(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Daniel had finally talked him into a visit to his mother at her house in the northern St. Paul suburb where she lived. He didn’t really care to see her but he did want to talk to Daniel and it was becoming more and more obvious, or so it seemed to Jake, that Daniel was avoiding him. Jake believed he knew the reason why, so, he had made up his mind to let the matter lie until after the trial. As long as Daniel was in therapy and taking his medication, everything seemed to be under control. At least, there had been no more killings.

  Jake arrived at his mother’s shortly after 7:00 p.m. and saw that Daniel was already there. In fact, unknown to Jake, had been there for over an hour. As he pulledinto the short driveway and parked next to Daniel’s car, he couldn’t help wonder at how easily Daniel could spend time with her. Must have something to do with his therapy, he thought. Confront your demons.

  He spent the next hour with them, sitting by himself on the loveseat in her small living room, making small talk about their lives and catching up on family gossip about extended family members. Aunts, uncles and cousins Jake barely knew and cared even less about. Daniel seemed quite interested but Jake had all he could do to not show his boredom. At least, he thought, he no longer felt a desire to talk about the one subject they never discussed. The family skeleton that was shoved deep into the closet. The time for his need to clear the air and come to grips with his and their past was years behind him. The only reason he kept even a minimal tie to his mother was to make Daniel happy. Jake believed it was somehow important and therapeutic for Daniel to maintain the charade of the happy family they had never been.

  Jake interjected an occasional comment when he could and laughed at appropriate moments when his mother tossed out what she believed was an amusing comment. Mostly though, he sat in pained silence watching Louise down her scotch and water sedatives while she wheeled around in her motorized wheelchair, a result of the car accident that had left her partially paralyzed.

  He found himself reminiscing about her when he was a child. A very attractive young woman back then, escaping the poverty and abuse of a lazy, drunken father by becoming pregnant and then marrying Jake’s father. The only memories he had of the man were those provided by Louise. According to her he was a good provider and decent husband and father, ten years older than her when she delivered Jake shortly after her eighteenth birthday. He died in an accident working for the railroad when Jake was only two and Louise barely twenty.

  Louise then spent the next thirty years going from one bad marriage to the next, one lousy relationship after another. Finally, husband number six had put her in the wheelchair and himself in a grave when another drunk driver swerved into their lane and hit them head on. The lawsuit held the other driver to be the cause but, because of her husband’s blood alcohol content, Jake always had his doubts.

  After an hour of forcing himself not to look at his watch, Jake muttered an excuse about meeting someone on police business, apologized and made for the door. Before leaving, he had done something he had not done for almost twenty years. He bent down, kissed his mother on the cheek and put an arm around her neck to give her a brief hug. Later, driving down the freeway, he could only wonder at the act with mild surprise. Maybe, he thought, I did it because between the accident and the booze, she probably doesn’t have long to live. Odd reaction, though. Been a long time since he cared about her or she about him.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Jake left the freeway at the 31 Street exit, turned left to go under the overpass and continued north on the next one way street. Reaching Franklin he turned east and began looking for the man he wanted to find. Driving slowly, ignoring the horns of impatient drivers who got behind him on the well lit, wide avenue, he cruised along patiently surveying the street scene. The rain had stopped and the city’s flotsam began to surface. Block after block went by with no sighting of the man he sought and after almost three miles he ran out of the section of Franklin where he expected to find him.

  He pulled into a Dairy Queen and, reminded by the pressure of the belt around his waist, fought off the urge for a hot fudge sundae. Instead he kept going using the parking lot to turn the sleek car around and head back up Franklin to continue his search.

  Three blocks past Chicago he stopped for a red light and pulled up next to a Hennepin County Medical Center ambulance parked along the curb, pointed in the wrong direction, its emergency lights flashing. While waiting for the light, he looked over at the sidewalk and saw the two EMS personnel attempting to help up a man leaning against a plexiglass bus stop shelter. There was obviously no sense of urgency about the scene so Jake saw no reason to lend a hand. As he continued to watch it became clear that the man, in his mid-twenties but looking to be older than Jake, was too drunk to move.

