(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

Marc leaned forward placing his forearms on the table, his hands held together as he rested his chest against them. He stared, unblinking, at the witness silently sending an unmistakable message to Hobbs who looked back in Marc’s direction but avoided eye contact with him. The unmistakable message that Marc conveyed to the snitch was that he was lying and Marc knew it. The problem he had, or so Hobbs believed, was proving it.

  “I have no further questions of this witness at this time, your Honor,” Marc softly said without turning his head away from Hobbs. “However, the defense reserves the right to recall him,” he finished, narrowing his eyes in an ominous gesture that only the witness saw.

  “Any redirect, Mr. Slocum?” Prentiss said.

  “No, your Honor,” Slocum replied after quickly regaining his composure, slightly rattled with Marc’s very brief cross examination. Despite Steve Gondeck’s assurance that Marc was a capable defense lawyer, Slocum’s opinion of him from the start of the case had not been very high. In fact, Slocum was originally disappointed that one of the local heavyweights had not been retained to represent Fornich. The media play and, of course, the conviction, would have been that much better. Now, an alarm bell went off in his head. Marc’s cross of the state’s main witness left him with an uneasy feeling, something about it was not quite right. No one could be so incompetent as to barely cross examine the only eyewitness. Kadella had something up his sleeve that had not been revealed.

  “You may call your next witness, Mr. Slocum,” Prentiss announced.

  Slocum stood up, paused for effect as he surveyed the room, clasped his hands together behind his back, thrust out his chin and, in his best baritone solemnly said, “The State rests, your Honor.”

  “Mr. Kadella?” Prentiss asked turning his head to Marc. Marc rose to address the bench and, as he half turned to push his chair back, he noticed the entryway door behind him open and a man walked in. Daniel Waschke stood in front of the double doors looking over the spectator area. Seeing the only available seat in the back row just to his left he quickly moved to it, nodding an acknowledgement to his brother who had turned and saw him come in when he had heard the door pushed open.

  “The defense moves the Court to dismiss all charges on the grounds that the State has failed to present adequate evidence to support the indictment, your Honor,” Marc said, going through the formality of requesting dismissal to preserve the record.

  “Denied,” Prentiss ruled. “Are you prepared to call your first witness?”

  “In a moment, your Honor. May I approach the bench?”

  “Certainly,” Prentiss answered.

  Marc picked up three sheets of paper from the table and handed one each to Slocum and Gondeck as the three of them walked toward the bench. Slocum and Gondeck quickly read them over before they reached Prentiss, Slocum’s face reddening with anger, Steve Gondeck remaining calm and impassive as Marc handed the third sheet to the judge.

  “What is this?” Prentiss snarled.

  “An amended witness list, your Honor,” Marc calmly whispered back while thinking, ‘Go ahead asshole. Deny me the right to do it after you let Slocum do the same thing. I dare you.’ A thought which Prentiss could clearly read in Marc’s eyes.

  “Your Honor, ...” Slocum began to protest but was abruptly cut off when Prentiss held up his right hand.

  “Court will take a brief recess. Fifteen minutes,” Prentiss announced, “and, I’ll see you gentlemen in chambers.”

  “I’m going to want this on the record your Honor,” Marc said as Prentiss rose to leave.

  “That’s fine,” Prentiss answered hiding his disappointment. He had hoped to get out of there and have the upcoming discussion off-the-record, realizing that was the only possible way he could rule against the defense.

  “Who are these two people?” Prentiss asked Marc after they had all taken seats in the judge’s chambers and the court reporter had set up her equipment. “This, Antoinette Hardy and Louise Curtin? I know who Daniel Waschke is and you better have a good reason for putting him on the witness stand.”

  “Witnesses that came to my attention over this past weekend, your Honor,” Marc politely replied.

  “Your Honor, this is just extremely ...” Slocum began to bluster a protest.

  “Is what, Mr. Slocum?” Prentiss said, sternly glaring at Slocum. “You have a reasonable argument to make for why I should deny the defense the right to do something I already allowed you do to? If so, let’s hear it.”

