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

by Dennis Carstens

“I have nothing further, your Honor,” Marc finally said.

  “Re-direct, Mr. Harris?” Koch asked.

  Harris stood up to address the court. He decided Christie had handled Marc very well and wasn’t going to push it.

  “No, your Honor.”

  “Do you have any more witnesses?” she asked knowing they did not.

  “No, your Honor. The state rests.” Then Harris sat down.

  “Mr. Kadella?”

  “The defense moves the court to dismiss all charges for failure to bring a case against the defendant.”

  This request is normally a mere formality. The defense must request dismissal to reserve the issue for appeal. If the defense fails to do so, it cannot be argued on appeal. It is rarely granted and Marc knew it would not be in this case.

  “Denied,” Koch replied. “We’re adjourned until Monday.”

  Koch again admonished the jury not to discuss the case with anyone and avoid all news reports. This was probably a futile gesture.

  Connie Mickelson poured a shot of her bourbon into three glasses and passed them across her desk. Marc and his friend and officemate, Barry Cline took them, clinked their glasses together and downed the fiery liquid in one gulp.

  “Harris played it pretty well,” Barry said. “He ended his case on the last day with three guards telling the jury Howie threatened these victims and scared everyone he met shitless, then was able to remind the jury Howie was on the roof next door and must have used the plank bridge to get there. Finally, he wraps it up with an expert who has credentials as long as my leg who tells them Howie’s conversion is bullshit.”

  “That’s about it,” Marc admitted as he handed his empty glass to Connie.

  “And all of this on a Friday afternoon so the jury has all weekend to let it sink in,” Barry added.

  “I have something in mind,” Marc said. “This thing isn’t over.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  “Good morning, Mr. Kadella,” the deputy said while opening the security door for Marc. “Your client and the priest are already in the conference room waiting for you,” he added while the two men walked down the back hallway toward Koch’s courtroom.

  “Thanks, Clarence,” Marc replied.

  “Good luck today,” Clarence said. In a whisper, he added, “Just so you know, I got fifty bucks on you winning the case.”

  “Really?” Marc said and stopped at the courtroom door. “You think we’re doing that good?”

  “Well, um, no actually,” the deputy said. “But I got five to one odds so what the hell…”

  “Oh, great,” Marc said feigning disappointment. “That makes me feel better.”

  Marc lightly knocked on the conference room door at the side of the courtroom. Without waiting for a reply, he turned the doorknob and entered.

  He found his client and the priest kneeling on the floor, their hands folded on the small tabletop while Father John quietly prayed. Marc respectfully waited in a corner while they finished. When they did, the priest offered to leave but Marc stopped him and told him to stay. The three of them took chairs at the table.

  “We’ll start our case with our psychiatrist,” Marc reminded them. He told this to Howie on Saturday but decided to go over it again for Father John. “I want to put her on first to refute what their guy said Friday afternoon.”

  “Will it work?” Father John asked.

  “Who knows?” Mark shrugged. “The jury will believe what it wants to. We just need to create enough reasonable doubt for an acquittal or convince one of them to get a hung jury. Their shrink was a paid, hired gun spewing mostly bullsh…, um,”

  “Bullshit,” Father John said for him.

  “Yeah,” Marc smiled. “After she’s done, I’ll call you to the stand,” Marc continued looking at the priest. “Until then, I don’t want you in the courtroom. We’ve been over your testimony enough times that you’ll do fine. Any questions?”

  Father John and Howie both shook their heads in response.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Is the defense ready?” Judge Koch asked Marc.

  A criminal defendant is under no obligation to put on a case at all. If the defense lawyer believes the prosecution has not made its case or met its burden of proof, the defense may rest without calling a single witness. There are also other times when the defense simply has no case to present to a jury.

  “Yes, your Honor,” Marc said after standing, respectfully, to address the court.

  “You may call your first witness.”

  “The defense calls Dr. Lorraine Butler,” Marc solemnly intoned.

