When they reached the police department headquarters, instead of parking in the lot in back, they parked on Grove Street a half-block from the main entrance. Mackenzie could clearly see why they did this. Although inwardly furious about it, she was determined to maintain her dignity.
Max and Anna helped her out of the car into a phalanx of a half-dozen uniformed police officers. As they moved her slowly down the sidewalk toward the front door, a small mob of reporters and camera operators surrounded them. Mackenzie held her head up, her lips pursed tightly together and looked straight ahead while the herd surrounding her moved slowly toward the building. It took almost ten minutes to travel two hundred feet. All the while the cameras were whirring and the reporters yelled questions that went unanswered. They finally got her inside as the cops held the reporters out. Waiting inside, barely able to contain the smirk on her face, was Heather Anderson.
Mackenzie looked her in the eyes and said, “So, that must be what you call a ‘perp walk’. Did you enjoy it?”
Heather, slightly taken aback, said, “We’re not here to accommodate you.”
“That wasn’t necessary, Ms. Anderson, and you know it. You could have called Mr. Kadella and I would have surrendered,” Mackenzie coolly said. “I would appreciate the opportunity to call him now, please.”
Although she would not admit it, even to herself, Heather felt a little ashamed of herself. Despite what they had just put her through, Mackenzie was acting far more dignified than the cops or the mob outside.
“We have to process you,” Heather politely told her. “I believe we can remove the cuffs,” she said to Max. “You won’t try to make a break for it or attack a police officer?” she asked Mackenzie trying to lighten things up.
“Very unlikely,” Mackenzie agreed while Anna unlocked the handcuffs and removed them.
By the time Mackenzie was finished being fingerprinted and photographed, Heather had spoken to Marc. After being told Marc was on his way, Mackenzie was escorted to a comfortable conference room to wait. Max brought her a small bottle of cold water and she was left alone. Barely ten minutes later, both Marc and Maddy Rivers entered the room.
Mackenzie was sitting at the table, on its opposite side away from the door. When the two of them entered the room a look of relief came over Mackenzie and the tension release caused her to sob three or four times.
Marc and Maddy took chairs on either side of her as she said, “I have never been so embarrassed in my life.”
“Take a drink,” Marc quietly said referring to the bottle of water.
Mackenzie did so and that helped calm her. Maddy took one of her hands as Mackenzie said, “Why was that necessary? I told that…bitch I would have surrendered…”
“There’s an election next year. Your case is going to be a media sensation for months. Shayla Parker will try to get as much publicity out of this as she can. Sorry, Mac, but what happened today is just the beginning.”
“What about bail?” Maddy asked before Mackenzie could.
“We’ll get you arraigned yet today. I talked to Heather and she agreed to it. We’ll waive reading the indictment. The judge will make sure you understand your rights. I’ll ask for a speedy trial to get that clock started. Then we’ll argue about bail.”
“At some point the judge will ask you to enter a plea,” Maddy said.
“Yeah, right,” Marc said, realizing he forgot to mention that. “Just say not guilty.”
“I am not guilty!” Mackenzie said.
“Mac, you don’t have to convince us,” Marc smiled.
“What about bail?” Maddy asked again.
“I’ll make the argument that the case is entirely circumstantial. The evidence is thin, you’re not a flight risk or a danger to the community. I think the judge will grant bail. He’ll have no reason not to, but it will probably be pretty high.”
“How high?” Mackenzie asked.
“I don’t know,” Marc admitted. “A couple million, maybe five.”
“Okay,” Mackenzie said. “I’ll call my financial advisor and have him start working on it. Five I can do today. Anything more will take a little longer.”
When she said this, Maddy gave Marc a look as if to say, “Five million. Must be nice.”
At 2:15 the day’s arraignment judge came back onto the bench. Since it was a middle-of-the-week afternoon, his calendar had been light. He had cleared all of the afternoon cases except Mackenzie’s then had taken a short break at 2:00.
Without showing it, Marc’s heart had sunk a bit when he heard who the presiding judge was. Otis Carr was a fifty-four-year-old black man with twelve years on the bench. He was a bald, six-foot-seven-inch one-time U of M basketball player with a gold stud in his left ear. His girth had grown significantly since his playing days due to a weakness for good food and a lack of exercise. It was also rumored that Otis, a still handsome man with a Barry White baritone voice, was having an affair with the County Attorney, Shayla Parker. Both of whom were married. Marc, having never appeared before the man until today, could only hope the rumors were exaggerated.
Marc, his client and Maddy were seated at the table to the judge’s left. Maddy had retrieved appropriate clothing for Mackenzie and the ponytail and gym clothes were gone. Heather Anderson and a female lawyer Marc did not know were at the other table. Between the court watchers and the media there was not an empty seat in the gallery. There were even eight defense lawyers, most of whom Marc knew, seated in the jury box just to watch. The circus surrounding Mackenzie Sutherland, already labeled the Black Widow or Ice Queen Case was about to begin.
The first thing Judge Carr did was to take a few minutes to sternly warn everyone in the courtroom to basically behave themselves. The judge read the case information into the record while the court reporter took it down. He then had the lawyers speak their appearance for the record. Heather also served Marc with a couple of discovery notices; a formality for the record.
