Desperate Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “You didn’t really give the outside of the house or the yard a thorough inspection?”

  “No, we were basically looking to see if there was anyone outside or anything unusual or out of the ordinary.”

  “You didn’t find anyone outside?”

  “No.”

  “After you found Judge Prentiss and he told you about a third person, did you go outside and do a more thorough inspection of the grounds or the area outside the house?”

  “No.”

  “How about the neighborhood, did you search the neighborhood for anyone?”

  “No, we did not.”

  “Did you ever do anything to locate the person who called into 911?”

  “No,” Clark answered, squirming a bit.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I have no further questions of this witness,” Marc said finishing up.

  A lot of the questions he had asked the sergeant were a little open ended, but none were very risky. Marc knew the answer to every one of them from the Sergeant’s own report and if he had strayed from that report, Marc could have pounced on him and used the policeman’s own report to challenge his credibility. Marc knew this witness was a veteran cop who likely wouldn’t screw up. Marc had made the point he wanted to make; to introduce to the jury the idea of a third person in Catherine’s bedroom and to get the jury thinking about it as a possibility.

  Before Gondeck called his next witness, he asked for a conference at the bench. Having seen Clark’s partner in the hall, Marc knew it was likely Ron King was up next.

  At the bench Gondeck tried to convince Judge Rios to stop for the day. He wanted the jury to go home that night with only Clark’s testimony and the image of that gruesome photo in their minds. Marc guessed that was what he was up to and he strenuously argued that there was time for another witness. Judge Rios agreed with Marc and Officer Ron King was called to the stand. And before he was sworn in, the judge ordered that Clark’s photo of the murder scene be removed from the jury’s site, a minor victory for Marc.

  King was sworn in, took the seat in the witness box and Jennifer Moore conducted the direct exam of this policeman. She spent almost a half hour going over his background. How he had persevered and worked his way out of the inner-city then had joined the army and served with distinction in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He talked about his military record, medals and awards he had won. None of this, of course, had anything to do with the case. It was done solely to build an emotional tie with the jury for the prosecution. At one point, Prentiss leaned over and angrily whispered to Marc to object. Marc whispered back, “To what? The guy being a war hero? Be quiet.”

  Moore then spent another half hour walking him through what he did the night of Catherine’s death. None of this would add anything of substance to the case.

  Marc was okay with that. In fact, he was hoping the jury would go home after their first day thinking about this nice, brave young man and not the knife sticking out of Catherine Prentiss’ chest.

  When Jennifer finished and before Marc began his cross, Marc noticed a stirring in the crowd and the heads of the jurors, even the women, turned to look at the entryway door. Marc didn’t have to look to know Maddy had arrived. He waved her forward and she came through the gate and sat behind the defense table.

  Marc’s cross of Officer King was a softer version of the one he had just done with Sergeant Clark. When he finished, he said, “Thank you, Officer King, and thank you for your service. I’m a veteran myself so I can truly appreciate your sacrifice. I have nothing further, your Honor.”

  With that, Judge Rios dismissed the jury for the night, reminding them to avoid news programs. She then left the bench to recess until the next day. Prentiss was led back to the jail.

  “Nicely done,” Gondeck said as he and Jennifer Moore got up to leave. “That bit at the end about you being a veteran too.”

  “First of all, I am,” Marc said. ”Air Force, four years. And I figured I better do something after you tried to make the jury believe Captain America is on your side.”

  Gondeck looked at Maddy, said hello to her and as he and Moore were leaving, Marc said to his back, “I’m calling your wife. Have fun on the couch tonight.”

  Marc turned to Madeline and said, “What’s going on. What do you have for me?”

  “Nothing, yet. But I tried calling you yesterday and…”

  “My phone was off.”

  “I figured. Anyway, we have a line on somebody that we may be able to get some information about Leo Balkus from. I don’t know how or why but he’s involved. I can just feel it in my bones. If Prentiss didn’t do this then Leo had something to do with it.”