  “No, your Honor,” Slocum meekly replied remembering the stenographer.

  “I will give you the right to recall them for cross examination at a later time after you’ve had time to interview them and prepare. But, in the interest of fairness, I have little choice but to allow it. However,” Prentiss continued looking sternly at all three lawyers, “this had better be the end of it. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, your Honor,” Slocum and Gondeck replied in unison.

  “Mr. Kadella?”

  “We’ll see, your Honor,” Marc calmly, defiantly said. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  Prentiss continued staring directly at Marc. Silently seething at the impertinence of a criminal lawyer showing the temerity to defy him. Without taking his eyes from Marc’s face, who was staring right back at him with a relaxed but definite ‘fuck you’ look in his eyes, Prentiss said, “Back out to the courtroom, all of you.”

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  While the discussion about Marc’s witnesses was taking place, Jake found his brother in the hallway among the crowd milling about, stretching their legs before the trial resumed. Daniel was standing at the glass wall, staring blankly at the opposite side of the building watching the county employees going about their business.

  Jake walked over to the younger man, stopped behind him, leaned his head down over Daniel’s right shoulder and whispered directly into his ear, “What’re you doing here?”

  Without turning around or even moving his head, Daniel quietly, casually replied, “I don’t know. I was served with a subpoena late last night ordering me to be here today.

  “So,” he shrugged, “here I am.”

  Daniel continued to stare while Jake nervously paced around the semi-crowded hallway. Daniel not thinking about anything in particular. Jake trying to figure out a good excuse for why Daniel should leave and get the hell out of there. Before he could come up with a plausible reason, a deputy appeared through the doorway to let everyone know court was resuming.

  Upon hearing her name called, Antoinette Hardy rose from her seat toward the back of the room on the side behind the defense table. She politely stepped past three spectators and reached the aisle between the two sections. She was dressed in her best dress. The navy blue one with white trim, black flats and a small hat that matched her dress only partially covering her short curly hair with the touches of gray starting to appear. She stood up straight, threw back her shoulders and, with more dignity than she felt, nervously clutching the small hand bag, walked toward the front.

  Marc had stepped to the gate and politely held it open for her and they nodded to each other as she passed, Antoinette nervously smiling at him as he reassuringly, lightly squeezed her left arm as she walked by. She walked up to the witness stand, was sworn in by the clerk, took her seat and the defense’s case was underway.

  Having spent two hours at her home the day before, Marc was able to conduct her questioning without even bothering to use his notes. He sat at the table while he led her over the preliminary questions about name and address and how they had met but saving the details of their meeting.

  “On which side of Chicago is your house located, Mrs. Hardy?”

  “It’s on the east side, between 34th and 35th,” she politely answered.

  “How far from 35th?”

  “We’re the third house from the corner.”

  “Mrs. Hardy, were you in the courtroom this morning while I questioned the State’s last witness, Martin Hobbs?”

 
“Yes, I was,” she answered.

  “Did you hear all of the questions and answers, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What were your impressions, if any, about Mr. Hobbs’s testimony?”

  “He was lying,” she answered emphatically which immediately brought about a minor explosion in the courtroom as some spectators audibly gasped, several yelled and media people began noisily pulling out notepads to write down what they had just heard. The jurors, the only ones that mattered, all noticeably sat up to stare wide eyed as if they had not heard her correctly. “He aint tellin’ the truth,” she added.

  At this exact moment, while everyone else stared in awe at the witness, Marc stole a quick glance at Jake Waschke, the only one in the courtroom who noticed that the expression on his face had remained totally impassive and unchanged when the witness verbally crucified his snitch with her accusation.

  Prentiss slammed down his gavel and forcefully yelled, “There will be order in this courtroom or I will have the deputies clear it.”

