(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “You mean he probably would balk at kissing your ass twice a day.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Haesly said defensively.

  “Yes it is,” Dahlstrom said firmly. “That firm of yours owes the Party big time and besides, if you don’t like him, dump him after ninety days. By then it’s too late and who cares? I’d be forever grateful, Darryl. Remember that. Goodbye, Darryl. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Haesly said as the phone went dead.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  When Marc arrived back at his office he found Maddy Rivers impatiently flipping through an old PEOPLE magazine. She was dressed in jeans and a loose cotton blouse, her hair pinned up against the late July heat.

  He stood in the reception area and looked her over as she dropped the magazine onto the coffee table and stood up. She’d stop traffic if she was dressed in a tent, he thought. She just can’t hide it, even when she tries, which she doesn’t very much. He turned to Sandy, who sat smirking at him, obviously reading his mind and lecherous thoughts. Sandy handed him his mail and one pink message slip which he saw was from his daughter. A pang of guilt swept over him as he read her name and moved toward his office door with Maddy on his heels.

  “Thanks for coming,” Marc said as he dropped the mail on his desk and placed the message slip next to his phone.

  “I finally caught up with that Olson guy this morning,” she said.

  “What Olson guy?” Marc asked.

  “The deputy. You remember. The one that stood guard while the two guys worked over Carl in the jail.”

  “Oh yeah, him,” Marc said. “Did you serve the subpoena on him?”

  “Sure, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. It’s his word against Carl’s and he says Carl’s lying. Says he wasn’t there. Didn’t see anything, doesn’t know anything,” she added.

  “Where are you with Waschke?”

  “I’m gonna do him, for sure, the next couple days,” she said.

  “I thought you already had,” he said, obviously irritated.

  “Hey, I have other clients. I can hardly live on what you’ve been paying me,” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right,” Marc said holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “Still friends?”

  “I suppose,” she said, flashing that beautiful smile. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

  “We have a trial date. August 8th,” he said. “So, we’ve gotta get going.”

  “August eighth? I thought we’d have another week, at least.”

  “Prentiss moved it up. Wants to get going. I’ll be ready. The first four or five weeks will be used up by jury selection and the prosecution’s case, anyway. We won’t have anything until at least September.”

  “I asked you here ‘cause something’s come up,” Marc continued. “There’s been a plea offer made and I wanted to kick it around with someone before I put it to Carl.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking about taking it?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I am. Look, hear me out before you jump to any conclusions. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m hoping you can be objective and play devil’s advocate for me.”

  “Okay,” she said flattered by the rare compliment about her intelligence rather than her physical assets.

  He told her what the prosecution had offered and the judge agreeing to the sentence. They spent the next two hours going over the case and the evidence against Carl. The witnesses, the scientific reports and the likely testimony. They looked at all of it from as many sides, angles and perspectives as they could possibly think of. Discussed the various ideas they each had for putting it all in the best light possible to a jury. Trying to find ways to cast reasonable doubt on the totality of the prosecution’s case.

  “I think it’ll come down to a couple of things,” Marc finally said. “The eyewitness. That Hobbs character can be shaken at trial. It’s not that tough. But the knife. That’s another matter. That cop that was in the bedroom when the knife was found by Waschke, what’s his name?”

  “Mike Carlson,” she said.

  “He’s sure he hadn’t looked in the closet before Waschke?”

  “Absolutely,” she sighed.

  “So, it may very well come down to the jury believing Waschke. A decorated, veteran police officer with impeccable credentials. A spotless record.”

  “You put it that way and Carl’s hosed.”

  “What other way would you like me to put it?”

  She crossed her legs, placed an elbow on her knee and, holding her chin in the palm of that hand, said, “So, we gotta find a way to convince the jury that Waschke planted the knife. Simple.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said sarcastically. “And, of course, figure out how he got the knife in the first place.”

  “What about the locker key?” she asked ignoring Marc’s comment. “Have you asked Carl about it?”

