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

by Dennis Carstens

  “I’m pushing it because they don’t have much of a case. It was clearly self-defense or, at least, they can’t prove otherwise. I’ve been over all of the police reports, the autopsy and court records. The sooner we get discovery done, the sooner I can get this before a judge on a motion for summary judgment.”

  “What about mandatory mediation?” Marc asked.

  “We’ll do that if we lose the summary judgment motion,” Connie said.

  Connie stood up to leave and as she did she said, “Oh, and one more thing. Now that I’ve decided what to do about Simon Kane, I don’t want to know if you’re banging Mackenzie Sutherland.”

  Marc started to speak but Connie cut him off. “I don’t want to know. Just keep a low profile.”

  A week later Max, Anna Finney and Heather Anderson met in Heather’s office.

  “What are we waiting for?” Max asked looking at Heather. “Why aren’t we at the cemetery digging up Bill Sutherland?”

  “I’m thinking we should let the whole thing cool down for a while,” Heather said. “Kadella threw us a pretty good curve ball, if you’ll excuse the metaphor. The widow agreeing to it, then going on TV to complain about the unwarranted, so she claims, persecution had played pretty well with the public. Have you been watching the letters to the editor published in the papers?”

  “No,” Max said. “Whenever I read those things they all sound like morons.”

  “Yeah, well, those ‘morons’ are siding entirely with the poor widow,” Heather said.

  “And if we go to all of this trouble and don’t come up with anything then who looks like the morons?” Anna interjected.

  “Exactly what my boss, Shayla Parker, the Ramsey County attorney, remember her, said?” Heather told Max.

  “And if we do find something?” Max asked.

  “I’m not saying we won’t do it. We will. Bill Sutherland isn’t going anywhere. I think we should give it some time. Let it cool down.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Max agreed. “How long?”

  Heather shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Three, four weeks.”

  “The media and the public have the attention span of your average six-year-old,” Anna added.

  “We’ll go get him,” Heather assured Max.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Returning from court Marc came through the office’s exterior door to find the suite devoid of the usual chatter. Carolyn, Sandy and Jeff Modell were at their respective desks, their heads down quietly working. None of them even looked up to greet him when he came in. The doors to the lawyer’s offices, including his own, were all closed; a very unusual sight.

  The common area where the staff worked was fairly large, but it was also mostly open space. Marc saw three people seated in the client chairs, two women and one man. All sat quietly with sullen, almost annoyed facial expressions. He recognized one of them as Paige Sutherland. He looked at the wall clock and noted the time was 10:35, five minutes past the time of Paige’s scheduled deposition. The blinds covering the windows to the conference room were closed so Marc assumed Mackenzie was still being deposed inside.

  “I have a couple messages for you,” Carolyn said. While she handed Marc the message slips Carolyn quietly told him the other two people were Adam and Hailey Sutherland.

  Marc looked down at her with a puzzled expression as if to say, “Why are they here?” Carolyn, understanding what he meant, merely shrugged.

  “Hello, I’m Marc Kadella,” he said to Paige as he extended his hand to her.

  She barely shook it and muttered her name with fire in her eyes.

  He turned to the surly looking man, offered his hand and said, “Marc Kadella.”

  Adam shook it with what Marc believed was the weakest handshake he had ever received. Without standing or barely making eye contact, Adam said, “You’re that fucking bitch’s lawyer, I guess.”

  Momentarily taken aback by the vitriol from this worthless man-child, Marc looked down at him and politely smiled. He then leaned down to look directly into Adam’s eyes who visibly slumped down in his chair. Marc stared at him for three or four long seconds then quietly, firmly said, “If you ever speak like that about somebody in this office again, I will personally drag your ass out the door, down the stairs and throw you out into the parking lot. You got it?”

  A terrified Adam muttered a barely audible “Yeah, I guess.”

  Marc, still glaring at him said, “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes, I ah, I got it. Sorry.”

  Marc retreated to his office and left the door open. Ten minutes later he heard the people in the conference room come out. Within seconds, Mackenzie, without bothering to knock, was in his office closing the door behind her.

  “Why are they here?” she snarled at Marc.

  “Hi, Mac, how did it go?” he asked in return, ignoring her question.

  There was a knock on the door and Connie opened it and stepped in.

  “Hi, Marc,” Mackenzie said. “Why are they here?” she repeated.

  “Paige has to do her deposition and…”

  “I know that,” Mackenzie said. “I meant those two worthless brats.”

  Marc looked at Connie for an answer who merely held up her hands with an uncertain expression. “I’ll find out,” Connie said and left.

  While she was gone, Marc and Mackenzie chatted. According to Mackenzie, the deposition went almost precisely the same as the taped statement she had given to the cops.

  Connie came back and told them Adam and Hailey were here in case anyone had questions for them. They were also to provide moral support for the grieving widow, Paige.

  “Isn’t Simon Kane providing enough moral support for her?” Mackenzie sarcastically asked. “Besides, that’s BS,” she continued. “I know these two. Daddy was paying their extravagant lifestyle and I’ll bet they’re both about to run out of money. They’re hanging around looking for a payday.”