  The light turned green and, as he turned his head to continue to drive, he caught a glimpse of movement of someone moving out of the shadows of the building on the corner. He quickly looked back and immediately recognized the movement as the man he sought. Jake jerked the steering wheel to the right, rounded the corner and pulled the sports car up to the curb directly in front of the shabbily dressed man.

  Jake reached across the passenger seat, opened the door and yelled out, “Hey, dickhead, get in here.”

  The tall, skinny man, dressed in tattered jeans, cheap sneakers and a sleeveless dirty sweatshirt, bent down to peer into the car, smiled and got into the passenger seat.

  “Hey Jake,” Eddie Davis said, “how ya’ doin’? Haven’t seen ya’ for a while.”

  “I’m doin’ okay, Eddie. How you doin’? I was just cruisin’ around when I saw ya’ there on the corner. How goes things on the street?”

  “To tell ya’ the truth, Jake,” Eddie said wearily, “I’m gettin’ tired of it. Tired of livin’ like this ya’ know? Dirty all the time. Dressed like a bum and for what? To bust some junkie ‘cause he’s too stupid to leave crack, heroin or whatever alone. It’s bullshit, my man and a waste of time.”

  “So, put in for a transfer. You’ve earned it.”

  “Oh, I dunno,” Davis said. “I’m just a little fed up. This kid, maybe sixteen, seventeen, I busted about a month ago. Got him into a rehab program. Looked like he was gonna maybe straighten out, ...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I found him yesterday in the basement of some rat trap off Lake and Nicollet. Dead. OD’d.”

  “Don’t get too close to these people, Eddie. They’re all self-destructive as hell.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not always so easy” Eddie replied as he reached over and pulled the cigarette pack from Jake’s pocket. He lit one for himself and then one for Jake and said, “How’s the big serial killer case goin’? You gonna convict this guy?”

  “Who knows?” Jake answered as he pulled the car into the lot of a boarded up gas station and parked. “The lawyers think so. At least believe there’s enough evidence. But, ya’ never know.”

  “You know what ya’ need, don’t ya? A confession.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Jake answered. “No wonder you’re a detective.”

  “Or, if you can’t get that,” he continued, ignoring Jake’s sarcasm, “a jailhouse snitch. Somebody your boy confesses to. You know, that old statement against his own interest bullshit.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said quietly. “That would be good. That would probably be the final nail in this guy’s coffin. But, it’s wishful thinking. Who’s he gonna confess to?”

  “Well, lemme think about that,” Eddie said as he tossed the cigarette through the open window. “In fact, I know just the guy. Small time wholesaler I got a line on. If he gets busted again, with his sheet, he’ll get some serious time. Yeah, this loser should do just fine.”

  “I don’t wanna know the details and this conversation never took place.”

  “Absolutely, Lieutenant.”

  Marc stepped off the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor of the Walling Tower Building in downtown Minneapolis and found himself looking directly at the Maitre’ D of the
Executive Inn. The tuxedo clad man looked at Marc, smiled indulgently and said, “May I help you, sir?”

  “Yes,” Marc answered, “I’m here to meet someone for lunch. A David Fitzpatrick.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Right this way sir. He left word you would be coming,” the man said as he led Marc into the plush dining room. As they approached the table where Marc’s former classmate was seated with another man, Fitzpatrick rose from his seat to greet Marc with a cheerful smile and a warm handshake.

  “Hey, Marc,” Fitzpatrick said, “Good to see you. Thanks for coming. Marc, this is Darryl Haesly. Darryl, Marc Kadella.”

  “Well, Marc,” Haesly said as they shook hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard some very good things about you.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” Marc replied while wondering from whom had he heard these wonderful things.