  “Sure. Says he found it lying on the street. Has no idea who it belongs to.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I think I’m going to gently try to convince Carl to take the deal.”

  “He won’t.”

  “I know he won’t want to, but the downside is horrendous. If he’s convicted of one, just one count of first degree murder it’s a mandatory life sentence and a minimum thirty years. And, with a case like this I can see this judge, hell any judge, giving him consecutive sentences for more than one conviction and he never gets out. He dies in prison.”

  “When’re you gonna talk to him?”

  “No time like the present,” Marc said looking at his watch. “Wanna ride along?”

  “Sure,” she said quietly. “But, I won’t help you. I still think you have a case to put on.”

  “Yeah, I know I have a case to put on. But, winning it, that’s another matter. Lemme put it this way; Do I believe there’s enough evidence to convict? That’s the question.”

  “Do you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  They waited silently in the jailhouse interview room while the deputies were retrieving Carl. Neither spoke for several minutes, Marc occasionally looking at his watch while Maddy stared straight ahead from her chair alongside the table.

  “Have you changed your mind yet?” she broke the silence by asking.

  “I don’t know. A lot of ambivalence,” he answered.

  “Don’t even tell him.”

  “I have an ethical obligation to at least put it to him. It’s his decision to make. Not mine,” Marc said as he heard the key turning in the door.

  Carl entered the room followed by the looming presence of Big Train Johnson who nodded a brief greeting at Marc and Maddy and said, “Let me know when you’re done, counselor.”

  “Sure thing, deputy,” Marc replied as Big Train turned and left the room. “Hey Carl, how you doin’?”

  “Okay, Marc. Miss Rivers,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Sit down, Carl. I want to go over your case with you. The evidence and everything.”

  “Shit, Marc,” Carl said as he slumped into the chair opposite his lawyer. “We been over this shit ‘til I’m sick of it.”

  “We can’t go over it too many times. You never know when we might think of something new. Besides, you got something better to do today?”

  “Good point,” Carl said smiling. “Say, uh, Miss Rivers, you got a smoke?”

  “Sure Carl,” Maddy answered reaching for her purse. “Please, call me Maddy. Miss Rivers makes me feel like an old maid.”

  “This is Hennepin County, Carl.” Marc said. “There’s no smoking in Hennepin County. You wanna get arrested for smoking?”

  “Yeah, no shit,” Carl laughed as he lit the cigarette. “Gettin’ busted for murder is one thing in this state, but ya’ better be careful not to let ‘em catch ya’ smokin’ or the cigarette Nazis will nail yer ass.”

  “Really,” Maddy said smiling.

  “Okay. Let’s get dow
n to business,” Marc said as he slid his chair up to the table and placed a legal pad in front of himself with a neatly penned list on the first sheet. “The evidence, so far at least, ...”

  “You mean there might be more?” Carl asked.

  “Who knows?” Marc shrugged. “They’re supposed to tell us everything but you never know what they’ll come up with at trial and claim it came up at the last minute.”

  “First off,” Marc began, “the victims. All sexually assaulted. At least that’s what the medical examiner will testify. Except for the one semen sample there’s no physical evidence found on or around any of them linking them to you or anybody else. No hair, fibers, blood samples, nothing. The M.E. is gonna testify that they were vaginally penetrated with an object of some kind.”

  “How does he know that?” Carl asked.

  “Because he’s a doctor. A pathologist. An examination of the women’s pubic area, vaginal walls would show this. Look, Carl, trust me on this. He can tell and he’ll explain it at trial. What he can’t tell is who did it or with what.

  “All the victims,” Marc continued, “killed with a single stab wound by a long serrated knife, like the one the police have, under the chin upward into the brain. The rarity of that fact is enough to link all six of the Hennepin County victims together.”

  “Then there’s the physical evidence. The semen sample found on the Gavin woman. Our own DNA analysis matches it to you and ...”

  “I told you about that,” Carl said crushing out the cigarette under his shoe and angrily kicking it across the room.