  “What are you up to?” Marc said, sternly looking at her, genuinely concerned.

  “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow or the next day. I’ll know more then.”

  “Be careful. Tony’s working with you?”

  “Yes, and we’ll be very careful. Don’t worry.”

  “Good afternoon and welcome to today’s show of The Court Reporter. I am Melinda Pace and to get started with today’s show we have Gabriella Shriqui outside the government center in downtown Minneapolis with an update on the events from the first day of the trial of former judge, J. Gordon Prentiss. Gabriella, what do you have to report?”

  The screen changed to the picture of Gabriella facing the camera with the north side exterior of the downtown government center building as a backdrop. Because it was summer, she looked even tanner than normal and the pedestrians strolling by couldn’t help but gawk at this stunning beauty facing the hand-held camera speaking into her mic.

  “It was a shocking, gruesome, almost grotesque first day of testimony, Melinda. Even veteran reporters had difficulty looking at the first piece of evidence shown to the jury. It was a blown up photo taken by the first witness, Sergeant Timothy Clark, one of two police officers who were the first to arrive at the Prentiss home the night of the murder. The photo that was shown in the courtroom was of the defendant, unconscious, lying on top of the victim, Catherine Prentiss, with the knife sticking out of her chest.”

  With that the TV screens of everyone tuned into the program were filled with an artist’s rendition of what Gabriella was describing.

  “There was blood everywhere and the defendant’s hand was still holding the handle of the butcher knife. The photo was blown up onto a screen in the courtroom and I must admit, I had to turn my eyes away from the gory display.”

  “How did the jury react?” Melinda asked as the TV shot split to show both Melinda and Gabriella.

  “Not well. All of them were visibly upset and I thought a couple of them might get sick. It was a pretty graphic way to start the trial,” Gabriella said.

  “What about Prentiss? How did he react?”

  “Judge Prentiss showed no emotion whatsoever. Clearly, he and his lawyer knew it was coming and were ready for it,” Gabriella answered.

  “Or he’s a psycho,” Melinda said with obvious disgust. “Thank you Gabriella.”

  The artist’s drawing of the grisly photo was again shown to the viewers. At the same time Melinda’s voice was heard saying, “How could anyone look at such a thing and show no emotion? This man is clearly a monster, obviously guilty and should plead guilty and stop this travesty immediately. My only regret is that Minnesota doesn’t have the death penalty. Gordon Prentiss certainly deserves it. We’ll be right back with our discussion guests after these messages.”

  SIXTY-NINE

  John Hutton arrived back at the offices of the Hennepin County Attorney at the end of a long day before the grand jury. He had presented eight cases to them to consider for indictments. The impaneled jury had returned indictments on all eight and it was now up to the county attorney’s office to pursue each case. Before dismissing the panel, Hutton had spent a few minutes thanking them for their continued service and reminding them that their deliberations and the indictments themselves were secret and they
were not to discuss them with anyone.

  Hutton had spent the weekend in a serious quandary over what to do with what he had learned about Bruce Dolan. Should he notify Dolan? What about Leo Balkus? If he were to tell Leo what he knew of Dolan’s activities he would be signing Dolan’s death warrant. By Monday morning, Hutton had decided that the best course of action would be to try to get the case assigned to him. At least that way he could have some control and put off any decision to call Leo. Or so he hoped.

  Upon returning from his day spent with the grand jury, Hutton went directly to Slocum’s office. He knocked on the half-opened door and without waiting for a response, walked in to find the county attorney at his desk.

  Slocum was looking over some documents. While Hutton closed the door, without looking up, Slocum asked, “Did you get it?”

  “Yep, right here,” Hutton said as he handed the written indictment to his boss.

  Without reading it, Slocum continued by saying, “Have a seat, John. I’ve decided to handle this personally and I’d like you to assist me. We’re going to use this to get Dolan to turn on his main client, Leo Balkus. I’m going to put Balkus away for life.”

