“Did anyone else hear the two of you?” Finney asked him.
“No, I don’t think so. We were off by ourselves and it was raining so everyone was in a hurry to get out of there.”
Finney made a few more notes then looked at Max and said, “What about the other two kids? Did you talk to them?”
“No,” Max said shaking his head. “To tell the truth, I can’t stand either one of them. Hailey was okay when she was a kid but Adam was always an arrogant asshole. They’re both pretty useless.”
Dale Kubik, Anna’s partner, appeared. He said a brief hello to Max then said to Anna, “Look, ah, something’s come up. I need to take some personal time. You can handle the interview with the lawyer can’t you?”
“Sure, no problem,” Anna said inwardly relieved she would not have Kubik hanging around today.
“Great. Well, I’ll ah, see you tomorrow,” Kubik said as he quickly backed away then turned and fled.
“What’s that about?” Max asked.
Finney leaned closer to him and quietly said, “Just between me and you, I think he’s got a little nose candy problem.”
“Really?”
“I’m not sure but the signs are there. Hey, you busy? You want to go talk to this lawyer, this Cooper Thomas guy? The guy who wrote the new Will for old man Sutherland?”
“Sure,” Max said. “When?”
“We have an appointment with him right after lunch. He said he’d have the security guard who was in the room there also.”
Max looked at the wall clock and said, “You up for lunch?”
“Sure. You buying?”
“Nope,” Max replied as they stood. “Let’s go.”
Two hours later they thanked Cooper Thomas and the security agent for their cooperation. Thomas politely escorted the two detectives to the elevators and waited with them until their car arrived.
“Well, what do you think?” Finney asked Max while the two of them rode down in the otherwise empty car.
“It didn’t sound as bad as she made it out to be,” Max replied.
“I think you’re right but it doesn’t matter how it sounds to a trained police officer. What matters is how it sounded to Mackenzie Sutherland. Was it reasonable for her to take it is a legitimate threat?”
Max thought about this until they reached the ground floor. As the doors began to open he admitted, “A jury could easily believe it was.”
“Exactly,” Finney agreed. As they were walking toward the exit doors she continued by saying, “Let’s go interview the widow. I’m glad you’re with me since you know her.”
“Yeah, I know her,” he said without enthusiasm.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see. She’s no princess,” Max replied.
The elevator doors had barely closed when Cooper Thomas turned to hurry back to his office. Seated on the expensive, leather couch in his office waiting for him was the security guard, Rod Partlow, who was also interviewed by the police. When Cooper entered the office Partlow stood up.
“Do you need me for anything else, Mr. Thomas?” he asked.
“Yes, please sit down, Rod. I want you to tell me exactly what you told the detectives.”
Partlow sat back down on the sofa and Cooper sat in a client chair. In less than five minutes the security man went over the interview. Cooper asked a few questions to clarify a point or bring out more detail.
“Thank you, Rod,” Cooper said when he finished. “I appreciate you coming by. Tell the agency to bill us for your time.”
“No problem, Mr. Thomas,” Partlow replied as Cooper led him to his office door.
“Will she be okay? She seemed like a nice lady and…”
“We’ll see,” Thomas shrugged. “She has a good criminal lawyer. It’s up to the authorities now. Thanks again,” he finished as the two men shook hands.
Thomas was on the phone within seconds of ushering the security man out. It rang twice and Mackenzie answered her cell.
“They just left,” Thomas said.
“Tell me,” Mackenzie curtly ordered.
Thomas gave her a verbatim account of his interview and as much as he could of Rod Partlow’s.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Mine helped you but the security guy, maybe not so much. He made Bob sound like a wimp and the other two kids like the whiney brats they are. But he also said he wasn’t surprised that Bob threatened you with the fireplace poker. Mackenzie, have you been watching the news?”
“Not really,” she replied. “Why?”
“They’re not being kind to you.”
“Marc Kadella went on that afternoon show on Channel 8 yesterday,” Mackenzie said. “I watched it and he did great. Marc comes across very well. He made the self-defense case just fine,” Mackenzie said.
“You might want to consider hiring a PR firm…” Thomas started to say.
“Don’t be ridiculous! How would that look? No, Kadella knows what he’s doing. I’ll leave it up to him.”
“It’s just as well. I worry about you and…”
“That’s sweet, Cooper. Maybe when this is all over, we’ll see,” she said knowing that would keep the lawyer on a string. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
After Mackenzie finished her call from Cooper Thomas, she dialed another number by memory. A man answered and Mackenzie identified herself.
“Yes, Mrs. Sutherland, I’ve been expecting your call,” Larry Cunningham said to her.
“Has my request been fulfilled?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yes, ma’am. All six million anonymously sent, two million to each of them as you requested. I’m just sorry you didn’t do it in a way that was tax advantageous for you,” he replied.
“Larry, we’ve been over this several times,” Mackenzie reminded the financial advisor, her impatience showing. “I don’t care about the taxes. Have the recipients been informed?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sutherland. A company representative met with each of them separately. They were obviously quite surprised.”
