(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  On redirect exam, Slocum limited himself to one question. “Mr. Hill,” he asked, “why should this jury believe you?”

  Hill sat back and waited for a long moment, presenting the appearance of someone thinking the question over before answering even though Marc knew it had been thoroughly prepared by Slocum and Hill the night before.

  “Because I’ve been honest,” Hill answered. “I’ve been completely above board here today. I’ve told them everything. No promises have been made to me and I’ve honestly told them my motive for coming here today. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not tellin’ the truth. I am.”

  Before the lunch recess, Prentiss decided to have Slocum put Sheriff’s Deputy Thomas Olson on the stand. He brought out Olson’s service record for the jury. Eight years as Deputy Sheriff. He brought in his fitness reports and supervisory evaluations all of which were in the range of good to excellent. No complaints about him and no previous problems with inmates. He had been on duty the night Carl was assaulted but could not absolutely account for his specific whereabouts at the time especially since the exact time had never been established. Only an approximate time. He emphatically testified that he was not there when it happened. He did not witness it and certainly did not stand guard during the assault.

  Marc, realizing he could get absolutely nothing favorable from the witness, passed on cross examination completely.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Marc said to Maddy as he gently took her by the elbow to lead her through the hallway doors as the crowd dispersed for the lunch recess. “Did you get my message?” he asked referring to his call to her earlier that morning after he had been informed about Slocum’s surprise witnesses.

  “Yeah,” she answered quietly as they followed the crowd toward the elevators. “I got their arrest records but I haven’t had time to do any real digging yet. What was that all about? Why did Prentiss allow that business about the assault?”

  “Because he wants to make sure Carl is convicted,” Marc whispered as he looked over the arrest records Maddy had given him. “Looks like our Mr. Hill was pretty straight in there. What about Bingham?” Marc asked rhetorically as he turned to the other report.

  “A marijuana dealer,” Maddy answered. “Nothing about coke, crack, heroin. None of that kinda stuff. I don’t get it, though. The cops are holding a big sentence over his head. Seems pretty harsh for dealing grass.”

  “They set him up,” Marc flatly answered. “They put him next to Carl and then phonied up this confession business. It’s an old trick. Carl swears he never confessed anything to the guy. Barely talked to him. Which is why they wanted Hill to testify. Now, if I put Carl on the stand and he denies it, denies that he confessed and put Hill up to assaulting him himself, Slocum can use it to go after Carl’s credibility. Pretty smart tactic by Slocum.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean. Hill made a great witness, at least what I saw. I missed the direct exam.”

  “Oh, he was good. C’mon lets get some lunch,” Marc said leading her over to the bank of elevators now that the crowd was gone.

  “There’s something bothering me though,” Marc continued as they waited for a car.

  “What’s that?”

  “Did you see the size of Hill? He’s gotta have a good fifty pounds on Carl. And the other guy, this Frechette. He’s another biker type. The two of them could stomp Carl into dog food. And yet, when you look at Carl’s injuries, he really wasn’t hurt that bad.”

  With that, they both looked at each other, a puzzled expression on their faces as one of the elevator indicators bonged and the doors began to open to take them down.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  A sheriff’s deputy led Wally Bingham through the same side door that Ed Hill had come from earlier that day. Wally was dressed much like Hill had been except Wally wore a white shirt and tie and, unknown to Marc, his appearance was essentially unchanged from what it normally would be. Wally was no social rebel. No gang member flipping off society. Wally was a low key businessman. Complete with P&L statements, employees whom he hired and fired and his own personalized retirement plan. A plan that had just received a major bump on the road to a Caribbean beach house.

  Wally was sworn in and took his seat on the witness stand. Slocum started right in with the issue of Wally’s credibility by bringing out for the jury Wally’s arrest record and reason for being in the courtroom. He readily admitted to his arrest and conviction record and told the jury that he was testifying because he had made a deal with the police and prosecutors.