Marc stood and told the judge he had received a copy of the indictment and his client waived the formality of reading it. He also told the judge she was ready to enter a plea. Carr courteously asked Mackenzie to stand. He then took a couple minutes to satisfy himself that she understood what was happening and then he read her the Miranda rights.
Mackenzie was charged with one count of first-degree premeditated murder and one count of second-degree intentional murder. The prosecution had decided to go for broke and not give the jury any lesser-included-offenses to fall back on. Carr elicited a quick and very firm “not guilty” to both counts. He then asked for bail applications.
Since Marc was already standing he beat Heather to it and made his bail request. “My client can put up a half a million dollars, cash, today, your Honor. She is not a flight risk, has strong ties to the community and is not a danger to anyone, including herself. Further, your Honor, the prosecution’s case is not only a very thin circumstantial one, it is almost entirely speculative. It should not have gotten through the grand jury.”
“Ms. Anderson?” Carr said.
“Your Honor, the defendant, in fact, has no ties to the community. She is quite wealthy and could be on a plane and out of here in an hour if she chooses…”
“I will not!” Mackenzie blurted out.
Before Carr could say anything, Marc bent his head down and whispered in her ear to settle her down. The reality was this was not a spontaneous outburst. Marc had prepared her for it and Mackenzie handled it perfectly.
“As I was saying, your Honor,” Heather said a touch flustered from the interruption, “she has ample means to flee and bail should be denied.”
Heather, knowing the rumors about Carr and Shayla Parker were in fact true, smugly sat down believing she had said enough.
Marc, still standing began to speak but was stopped when Carr held up a large hand and gestured for Marc to take his seat. This was a clear indication Carr had made his decision, probably before court even began.
“I’m going to set bai
l at two million dollars, cash or property, no bond. Plus, the defendant will surrender her passport and wear a monitoring device to be administered by court services,” Carr ruled.
“Your Honor,” a disappointed Heather Anderson said as she stood up.
“I’m not going to change my mind, Ms. Anderson. She’s no longer a flight risk. I was also informed I have been assigned this case. Mr. Kadella, does your client waive her right to a speedy trial?”
“No, your Honor,” Marc answered. “We may be persuaded later but for now I want the clock ticking.”
“Very well. The omnibus hearing. My schedule is a little full for the next, couple of weeks. How about October fourteenth, 9:00 A.M?”
“Fine, your Honor,” Marc said.
“That’s fine, your Honor,” Heather said from her chair. “There is one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Carr asked.
“The Sutherland estate, your Honor. Or more precisely the ill-gotten gains…”
“Objection,” Marc said.
“Spare me the histrionics, Ms. Anderson. There’s no jury here,” Carr said.
“The money Mrs. Sutherland inherited. If she is found guilty of murdering her husband she’ll have to forfeit all of it,” Heather said.
“That is a maybe, on both points,” Marc said. “It’s at best speculative that she’ll be found guilty and that does not automatically mean she’ll forfeit the inheritance.” Not being a probate lawyer Marc had no idea whether or not she would forfeit the money. In fact, he believed she probably would. He simply figured he had better make the argument.
“Oh, I believe she will forfeit the money,” Carr said to Marc. “How much are we talking about?” he asked Heather.
“I have the final inventory here, you Honor,” Heather said as she stood and stepped around the table. She dropped a copy on Marc’s table then walked toward the judge. As she did this she loudly proclaimed for the audience. “Twenty-seven point four million dollars, total, your Honor.”
A loud buzz and stirring went through the courtroom with this news.
“Knock it off!” Carr grimly thundered.
He took the document from Heather, set it aside and said, “What do you propose?”
“She surrender this sum to the court until its rightful ownership can be finally adjudicated,” Heather said.
It was then that Marc noticed Paige Sutherland was seated in the first row behind the prosecution. Next to her sat both Adam and Hailey Sutherland. All three had nasty smirks on their faces.
“Your Honor,” Marc said as he stood up again. “She is trying to deny my client her Constitutional right to select her own lawyer. She is trying to sequester funds my client has every legal right to and to use in her defense.”
“She has plenty of other money she can use,” Heather said with a trace of sarcasm. “Other money she made the old-fashioned way; inheriting it from a dead husband.”
“Your honor…” Marc started to say.
“That’s enough,” Carr admonished Heather. He turned to Marc and Mackenzie and asked, “Is that true? She has other funds she can use?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Marc had to admit.
“Then I’ll give you thirty days to surrender the amount you inherited from William Sutherland to the court to be kept in escrow. That is in addition to the bail I set.
“Do we need a media gag order?” Carr asked the lawyers.
“No, your Honor,” Heather said knowing Shayla Parker wanted to hold regular press conferences.
“No, your Honor,” Marc agreed. “At least not yet. Plus, it would only apply to me. They would still leak whatever they want to the media.”
When he said this, several members of that same media choked back laughs knowing Marc was right.
“Anything else?” Carr asked looking back and forth at the lawyers. “Okay, we’re adjourned.”