  At the exact same moment, Slocum and Gondeck both came out of their chairs and Slocum vehemently said, “Objection, your Honor this outrageous…”

  “Both of you sit down, “ Prentiss told them regaining his control. “Mr. Kadella,” he continued looking at Marc, “you’d better have the goods to back that up.”

  “I do, your Honor,” Marc replied while watching the juries’ reaction and noticing neither Slocum or Gondeck dared look at them. “Bare with me and we’ll get there.”

  “All right then, objection overruled, for now but, you’d better be careful here.”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  “Why do you say that, ma’am?” Marc continued.

  “Because, Mr. Kadella, the way he told it, he must’ve been right in front of my house. You know, when he said he saw the man go by him.”

  “Go on, ma’am, tell the jury what you told me,” Marc prodded after she paused.

  “He said he got a good look at the man’s face ‘cause of the light from the streetlight in front o’ my house. Well, sir, that light’s been out since April 13th, my grandson’s birthday. And I still can’t get the City to get off their butts, sorry your Honor,” she added sheepishly glancing up at Prentiss. “They still aint got out there to fix it.”

  As Marc rose to address Prentiss, he stole another glance at Slocum and Gondeck, both of whom sat staring impassively at the witness. Both trying to look as if this was the most natural testimony they had heard and was exactly what they expected. Marc looked at Prentiss and said, “May we approach, you Honor?”

  After Prentiss had granted permission, the three lawyers went up to him and Marc whispered, “Judge, we have her phone records detailing all of her calls to the City engineer’s office to report the light. We are prepared to bring in the record keeper from the phone company to authenticate it unless Mr. Slocum will stipulate to it and allow it in now.”

  “Mr. Slocum?” Prentiss asked, masking his displeasure with the recent turn of events, while Marc handed Slocum, Gondeck and the judge copies of the phone records.

  Slocum took a minute to glance over them, his mind racing so furiously he wasn’t even seeing the document in his hand let alone reading it. “Um, yes, I guess that will be okay, your Honor. Save the Court’s time. We’ll so stipulate,” he finally muttered.

  “Very well, Mr. Kadella. Admit it through this witness,” Prentiss told Marc.

  They went back to their seats, Mark delighted with his minor victory. The phone records weren’t essential. Probably weren’t even necessary judging by the looks the jurors were giving Slocum and Gondeck. But, he wanted the document into evidence. He wanted it back in the jury room to be passed around the table to serve as a constant reminder that the State’s only eyewitness had lied about a key piece of testimony.

  Marc spent a few minutes with Antoinette, going over the phone record detailing the calls she had made to the City. He moved about the courtroom now, his turn to play the actor, having the document marked, questioning the witness about all of the calls and, after it had been formally entered into evidence, he walked over to the jury box, handed it to the juror closest to the witness, turned to Prentiss and concluded his questioning.

  Prentiss turned her over to Slocum who impressed Marc with his ability to compose himself after his case had taken a shot to the groin, rose and politely passed, for now, on cross examination of the witness.

  As she passed by the defense table, Marc stood up and briefly shook her hand in both of his. She peeked around Marc and smiled at Carl who looked back at her, a grateful look in his eyes as he silently mouthed the words “thank you” to her. She silently said “you’re welcome” back to him, smiled at Marc then quickly left the still buzzing courtroom as Prentiss told Marc to call his next witness.

  Marc, still standing, nervously looked at his watch, turned to the back of the room and, just as Antoinette was leaving, saw Tony Carvelli guiding a wheelchair bound woman through the door. Marc, with obvious relief, turned back to Prentiss and said, “The defense calls Louise Curtin, your Honor.” Before the words had completely left his lips, he turned his head to look directly at Jake Waschke who couldn’t prevent himself from jerking upright in his seat, his eyes wide as he watched his mother rolling toward the gate. He looked over at Daniel who returned Jake’s stare with a wide-eyed, puzzled expression on his face and a shrug of his shoulders

  Slocum, seeing Jake’s reaction, stood and said to Prentiss, “Your Honor, we demand to know who this witness is and the nature of her testimony before she’s allowed to take the stand.”