  “And what exactly is the deal you made?” Slocum asked.

  “Well,” Wally began. He shifted in his chair, stretched his neck and let his eyes flicker back and forth several times from the jurors to Slocum before slowly continuing. “Um, well, ah, I was told I was looking at fifteen years in prison. Ya’ know,” he added, wiping a hand across his forehead, “for this, ah, latest arrest. Which, um, I woulda’ had to do like, ten, I guess, with good time. So,” he shrugged his shoulders slightly, “I, ah, cut a deal for three years.”

  “You were promised that?” Slocum asked in a slightly incredulous voice.

  “Huh? Oh, no. No, I mean, that’s right. What they told me was, um, they’d, you know, recommend it to the, ah, judge. Yeah, that’s right,” Wally continued quietly, snapping his fingers as if in recollection, “they said they’d recommend it but couldn’t promise it.”

  “So, the only promise made was that my office would recommend leniency in exchange for your cooperation and if you agreed to plead guilty, is that correct?”

  “Objection,” Marc said rising from his chair. “He’s leading the witness, your Honor.”

  “Overruled,” Prentiss answered after a short pause. “You may answer.”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Wally answered as he leaned forward to the microphone, his hands folded so tightly together in his lap the knuckles were turning white.

  They spent the rest of that afternoon going over Bingham’s story. How he became friendly with Carl while in jail. How Carl began by dropping hints to him about the case against him. That maybe the cops had the right guy after all. Then, finally, in small doses at first, Carl began to admit to the crimes. That Wally, acting as sort of a big brother figure for Carl, would comfort Carl to get him to open up and get these things that were obviously eating him up inside out into the open.

  There was a problem with Wally’s testimony though, and everyone in the courtroom could see it. While Ed Hill had been comfortable, composed and confident, Bingham’s story was stilted, jerky and unsettled. Slocum was having difficulty drawing it out of him eliciting several objections from Marc for asking leading questions. Questions that were asked in a way that practically put words in Bingham’s mouth. Each objection was overruled by Prentiss but the jury was getting the message, Marc hoped.

  It took most of the afternoon just to get Bingham to the point where he could begin to give the details of Carl’s ‘confession’ and before that line of questioning began, he looked up at Prentiss and said, “Could I get a glass of water, your Honor? Would that be okay? I mean, it’s kinda warm in here.”

  “Certainly,” Prentiss answered as he motioned to one of the deputies to get Wally some water. Prentiss looked up at the clock on the wall and asked the lawyers to come up to the bench. He knew, of course, what was coming and decided it was time to give Slocum a break. Give him the evening to get his witness more composed and his testimony smoothed over.

  “Any objection to calling a halt for the day at this point?” Prentiss asked as his eyes drifted over the three lawyers arrayed beneath him.

  “No, your Honor,” Slocum whispered back with poorly disguised relief.

  “Yes, your Honor,” Marc said. “I’d like to finish with this witness today.”

  “How much longer?” Prentiss said looking directly at Slocum.

  “Probably a couple of hours, at least,” Slocum answered with a shrug.

  Prentiss paused for a moment, lightly tappi
ng a finger against his pursed lips as if thinking it over even though his mind was made up. “No, that would be too late. As I recall, Mr. Kadella, you have a hearing in Federal Court tomorrow afternoon, is that right? If we start with a new witness tomorrow, a witness I understand is central to the State’s case, I may not be inclined to cut off that witness at noon,” he said staring down at Marc, his eyebrows arched and a stern look on his face. “No, we’ll break now and finish with this witness in the morning,” Prentiss concluded.

  “Whaddya’ think?” Carl asked Marc after the jury had been led out, Slocum and Gondeck had packed and left and the spectator’s section had almost emptied.

  “I think this Bingham guy is the worst witness of the trial,” Marc answered shaking his head and smiling. “Maybe the worst witness I’ve ever seen.”