  The three of them all took seats at the table and for the next two minutes Marc and Fitzpatrick made small talk about friends, family and, in general, a little catching up on their lives. All of which made Marc feel a little uneasy since he and Fitzpatrick had not been particularly close.

  His classmate had made partner in the large corporate firm he had joined right out of law school and was obviously doing much better financially than Marc dared to dream about. Both the men wore expensive, tailored suits and the familiarity with the waiter led Marc to believe that an expensive lunch was a common occurrence. A treat Marc could rarely afford.

  After the waiter had taken their order, Marc looked at Haesly and said, “So, Darryl, Dave said you wanted to talk to me about business. I’m a little uncertain about what business you and I could possibly have.”

  “Let me get right to the point, Marc,” the small, older man said with a smile. “We have a desperate need for an experienced litigator.”

  “Darryl’s chairman of the firm’s hiring committee, Marc,” Fitzpatrick added.

  “Some things are coming together all at once that make adding an experienced lawyer to our litigation department not just a necessity but, absolutely imperative. And, we don’t have time to go through the usual hiring procedures. So, it’s basically been put in my hands to bring someone on board. “

  “I’m listening,” Marc said after a long pause had passed between them.

  “David tells me you would fit our needs quite nicely. And, to be honest, I’ve done some discreet checking with some judges and lawyers I know who know you and you were highly recommended.”

  “I see,” Marc replied, warming to the wine and flattery. “Are you offering me a job?”

  “Well, yes, I am prepared to make you an offer today. “

  “Which is?”

  “I can offer you a position as a senior associate at a starting salary of $135,000 annually. Plus, of course, all of the usual benefits of health, disability and life insurance plus what we believe is a very generous 401(k) program. There is, one condition.”

  “Which is…” Marc asked.

  “Well, it’s like this, we need someone who can step right in and handle his own cases. As I said, the litigation department is quite overloaded right now. So, you’d be on a three month probationary period. To demonstrate your ability to manage your own cases.”

  “Oh, I see,” Marc said, clearly relieved. Well, I’ve been handling my own cases for years. I really don’t see that as a big problem,” he added as he mentally calculated what the security of a $135,000.00 salary would be like and no overhead to pay for. “How soon do you need to know? What are you looking at as a time frame for hiring someone?”

  “Good question,” Haesly said. “Right now, you’re the only candidate we’re looking at. As I said, we’ve heard a lot of good things and I believe you’d fit right in. But, we are in a bit of a hurry. We want to hire someone no later than the end of next week. If you’re not it, we need to know, very soon. Within a day or two.”

  After the waiter served their meal and departed, Marc asked, “What about my existing cases? I have a significant criminal trial scheduled to begin soon.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Haesly said wiping the corners of his mouth with the linen napkin. “David did mention that you represented that man, what’s-his-name, on that serial murder thing.”

  “Carl Fornich,” Marc said, an uneasy feeling coming over him.

  “Yes, I see,” Haesly said quietly. “That does create a problem. We don’t do criminal defense work and, well frankly, we don’t want to. Nor do we want any of our lawyers doing it at all.”

  “It is, ah, frowned upon,” Fitzpatrick added.

  “When is your trial scheduled?” Haesly asked.

  “A week from next Monday,” Marc answered.

  “That’s just ten days from now. How long is it scheduled to last?” Fitzpatrick asked.

  “Six to eight weeks,” Marc answered quietly as he stared blankly past the two men, watching his opportunity for future security slip through his fingers. “But, there might be a plea. I don’t know yet. I don’t suppose you could let me do this one trial first?”

  “Well, no. I’m afraid not. You see, Marc. Not that we have anything against criminal work, of course. It’s just, well, we have some very sensitive corporate and insurance clients with an image to think of and ...”

  “What about the plea possibility?” Fitzpatrick asked.

