(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “What about the other two?” Marc asked. “We heard there were two others.”

  “No,” Carl said shaking his head as he exhaled cigarette smoke at the floor. “I know what you’re talkin’ about and it wasn’t me. Couple other guys got shived a month or two later but I had nothin’ to do with them. Everybody thought I did, but I didn’t.”

  “No more bullshit here, Carl,” Marc said after staring at his client for a moment. “I gotta tell ya’, this stuff doesn’t look good for you. Now the prosecution can tie you to the use of a knife in an assault. They already have the rape conviction and an assault against a girlfriend many years ago. If they get all this in before a jury ...”

  “What’re ya’ sayin’, Marc? Are you sayin’ they could convict me?” Carl asked, his eyes pleading to his lawyer. “Do you believe me? Do you still believe I’m innocent? I didn’t hurt those women, Marc. I swear,” he continued as those same eyes began to glisten with tears.

  “Relax, Carl. Yes, I still believe you. But, no more secrets. Okay?” Marc answered reaching across the table to pat his client reassuringly on the hand.

  “There’s nothin’ else, Marc. I swear, there’s nothin’ else,” Carl said softly.

  “What do you think?” Maddy asked as they stood outside the City Hall entryway in the afternoon heat, “Can they bring that in at trial?”

  “I don’t think so,” Marc answered after a long pause. “Unless they can find one of the victims and get him to testify. Something else for you to look into. See if you can find them or, better yet, hope like hell they’re gone. Do you have their names?”

  “Yeah. Both were released from prison about a year and a half or so ago. I’ll see what I can do about finding them.”

  After parting company in the parking lot behind his office building, Marc entered the office through the hallway door and stood for a moment as Carolyn looked him over. His tie was completely undone and draped around his neck. His shirt was open at the collar and stuck to his back from the afternoon heat and the broken air conditioner in his car. His shoulders were slumped and he held his crumpled suit coat with his left hand as the sweat on his forehead began to dry in the air conditioned building.

  “Rough day?” she asked sympathetically.

  “You could say that,” he answered wearily. “Any messages?”

  “Yeah, Steve Gondeck called. Says it’s important. Left his home number if you can’t get him at the office,” she said as he took the pink slip from her outstretched hand.

  Before calling Gondeck, he dialed the private line of Margaret Tennant, hoping to hear a sympathetic voice. “Hello, your worship,” he said when she answered.

  “Hello, Marc,” she answered without the usual warmth in her tone.

  “Can I see you tonight?” he asked.

  “Oh, geez, Marc. Um, tonight’s not really good,” she answered trying not to sound evasive.

  “Gotta date?” Marc asked, trying to make it sound like a joke but knowing the answer before it came.

  “Well, um, uh, yes, Marc, I do. Sorry. If you had called sooner. Or, at all,” the last added because she knew she sounded defensive and didn’t want to, did not feel that it was necessary.

  “No, it’s okay. You’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation. Listen, I got another call to make and I’m sure you’re busy. I gotta go,” he answered quickly.

  “Marc, ...”

  “I’ll talk to you soon, judge,” he said and hung up the phone.

  “Well,” he said aloud to himself as he again picked up the phone. “I might as well call Gondeck and top this day off with whatever bad news he has.”

  “Steve Gondeck,” he heard the voice say on the other end of the line.

  “Steve, Marc Kadella.”

  “Marc, good. I’m glad you called. I wanted to tell you before you heard it somewhere else. We got the DNA results back this afternoon on the semen sample, the one found on victim number four, Constance Ann Gavin.”

  “Yeah,” Marc said quietly, a knot forming in his stomach as he anticipated the news.

  “It’s a match, Marc. No doubt about it. It’s from your boy.”

  FIFTY ONE

  Gordon Prentiss backed out of his suburban driveway in an irritable mood. Another in a never ending series of squabbles with that alcoholic bitch of a wife, he thought, was the last thing he needed right now. Something was going to have to give there, and soon. Either the booze had to go or she did. Funny thing, he continued thinking as he headed the Lincoln Town car toward his meeting at the Governor’s mansion, after all these years and all of the problems, he still loved her. Not so much in a sexual way since that was so infrequent as to barely be worth the bother. He simply still loved her and there was no rational explanation for it.