  “I thought so too,” Joe Fornich piped in from behind the rail. “I mean, it looks like he’s obviously lying. Like he’s real nervous up there.”

  “How do ya’ think the jury’s takin’ it?” Carl asked Marc.

  “I’m not sure,” Marc answered solemnly. “They’re hard to read. I’ve been watching them and,” he paused, “I just don’t know. They’re all paying close attention. They all look serious. But,” he shrugged, “whether or not they believe him, I can’t tell. I gotta believe a couple of ‘em will see this for what it is. The cops setting the whole thing up. We’ll see.”

  When Slocum exited the courtroom and entered the exterior hall overlooking the courtyard on the second floor, his demeanor was calm, cool and collected. He stood in the hallway basking in the lights blazing for the TV minicams and politely deflected the reporters’ questions with a politician’s smile and friendly ‘no comments.’ All the while acting as though all was in order and everything was going as planned even though inwardly he was seething and about to explode. Steve Gondeck deferentially stood to one side, patiently waiting for his boss to finish the impromptu press conference knowing he was in for a monumental ass-chewing as soon as they got back to their office. It was Gondeck’s job to prepare each witness for Slocum’s questions. Make sure that all was in order so that Slocum could put on a smooth performance for the voters through the very people who were now questioning him about Wally Bingham.

  As Slocum and Gondeck rode up in the crowded elevator to the County Attorney’s office, Slocum silently stared straight ahead, his hands held together in front of him. Gondeck stood next to him, his arms at his sides holding in each hand a small suitcase-size briefcase filled with the case documents and papers they used during the trial. Gondeck, too, was seething and also mentally calculating how long he and his wife and kids could last while he looked for employment. Steve was a damn fine trial lawyer in his own right and the man standing next to him was getting to be too much to take. But, he truly liked his job and by the time they stepped off of the elevator he had resigned himself to absorb it one more time.

  As Gondeck closed Slocum’s office door, his boss shocked him by calmly saying, after seating himself on the edge of his desk, “Okay, that didn’t go well. It didn’t go well at all. But, Prentiss gave us a break. We have tonight to get this Bingham guy straightened out and smoothed over. We’ll order some food brought in, have him brought up here and spend the evening with him.”

  “Okay. Sounds all right,” Gondeck said while standing with his hands placed on the back of a chair in front of the desk. Slocum, still leaning against the desk, staring at the wall behind Gondeck, quietly asked, “What do you think, Steve? You think the cops put him up to this?”

  After pausing for a moment, thinking over the question, Gondeck said “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know and at this point, we don’t dare ask. We have no choice now but to play it out.”

  “True,” Slocum said. “Anyway, have Doris order in some Chinese from that place I like, she knows which one, and you and I will get to work and see if we can’t salvage this guy. And Steve,” he continued just as Gondeck started to turn the knob on the door, “let’s make damn sure we don’t have the same problem with Hobbs.”

  “I didn’t think we’d have it with Bingham,” Gondeck replied.

  “See to it,” Slocum said, his lips pursed together and his eyes angrily narrowed.

  “Yes, sir,” Gondeck politely answered.

  It didn’t help. They both spent the entire evening going over Wally’s upcoming testimony. Several times and included Gondeck playing the part of the defense lawyer and drilling Wally much more harshly than Prentiss would allow Marc. Wally was poised, calm and seemed as ready as a witness could be by the time they finished just before midnight. He had his facts down cold as they went through the details of each murder as they had been supposedly told to him by Carl. Finally, satisfied that Wally would make a completely different impression the next day, Slocum called a halt and Wally was taken back to his cell, no longer the one near Carl.

  But the next day he was the same stumbling, fumbling, nervous Wally that he had been the day before. And the testimony that had been rehearsed to last less than two hours the previous evening, took more than three hours in front of the jury. With the usual midmorning break mixed in, Slocum finished just before 12:30 and Prentiss, mercifully for the prosecution, called a halt for the day so that Marc could get to his settlement conference in Federal Court and Prentiss could make his tee time. Wally had not been a total disaster for Slocum but no one could read from the juror’s expressions if he had done any good, either. Marc’s shot at Wally would come the next day.