  Jake bolted out of his seat, turned back to see his brother also standing as their mother whirred past them toward the gate leading to the witness stand.

  Louise looked up at Jake as she past him, said “I’m sorry” to him when she saw Jake glaring at Tony and say, just loud enough for only him to hear above the rising commotion from the crowd, “What the hell is this, Carvelli?”

  Tony released his guiding grip on the wheelchair handles, turned to Jake, stared back at his old friend and said, quietly, “It’s over Jake. It’s all done. Shut up and sit down.”

  Prentiss, barely able to conceal his anger with the disruption, rapped his gavel twice, and yelled, “That’s it. Recess. I want everyone, all of the lawyers and,” he continued pointing the gavel at Jake, “you too Lieutenant, in my chambers now. I’m gonna find out what the hell is going on here.”

  Marc had remained standing impassively the entire time and was the first one through the door with Slocum and Gondeck right behind him. When all three men had entered Prentiss’ office, Prentiss standing behind his desk still in his robe, looked at Marc and angrily said. “All right Mr. Kadella, who is that woman and what is she doing here?”

  “I think we should wait for the Lieutenant before I tell you, judge,” Marc answered. He turned to look through the door and two or three seconds later, Jake appeared.

  “Come in, Lieutenant,” Prentiss said with a beckoning wave of his hand. “Now then, who is she?”

  “She’s Lt. Waschke’s mother, your Honor,” Marc answered. “And she’s going to tell us why the Lieutenant planted evidence to frame my client,” he continued after turning to look directly at Waschke.

  “What!? That’s ridiculous,” Jake answered.

  “Is it?” Marc calmly said. “Do you really want me to put her on the stand? Air the family history. Tell the courtroom, all those reporters, why and what lengths you’ll go to to protect your brother,” he continued as he took a couple of short steps toward Jake as he thrust his hands into his suit pockets.

  “I heard the story, all of it, Friday evening. I knew all along it was you. Had to be. But I couldn’t figure out who you were protecting and why. If you were protecting someone, that is. Or, did you just want a conviction? But, that didn’t make sense unless you were sure the killings would stop.”

  “This is bullshit. I don’t have to listen to this,” Jake said loo
king first at Marc who had stopped when he reached the small table between himself and Waschke, then at the silent stares of the other three men.

  “It was you, Jake,” Marc quietly said as he pulled his right hand from his pocket. He held up an object he had taken from his pocket, a small shiny brass key with a square handle. He held it up and slowly moved his hand so the four men could all get a look at it then tossed it on the table where it rattled a bit before himself and the police Lieutenant.

  “What do you say, Lieutenant?” Marc continued. “Should we get the key off the exhibit table? Go down to the locker where you planted the clothes for your detective to find. Check it out and see if that key, the one out there now, fits the lock? It won’t and we both know it.

  “This key here,” Marc said pointing to the one he had removed from his pocket, while Waschke silently stared at it, the blood drained from his face, “is the one for locker number 120. The one right next to where the police found the clothes that are in evidence. Looks like the same key as the one found on Carl and was inventoried when he was arrested. Identical in color and shape. Except this one’s just a little bit smaller. Close enough so that a casual inspection wouldn’t pick up the difference.”

  Marc reached down and picked up the metal key with the number 120 stamped into it, held it up between his right thumb and index finger, turned to Prentiss and said, “I got this yesterday and before court this morning, your Honor, I compared it to the one that’s been placed in evidence. They’re not the same size. That one out there, that’s the one my client did have on him when he was arrested. Lt. Waschke here,” he continued pointing the key at Jake, “according to the chain-of-custody slip, checked the key out of the inventory room and back in. He was also the one who gave it to Detective Barnes to search for the locker. He couldn’t be sure what Barnes would find in the locker that fit Carl’s key so, he planted the clothes, gave that key to Barnes and when he put the key back, he put the right one, Carl’s key, back into inventory. He also was the one who planted the knife. I don’t know where he got it, but he did it.”