  “Relax Carl. I’m just going over it,” Marc said, rubbing his palm on his forehead before continuing. “Look, Carl. Let’s get this straight. This is all gonna come out at trial and you’re gonna have to sit there and quietly take it. Get angry, show your frustration and annoyance in front of that jury and we may as well pack it in now. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he answered softly.

  “Do you really?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Every time we talk about this you get all pissed off. Let me tell you something. It’s not only going to come out, but it’s gonna be a helluva lot worse. The prosecutors are gonna make you look like some woman-hating, mad dog. And, I gotta tell ya’, I’m very concerned about how you’ll react. I don’t see you sitting there and calmly taking it.”

  Maddy shifted slightly in her chair moving her eyes back and forth between the two men. Marc calmly looking at his client while Carl stared at the floor.

  “Where am I?” Marc asked looking at his list. “Oh yeah, the physical evidence. The blood samples from the knife. Two of them. Donna Sharon Anderson found by Lake Calhoun by an old guy walking his dog. Says he saw the guy who did it run off. Can’t positively identify him but says he matches your size. Height, weight and build.

  “And, the last one. Alice Faye Darwin. Murdered and assaulted in Powderhorn Park. One witness, an elderly woman, will testify she saw the victim being forced into the park by a man matching your description. But, too far away to identify him. She told the cops that the clothes found in the locker could be the ones the guy was wearing.”

  “Can’t we keep any of this out?” Maddy asked.

  “Nope. Prentiss has already ruled. It’s coming in. He’ll give the jury the usual bullshit limiting instructions about not making too much of it. Who knows if that ever does any good?

  “The locker key found in your possession when arrested. Locker Number 119. The bad news is, that links you to the clothes found in it,” Marc continued. “The good news is, they found no physical evidence on anything in that locker to tie the clothes to any of the victims. Except, the clothes, and the bag, were washed, probably more than once, in a very strong detergent.”

  “I found the damn key,” Carl said. “I wish to God I’d left it layin’ there. And so what if the stuff was washed?”

  “It looks like whoever did it was trying to hide something,” Madeline answered.

  “Carl,” Marc said softly as he folded his hands together and placed them on the legal pad. “There’s something I haven’t had a chance to tell you, yet. I just found out myself a couple days ago. They found three quarters in that locker, in the change box, with your fingerprints on them.”

  “What!?” Carl exploded. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit, man. That can’t be.”

  “It’s true, Carl,” Marc said without reacting to Carl’s outburst. “At least, I know the prints are a match. I had them checked myself. How they got there, I don’t know but a jury can believe whatever it wants.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, shit man. I dunno what the fuck to say,” Carl said as he raised his hands and looked around the room. “I mean, shit. This is bullshit. I don’t know what to say. Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said as he snapped his fingers several times. “You said, what was it? There’s no physical evidence on the clothes. Nothin’ tying the clothes to the victims. Right?”

  “That’s right, Carl. By itself, the clothes in the locker mean nothing. But, I don’t know, you tell me, what’s a jury gonna think?”

  “I dunno,” Carl said quietly. “I, ah, don’t know what to tell ya’. I don’t know how they coulda’ got them coins with my prints. Probably planted ‘em. Like the knife. I know,” he said snapping his fingers again, “I had some change on me when they arrested me and ...”

  “I already checked that,” Marc said nodding his head. “You didn’t have three quarters when you were booked. And, all the change in your pocket at that time is accounted for.”

  Maddy quietly stood up and went to a corner of the room behind Marc, lit a cigarette and silently smoked it while watching the two men. Observing the scene with the realization that Marc was gently leading Carl to accepting the plea bargain. She had been initially shocked that Marc would, even for a moment, entertain such a notion. But now, listening to the mounting tide of evidence against Carl, she was beginning to come around to the realization that maybe Marc was right. Maybe Carl’s best chance was to take the deal.