  Prentiss entered the moderately heavy traffic on 494, moved to the inside lane and pushed lightly on the accelerator. The luxury car’s big V-8 purred as the speedometer quickly jumped to seventy, Prentiss not the least bit worried about another speeding ticket. A judge could make those go away easily enough. Settling into the plush leather seats he allowed his mind to speculate on his summons by the Governor’s top aide. It irritated him to be summoned by Daniel Waschke, whom Prentiss considered to be his inferior in every way imaginable. But then, for that matter, J. Gordon Prentiss III pretty much considered everyone to be his inferior. Especially the dolt who currently occupied the state’s top office.

  Arriving at the mansion intentionally five minutes late, pleased with himself at his precise timing, he exited the car and went to the back door, as instructed, and was greeted by his former classmate.

  “Good evening, judge,” Daniel said as he held the door open for Prentiss.

  “Hello, Daniel,” Prentiss replied as the two men shook hands.

  “Daniel,” Prentiss continued in a whisper, “this is extremely unusual. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this.”

  “I understand, Gordon,” Daniel said. “Don’t worry, the Governor is a man who remembers his friends.” With that, Daniel turned to lead his guest down the hallway toward the backstairs as Prentiss followed, a sly smile on his lips.

  Daniel took him through a door on the mansion’s second floor and the two men entered the Governor’s private study. As they walked in, Prentiss noticed three men already in the room. The Governor was seated on one of the two small sofas to Prentiss’ left, the one facing the door. Seated opposite the Governor was a man whose back was to Prentiss. That man rose as Prentiss and Daniel entered, turned to face Prentiss and the judge immediately recognized the Hennepin County Attorney, Craig Slocum, another obvious inferior whom Prentiss secretly detested. He shook hands with Slocum then moved to Dahlstrom who remained seated while they exchanged a brief greeting.

  “I apologize for my tardiness, Governor,” Prentiss said. “Traffic was a little heavier than what I expected.” He then glanced at the third man in the room who was standing impassively by a window, a look of indifference on his face. All of the men were dressed casually in light summer shirts and slacks except for him. The only one in the room that Prentiss did not know. This one, Prentiss noticed, was dressed in an obviously cheap, somewhat shabby business suit. The kind criminal defense lawyers wore into his courtroom, he thought.

  “Have a seat, judge,” Dahlstrom said indicating the space next to Slocum. “So,” he continued as Prentiss and Slocum sat down, “we can get started now. First off, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to come here this evening. If you’ll bear with me for a bit, I’m sure the point of this meeting will be clear shortly. This gentleman here,” Dahlstrom said pointing a hand at the stranger, “is Tom Mills. Mr. Mills is an investigator who has done some, ah, sensitive work for people in the past. Very discreet type investigating. He has a report to make regarding some work he’s done for me recently and I’d like you two to hear it and then I’ll explain why. Mr. Mills...”

  “Thank you, Governor,” Mills said interrupting the Governor while reaching into his suit coa
t and removing several sheets of paper from the inside pocket. “The subject’s name is Marc Alan Kadella. A lawyer in private practice with an office in Minneapolis. I’ll skip most of the biographical detail to get right to the most pertinent information. There’s really nothing out of the ordinary in his background, anyway. Certainly nothing useful.

  “The subject is having some pretty obvious money problems. In fact, all of the lawyers in the office seem to be struggling a bit right now. He rents space from a woman, one Constance Mickelson,” Mills continued as he occasionally referred to the pages he held, “who seems to be well off financially herself, the result of several successful divorces,” he added looking at the three men, ignoring Daniel who had taken a chair near the door.

  “The other two lawyers are a Christopher Grafton and Barry Reed.”

  “Do you know them?” Dahlstrom interjected, directing the question at Prentiss and Slocum.

  “I know the Mickelson woman, slightly,” Prentiss answered. “The other two don’t sound familiar.”

  “I don’t recall any of their names,” Slocum said.