“That’s why I want to make sure it remains anonymous,” Mackenzie said. “And I’ll remind you, if my name leaks out…”
“To be blunt, ma’am, you’ll have my ass,” Cunningham said to let her know he understood.
“Exactly. Thank you, Larry. I’ll be in touch.”
TEN
Max Coolidge and Anna Finney parked their department issued Crown Vic on the street at the Sutherland’s. There was another vehicle, a Chevy van, parked ahead of them with a TV transmission antennae attached. The two detectives stopped in the driveway and took a hard look at the Channel 6 station logo on the van’s side panel, neither one of them at all pleased to see it.
The Sutherland’s lived in the moderately upscale neighborhood of Highland Park in St. Paul. Their house was on Mississippi River Boulevard with a view of the river and Fort Snelling on its south bank.
“Nice place,” Finney remarked as they walked up the driveway.
“Yeah,” Max agreed. “Every time I saw Bob he complained about ‘the bitch’s palace’ and the mortgage. I think it was over his head but it was Paige’s idea and he didn’t have the balls to say no to her,” Max replied.
“You don’t like her,” Finney flatly said, a statement not a question.
“Not much, no,” Max answered. “And the feeling was mutual. She never liked me much either.”
“Is she a racist?” Anna asked.
Max considered the question for a second then said, “Maybe, but I think it’s more about me being a cop and don’t come from money. She does. Her family’s got plenty.” He stopped, looked at Finney and quietly said, “Don’t let her con you, and she’ll probably try, about how destitute she will be because of Bob’s death. She and the kids will be fine.”
The house was to their left with an unattached two-car garage to its right. There was a gap of twenty feet between the house and garage with a small sidewalk from the driveway to a back door and splitting o
ff to the fence. A six-foot cedar privacy fence ran between the buildings with a gate in the middle. The two cops reached the gate and could hear voices coming from the backyard. The gate was unlocked and Max pushed it open.
“There is no way that Bob threatened that woman with a fireplace poker,” Paige Sutherland was saying to the reporter. “It just was not in him. And we all know she manipulated Bill Sutherland into changing his Will. Bill loved his children, all of them. He would’ve never cut them out.”
Max and Anna stepped through the gate and stood on the lawn watching. At first, no one noticed them while the two of them surveyed the scene.
The interview was taking place on the large, granite stone patio. The TV station had sent a camera operator, a sound tech and the reporter. Unknown to Max, Paige had contacted the station and offered to do the interview.
They watched the interview for more than a minute before anyone noticed them. Paige was seated in a padded, wrought iron lawn chair with the three kids seated around her. It was the youngest, Katie, age seven, who saw them.
“Uncle Max!” the little girl yelled as she took off toward them.
All three Sutherland kids were spoiled brats as far as Max was concerned. Mouthy, obnoxious and entitled but they were affectionate to him, probably to annoy their mother.
Their presence having been discovered caused a break in the interview. Max was one of the cops who broke the news to the family about Bob. Despite this, the kids still acted like they had not seen him for months. Even Paige gave him a firm, tearful hug as the camera recorded the scene.
While he returned Paige’s embrace, Max whispered, “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t do this to the kids.”
Paige stepped back, looked up at the taller man, put on a forced smile and quietly replied so only Max could hear her, “People need to see what that bitch did to us.”
They all walked back toward the patio area. Max held up his badge and firmly told the cameraman to stop filming, which he did. Paige introduced them to the TV people then told the children to go inside.
“We’d love to get an interview with the two of you,” the reporter, an attractive young woman said to Max and Anna.
“Sorry, no comment,” Finney quickly said.
“The investigation is still ongoing,” Max interjected. “We have nothing to say. We need to talk to Mrs. Sutherland so we must insist you wrap this up and leave, please.”
“That’s up to her,” the reporter said looking at Paige
“That’s enough for now. I’ll be available for more later,” Paige smiled and said.
While the TV crew packed up to leave, Max, Anna and Paige pulled up chairs around the patio table. When they left, Paige pulled a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket and lit one.
“Okay,” she said blowing a long trail of smoke into the air. “What the fuck do you want, Max?”
“That’s the Paige I’ve always known,” Max replied.
“Hey, asshole, that bitch murdered my husband and she’s still walking free. What do you expect?”
“Stop!” Finney forcefully told her. “We’re doing our job and…”
“So go arrest her, honey,” Paige said taking another long drag on her cigarette. “Do your job.”
“We’ll be back when you’re calmer and in a better frame of mind,” Max said as he stood to leave.
“Put that murdering, thieving whore in jail. That will put me in a better mood. Until then, fuck you!”
When they were back in the car, Finney asked, “What the hell was that?”
Max swung the car around in a U-turn to go back downtown. As he did this he said, “That was Paige the Princess being Paige the Princess.”
“Max, this is shaping up to be a legitimate self-defense case. What is she going to do if the county attorney refuses to prosecute her?”
Max said, “She can try suing her for wrongful death I guess. She probably will anyway.”
