(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  The Key to Justice

  By

  Dennis L. Carstens

  Copyright 2012 by Dennis L Carstens

  www.denniscarstens.com

  Author’s Note

  I practiced law for almost twenty years and, like most lawyers, learned it is a very difficult way to make a living, especially for those in small firms or those practicing on their own. It is a constant grind to get clients and then, convince them to pay you. It is a tough life even for those lawyers in large, well established firms where the pay is regular and good. Basically, you become a slave to the firm. Little wonder polls consistently show that 50% of all lawyers would rather do something else.

  I have read many novels about lawyers, courtrooms and legal dramas. With the exception of a very small number, almost all of them left me wondering if the author had ever been in a courtroom? Ever actually represented a live, human client with a real legal problem? And, most importantly, ever tried to make a living at it? I doubt many have.

  When I set out to write this book, The Key to Justice, my main purpose was to write a book about a lawyer and the struggles of the practice of law as it really is. How unglamorous it actually is and the simple truth that few lawyers get rich from it. While it is a tough way to make a living, being a lawyer can also be very interesting, challenging and, at times, quite rewarding.

  The main case in the book, the prosecution of a serial killer, is totally fictional. However, the case Marc Kadella handles on behalf of his wife against the IRS, the Justice Department and the U.S. Government is not. It is, in fact, a case I personally handled and every word is absolutely accurate. The names have been changed to protect the truly stupid and incompetent but all else is factually correct.

  Before the book was published, I asked friends and acquaintances if the IRS case was a distraction and should be removed or left in the book? It was unanimous that it be left in because of the interest it generated. Everyone was fascinated, but not surprised, by the way the Government conducted themselves and were as caught up in that case as they were the serial killer case. They all wanted to know how it came out.

  At any rate, I believe this is a more realistic look at the practice of law and hope that most lawyers who read the book will agree with me. Thank you and enjoy.

  Dennis Carstens

  Thank You

  A special thanks to my dear friends who helped me with the writing and encouraged me to keep going and not get too discouraged. They are, Beth, Laura and Kathy. And a big thanks to my son, Eric, for getting me to, after several years of sitting in a box, take out the manuscript, polish the story, edit it and get it published. Thank you all.

  ONE

  “C’mon, Shelly. It’ll be fun. We’ll have a great time. You’ll love our lake place. Everybody does,” said Thomas Allen Drayton III to the pretty dark-haired girl he was sitting beside in the outdoor patio of the moderately crowded bar.

  “Your daddy’s lake place,” the girl reminded him.

  “Mine soon enough,” said Tommy. T. Allen Drayton, Jr., Tommy’s father, was the new senior partner in the law firm Tommy’s grandfather had founded, Drayton, Babcock & Moore, with, as Tommy liked to remind people, offices in Minneapolis, Atlanta and Washington, D.C. Upon the retirement of Thomas Allen Drayton, Sr., T. Allen was not only senior partner but head of the firm’s corporate department which meant T. Allen had to be very good at letting corporate executives beat him at golf and little else. With eighty four lawyers in the firm, senior partners and department heads knew what their function was.

  Thomas Allen, III fancied himself the preeminent babe hound of his class at the local law school in St. Paul and the girl he was using his most practiced charms on was a notch he had wanted on his bedpost since the first day of school and he was determined to get it. Unfortunately for Tommy, she was just as determined that he would not. The girl took a long, deep drag on her cigarette, blew the smoke out with an exaggerated sigh, turned her head to Tommy and mischievously smiled at him. She turned her chair to face him, leaned forward so that her nose was no more than an inch from his and said, “Tommy, you’ve been trying since last fall to get in my pants and I keep telling you, it’s not going to happen. Take the hint.”

  He put on his best disarming smile, the one that almost invariably snared his quarry, along with the thought of his family’s money, and said, “You’re wrong about me, Shelly. I really like you. Respect you. You’re smart and pretty. I admire that a lot.”

  “Bullshit,” she laughed. “Does this actually work or is it just your daddy’s firm and money?” She then leaned forward slightly and kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose and said, “I hope you enjoyed that ‘cause it’s all you’re gonna get.”

  She leaned back in her chair, took her cigarette from the ashtray and continued to smoke it, with a bored look on her face. Tommy sat up straight, the smile replaced with pursed lips and narrowed eyes and petulantly said, “Fine. Fuck you, bitch. I’ve been shot down by better women than you.”

  “I’m sure you have,” she said.

  “Shit. I can score in this place in ten minutes. You’re probably a lousy lay anyway,” he said.

  “Tommy, please. Just go away. I didn’t ask for this. I’m sure you can be very nice and all but I’m not interested.” she said, trying to soften the exchange.

  The man seated at the other end of the bar smiled to himself as he watched the blonde young man stand, obviously annoyed, turn from the table and walk way from Michelle Dahlstrom. He had a fairly good idea of what had just happened during the little scene he had been observing. In fact, he thought, welcome to the club of flaming victims of the cool Ms. Dahlstrom. He continued to sip his beer, alternating his attention between the table where Shelly now sat alone and the Twins game displayed on several of the many TV sets scattered throughout the bar.