  “As I said,” Mills continued, “Reed and Grafton are both struggling a bit. Business has taken a downturn recently, it seems. But, it’s Kadella himself who seems to be in the biggest trouble. Behind on his rent, child support and maxed out on his credit cards. He has very few clients right now and his main one is having difficulty coming up with the fees. Kadella is hanging on, but barely.”

  “His best year,” Dahlstrom said as he leaned forward, folded his hands together and placed his elbows on his knees, “was four years ago. Even then, he barely grossed eighty thousand. Typically, he makes around fifty to fifty five. It’s cost him his marriage and he’s currently living in a somewhat shabby one bedroom apartment not far from his office over in Uptown. Not exactly the glamorous lifestyle most people envision when they finish law school. Thank you, Mr. Mills,” Dahlstrom said turning back to the speaker. “I think that’s enough for now. Daniel, take Tom to the other room, please. I’ll want to see him when we’re finished here.”

  Daniel held the door open as Mills passed through it wearing the same impassive look on his face that he had maintained throughout his brief report.

  Dahlstrom waited for the other two men to leave and the door to close and then continued. “Now, gentleman,” he began as he leaned back on the sofa and draped his left arm casually over the back. “I’ve been doing some thinking about this case against this fella, Fornich. From what I understand, it looks pretty solid, would you agree Craig?”

  “Oh, yes sir. We’re going to convict him all right. In fact, Governor, this hasn’t been made public yet, but,” Slocum said as he shifted his eyes around the room, “the Grand Jury returned indictments against him today on all six victims in Hennepin County. The positive DNA test from one of the women seems to have done the trick. We may not get a conviction on all counts but he’s going away for a long time.”

  “Yes, I see,” Dahlstrom said showing no emotion at Slocum’s revelation. “It’s just, well, I guess, I mean, that’s all well and good but, that still leaves Michelle and, from what I understand, there’s virtually no evidence to tie this Fornich to her murder,” the last few words trailing off quietly as he again leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he clenched and unclenched his fists several times. “And,” he continued looking at his two guests, “I want that. I want her killer to admit it. Or, at least get convicted for it.”

  During this exchange Prentiss sat quietly, indifferent to Dahlstrom’s obvious anguish. Listening to the conversation and mentally calculating how any of this could help him to further ingratiate himself into the Governor’s good will. “I know exactly what we can do,” Prentiss said breaking the momentary silence. “A plea arrangement.”

  “I don’t think so,” Slocum said, emphatically shaking his head. “I can’t believe he’d plead guilty to first degree murder and rape.”

  “How about this?” Prentiss said. “You offer him two counts of second degree murder. All other charges get dropped if one of the charges includes the Governor’s daughter. We square it with Ramsey County so that I do the sentencing and handle the plea. We offer him an upward departure from the sentencing guidelines to say, thirty years...”

  “Why would he be fool enough to take a deal like that?” Slocum asked looking at Prentiss.

  “Because, Slocum,” Prentiss said patronizingly patting Slocum on the knee, “if he doesn’t and he’s convicted of more than one count of anything, I’ll sentence him to consecutive terms and he won’t ever get out of prison. This way, he’ll have a chance to get out and still have a life. And, I guarantee he will be convicted. I’ll see to that. But, Governor,” he continued looking directly at Dahlstrom, “what does any of this have to do with the information you gathered about his lawyer?”

  “Wait a minute,” Slocum interrupted. “It’s my office that would have to handle the plea agreement. I’m not sure I want to go along with this. Why should I?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll sit back and let the jury decide the case. And, at this point, I haven’t decided if all of your evidence is admissible,” Prentiss said.

  “Also, Craig, let’s just say, politically, it is in your best interest,” Dahlstrom interjected. “Besides, we’re just kickin’ the idea around. As I recall, you’re up for reelection next year and ...”

  “Okay, okay,” Slocum said throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’m not an idiot. I get the picture. What about his lawyer?”

  “That’s why I had Mr. Mills conduct a very discreet investigation. Possibly find a vulnerability there. Seems he has money problems and....” Dahlstrom said.

