Two months after Melinda divorced him, she ran into his first wife by chance at a department store in downtown Minneapolis. The two of them had never spoken much and Melinda was a bit surprised when wife number one greeted her very pleasantly and cordially asked her to have lunch that same day. It was then that Melinda discovered that wife number one, Cheryl, had practically jumped for joy when the arrogant ass left her. Cheryl immediately hired a female divorce lawyer who knew her husband and was delighted to eviscerate him in the divorce, practically cleaning him out. She also told Melinda how good it felt to slam the door in his face when he meekly came back to her to try to patch things up after Melinda had tossed him aside.
It was also at this time that Melinda came up with an idea for a show she wanted to do. It would be a half hour daily about the courts, local crime and trials. With her experience, on-air personality and contacts, she convinced the station manager it would be a low-cost local show that the station itself could produce and make money. The station’s general manager, a woman, mentor and friend, agreed to let her try it and Melinda threw herself into it with zeal. The show was an immediate hit. The viewing public couldn’t get enough of the tabloid style, salacious, voyeuristic crime and court reporting and Melinda was happy to give it to them.
Five years later, she now had a mid six figure salary, a second divorce, a drinking problem and a reputation that was starting to carry beyond Minnesota. The show aired at 4:30 P.M. as a lead-in for the five o’clock news and most days Melinda’s ratings were far higher than what the news show received. A fact she would quickly make known to anyone who needed reminding.
With her success Melinda had also developed a well-deserved reputation as a five-star, prima donna bitch.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Marc Kadella looked at his watch and realized he was running late. He had assured the lawyer with the state attorney general’s office that he would have his response to their discovery request by the end of the week, which was tomorrow. Marc had a pretrial conference on a criminal case scheduled for 10:00 A.M. and if he wanted to be downtown on time and also get the discovery reply ready to go out in the mail this morning he had to hurry.
Marc finished signing the pages that required his signature then sat back in his desk chair and thought about the fact that he didn’t really care if the attorney general received it tomorrow or not. He yelled through the door for Jeff Modell, a paralegal whose salary was shared equally by all four lawyers in the office. Jeff may have been the most overworked and underpaid person in the office, but you would never know it by his demeanor; always pleasant, always smiling and extremely efficient.
As Jeff walked into Marc’s office, Marc held up the stack of documents, and said, “I’ve got a project for you.”
“Discovery request?” Jeff asked as he took the papers from Marc.
“Yeah, can you finish putting it together and get it in the mail?”
“Sure, when do you need it to go out?”
“I told them I’d have it for them by tomorrow but,” he continued as he got out of his chair, “I don’t really care. If you have other things that are more urgent,” he said as he picked up his briefcase and tossed his suit coat over a shoulder, “feel free to put this off.”
“Tomorrow soon enough? I’m up to my ass in some things for Connie, but I should be able to get this done then.”
“No problem. It actually shouldn’t be a very big project. Just go through it and make sure it’s organized, do up a cover letter and mail it.”
“Do you want me to pay for a messenger?”
“Hell, no. I’m not wasting money on these guys. Mail it,” he answered as the two of them walked out into the reception area.
Connie Mickelson was talking to Sandy, one of the secretaries, and when she saw Marc with his briefcase and coat, asked him, “Where you off to?”
“Got a pretrial on a criminal case, my genius burglar and his partner. Sorry, alleged burglar.”
“That case is too funny,” Sandy said.
“Will you wrap this up today?” Connie asked.
“I hope so. Can you imagine taking this to trial? Comedy Central would want to put cameras in the courtroom. People think prisons are full of criminals. They’re not. They’re full of idiots. We could probably eliminate ninety percent of all future crime in about two generations if we sterilized the guys that are in the prisons right now. I need to get going. I’ll see you later,” Marc said as he went out the back door to go down to the small parking lot behind the building.
Just before 10:00 A.M. Marc stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor of the government center and quickly walked the hallway to the courtroom he needed. When he passed through the courtroom’s entryway doors he was surprised to see the gallery was almost half full. Marc stood in the entrance, looked over the crowd and immediately realized they were all local media people. Several of them turned to look at him and when a couple of them recognized him, they stood to try to engage him as he walked past to the gate in the bar. Before they could say anything, he smiled and waved his right hand and gave them a pleasant “no comment” while inside he felt like laughing, knowing the reason they were there.
Passing through the bar he heard a cell phone go off in the crowd. Marc looked at Henrietta Wilson, Judge Louise Stofer’s clerk and cringed knowing what was coming. Henrietta had worked in the courts for over thirty years and was a legend. A five-foot tall black woman, Henrietta, could put the fear of God in even the toughest Marine Corp drill instructor.
“Don’t you answer that phone in this courtroom,” she severely said to Robbie Nelson as he took out his phone to answer the call.
Still glaring at him, she pointed at the hallway door and firmly said, “You get your butt out in the hall and when you come back that phone had better be off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Robbie meekly replied as he stood to leave to take the call from Melinda Pace.