THIRTY-SIX
Winter’s end was clearly in sight. Once January was behind them most Minnesotans felt a palpable sense of relief knowing the worst was probably over. February was a short month and March, even though normally the snowiest month of the year, normally brought milder temperatures. Also, when February rolled around baseball’s spring training was about to begin and it had been a relatively mild winter at that. Only six days of sub-zero temps. Sufficient to send the East Coast into an Armageddon-expecting panic. It was hardly enough for the Upper Midwest to even notice.
The trial of the State of Minnesota vs. Mackenzie Sutherland was set to begin in less than a week Monday, February twenty-second. There had been three requests for continuances, all brought by the prosecution; the most recent one was barely a week ago. Judge Otis Carr, not necessarily the most patient of men, made it clear there would be no more of them. The twenty-second, he declared, was carved in stone.
Normally, with a case based on circumstantial evidence such as Mackenzie’s, Marc would have pushed for an early trial date. Why give the prosecution more time to find more evidence? Having been previously involved in notorious, highly publicized trials, he decided it might be best to let this one cool down for a while.
For at least a month following Mackenzie’s arrest, a day did not go by without a story about her on local media and even occasionally national news. Every story used the term Black Widow. Most of them even threw in the word poisoning, as in Black Widow poisoning.
To keep the story stirred up, Shayla Parker, with Heather Anderson at her side, gave two or three press conferences each month about the case. After the first month or so of this, attendance by media members began to dwindle. Also, it was about this time that a prominent state senator who was rumored to be a candidate for governor was caught cheating on his wife. The fact that he was a Republican only added fuel to the frenzy. The good news was that it pushed Mackenzie Sutherland out of the spotlight. Marc, by himself during this time made a couple of appearances on Gabriella Shriqui’s show, The Court Reporter, to refute some of the worst of the prosecution’s news leaks and propaganda. But he mostly kept a low profile.
Mackenzie, being electronically tethered to her home, was suffering from an acute bout of cabin fever. Between Marc and Maddy they managed to get permission to get her out of the house for short periods a couple times a week, but five months of house arrest was getting old.
The actual amount of evidence accumulated by the prosecution was not much. It came down to that it appeared William Sutherland was poisoned and somebody did it. Who stood to gain and how much? Also, who had the access and opportunity to poison William Sutherland? The obvious answer to these questions was Mackenzie Sutherland.
“Butch Koll is here to see you,” Sandy told Marc through the office intercom.
Marc thanked her and a moment later went into the common area. When he did, a man Sandy was practically drooling over and the married Carolyn was sneaking peeks at stood up from a client chair to greet him.
Butch Koll was a former client of Marc’s. For most of his adult life, Butch had made his living hanging around the fringes of the Cities’ underworld. At six-feet-four and a solid two hundred forty pounds of weight-lifter muscle, Butch had earned his money as a physical intimidator and collector for various crooks. Mostly bookies and loan sharks, oftentimes one and the same person.
A couple years back, Butch was working for a Russian defector, the closest thing to organized crime the Twin Cities had. Marc represented Butch in a manslaughter-homicide case. Marc did a good job for Butch and it was Marc who helped find him legitimate employment afterward.
Butch and a friend of his, Andy Whitcomb, had done security work for Marc on a previous case. Unfortunately, Butch had been unintentionally shot providing that security then spent a month in the hospital.
“Hey, big guy,” Marc genially said. “Thanks for coming by.”
As the two men shook hands, Butch asked, “Should I have worn Kevlar?”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
Butch pressed his lips together, roll
ed his eyes up to the ceiling as if thinking over the question then said, “No.”
“Come on back,” Marc said.
Marc closed his office door behind him then said, “Want to earn some extra money?”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Protection for a client. We’ll get you a vest this time.”
“Mackenzie Sutherland?” Butch asked.
“Yeah,” Marc nodded. “We’ve received a lot of threats, nothing like Brittany Riley but enough to take them seriously,” he continued referring to the young woman Butch had provided security for the first time.
“I still have nightmares…” Butch said.
“Me too,” Marc quietly replied. “Can you get Andy Whitmore or somebody else?”
“Andy’s available. To be honest, I’m a little surprised you want to use us.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault. There was a half-dozen deputy sheriffs there and it still happened. You can’t stop crazy people,” Marc reassured him.
“What I really want is for you guys to just be a presence. A couple of large, serious-looking men will keep most people in line. Mackenzie has plenty of money. Go find a couple top-of-the-line vests and she’ll buy them for you. Don’t go cheap. In fact, get one for her and me as well.”
“You think people are that pissed off about her killing her husband…”
“She’s presumed innocent,” Marc said.
“Whatever. From what I’ve seen in the papers he was no prince. He probably had it coming. How much and for how long?” Butch asked.
“I’ll have her pay you each two hundred bucks an hour, cash. What you tell the IRS is between you and them. As far as how long, the judge had blocked out two weeks but I don’t see it taking that long. I’ll want you in court every day, all day.”
“For two hundred an hour, you got me as long as you want me,” Butch said, “What is she like?”
“Nice lady. You’ll like her.”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 206