  The deputy guarding the exit doors opened one and a petite woman with stylishly cut, light brown hair, entered. Marc slightly smiled at the sight of her. Normally she dressed for work much more casually, though still professionally, than she was today. This was only the third time in her career she would testify at a trial and the psychiatrist was determined to make a good impression.

  Dr. Butler was sworn in, took the stand and looked to Marc to begin his questioning. The two of them spent four hours the day before preparing her testimony.

  She appeared a little nervous which Marc had actually convinced her to do. It would send a clear message to the jury that, unlike the prosecution’s expert, she was not a professional witness. Marc tossed her some easy questions and she admitted to being a little anxious. The doctor looked directly at the jury and with a sheepish grin confessed this was only her third time as a witness. Of course, all of this was carefully rehearsed, designed to win over the jury. Gauging by the friendly looks she was getting from the jurors, it appeared to be working.

  Marc took her through a detailed listing of her credentials which were nowhere near as impressive as Dr. Christie’s. Marc believed this could be an advantage. Hopefully the jury would simply like her better than the prosecution’s hired gun and give her more credibility.

  Marc led her through her testimony about her practice to be sure the jury understood this was not an academic. Relaxing after a short while, she comfortably explained to the jury what type of psychiatrist she was. Essentially she was one that dealt with real people with real problems every day. Unlike Christie who appeared somewhat imperious and a bit condescending, Dr. Butler came across as a real, down-to-earth, Midwestern person. Someone you would go to if you needed counseling and treatment.

  “Were you able to read the report prepared by Dr. George Christie, the state’s expert, regarding Howard Traynor?”

  “Yes, I did,” she answered.

  “What, if any, opinion do you have about his report and diagnosis?”

  “Dr. Christie is an intelligent, highly educated, respected academic. However,” Butler said pleasantly looking toward the jury, “he hasn’t seen a patient for thirty years. For him to make a blanket statement and claim anyone showing congenital sociopathic symptoms cannot be treated and cured is simply not factual.”

  “Have you formed an opinion about Howie Traynor and his condition today?”

  “Yes, I have,” she replied.

  “Please tell the jury what that opinion is,” Marc said.

  “Based upon my time spent with Mr. Traynor and my years of dealing with all types of neuroses, I believe Mr. Traynor has overcome his sociopathic personality traits. His conduct and apparent conversion to Catholicism are genuine.”

  Marc thanked her and passed her to Tommy Harris for cross-examination. During their preparation, Barry Cline conducted a mock cross-exam of Butler. Based on what Marc had seen of Harris and what Barry also knew of him, they both believed Barry’s preparation was more than adequate. Harris did not disappoint them.

  Tommy Harris jumped right in asking her a series of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ questions designed to compare her credentials with those of Dr. Christie. He restated every one of the items on the curriculum vitae of Christie and Butler played along. She admitted Christie’s academic and publishing credentials were impressive. Marc prepared her for this and she pleasantly made no effo
rt to argue with Harris or inflate her own achievements. By the time he was done, Harris was coming across almost as condescending as his expert.

  At the end, feeling pretty good about himself, Harris opened his mouth and put both feet in. He was simply unwilling to leave well enough alone.

  “What makes you think you can sit there and tell this jury why they should disbelieve someone as accomplished as Dr, Christie and believe you?”

  It was a question any third-year law school student would know better than to ask, the open-ended question that you don’t know how the witness will answer. Marc stifled a laugh when he saw the look on Paul Ramsey’s face.

  “Because I’ve been dealing with real people in the real world for over twenty years. Dr. Christie has been sitting in an Ivory Tower in academia dealing with theory all that time. It’s the old saying, ‘Those that can, do; those that can’t, teach,” Butler said hitting Harris right between the eyes.

  To his credit, Tommy Harris knew he was in a hole and it was time to stop digging. He ended his questioning and Koch ordered a short recess.