“And the rest of you,” she continued sternly looking over the visibly cowed spectators. “The judge may not be on the bench but this is still a court of law and you will conduct yourselves accordingly. You will act as if she was on the bench and court was in session. Do I make myself clear?” she finished as every head in the crowd bobbed up and down.
“Hello, Mr. Kadella,” she pleasantly said to Marc.
“I threw my cell phone away, Henrietta. In fact, I smashed it to pieces with a hammer just so I wouldn’t annoy you,” Marc said with a look of mock terror on his face.
“Very funny, Mr. Smartass,” Henrietta said unable to contain her laughter. “They’re waiting for you in the jury room,” she continued gesturing toward the door next to the jury box. She leaned forward and whispered, “Your genius clients are being held in a back room for now.”
“Thanks, Henrietta,” Marc said as he headed toward the jury room.
After handshakes and hellos, Marc took a chair next to the other defense lawyer, Paula Henderson, a lawyer from the public defender’s office. There were two defendants and Marc had taken one of them because the judge had requested separate attorneys. The case was not a particularly difficult one but it had generated a lot of publicity. On the other side of the table was the lawyer from the county attorney’s office, Jennifer Moore, whom Marc had dealt with on a few other occasions.
“Where are we?” Marc asked the two women.
“Your guys have to do some jail time,” Jennifer answered.
“How much?” asked Paula.
“Eighteen months,” Jennifer replied.
“For being morons?” Marc asked.
“Most of the people in jail are doing time for being morons. So what? They did what they did…” Jennifer said.
“How about they plead to a felony, the judge sentences to eighteen months and stays all but ninety days? They’re on probation for another year at the end of which it reduces to a misdemeanor,” Paula said. “That’s fair and you know it.”
“They’re charged with burglary and armed robbery…”
Paula sharply rebuked her by saying, “These guys have been unemployed for almost two years. This economy is more to blame than they are. There are people out there getting desperate…”
“McDonald’s is hiring,” Jennifer replied.
While this exchange was taking place, Marc sat back, kept quiet and watched the show. Unknown to him these two had dealt with each other many times and evidently they did not like each other at all.
“Let’s go talk to the judge and see what she thinks,” Paula said as she began to pick up her file.
“Do you have anything to add?” Jennifer asked Marc.
“No, I’m with Paula on this. I think your office is overreaching. No judge will give them that much time following a trial even if they are found guilty on all counts.”
“You want to try this case?” Jennifer asked.
“Do you?” Paula interjected.
“We’re prepared to…”
“Bullshit,” Paula replied. “Don’t try to jerk me around with that bullshit. If you don’t get this thing settled, Steve Gondeck will bite your ass off. Who’re you kidding?”
“Give us a minute, will you, Jennifer? I want to talk to Paula before we see the judge.”
“Sure,” Jennifer said, clearly angry, as she gathered her file, “I’ll wait by the judge’s door.”
Jennifer Moore left and Marc asked Paula, “How much history do you have with her?”
“A lot,” Paula replied. Paula Henderson was a woman with over ten years experience in the public defender’s office. She had been born the fourth child of a single mother in the inner city of Minneapolis and Paula had worked her way out but never forgot where she came from. She wasn’t a crusader, but she understood that some people truly were disadvantaged and those were the ones that needed her in their corner. Black, white, brown, it made no difference to her. She believed they all deserved a fair shake.
“She’s a prissy bitch who’s had everything handed to her,” Paula said.
“Okay, let’s just go see what Stofer has to say,” Marc replied.
“Where are we with our master criminals’ case?” Judge Stofer asked the three lawyers after they had taken their seats in the judge’s chambers.
“We’re stuck on jail time, your Honor,” Marc answered. “The prosecution wants eighteen months in prison and we think ninety days on the county is sufficient.”
“How about I kind of split the difference? They both plead to second degree burglary and I depart upward on the sentencing guidelines to eighteen months. I stay nine months and they’re on probation for another two years. Can they pay a fine?”
“Not really your honor,” Paula said. “Their employment problems are why they did this.”
“If you give them nine months, they’ll only have to do six!” Jennifer said almost coming out of her chair.
“Mr. Kadella, what do you think?” Stofer asked, ignoring Jennifer Moore.
“Sounds reasonable, I can get my guy take it,” he answered.
“Paula?” Stofer asked.
“The jail time is too much. How about if, at the end of their probationary period, the felony drops to a misdemeanor? Do we really want to have this hanging over their heads for the rest of their lives?” Paula asked knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the jail time.
“I’m okay with that,” the judge said. “Do you really want to go back upstairs and tell your boss you are going to try this case?” Stofer said to Jennifer. “What I’m suggesting is reasonable and I won’t change my mind and suggest anything better at the last minute. I saw the media out there. We need to put this thing to bed.”
They took the plea in the judge’s chambers and the three lawyers left while the defendants were led away to await transfer to the workhouse. As the three lawyers were passing through the courtroom on their way to the exit, all three were accosted by multiple media members wanting information about the case.
