“Sure.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “the cops get a valid search warrant for a specific apartment in a specific apartment building.”
“Okay,” Margaret nodded.
“During the course of the search, one of them wanders down the building’s hallway, finds a janitor’s closet and goes in. Inside he finds evidence, I won’t tell you what yet, to use against the defendant. Is it admissible?”
Margaret thought about it for a moment then asked, “Was the closet door locked?”
“You know, I don’t know, but I’d guess not. For now let’s assume it was.”
“If it was locked then you could argue the cop had no right to go inside and it would be inadmissible.”
“What if it wasn’t locked?”
“Then, I’d want to see some case law on it but my guess is the closet would be considered a common area for the tenants and anyone lawfully in the building. The person they were searching would have no expectation of privacy for anyone lawfully in the building. If that’s true, then the evidence would be admissible.”
“Which is probably the case since I know this cop and I don’t see him picking a lock to get into a janitor’s closet.”
“Why did he go into it in the first place? What caused him to look in there at all?” Margaret asked.
Marc hesitated for a moment then said, “You know, that’s an excellent question. Why would he bother? Why would he, during a search of the defendant’s apartment, expect to find something in a janitor’s closet, especially one that all of the tenants can access?”
“Worth checking,” Margaret said.
“You’re very smart,” Marc said with an admiring look.
“I know,” Margaret replied and patted herself on the back.
“That’s why I keep you around.”
“That’s disappointing. I thought it was my smoking hot body and insatiable sex drive.”
“That too.”
“Speaking of which,” she continued rolling her eyes toward the stairs leading to her bedroom. “Getting to be about that time, don’t you think?’
The next day Marc skipped up the back stairs leading to his office taking them two at a time. When he reached the building’s second floor he was light-headed and out of breath. The life of a practicing lawyer did not always allow for regular exercise. He regained his composure and went into his office.
That morning on the drive from Margaret’s to his apartment to change clothes, an idea came to him. Someone must have told Owen Jefferson to check out the janitor’s closet and what to look for, especially on the roof. And Marc had a pretty good idea who that someone might be.
The day before, after the arraignment, Marc had left a message for Maddy Rivers. He was going to need an investigator and he believed she would jump at the chance. Normally she would have called him back within minutes. Oddly, so far, she had not returned his call.
His number one suspect for the heads up to Jefferson about the closet was Tony Carvelli. Providing a little clandestine information to them is something Marc could see Tony doing. Madeline’s failure to return his call was starting to make him wonder if she was involved as well.
He settled into his office chair and placed calls and left messages for both Tony and Maddy. The rest of the morning was spent with other cases and billing his time. Shortly after eleven, Carolyn buzzed him for a call from Maddy.
“I was beginning to wonder if you got my message,” he said.
“Yeah, I did. Listen, um, we need to talk. Can we meet for lunch in a half hour or so?”
“That ‘we need to talk’ line usually means your girlfriend is about to dump you. I know that’s not the case so, what’s up?”
“I don’t want to talk over the phone. I’ll buy you lunch for a change.”
They agreed upon a place and time and Marc arrived at the restaurant to find her already waiting for him.
“Okay, so what’s going on that you haven’t returned my call?” Marc asked.
Maddy hesitated to answer and then the waitress appeared. The two of them ordered their lunch and she left.
“I can’t work for you on the Traynor case, Marc. I have a conflict and I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” she finally replied. “I’m really sorry. You know I love working with you but I can’t this time. Don’t hate me,” she added with a sorrowful, pleading look.
“Hate you?” Marc said completely taken aback by that comment. “Of course I don’t hate you. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Thanks,” she said, obviously relieved. “I was worried you’d be mad.”
Marc silently stared at her thinking about what she had told him and knowing why.
“What? Say something,” she nervously said.
“Did the cops send you into Howie’s building or did you and Tony come up with that on your own?”
At that moment, the waitress reappeared with their lunch salads. Maddy used the time she was serving the two of them to gather her thoughts before replying to Marc’s surprising but accurate question.
“Why, ah, why would you think…”
“Madeline!” Marc sternly whispered. He was leaning across the table, the lawyer cross-examining a hostile witness now. “Stop it. I know it was you and Tony. I know who your client is and she shall remain nameless. But I have every right to know what the hell is going on here. Don’t try to play me, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she meekly replied.
“I’m going to rephrase the question. I want you to listen carefully and answer only this question. Okay?”
“Yes, I get it.”
“Was it you that found the stairway to the apartment roof in the hallway janitor’s closet?”
“Yes,” she quietly answered.
“Did you break into the building at the behest of the police?”
“No,” she defiantly answered. “The cops knew nothing about it. And I didn’t break into the building at all. I went to the front door and a woman, I assume she was a tenant, came out and let me in.”