  “He won’t do it, Craig,” Hutton replied, his heart having sunk at the prospect of assisting Slocum. “It’s a death sentence for him to flip on Leo.”

  “We’ll get him immunity and put him in witness protection.” Slocum waved his hand as if it was a foregone conclusion. “Think of it, we’ll get rid of the number one defense lawyer and his client, the number one criminal, at the same time.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it,” Hutton again said now worrying with the realization that if Leo goes down, he will take a lot of people with him; likely including himself.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. What we have here is a way to clean up this entire state. We can use this to get to Dolan and we can use Dolan to get to Leo. After that, we’ll get Leo to spill everything; all of his enterprises, the people who run them and the politicians who help him.”

  “Craig, I seriously doubt Dolan will turn on Leo and I don’t see Leo turning on anyone unless we give them both a complete walk on everything.”

  “When we’re done, John,” Slocum said totally ignoring his subordinate, “I’ll be the next governor and you, my loyal friend, can have my chair behind this desk. What do you say? Are you with me?”

  “Um, yeah, boss. I’m a little stunned,” Hutton replied while wondering what would become of his family when he went to prison. “Of course, I’m with you.”

  “Great!” Slocum slapped his hands together. “And with a little luck,” he continued looking past his subordinate, “that lawyer that embarrassed me last year, what’s-his-name, Kadella, we’ll catch him in this net too.

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Slocum continued returning his eyes to Hutton. “See if you can get a hold of Dolan tonight, tomorrow or the next day at the latest for sure. Tell him I would like to meet with him. Don’t tell him what it’s about. Set up a meeting here, in my office. We’ll hit him with the indictment and show him the DVD. If he cooperates, we’ll hold off on arresting him. If not, we’ll have a couple of detectives waiting just in case, okay?”

  “Sure, Craig. I’ll take care of it,” Hutton replied, his head almost spinning with the news and the future he saw for himself behind bars if he didn’t do something to get control of this impending disaster.

  “I have a dinner meeting tonight, John. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. In the meantime, you keep this between the two of us.”

  Hutton went back to his office and spent another hour working on a couple of cases he had going. One was likely going to have to be tried and the other, a felony drunk-driving case involving an accident and an injury, had a plea in the works. Hutton was mentally stalling and he knew it. He was putting off making any decision regarding what to do about Bruce Dolan. Just before six o’clock, there was a knock on his door and Steve Gondeck came in.

  “Hey, John,” Gondeck said and took a chair. “Did you get the Dolan indictment?”

  “I can’t talk about it, Steve.”

  “Why?”

  “Slocum.”

  “Oh shit. He’s going to keep it quiet and try to squeeze Dolan, isn’t he?” Gondeck asked. “I was afraid he was dumb enough to try something that stupid. Didn’t you try to talk him out of it? Doesn’t he know it will never work? Dolan won’t flip on Leo. It’s a death sentence for him.”

  “Can’t talk about it,” Hutton again replied.

  “We have got to tell Marc Kadella about that DVD.” This statement only elicited a knowing shrug from Hutton. “If we don’t, it could seriously jeopardize my trial, not to mention Prentiss’s life, once Leo finds out we have it and he will. No way can we keep this quiet for very long. Is he here? Slocum?”

  “No, he’s gone for the day, some political thing. I’m leaving now myself,” Hutton said. “How’s the trial?”

  “Huh? Oh, okay,” a distracted Gondeck answered. “I’ll see you later,” he continued as he quickly stood and left.

  After Gondeck left, Hutton packed up his desk, locked it and his file cabinet and headed out himself. On the way down in the elevator, he figured he could stall for a day or two but a decision would have to be made.

  SEVENTY

  Bob Caldwell was sitting at the bar of the local FBI’s favorite watering hole. He was with two other agents, all dressed almost identically in cheap dark suits, white, short sleeve shirts and dull, polyester ties. Caldwell was on his second glass of beer when she slid onto the chair next to him.

