because, as her lawyer told him, she was, “Tired of waiting for the mean old bastard to die.”

  While he worked on his pleadings for a discovery motion made necessary by the recalcitrance of his client, it suddenly occurred to him what was bothering him. Marc put down his pen, folded his hands, looked past Margaret and thought about what had just popped into his head. Marc stared straight ahead like this for over a minute until Margaret looked up and noticed him.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” Marc murmured.

  “You’re thinking about something, what is it?”

  “Oh, um, something about the Traynor case,” he quietly said.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Put your judge hat on and let me ask you a question.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “The cops get a search warrant…this is all hypothetical, of course, okay?”