For the next few minutes, the two good friends picked at their salads in silence. Madeline had convinced herself that she could beg off working with Marc on the Traynor defense by simply claiming a conflict of interest. When he verbally slapped her by asking her about being in Traynor’s apartment building, she was almost stunned. Now that fact was out in the open and she could not put it back.
At the same time, Marc was contemplating the dilemma he was in. His legal, moral, and ethical responsibility was to go after her on behalf of his client. If he did, she could lose her P.I. license and maybe go to jail. Marc knew she broke into Howie’s apartment. He knew she was quite capable of it and that was the real reason she went into the building. He made up his mind he would not ask her about it unless he absolutely had to.
“Your opinion of me means a great deal to me,” Maddy said. “I don’t want to ruin that.”
“My opinion of you hasn’t changed a bit,” Marc replied with a smile. “He reached across the table with both hands to hold both of hers. “I will do everything I can to protect you but my first duty is to my client. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” she said with a weak smile and a squeeze of his hands.
He released her hands then leaned back in the booth. After a moment, he sighed and said, “I won’t ask you what else, if anything, you did in that building unless I absolutely have to, which I may have to do. Okay?”
“I understand,” she said. “Marc, there’s something I want to tell you but it has to be off the record. Will you promise me that?”
“Madeline, I can’t do that,” he said. He hesitated then added, “Or at least I shouldn’t. Okay, you have my word, it will be just between you and me.”
She leaned forward as did Marc and their noses were barely inches apart. “The evidence the cops found in his apartment, the barbed wire, wire cutters and gloves were not there the day before.”
“Are you sure?” he asked then quickly added, “Never mind. Don’
t answer that.”
Remaining in her position leaning across the table, she added, “I’ll tell you something else, too. This you can use. Tony and me and a few retired cop friends of his did surveillance on your guy for about three weeks.”
“When?”
“Tony will have a record. Lay a subpoena on him and he’ll give it to you. I don’t have all the details. But I know it was during the time of the first three killings. That judge up North, that woman prosecutor, what’s-her-name…”
“Rhea Watson,” Marc said.
“Right and the judge, the second one…”
“Peterson?”
“Yeah, him. Then we dropped it because Traynor wasn’t doing anything.”
“Why did Vivian Donahue want him watched?” Marc asked. “Off the record, of course.”
“Because he murdered her aunt and she wanted someone to check him out. Keep an eye on him. She didn’t believe his ‘I found Jesus’ act and neither do I. Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Marc said. “It really doesn’t matter what I believe.”
FORTY-ONE
Gene Parlow and his younger brother Troy were heading south on I-35W. At Burnsville, the freeway coming out of Minneapolis, I-35W joined I-35E coming from St. Paul to re-form to become southbound I-35. About a mile past the junction of the two parts of I-35, the brothers opened up their Harleys. Traffic was still fairly heavy but concern about ending up on a slab in a morgue was never high on their list. Weaving in and out of traffic also made it impossible for the two MPD cops to keep up with them.
They covered the fifty miles to Faribault in less than forty minutes. Approximately half-way through the small city they exited the freeway. Heading southwest the brothers drove four miles and arrived at their destination; a public beach and picnic area on Cannon Lake. Because it was an October weekday the area was completely empty. As instructed, they parked their bikes and found a picnic table to sit at and wait. Thirty minutes later a black Escalade parked next to the bikes and four men got out to join them.
One of the four men was nattily dressed in a charcoal gray three-piece suit. He sat on the picnic bench opposite the Parlows and as Troy began to speak, held up a hand to stop him.
“Stand up, both of you,” one of the bodyguards said.
The brothers were quickly searched for weapons then the same bodyguard pointed a finger at Gene Parlow and said, “You, shed those clothes including pants and underwear.”
“What the hell is this…” Troy sputtered looking at the man in the suit.
He returned the look and again silenced Troy this time holding an index finger to his lips.
Gene Parlow quickly stripped and proved he was not wearing a wire. While this was taking place, the fourth man did a search of the two motorcycles looking for tracking devices.
“I’m a careful man, Mr. Parlow,” the man in the suit said. Gene had put his clothes on and the two of them were again seated at the picnic table. “That’s why I’ve never spent five minutes in a police station.” The man’s name was Sandy Baker and he was the head of the meth business Troy Parlow worked for.
“I understand Mr. Baker…” Gene began to say.
“I don’t think you do,” Baker interrupted him. “Troy asked me to meet you about a job. I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, you’re still very toxic.”
“What do you mean?” Troy asked.
Baker turned to Troy and said, “The fact you don’t know tells me everything. The cops are all over both of you. I’m surprised they don’t have a tracking device on your motorcycles. They will after today. Did you know you were being followed today? You lost them south of Lakeville. I had a car on them following you. I have it on good authority they’re still on you and this Aaron Forsberg guy because of this serial killer business in the Cities.”
“They arrested someone for that!” Gene protested.
“Tell that to the police,” Baker quietly replied. “Until the heat’s off, I can’t use you.”