  “Hey, sailor, buy a girl a drink?” Maddy quietly asked.

  “Well, I’ll be damned…Maddy Rivers. If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “What brings you here?”

  “Get me one of those,” she said pointing at his glass. “We’ll get a booth and I’ll tell you.”

  Madeline stood up and walked across the bar toward a booth while Caldwell ordered two more glasses of Miller. He brought them over to her, sat down across from her and all of the male patrons returned to their drinks.

  “Why do I think this isn’t a social call, Maddy?”

  “Because it’s not, Bob. I thought about how best to scam you then decided the best thing to do would be to be upfront with you. I’m looking for some information.”

  “Okay.”

  “What can you tell me about Leo Balkus?”

  “Nothing,” he replied too quickly.

  “I know that’s not true,” she said.

  “You’re getting into something that’s way over your head,” Caldwell said, nervously looking around to be sure they weren’t overheard.

  “Who is he, where did he come from and why is he being protected?”

  Caldwell leaned forward and whispered, “That’s none of your business. I’m telling you, Maddy, for your own good leave it alone.”

  Maddy leaned toward him and said, “He’s a drug dealer, a pimp, a murderer and you guys are protecting him. An innocent man is going to prison for murder and Leo did it, or had it done.”

  Caldwell continued to return Maddy’s stare then said, “Look Maddy. I like you but…”

  “I know,” Madeline interrupted, still staring straight at him. “How’s your wife?”

  “That was low,” he said.

  “So what? You can’t like protecting him. I know you. He’s scum!” she said.

  He leaned back against the back of the booth and thought about what she said. He swallowed down half of his beer while Maddy continued to lean on the table and stare at him.

  After a minute of soul searching, he leaned forward again and quietly said, “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much. Only because it sickens me, the shit he gets away with. Maybe it’s time somebody did something about him. But you didn’t get this from me.”

  “No problem,” she said as she picked up her glass in one hand and laid her other hand on top of his.

  It didn’t take him long to tell her
what he knew about Leo because it wasn’t much. Leo’s status was on a need-to-know basis and the local agents were allowed to know very little. What information he did have was mostly rumors and gossip, picked up around the office.

  “There isn’t an agent in the office, including Thompson, the special agent in charge…”

  “I know him,” Maddy said slightly nodding her head.

  “…who wouldn’t want to see this scum brought down. But we follow orders and do our job,” he shrugged.

  “Okay. Thanks, Bob. That’s more than I had before. I know someone with connections who can dig a lot deeper.”

  “Tony Carvelli?”

  “No, not Tony, someone else,” Maddy said as she finished her beer, grabbed her purse and began to slide out of the booth.

  Caldwell took her hand and said, “Hey, kid. You be careful. And Tony, too. Yeah,” he continued when she raised her eyebrows at him at the mention of Carvelli being careful. “We know he’s been snooping around. Leo’s a viper. He kills for pleasure okay?”

  “Thanks, Bob,” she said as he patted his hand. “We’ll get this guy.”

  “Good. Good luck.”

  As Maddy was pulling out of the parking lot, she punched the speed dial on her phone and Tony answered on the first ring. She told him what she had learned and they agreed to meet at Vivian Donahue’s as previously planned.

  Twenty minutes later, Tony opened the front door of the mansion while Maddy was walking up the front steps. They greeted each other and Tony led her into the library where Vivian was waiting. After Maddy received a friendly hug from Vivian, she and Tony took one couch and Vivian the other.

  “I haven’t told her anything,” Tony said to Madeline. “I thought I’d let you since you got it first hand.”

  “Leo Balkus is Russian. From Russia, Russian. My friend, who shall remain anonymous, told me he defected about ten or twelve years ago. Or that is what he knows. Says Leo got himself in some kind of trouble with the Russian government or the Russian Mafia…”