  “Carolyn told me you threatened to throw Adam out on his ass. Good for you,” Connie laughed.

  “What? What happened?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Nothing, he said something rude about you and…”

  “He called you a fucking bitch and Marc told him if he did it again he’d drag him downstairs and throw his ass out,” Connie said.

  “My hero!” Mackenzie said fluttering her eyes at him. “Seriously,” she continued, “thanks. Although, no offense, any one of us could throw the little snot’s ass out of here.” She turned to Connie and asked, “Now what?”

  “Now, you’re done. You can take off. They’re using the conference for a minute to confer. When they’re ready, I’ll take Paige’s deposition,” Connie answered her.

  “Paige is about to get her ass lopped off and handed to her. I’ve seen Connie do this. She’s very good at it,” Marc said. He looked at Connie and asked, “How did Mackenzie do?”

  “Great,” Connie said. “It was pretty much a repeat of her statement to the cops. Self-defense.”

  “Are you going to win a summary judgment motion?”

  “I think so,” Connie said. “The facts are not really in dispute and the law’s clear. Where’s the liability? Plus, I still got an ace up my sleeve; Kane and Paige dancing between the sheets for two years.”

  “We’ll go get lunch and be back. How long do you think it will take?” Marc asked.

  “Not long. Hour, hour and a half. We’ll see. Kane’s trying to make a big deal out of old man Sutherland changing his Will,” Connie said.

  “You got an affidavit from the lawyer swearing Mackenzie knew nothing about it. Besides, what does that have to do with this case?” Marc asked.

  “He’s trying to claim Bob was provoked into threatening Mackenzie because of the Will.”

  “Will that work?” Mackenzie asked.

  “No,” Connie said. “How can you provoke someone about something you had nothing to do with? He should be angry at his old man, not you.”

  There was a knock on the door and Sandy stuck he
r head in, looked at Connie and said, “They’re ready.”

  “We’ll go across the street and get some lunch,” Marc told Connie. “Talk to you when we get back.”

  Kitty-corner across Lake Street from Marc’s building was a small, popular diner. Marc and Mackenzie were early enough to beat the lunch crowd and took a booth toward the back. The waitress, a woman in her early fifties whom Marc knew, came to their table. After a minute or so of good-natured banter between the waitress and Marc, she took their order and left.

  “Come here often?” Mackenzie asked Marc when the waitress left.

  “Yeah,” Marc smiled. “At least two or three times a week. It’s convenient and the food’s good.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Mackenzie said turning serious, “What’s taking them so long to dig up Bill?”

  “Not sure,” Marc replied. “I haven’t talked to Heather Anderson lately.”

  “It’s been three weeks since I signed the authorization form. I’d like to get it over with.”

  “I think it may be they’re letting it cool down. They were a little surprised when you agreed to the exhumation. Letting the media go on to something else. The Vikings are in training camp now. That will give the public something else to distract them.”

  “You think they might not do it; might let it slide if they believe I have nothing to hide?” Mackenzie asked.

  Marc thought about the question for a moment then said, “Maybe, but I doubt it. It’s not cheap. Probably cost the taxpayers fifteen to twenty grand. But sooner or later the media will start asking questions.”

  The waitress brought their meals, a salad for Mackenzie and a turkey club for Marc. They started to eat and Marc said, “I made sure Anderson is to call me and let me know when they dig him up. I want to be there.”

  “I don’t,” Mackenzie said.

  “You don’t have to.”

  Mackenzie laid her fork down and said, “This civil suit with Paige, do you think I should make her an offer to settle it?”

  “It’s your money,” Marc said through a mouthful of sandwich.

  “I’m tired of having it and this business with Ramsey County hanging over my head.”

  “I think you should let Connie handle it and see if she gets it dismissed. You can always try to settle it after that. Let them make the first offer.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she sighed.

  “Be a little patient, you’ll get through this. So, what are you doing this weekend?”

  “Sneaking around with my lawyer so he doesn’t get caught fooling around with a client.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Marc smiled.

  When they returned to Marc’s office, Adam and Hailey were gone and Paige’s deposition was wrapping up. Marc grabbed the morning newspaper and they retreated to his office. Marc took the sports section and Mackenzie the A section to read the news. Twenty minutes later Connie knocked on Marc’s door, walked in and sat next to Mackenzie.

  Connie looked at Mackenzie and said, “She’s lovely. She is a lovely woman. I’ll bet holidays were fun with her around.”

  Mackenzie laughed then said, “Oh yeah. You have no idea how many times I thought about dumping a bucket of water on her just to see if she’d melt.”

  “I’d pay good money to see that. ‘I’m melting, I’m melting’” Connie said mimicking the witch in the Wizard of Oz. “Anyway,” she continued, “the depo went fine. She basically admitted they have no case other than emotional loss. Their problem is liability. Kane made a settlement offer.”

  “Which is?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Three million each for her, Adam and Hailey. They figure that’s how much they should have received from the sale of the business.”

  “That’s pretty ballsy,” Marc said. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d put it to my client.”

  “What do you think?” Mackenzie asked Connie.