  A sadness came over her with the thought that a truly innocent man, and she still believed that Carl was innocent, could go to prison. Even admit to a crime he didn’t do just because the prospect of losing at trial was so much worse. But here, in front of her eyes sat two men, two men whom she had grown fond of and cared about, were in the process of doing just that. And, she thought, an hour ago she would have been appalled at the prospect and argue against it with every fiber of her being. Now, not only was she not going to utter a peep in protest, but found herself agreeing with it.

  Maddy found herself watching Carl, the obvious agony, stress and turmoil he was going through. She found herself reflecting for a brief moment on her first meeting with him. She remembered shaking his hand and during the entire interview had consciously held her right hand away from herself. The thought of having physical contact with him, actually touching a convicted rapist in a friendly manner, had literally made her skin crawl. The instant the door opened afterward she had gone straight to the women’s restroom, holding her right hand in the air, where she had scrubbed as if preparing for heart surgery. She smiled to herself at the memory, wondering how this same man could have made her feel so dirty.

  Carl sat silently, his face buried in his hands as Marc stood, walked around the table and gently placed a hand on his client’s shoulder. “Carl,” he quietly said, “let’s forget that for now. I don’t think we can come up with an answer about how those quarters got in that locker box. By itself, it’s not that important.”

  Marc began to slowly pace around the small room while Carl straightened in his chair and motioned to Maddy, asking if it was okay to take another cigarette from the pack on the table.

  “They also have the so-called confession that you made at the media when you were being arrested. Again, by itself, it’s meaningless. An obviously angry, frightened man screaming at the horde like that shouldn’t even be admitted into evidence. But, I can’t say Prentiss is wrong
in letting it in. I’m not even sure it’ll hurt us. It won’t help us, though. And they’re gonna bring in everyone they can from that hallway to testify. He’s even gonna let ‘em show a tape of it.”

  “We need a new judge,” Carl said.

  “Too late. Besides, we wouldn’t do any better at this point. He’s no different than most of ‘em. Most of ‘em would allow this stuff in. There isn’t enough reason to keep it out. The cops testified they read you your rights. Told you to keep quiet. They don’t have to gag you.

  “Then, there’s your past convictions,” Marc continued, still slowly pacing. “A rape conviction and an old assault on a girlfriend when you were a kid. I think Prentiss is wrong to allow the assault in. Is he wrong enough to overturn a conviction on appeal? Probably not given everything else.

  “There’s the eyewitness. This Hobbs guy. He positively identifies you a block from the scene of the last murder running down the street.”

  “He’s lyin’,” Carl said as he exhaled a long stream of smoke.

  “Obviously,” Marc said. “But, the question is: Why? Why is he lying? And who put him up to it?”

  “That big cop. What’s his name? Waschke”.

  “Yeah,” Marc said nodding in agreement. “That would be my guess too. But, the problem we’re having is tying the two of them together. So far, no luck.”

  “Which brings us to the last piece of bad news,” Marc said as he sat down and again folded his hands together on the legal pad. “The knife itself. They have blood samples from two of the victims taken from a knife found hidden in your apartment. Found by a veteran police lieutenant with an impeccable record.”

  “He’s the asshole that’s doin’ this to me,” Carl said stabbing the tabletop with his right index finger.

  “Yeah, yeah, Carl,” Marc said softly as he reached over the table and gently covered Carl’s hand with his own to calm him. “That would seem to be the case. Except,” he continued as he let go of Carl’s hand and leaned back, “I keep asking myself why? Why is he framing you? To get a conviction and close a politically hot case? Maybe. But how can he be sure arresting you will stop the killings? I mean, think about it. What does he look like if there’s another murder while you’re in jail? And how can he be sure it won’t happen again? Does he know who the killer is and is protecting someone? Does he know the killer’s gone? I don’t know and unless we can come up with something solid there, this isn’t Los Angeles. Simply making those claims to a jury here, probably won’t get us far. I know this cop and he’ll make a damn good witness for them. He won’t be easy to rattle.”