  Father John Brinkley was called to the stand. The salt and pepper haired, mid-fifties, handsome priest made the exact impression Marc expected. Even atheists and non-Catholics would give the man high marks for appearance.

  The good Father was on the stand for the remainder of the morning. Marc took him through his personal history with Howie, having met him while Father John was providing religious guidance to inmates and then mentoring Howie through the conversion process. For the defense, his main contribution was to reinforce Dr. Butler’s assertion that Howie’s conversion was legitimate. Marc also scored points with the testimony about Howie’s work at the church.

  Of course, none of this had any bearing on the real question before the jury. Did Howie Traynor, commit these murders? This was a point Harris, having learned his lesson with his exam of Dr. Butler, quickly made then passed on the witness.

  While the crowd was filing out of the courtroom and Howie was being led back to jail, Marc turned around and saw a sight that made him smile. Sitting in the seat normally reserved for Father John was Maddy Rivers. The serious look on her face made his smile vanish.

  Marc stepped up to the rail and she asked, “What time do you want me?”

  “Right after lunch,” he replied.

  “Okay,” she said then turned to leave.

  “Madeline, wait!”

  She turned back to him and she said, “Marc, I’m scared. I’m…”

  “Listen,” he whispered. He looked around the courtroom and noticed Gabriella Shriqui watching them. Marc shook his head at Gabriella then held open the gate and gestured for Maddy to come through and sit down with him.

  They sat down at the defense table and Maddy inhaled deeply and weakly smiled.

  “What I did was stupid and I could get in a lot of trouble for it,” she softly said.

  “Listen to me,” Marc said. “I only have a few questions for you. I want you to be very careful. Don’t anticipate what I’m going to ask. Listen carefully to the question, let me ask it completely and then think about your answer and answer only the question I ask, okay?”

  “Okay,” she nodded.

  “We don’t have time to prepare. I’ll ask you about the surveillance and you going into the building. Be careful what you say. You were in the building itself legally. Tell them why you went into the janitor’s closet and on the roof. But go slow and don’t get carried away. Don’t volunteer that you were in Howie’s apartment. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I get it.”

  “And to be honest, I don’t think Harris will have much for you. He’ll likely want you off of that stand as fast as possible. I’ll see you after lunch.”

  “Ms. Rivers,” Marc began after Maddy was sworn in and took the stand “in the interest of full disclosure you and I are well acquainted are we not? You have worked for me as a private investigation on several cases I have handled, correct?”

  “That’s right,” Maddy replied with a weak smile.

  Since Madeline Rivers was a witness called by the defense she was technically a defense witness. Normally these questions could be objected to as leading. Asking leading questions of your own witness is normally not allowed. Because these were merely to inform the jury of their relationship and not to provide substance, the judge would let them in.

  “In fact, we’re good friends, aren’t we?”

  Maddy pulled the microphone a little closer and said, “I hope so, yes.”

  Marc moved on and had Maddy tell the jury a bit about her background and what she did for a living. While she did this, Marc kept one eye on the jurors to gauge their reaction to her. Every one of them was totally captivated by her and could not look away, even the women. Marc could not help wonder if the men were hearing anything she said.

  Because the two of them had been estranged during the trial, Marc did not have an opportunity to prepare her testimony. He hoped the little chat they had before lunch had repaired their friendship enough to allow him to get out of her what he needed.

  Knowing he had Tony Carvelli on his list to testify, Marc would get a detailed report about Howie’s surveillance from him. All he wanted from Maddy was the part that she played in it.

  Maddy told the jury what she did when she was part of the surveillance of Howie Traynor. Being as intelligent as she is, Maddy caught on immediately to where Marc was taking her. Using her own record of the surveillance she went over every date and time she was watching Howie. For each day of this, Maddy was sure to emphasize that Howie Traynor did nothing to arouse her suspicions at all.

  “In fact, we were all getting bored with watching him. He wasn’t doing anything.”