  Charlie’s was a popular spot among the young and single set, the Grand and Summit Avenues crowd, especially the students at the local law school. A pick-up joint that also served a variety of good food. A place to relax and eat, not dine. Fortunately, thought the man at the bar, this attracted an older clientele as well which, he hoped would keep him from standing out in the crowd. He did not want Michelle, or anyone else to take notice of him. He ordered another beer and slightly shook his head at the TV screen as another Seattle batter began circling the bases. Looks to be another long baseball season for Minnesota, he thought. Just then, he noticed two young women take chairs at Michelle’s table and could see the conversation begin.

  “Shelly, my God,” exclaimed Shareena Miller, a classmate of Michelle’s. “What did you do?”

  “Got a haircut,” said Shelly.

  “I’ll say you did, girl,” said Shareena with a laugh, “How come?”

  “Got tired of it. It was just too much trouble so I got a bit cut off,” she said with obvious understatement.

  “A bit?” Asked the third young woman, another friend and classmate, Allison Montgomery. “That’s an understatement. It was down to the middle of your back and now it’s barely below your ears,” she said as all three laughed at Shelly’s casual explanation.

  “Was that Tommy Drayton I just saw walkin’ away with flames comin’ out his ass?” asked Shareena.

  “Yes it was,” said Shelly with a smile.

  “You shot him down, again?” asked Allison. “I’d just like the chance. Just once.”

  Of the three, only Michelle could be called attractive. Even with her short brown hair, she was, by anyone’s standards, a beauty. The other two women were not but neither was unattractive either. Just somewhat plain and undistinguished. Both were in the top ten percent of their class, however, which Michelle envied because she definitely was not.
She didn’t care. Beautiful daughters of Governors, even someday ex-Governors, would do just fine in the legal profession, grades and class rank notwithstanding. Doors would definitely open wide for Michelle Dahlstrom.

  “He’s a gorgeous devil,” said Shareena.

  “A fluff-headed little boy”, Michelle replied.

  “They all are, honey,” said Shareena. “Get used to it. At least until they’re too old to be useful.”

  They all laughed and Shelly said as she rose from her chair, “I gotta pee. Order me another beer, will you?”

  The man at the bar watched as Michelle walked away from the table. She had left her coat and purse so he assumed she was going to the restroom out in the hallway. As she headed in that direction, he followed her with his eyes without turning his head until she passed behind a wall that obscured his vision. Knowing she could not see him, he turned slightly in his chair to try to pick her up as she passed the end of the wall but he did not see her again. For a Wednesday night, the bar was fairly crowded, especially the area she had to pass through by the pool tables, so he wasn’t concerned at not seeing her.

  He turned back to his beer and the ballgame, the Twins were mounting a comeback that would ultimately fall short, and resumed his posture like any other thirty-something guy out for a few beers by himself. He again shifted his attention from the screen to the table where he could see the two remaining girls talking and laughing. A few minutes passed and he anxiously looked at his watch as he quickly glanced over toward the doorway leading to the restrooms. He told himself to relax. She wasn’t going anywhere without her coat. It was a typical early spring Minnesota evening. A little cool even for late April.

  Just then, he heard a voice from directly behind him say, “Hi, Bob. How’re you doing?”

  He looked down from the TV that he had not really been watching, pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and index finger of his left hand and, without turning around, replied with an audible expulsion of breath, knowing he had been caught, “Fine, Michelle. Fancy meeting you here.”

  She slid onto the barstool to his right, placed her right elbow on the bar, her chin in her right palm and stared at him without saying anything. Still without turning to look at her, he casually sipped his beer while she watched him. There they sat without speaking for, to him at least, a very long minute. Finally, without moving his head, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the caught-little-boy guilty look on his face caused them both to bust out laughing.

  After a moment, when they both stopped, she said as he swiveled his stool to face her, “I thought I made it clear to my father that you guys were gonna leave me alone. And, I thought he made it clear to your boss.”

  “Hey,” he said holding up his hands in protest, “I’m off duty and just havin’ a beer and watchin’ the game.”

  She narrowed her eyes and responded with a drawn out, “Uh huh.”

  He lowered his arms, leaned on the bar and said, “Look, I’m not following you. Honestly. I just had to get out for awhile tonight. I admit, I know you come here but I would not have bothered you. Even if you hadn’t shot that guy down, that was amusing, by the way.”

  She placed her hand on his arm and said, “Getting involved, even briefly, was a mistake for both of us. It could’ve cost you your job. I like you. A lot. But, I still think you will end up back with your wife.”

  “No chance,” he said. “That’s definite. She’s moved in with her boyfriend.”

  “I’m sorry for you. Really. I’m sure that hurts you and I’m sorry if I hurt you. You’re a terrific guy. But, I don’t want state troopers following me, okay? I don’t want to go to my father with this, but I will if I have to. Please don’t make me. I need my own life which is why I don’t live in the mansion anymore, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, again raising his hands in protest. “I’ll go now, okay?”