  “Well,” Marc began to slowly explain. “It’s a possibility. This is, of course, just between us,” Marc added. “But, there’s been an offer made. Fairly reasonable. I’m not sure if my client will go for it or not.”

  “What do you think?” Haesly asked quickly adding, “If you don’t mind telling us.”

  “I’m beginning to think he should take it. The risks at trial are too great.”

  “I’m sure you’ll convince your client to do the right thing,” Fitzpatrick said giving Haesly a sly look as he placed a forkful of salmon steak in his mouth.

  “Hello, your Honor,” Marc heard Haesly say to someone behind him. He turned his head around just in time to see Margaret Tennant and another woman reach his table. All three men stood to face her with Marc feeling a brief flash of emptiness as she held out her hand to him.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” she said smiling at Haesly and Fitzpatrick. “Hello, Marc. How’ve you been?”

  Marc took her hand and felt a small folded piece of paper pressed against his palm as they shook. “I’m fine, judge. And yourself?” he asked as their hands released. Without the others seeing him, he palmed the paper and slipped into his pants’ pocket while the others watched Margaret.

  “I’m good,” she said, still smiling. “Well, I just wanted to say hello. I’ll let you get back to your lunch. Nice seeing you again. Gentlemen,” she added to the other two, both of whom were oblivious to what had just occurred. Tennant turned and walked off with her luncheon companion as Marc continued to stare at her back. Haesly and Fitzpatrick sat down and, after Tennant had passed through the entryway, Marc excused himself and headed to the men’s room. He went into one of the stalls, locked the door and removed the paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and read the note.

  Marc, I feel like I’m back in junior high again writing this note to you but I did not want to say anything in front of the others. How’ve you been? I miss you and hope you miss me. Give me a call if you can find some time.

  Margaret

  P.S. Is that damn case going to end soon?

  He stood in the stall of the empty restroom and read the note over three more times. Margaret had been in his thoughts a lot lately. Especially late at night when he crawled into his empty bed trying to clear his mind so sleep would come. He would see her face and hear her laugh and the loneliness the images brought on would only make sleep more difficult to achieve. He carefully folded the precious paper and lightly touched it to his lips before placing it into his shirt pocket. He exited the men’s room and returned to the table where Haesly and Fitzpatrick were finishing their meals.

  The three of
them spent the next half-hour discussing the firm of Olson, Bennett, Rogers, Thompson, Costello and Haesly. Marc was given a brief history of the firm founded by Phillip Olson more than half a century ago, who died within the last year without ever retiring at the ripe old age of eighty-seven. They talked about the firm’s core clients, well known corporations and insurance companies. Billable hours and bonuses which, Marc was told, could easily double his income if he was willing to put in the hours. And, of course, possible partnership in the sixty-eight lawyer firm in a few years. “Well, Marc,” Haesly said as the three of them stood waiting for the elevator. “What do you think?”

  “It sounds very good,” Marc answered. “I have to let it sink in. I’ll let you know by Monday. How’s that?”

  “Good,” Haesly said as he pulled a small, shiny brass flat container from his inside coat pocket. He flipped open the lid, removed a business card from it and wrote some numbers on the back. “Let me know as soon as you can, one way or the other. I wrote my home and cell numbers on the back. Feel free to call either one to let me know.”

  The instant Darryl Haesly closed the door of his office after returning from lunch, he hurried to his phone and quickly dialed. It was answered before the first ring finished and Haesly said, “It’s Darryl Haesly, Governor. I just got back from meeting Kadella.”

  “How’d it go? Did he bite?”

  “I think so, sir,” Haesly answered. “We’ll see if it does any good. I definitely got the impression he’d like to take the offer.”

  “We’ll have to see if he can convince his client now,” Dahlstrom said.

  “Yes. We’ll see. Sir,” Haesly said, “I’m not sure he’s an Olson, Bennett lawyer. You know the type. He’s just a little too independent. Probably not much of a team player and a little, well, you understand, not really our kind of lawyer.”