  “A bribe? You think we can offer him a bribe? If that ever got out...” Slocum said incredulously.

  “Certainly not,” Dahlstrom responded. “Relax Craig. We’re not idiots either. Just leave Mr. Kadella’s incentive to me. I’ll think of a way to make this attractive to him.”

  “And, if he doesn’t persuade his client to take the deal,” Prentiss added, “I’m sure it will somehow leak to the press. That won’t help at jury selection.”

  “I’m skeptical,” Slocum said. “I don’t see this happening.”

  “You just make the offer. If the defendant doesn’t take it, well then, he takes his chances at trial,” Prentiss said.

  “Have you set a trial date?” Dahlstrom asked.

  “We have a pretrial conference scheduled for next Tuesday. In my courtroom,” Prentiss answered.

  “What are you looking at for a trial date?” Dahlstrom asked.

  “Well, the defendant refuses to waive his right to a speedy trial, so, it’ll have to be soon,” Prentiss said.

  “Are you involved in the trial personally, Craig?” Dahlstrom asked Slocum.

  “Oh, yes. I’m going to try this one myself,” Slocum said sitting up straight and throwing his shoulders back. “Of course, one of my assistants will second chair but I’ll be lead counsel.”

  “Are you ready for trial? How soon can you be ready?” Dahlstrom asked.

  “Well, I, ah, I’d have to check with Steve Gondeck but, yes, I’m sure we can go soon,” Slocum said hesitantly.

  “Good,” said Dahlstrom. “Judge, anything at all on a trial date.”

  “The defense has mentioned mid-August. But, nothing’s been decided,” Prentiss answered.

  “Move it up. Two weeks from now. First of August. Tell Kadella whatever you want but make him face an earlier date than what he expected. Cut his preparation time in half. Let’s see if we can’t bring a little pressure on him.”

  “Good idea, Governor,” Prentiss agreed as Slocum silently shifted in his seat.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Dahlstrom said as he stood up from the sofa. “That should about do it for now. I’ll have Daniel show you out. If anything develops, let me know.” The last statement obviously not a request.

  FIFTY-TWO

  The following Tuesday morning Marc was at his desk working
on one of the few cases, other than the State vs. Fornich, that he still had left. A pretty straightforward divorce case that was on the verge of settling and Marc wanted to go over the details of the agreement before presenting it to his client. Grateful for at least a brief respite from the all consuming State vs. Fornich, he was carefully reading every word and double-checking every detail when the intercom buzzer broke his concentration.

  “Yeah?” he softly inquired into the phone.

  “Marc,” he heard Sandra say, “there’s a lawyer from Washington on the phone. An Andrea Elliott. She’s on line two.”

  “Okay,” Marc said. “I’ll take it.” He punched the button next to the blinking red light on his phone console and said, “Marc Kadella.”

  “Mr. Kadella,” he heard the voice reply “this is Andrea Elliott. I’m an attorney in the Tax Division at the Justice Department and I’ve been assigned to handle the appeal of Karen Kadella’s tax case.”

  “Okay,” Marc replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, Mr. Kadella ...”

  “Please,” he interrupted, “call me Marc.”

  “Okay, Marc. Like I said, I’ve been assigned to handle the appeal and I was hoping you could give me some background on it. I don’t know anything about it and I just have a few questions.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been assigned a case on appeal and you have been told nothing about it and now you’re calling me to get that information. I’m not surprised,” Marc said pleasantly. “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, briefly, just a little bit about what the case is about,” Elliott said.

  While opening his desk drawer and removing one of the case files to make notes and a record of the conversation, Marc began telling her the background of the case. He told her that his wife had been assessed unpaid payroll taxes for a restaurant she had worked for several years ago. That the IRS had hounded her and basically made their lives a living hell trying to collect the taxes. That they were told by the IRS and a number of self-proclaimed tax lawyers that because she signed checks for the business she was responsible for the taxes. Finally, after years of harassment, Marc had become fed up and sued the Federal Government. After several months of wasting the taxpayers money defending the case the Government admitted that check signing is not enough for tax liability and had basically surrendered.