  “I think it’s your money and if you want this to go away we can agree or counteroffer. Me, I’d tell them to go pound sand. I wouldn’t give that miserable…”

  “Connie!” Marc said to stop her, knowing the kind of nouns she was capable of using.

  Connie looked at him with an innocent expression and said, “I was going to say, not a nice person.”

  “Yeah,” Marc said. “I’m sure that’s what you were going to call her.” He looked at Mackenzie and added, “Connie can out cuss most sailors.”

  “She probably wouldn’t have called her anything I haven’t,” Mackenzie said. “Marc and I talked about this a little at lunch. I’ve decided I don’t want to reward them,” especially Adam, she thought, “so, no deal.”

  “Atta girl,” Connie gleefully said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Now what?” Mackenzie asked.

  “I’ll call the judge and schedule a hearing,” Connie said. “I’ll bring a motion to see if we can get this dismissed.”

  “Who’s the judge?” Marc asked.

  “Hubert Farley,” Connie said.

  “Farley? Is he still on the bench? He looked old ten years ago,” Marc said.

  “He’s headed toward retirement and that probably helps us,” Connie replied.

  “Why would that help?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Because he likely won’t want this thing dragging on for another year or more then going to trial,” Marc answered her.

  Later that same afternoon Mackenzie was in the kitchen enjoying a small glass of wine. She was seated at the breakfast bar going through the mail she had ignored for several days. Her purse was on the counter by the refrigerator and she heard the private burner phone she kept for special use start ringing. She retrieved it from her purse and saw the call was from area code 414, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

  “Hello,” she answered believing she knew who it was.

  “Mrs. Hayes,” she heard a man’s voice say. “This is Byron Stewart, from Milwaukee.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stewart, I thought I recognized your number,” she politely said. “Do you have something to report?”

  “Yes ma’am. Thought you might like a quick update. One of the girls, your stepdaughter Faye, is getting divorced. Seems her husband got some pictures of her with her boyfriend at a motel sent to him, anonymously, of course.”

  “Thank you for that,” Mackenzie said. “What about Junior?” she asked referring to her second husband’s son, Kenneth Hayes, Jr.

  “He’s still the night manager at that Motel 6 on the edge of town. Still has the drinking problem.

  “Mrs. Hayes,” he continued, “or should I call you Mrs. Cartwright or Mrs. Sutherland? I’m a little uncertain.”

  Using her other names had set off an alarm bell in her head. He had never done so before and as far as she knew, this private investigator was unaware of her subsequent marriages.

  “I’m sorry, what did you call me?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Mrs. Sutherland,” he continued. “I’m not going to play games. I grew up in St. Paul and still follow the news there. I know what’s going on. Your disguise while living in Milwaukee was good, but I know you’re the Sutherland woman and the widow of Wendell Cartwright. Don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s better. Let’s keep this a simple business deal. I want a half a million bucks. Small bills, non-sequential. Nothing bigger than a fifty.”

  “Why would I agree to this blatant attempt at extortion.”

  “Because if you don’t, I go to the St. Paul cops with another dead husband from a heart attack story.”

  Mackenzie knew this was what he would say. It was something she feared all along. She had believed it would come from the man in Chicago since he was smarter than the other two. She should have known it would be Stewart since he was the least reputable.

  “It will take at least a week to come up with the money. That much cash will take a few days and tomorrow’s Friday.”

  “That’s bette
r,” Stewart said. “I knew it would take a couple days. I’m a patient man. Next week will be fine. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

  Mackenzie drew a deep breath, looked through the kitchen window into the backyard, then down at the phone still in her hand. Her face flushed a bright red as the anger rose in her. For a brief moment she felt like throwing the phone through the window. She took a couple of deep breaths and calmly set the phone down. She had known for some time that something like this was possible. Mackenzie had put it out of her mind believing she would deal with it when and if it ever came up. Now, here it was. What to do?

  Mackenzie thought about paying him. Obtaining the cash would not be much of a problem. The drive time to Milwaukee from St. Paul was roughly five hours. She could be there and back before anyone knew she was gone. Would paying him off put an end to it? Highly unlikely. More likely it would just encourage him to go for more.

  She had hired Byron Stewart because he had been recommended by a woman she knew, an acquaintance, who used the private investigator to catch her cheating husband. Mackenzie had developed some misgivings about the man; too late to do anything about it.

  Mackenzie stood up, walked to the refrigerator and refilled her wine glass. She returned to her seat, took a large drink, then admitted to herself what must be done.

  “I’ve come too far to let this sleazy, amoral ex-cop stop me,” she quietly said to herself.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Byron Stewart was in a great mood. He was shooting pool and winning in his favorite tavern, Hanlon’s, a friendly, neighborhood joint six blocks from his office. Stew, as he preferred to be called hating the name Byron, won his fourth straight game of eight ball and pocketed his opponent’s twenty-dollar bill.

  Normally Stewart was, at best, a moderately competent pool player. Of course, he thought of himself as a hustler, but usually went home with a lighter wallet for his effort. Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, he was on a can’t miss roll on the backroom table, which made the normally annoying ex-cop even more obnoxious than usual.