  As Wally was leaving the witness stand, unnoticed by anyone in the courtroom, he looked directly at Jake Waschke who glared back at him and was not amused when Wally scratched the side of his face with his middle finger and slyly smiled at the police Lieutenant.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Marc held the door open for his wife, Karen, and the two of them entered the tiny courtroom in the Federal Building in downtown Minneapolis. Only two people, a woman and a man, were there when they arrived. Marc, assuming the woman was the lawyer from Washington, Sharon Marzell, quickly walked over to her, put a smile on his face and stuck out his hand, “Sharon?” he asked her.

  “You must be Marc,” she said in return as she rose to greet him.

  Introductions were quickly made and Marc found out the man with Marzell was a lawyer from the U.S. Attorney’s office in Minneapolis, Donald Felton. When Marzell introduced him to Marc he couldn’t help sarcastically thinking, ‘at least the taxpayers didn’t have to pay to fly him in and put him in a hotel. He got here on an elevator.’ A minute or so of awkward small talk followed during which Marc got the definite impression from Felton that the local U.S. Attorney’s office was impressed with the audacity of Marc putting the U.S. Government’s feet to the fire with this contempt of court motion.

  A clerk came out and ushered the four of them into the Magistrate’s chambers. The U.S. Magistrate, Carmen Espinoza, was a woman Marc had met before when she served as a state District Court Judge in Hennepin County. He had appeared before her a couple of times on minor matters and, although he doubted she would remember him, he remembered her as being a decent, reasonable and very competent jurist. The local legal grapevine had her rumored as getting the next Federal District judgeship available in Minnesota. She stood up from behind her desk and pleasantly shook hands and greeted all of them. When all four had taken a seat in front of her, she began what was basically an informal conference.

  “I understand,” she began, “the only issue to resolve is additional attorney fees for the appeal and, contempt motion. Is that correct?”

  “Well, um, no your Honor,” Marc cautiously said. “In fact, we’ve settled attorney fees. They’ve agreed to an additional $2,000 in fees. I think the Government should have to pay some penalty for the way this matter was handled. Not abiding by the Court’s Order in a timely fashion, wasting more of the Court’s time with this so-called appeal they knew they couldn’t win and brought for the sole purpose of buying more time and stalling and for dragging
everyone through all of this.” The last part of his statement was said very slowly and deliberately as he ticked off each point by tapping the fingers on his left hand with the index finger of his right. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Marzell squirm in her seat and Felton look away from the Magistrate to avoid eye contact. Marc suppressed a smile at their discomfort all the while silently pleased with himself for having the good sense to emphasize the waste of the Court’s time and resources.

  “Okay. Let’s see what we can do today then,” Espinoza pleasantly replied with a slight smile at Marc. “Just so everyone knows,” she continued while turning to look at Marzell and Felton, the smile having disappeared, “Judge Townsend sent this file over to me with explicit instructions that he wants this case settled today. Ms. Marzell?”

  “Well, ah, obviously, your Honor, the Government doesn’t believe it has done anything wrong that should warrant sanctions and...”

  “Ms. Marzell,” the magistrate said interrupting her, “just so you know, I’ve read through the file on this case,” she continued as she placed her right hand on the inch thick manila folder that was lying on the desktop. “I have a pretty good idea what’s gone on here. I tell you what,” she said as she straightened in her chair still looking sternly at Marzell, “why don’t I talk to the parties separately and we’ll see what we can do. Would that be okay?” The last part she said as a question looking at Marc and Karen, her pleasant smile having returned.

  “That’s fine, your Honor,” Marc replied.

  “Why don’t you two wait in the courtroom and I’ll talk to the Kadella’s first?” she said to Marzell and Felton who were both out of their seats before she finished.