As the noise level rose, Henrietta stepped up to the judge’s chair, took up her gavel and hammered it down several times to get everyone’s attention. They quieted down, meekly looked up at the small stern woman who glared back at them as she said, “Out!” and pointed to the doors.
The crowd of reporters timidly filed out into the hallway and the two women lawyers each allowed a couple of reporters they knew to interview them. Marc had decided he didn’t really want the publicity surrounding this case so he tried to head for the elevators to make his escape. He gave a “no comment” to three reporters he knew and as he turned from them to make his getaway, he found himself staring into the stunning, dark, liquid pool eyes of the reporter from Channel 8, Gabriella Shriqui.
“Mr. Kadella,” she said giving him a dazzling smile, “I was wondering if you could give me a couple of minutes...”
“Sure,” Marc replied. “No problem. Let’s go over here where the light is better,” he suggested walking toward the bridge between the court side and county government side of the twenty plus story, granite, building.
They reached a good spot and while the cameraman measured the light, a young man approached with another camera operator, a young woman, and introduced himself to Gabriella and Marc as Robbie Nelson, a producer for the show The Court Reporter. He asked if he could listen in on the interview and Marc agreed. Marc asked Gabriella if he looked okay as she straightened his tie which actually caused a little charge to run through him.
“You look great,” she replied. “Very handsome.” A statement that made Marc realize she had just reeled him in.
The interview consisted mostly of Marc simply explaining how it was resolved. By the end of it he felt quite proud of himself for managing to maintain a professional demeanor the entire time especially since he knew Margaret Tennant was going to give him enough jazz about it just for doing it. When it was over Gabriella and Robbie both thanked him for his cooperation. As he walked to the elevators three of the reporters, all men whom he had given no comments to, were all watching him with grins on their faces.
Marc pushed the button for the elevator, looked at the three men who were still watching him and said, “Yeah, like any of you could say no to her. Gimme a break,” he laughed as he stepped into the elevator car.
Gabriella and Robbie both spent a few minutes in front of their respective cameras, filming a lead for the interview they would air. Afterward, they chatted for a few minutes about the case they were covering and Melinda’s show. Gabriella told Robbie that she admired Melinda and let him know that if they were looking for a reporter, to keep Gabriella in mind, which Robbie, about as smitten as anyone could be, assured her he would.
“Good afternoon, I’m Melinda Pace and this is The Court Reporter,” Melinda said opening her show as she always did.
“Well, I’m happy to announce we have a conclusion to one of my favorite criminal cases of the year. Most of you will probably remember it but for those who don’t, let me tell you what happened.”
Melinda then re-told the story of the burglary committed by the two men Marc Kadella and Paula Henderson had represented and for whom they had worked out a plea agreement.
The defendants, Michael O’Neill, age 23 and Kevin Grewe, age 24 had been unable to find meaningful employment since graduating from St. Cloud State two years before. Getting a little desperate for money one evening in late March, the two young men, after a few too many beers, decided to break into a jewelry store located in a small strip mall near the apartment they shared. They gathered up some equipment they had from a construction job they had worked on, such as crowbars and sledgehammers then drove to the strip mall and parked in back.
They assumed the jewelry store itself was alarmed, the only sensible decision they made, so the two of them devised a plan to break into an empty space next to the jewelry store, go down in the basement and then punch a hole in the wall of the jewelry store adjacent to the empty space. Using a crowbar, they easily got into the empty store and made their way down into the basement level. That is whe
n their grand plan began to go awry.
In the dark of the basement, with only a small flashlight to work with and still not entirely sober, they managed to get themselves turned around. They found what they believed was the wall of the jewelry store and began using the tools they had brought along to knock a hole in it. The problem was the wall was not the one leading into the jewelry store but to the Korean massage parlor on the opposite side from the jewelry store. And even though it was now past midnight, there were three ‘massage therapists’ and a ‘receptionist’ still on duty at the massage parlor.
All three therapists were servicing customers but the receptionist, who was not as preoccupied as the other young women, could hear the dull sound of our two would-be burglars pounding on the wall in the basement. She listened for a few minutes and when the noise did not stop, she cautiously opened the basement door, turned on the single basement light and quietly crept down the stairs toward the noise. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the men punched through the thin brick wall which almost frightened the poor girl out of her mind.
She then turned around and fled back up the stairs to make two phone calls. The first was to the proprietor of the parlor, a forty-two-year-old Korean woman named Shin Soo-Kyung who lived two minutes away. As soon as she hung up after reporting the break-in to Shin and despite the fact that Shin emphatically told her not to do it, the frightened girl made a second call to the police to report the break-in taking place.
In the meantime, Michael and Kevin managed to get through the hole in the wall. The two of them then made it up the flight of stairs just in time to find all three massage therapists and their customers, all of whom were in various stages of undress, filing out of the rooms in an attempt to flee. Michael quickly pulled out a gun, which later turned out to be plastic, and used it to round up everyone and herd them all back to one of the now empty rooms.
Desperate Justice Page 17