  She got up from her chair to return to her table and, as she did, he gently took her right arm and said, “I care about you, ya know. And there’s a nut out there raping and murdering women.”

  She placed her left hand over the hand on her arm and said, “I know you do and I appreciate it. Don’t worry, I’m being careful. I still have the whistle and pepper spray you gave me. Besides that, the wacko is in Minneapolis.” She kissed him lightly on the lips, touching his face as she did so.

  “Minneapolis is ten minutes from here and there are plenty of crazies in St. Paul, too,” he said. “Just be careful, okay? Tell your friends, too.”

  “I know. I will, okay, I promise,” she said. “I’ll see you, Bob. Take care.” With that, she walked around thebar, back to her friends.

  Bob watched her walk away and return to her seat at the table. He sat at the bar for a few more minutes, thinking about Michelle and their brief affair when he was assigned to the Governor’s protective detail as a driver and bodyguard. Separated from his wife, he had been lonely, vulnerable and, he thought, she was a doll.

  The affair had not amounted to much and Michelle quickly ended it. She was after bigger game than a career highway patrolman, even a handsome one, and he was now desperate to get off the Governor’s staff and back on the streets. The luster of being around the state’s heavyweight politicians had quickly worn off and he hated to admit it but it was painful to see Michelle even though he was sitting where he was for that precise reason.

  He watched the three young women for a few more minutes while he finished his Sam Adams. He thought about giving Michelle a ride home just to be on the safe side. He should insist, he thought, but at least he would make the offer knowing she would turn him down. Not insisting was a decision that would haunt him for a long, long time.

  TWO

  A half hour after he left, shortly after 11:00, Michelle got up to leave, too. As she was slipping into her coat, Allison asked, “Leaving already?”

  “Yeah”, Michelle replied. “Early class tomorrow and I’m kind of tired.”

  “We should walk her home,” Allison said to Shareena.

  “Forget it,” said Michelle. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”, asked Shareena”

  “It’s only a few blocks. No big deal,” said Michelle.

  “We don’t mind,” Allison said.

  “No,” said Michelle with finality and a touch of annoyance. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye guys,” she added as she slipped her arm through the shoulder strap of her purse and headed for the door.

  While Michelle Dahlstrom was getting ready to leave Charlie’s, the most hunted man in Minnesota was in his car heading east on Summit Avenue. While she walked toward Charlie’s exit, he was passing directly in front of her father’s temporary home, the Governor’s mansion, just east of Summit and Lexington in St. Paul.

  Both hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white and wrists taut from the exertion. His breathing had quickened and was coming in short, deep gulps. His eyes, rarely blinking, stared straight ahead focused solely on the road in front of the car, almost in a trance. He was beginning to feel the lightness in his head and the slight pressure in his chest and groin as the semaphore he approached at Victoria for eastbound Summit went from green to yellow and caused his right foot to reflexively push down on the brake pedal which snapped him back to reality and focus on his driving.

  Since shortly after nine, he had been cruising around, mostly in Minneapolis, allowing the evening’s anticipation to build. In the past few months he had come to know this sensation well. The excitement, pressure and yes, he admitted to himself, sexual tension he had come to crave almost as much as an opiate to an addict. Maybe that was it, he thought. Maybe he was simply addicted to it, as sick as he knew he was. At times he convinced himself he had no more control over his urges than someone falling in love. He smiled at the thought as he slowed to a stop at the light. “Bullshit”, he said laughing out loud to himself, “you’re just one sick son-of -a-bitch”. ‘Hey,’ he thought, ‘Grand Avenue; pl
enty there. Why bother with downtown, head over to Grand?’

  He flipped on his right turn signal and cruised through the red light as he made his turn. He had started out in Minneapolis, his normal hunting ground, but had decided to try his luck in St. Paul. He figured people in Minneapolis would be too much on edge, too leery and alert. St. Paul would likely be more relaxed. All the worst of the shit, he thought, happens in Minneapolis. Besides, maybe it would throw the cops off. Give them something to worry about. Something else to think about.

  More relaxed now, his breathing having returned to normal and with just his left hand lightly holding the steering wheel, he headed south one block to Grand. The light at the intersection turned red for him while he was about halfway there and then, he saw her. She was walking with the light across Victoria directly in front of him, on the other side of the intersection. She was too far away for him to see what she looked like but the light from the corner and his headlights showed him enough. She looked to be, from a distance, fairly tall and slender with short, dark brown hair. He let his imagination fill in the rest and he imagined her as being very pretty. Maybe even striking, he thought not really knowing what it meant. Even though he had not yet seen her face, his imagination, which, even if he was wrong, never failed him in this situation. She would be exactly what his mind told him she was.

  He sat in the car at the red light and stared at the back of her tan, suede coat. Without realizing it, at first, both hands had returned to the wheel whitening his knuckles. His breathing had gone back to the short, deep gulps and the pressure, the delicious anticipation, had returned to his abdomen. His eyes were locked on her as she waited for the light to change. There was just enough traffic moving along Grand to force her to wait for the walk sign, giving him the chance to stare.