Marc Kadella dropped his briefcase by his apartment’s front door. He stepped into the living room, picked up the TV remote from the glass coffee table and clicked on the set. Before sitting in his recliner to watch the local news, he removed his suit coat and tossed it on the couch.
Marc had barely sat down to watch Channel 8 when his phone went off. He grumbled at having to retrieve it from his coat pocket then frowned when he saw the caller ID.
“Hi, how are you?” he asked Margaret Tennant.
“I’m okay,” she replied. “Um, Marc…” she paused.
“Yeah,” he said as if he didn’t know what was coming.
“I think we need to talk,” she said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Can you come over this evening?”
“Sure,” he replied with more enthusiasm than he felt. “What time?”
“Anytime. I’ll be here all evening.”
“Okay. I just got home. Let me grab something to eat and I’ll be along around 7:30. Is that okay?”
“Sure, see you then,” Margaret replied.
When the call ended he quietly said out loud to himself, “So, we need to have the ‘we need to talk’ talk. I guess it’s time.”
Marc’s phone rang again but this time he smiled at the caller ID.
“Hey, kid, what’s up?” he asked.
“Are you watching the news?” Maddy Rivers asked. “Turn to Channel 6,” she said without waiting for him to answer.
“Why?” Marc asked as he reached for the remote.
“They have an interview with Paige Sutherland. They’re going to run after the commercials,” Maddy said.
“I should call Mackenzie,” Marc commented as he changed the channel.
“I already did,” Maddy said. “What’s wrong? You sound down.”
“I just got a call from Margaret,” Marc admitted. He told Maddy about the call.
“That’s too bad,” Maddy said. “You two were good together.”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t seem to think so as much lately. We’ll see. It’s coming on. I’ll talk to you later,” Marc replied.
The female anchor, whom Marc knew a little and avoided like the plague, read the interview’s introduction. The screen then filled with the camera on Paige and the three kids on the patio.
The actual interview itself had taken almost an hour to set up and conduct. When it was over, the station had at least a half hour of film. During the afternoon, Channel 6 had run at least a dozen promos to boost the audience which the next day ratings would prove to be excellent.
They ran over six minutes of the interview which for a twenty-two-minute broadcast is significant. Poor little Paige Sutherland put on a great show. With the kids as a backdrop, the audience would be overwhelmingly sympathetic. The gist of it was that Mackenzie had brutally murdered Paige’s husband and stolen the family fortune after poisoning Paige’s beloved father-in-law, Mackenzie’s husband, Bill Sutherland. Now she was using that very same money to buy her way out of answering for her crimes.
The interview ended and the screen showed the station general manager, Gibson Stewart, seated at a desk, solemnly staring at the camera. His name and the words ‘Station Editorial’ were shown along the bottom of the screen. Stewart piously prattled on about justice for the rich and justice for everyone else. How the authorities must do a thorough, transparent investigation and not be allowed to sweep this case under some invisible rug. And of course, the paragons of the Fourth Estate, meaning of course, himself and his station would see to it that they did.
When it was over, Marc did not know if he wanted to vomit or throw something through his TV. Within seconds his phone rang. He answered without bothering to check the ID.
“Hi, Mac, I saw it too,” he said.
“I should sue that lying, nasty, vile, foul-mouthed bitch for everything she has. And that station too,” Mackenzie steamed. “I am so angry…”
“Hey, calm down,” Marc soothingly said. “Take a deep breath. I don’t think suing the widow of the man you shot is a
good idea. At least not yet.”
“I know,” Mackenzie quietly said. “I just had to vent. She is a vile, foul-mouthed bitch, though. I’ve heard her curse at her kids using words that would make a sailor blush. Let me tell you something, the Sutherlands always portrayed an image of being a model family. They were about as dysfunctional as everyone else. And between you and me, Bill was no prince. There was virtually no physical involvement between us for the last two years. He liked his hookers a little too much and I was afraid he would bring something home with him, an STD of some kind. We slept in separate bedrooms. The kids didn’t know this about their beloved father. And he couldn’t stand any of his kids.”
“Interesting in a gossipy kind of way but keep it in mind. If any of this ever goes to trial, that could come in handy,” Marc replied.
“Really?” Mackenzie asked. “I’ll tell you what, I have plenty more on all of them. Marc, could I see you tonight?”
“No, sorry, I have to go see Margaret. She called. We need to have the ‘we need to talk’ talk,” he said.
“Oh, sorry,” Mackenzie said. “And I mean that.”
“It’s okay. It’s been coming for a while. Probably for the best,” Marc said.
“Call me tomorrow?” she sweetly asked.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
ELEVEN
The next day, both the St. Paul and Minneapolis papers included lengthy editorials about the Sutherlands. The theme of both articles was the moral dilemma claiming that there is one set of rules for the rich and one for everyone else. Both papers were also filled with letters to the editor from ‘outraged’ citizens expressing the same sentiment. Unknown to the public were the large number of letters that non-outraged citizens sent to the papers. These expressed the common sense, reasonable belief that judgment should be withheld until the investigation was complete and all of the facts were known. Not surprisingly, none of these were printed by either paper.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 188