  Marc changed course and moved to her entry into Howie’s apartment building.

  Maddy explained that an elderly woman opened the security door for her and allowed her to go inside.

  “Did the Minneapolis police direct you to go into the building for any reason whatsoever?”

  “No, they did not.”

  “No one in the police department…”

  “Objection,” Harris said. “Asked and answered.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Koch quickly ruled.

  “Once inside it was you who discovered the janitor’s closet and the stairs leading to the roof, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the closet locked?”

  “No, it was not.”

  “Ms. Rivers, why did you go into the closet?”

  Maddy turned her head to the jury and told them about the warnings she received from Tony Carvelli that Howie returned. She admitted she ducked into the janitor’s closet to avoid being seen by him.

  With a little prodding from Marc, Maddy carefully, slowly described finding the stairs to the roof. She also told them that she went up on the roof and did a walk about on it.

  “Did you give this information to Detective Owen Jefferson?”

  “Yes, I did,” Maddy admitted.

  “Ms. Rivers, did you go inside Howie Traynor’s apartment and plant the barbed wire, wire cutters and leather gloves the police found in his bedroom?”

  At first, Maddy felt like Marc had just betrayed her. Here it was. She could admit to a felony or commit perjury. Maddy stared blankly at Marc for several seconds before realizing what exactly he had just asked her.

  “No, I did not,” she honestly said.

  “Are you sure…”

  “Objection,” Harris stood again. “Asked and answered.”

  “Sustained. Move along Mr. Kadella,” Koch said.

  Trying to look dejected Marc paused for several seconds before saying, “I have nothing further, your Honor.”

  Tommy Harris, because Maddy admitted she did nothing at the behest of the police decided to pass and asked no questions.

  A greatly relieved Madeline Rivers, with every head in the room following her, made a calm yet hasty, exit. As she passed by Gabriella, unnoticed by ev
eryone else, Maddy gave her a quick wink and Gabriella smiled.

  FIFTY-NINE

  While Maddy Rivers walked toward the exit, Judge Koch called the lawyers to the bench.

  “Do you have another witness lined up for today?” she asked Marc.

  “Well, your Honor, um, no, I don’t. I thought…” he replied.

  “Let’s adjourn for today, then,” she said. “I have some personal business to attend to.”

  “Your Honor,” Harris started to object.

  “Forget it, Mr. Harris. I don’t need your permission,” Koch said cutting him off.

  Howie leaned over and whispered in Marc’s ear, “Can I see you for a minute?”

  Marc looked at him noticing a slight trace of annoyance in his client’s voice. “Sure,” he replied. He pointed to the door for the conference room and said to the deputies, “Give us a few minutes, guys. We need to talk.”

  Before Marc had a chance to sit down, an obviously agitated Howie, pacing around in the small room, snarled, “Why the hell didn’t you go after her?” referring to Maddy.

  “I got what I could out of her,” Marc said a bit defensively. “She wasn’t going to admit she planted those things in your apartment.”

  Howie stopped his pacing and a little too quickly said, “I know she didn’t plant them…”

  Startled, Marc cut him off by saying, “How? How do you know she didn’t?”

  Howie’s back straightened, his eyes opened wide and he said, “Well, ah, you, ah, you must’ve told me…”

  “No, I didn’t,” Marc said staring intently at Howie. “How would I know?”

  The punch hit Marc dead center of his solar plexus. It happened so quickly it wasn’t even a blur before it landed. In an instant all of his wind rushed out and Howie’s left hand clamped over his mouth. Marc would have collapsed if Howie had not grabbed his right arm and held him. As gently as he could, Marc’s eyes bulging, his mind uncomprehending what happened, Howie lowered his lawyer into a chair.

  “Ssssh, ssssh, ssssh,” Howie whispered in his ear. “Just breathe, you’ll be okay. Just breathe. I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth. Breathe easy. Nod your head.”