“How do you know this?” Troy asked.
“That’s irrelevant, Troy. I know it and that’s all that matters. In fact, you’re out too.”
“You can’t do that!” Troy yelled as he started to stand. “This is bull…”
One of the burly men standing behind Troy hit him with a quick, sharp shot to his right kidney. The pain spread up to his neck like a flame and Troy dropped quickly back down on the bench seat.
“Yes I can and I just did,” Baker replied. “And you’d be well advised to keep your mouths shut.”
As instructed, the brothers waited fifteen minutes after Baker and his thugs departed. While they waited, they discussed what could be done about it.
“Forget it, Gene. You’ll never get close enough to him. You saw his guys. I’ll piss blood for a week after the shot I took. My kidney still hurts like hell.”
“We’ll see,” Gene said. “You know where he lives and where his businesses are?”
“Yeah, but I’m telling you, you’ll never get close enough.”
Gene looked at his younger brother and angrily said, “Who’s this asshole? We could run the business. Let’s go.”
While the two men walked back to their bikes Troy said, “I might know a way. I know he makes trips to the Cities. Maybe then.”
Aaron Forsberg was seated in the reception area oblivious to the very attractive female receptionist working on her computer. He was alone for this meeting with Glenda Albright. It was a meeting she requested.
When he first arrived, the receptionist informed him that Albright was on a phone call. That was ten minutes ago and Albright was apparently still on the call.
Forsberg stood and walked the few steps to the window overlooking Seventh Street. He looked across the street toward Second Avenue and saw the car he expected to find. It was a dark blue Chevy sedan with a man and a woman sitting in it. What should have annoyed him, and did when the surveillance first started, now brought a smile to his otherwise dour countenance.
He heard the receptionist inform Albright that he was waiting. She ended the call and pleasantly said, “Ms. Albright will be right out.”
Forsberg perfunctorily thanked her and went back to his chair. Two minutes later Albright appeared.
“I was able to convince them that you deserved more money than the others,” Albright told him when they were seated in her office. “They’ve upped their offer, just for you, to one point eight million. And,” she continued by handing him a one-page document, “I’ve agreed to reduce my fee to twenty percent. This is a new agreement spelling out the new fee arrangement,” she said referring to the document in her hand.
“My net, after fees, would be a little less than a million five, all of it paid up front?” Forsberg asked.
“Yes, all of it up front.”
“When do you need to know?”
“There’s no deadline yet, but soon.”
Forsberg slid the unsigned retainer agreement across the desk to her and said, “Give me a couple of days to think about it. It should be ten times that much for what they did to me.”
“It’s up to you,” Albright replied hiding her disappointment. “I don’t think we’ll do any better dragging this out any longer. You can look into getting the conviction expunged from your record and get your security licenses back.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Forsberg agreed. “We’ll see.”
As he was leaving her office Albright said, “Aaron, you need to get some counseling. This anger you’re carrying around is only hurting you.”
Forsberg paused at the door, looked at her and said, “I’ll think about it. Right now, this anger is exactly what I need.”
Forsberg drove the exact speed limit and went directly back to his uncle’s. It was mildly amusing to watch the two cops maintain their distance while the traffic went past him. They were having a difficult time staying back and keeping one or two cars between them.
He parked the van in the driveway and walked the front s
idewalk to the door. When he reached the door he turned, looked across the street at the empty house and waved at the surveillance team inside.
On the drive home he realized there might be a way to get the cops to back off. Once inside the house he went right to the phone and dialed information. He received the number he wanted then placed the call.
“Marc,” Sandy said when Marc answered the intercom. “There’s an Aaron Forsberg on the line and he says it’s urgent.”
“Put him through,” Marc replied immediately recognizing the name.
“Mr. Kadella, my name is Aaron Forsberg, I’m one of the men who was wrongfully convicted with a doctored DNA report…”
“I know, Mr. Forsberg. I recognized the name. What can I do for you?”
“I thought you might be interested to know that the police are still following me. And I think they’re following Gene Parlow as well.”
“Really?” Marc asked.
“Yeah, and since they arrested Howie Traynor, I’m wondering why? Why continue to follow us if they think he did those killings?”
“Good question,” Marc said. “Are you sure?”
“Do you have something to write with? I’ll give you the license plate number of the car they were using today.”
Forsberg told it to him while Marc made a note of the plate number, make and model of the car.
“And there’s a team of cops still set up in an empty house across the street,” Forsberg told Marc the house’s address and Marc made a note of that as well.
When he finished, Marc thanked him for the call then thought about the best way to use the information.
FORTY-TWO
It was almost two weeks since Marc Kadella received the call from Aaron Forsberg. During that time, he had made up his mind about what to do with the information that Forsberg was still under surveillance. Clearly the police were still uncertain that his client was guilty. Instead of confronting the prosecution with this information and giving them an opportunity to correct it, Marc decided to keep it to himself for now.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 164
