“I realize that many people believe prostitution is a victimless crime. Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, it isn’t. Those of us in law enforcement, (a subtle reminder whose side he was on) who have to deal with the dark side of it every day know how young women are abused and victimized for years. We fight it all the time and we need your help.
“Finally,” he continued slowly strolling to the defense table to stand in front of Larry Jensen, “I can understand how you might be sympathetic to a lonely, widowed, elderly man,” he said pointing at Larry. “But do not be swayed by your sympathy. The truth is he blatantly, deliberately broke the law and must be held accountable for it. We have proven beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of solicitation for the intent to commit prostitution. Thank you for your time and service.”
Marc waited until Bicknell returned to his seat and for the judge to give him permission to begin. He walked over and stood barely three feet from the jury box. He held up his right hand with all five fingers extended and slowly moved that hand across the jurors in front of each one.
“Five, ladies and gentlemen,” he started out saying as he continued to hold up the five fingers, “Five. Five members of the Minneapolis Police Department.”
Marc changed to hold up just his index finger. “One detective with eighteen years of service. Another, a sergeant with thirteen years,” he continued now showing two fingers. “Two patrol officers,” four fingers, “and a technician,” he said back to showing them all five fingers.
“Five, including three patrol officers who are normally patrolling the streets to catch criminals and keep our city safe. Five,” he said one last time for emphasis still showing them the five fingers.
He lowered his hand and gently held both hands in front of himself while he continued.
“Five members of the Minneapolis Police Department out fighting the scourge of prostitution and what did they get? A seventy-five-year-old, lonely widower. Quite a day in the annals of police work for the MPD.”
“Objection,” Bicknell said.
“Overruled but cool it on the sarcasm, Mr. Kadella.”
“Thank you for your time and service, ladies and gentlemen,” Marc concluded without responding to the judge. He then walked back to the table and sat down.
Judge Gilbert gave the jury their instructions and they were led out to deliberate. The judge left the bench and Marc and Uncle Larry followed the small crowd into the hallway.
Marc spent the next twenty minutes being interviewed by the two reporters. Gabriella’s cameraman had arrived and he filmed for about ten minutes while Gabriella asked questions. Uncle Larry was also briefly filmed and answered a couple questions. When they finished, both reporters reminded Marc that he owed them an interview regarding Howie Traynor.
They began to pack up to leave when the judge’s clerk came out and informed them the jury was back. Larry, of course, wanted to know if the short duration was good or bad. Marc had no idea either way.
Ten minutes later Bicknell came back in through the hallway doors just as the jury came back.
“Madam Foreman,” Gilbert said when everyone appeared ready. “Have you reached a verdict?”
The woman who was the jury foreman stood up, answered affirmatively and read the verdict form.
“Not guilty,” your Honor.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Marc was back at his desk. The unexpected not guilty verdict had displeased Judge Gilbert and angered Bicknell so much he stormed out of the courtroom. Marc had all he could do to contain his laughter. He had basically winked at the jury and encouraged them to stick it to the cops for wasting their resources and the jury’s time. Best of all, it had worked.
Larry was a little ambivalent about it. On one hand he was quite pleased to avoid the conviction. But he wasn’t sure how it would play with the women at his retirement complex.
Marc was still chuckling to himself about it while at his desk when there was a knock on his door. Connie stuck her head in and told him to check out the show on TV. Marc joined the small crowd in front of the office TV in time for the start of Melinda Pace’s show.
“I usually like to end the show with a lighter side of the courts and law,” she began. “I’m going to begin today’s with it because it happened locally.”
Melinda told the audience about Larry’s trial and its outcome. She placed special emphasis on the tape recording of the defendant offering the undercover officer fifty dollars for oral sex. Melinda didn’t have the recording itself but used the “several sources confirmed” line to assure the audience it happened. She then showed more than a minute of Marc and Larry being interviewed by Gabriella.
“I’m not sure whether to laugh or be upset,” she said. “The whole thing is kind of amusing but he was clearly guilty. I’ll leave it to each of you to decide for yourselves.”
At that exact moment, the phone rang and Carolyn quickly answered it. While the other office members laughed and congratulated Marc, Carolyn put the call on hold.
“Marc, it’s your mother.”
“Oh, God no,” he said hanging his head. “I forgot. She watches this show. I don’t need this. This is the last thing I want, to deal with her about her brother.”
By now everyone was barely containing their laughter over his dilemma. Connie pushed him toward his office while saying, “We’ll take it in here.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” he asked as Connie gently pushed him through the door. He sat down behind his desk while everyone crowded into his office.
“Hi, Mom,” Marc lightly answered acting as if nothing was amiss. He held the phone to his ear but Connie reached across the desk, punched the speaker button and held the base of the phone away from Marc.
“Give me that,” he whispered almost panic stricken.
“What have you and that idiot brother of mine been up to and why wasn’t I told?” the entire office heard Marc’s mother say. “He offered a policewoman fifty dollars for a blow job!”
“Mom, stop!” Marc practically yelled, almost in a panic amidst the stifled laughter. “Stop, I don’t need to hear my mother talking like this.”
“Oh, shut up. What, you don’t think I know what a blow job is? Grow up. Now…”
“Mom, please, would you want to hear Grandma talk like this?”
“Where do you think I learned it? Now, what have you two…?”
“Mom, call Larry! I’m not going to do this. Call your brother. I’m hanging up now,” he said looking at Connie with pleading eyes as he punched his index finger up and down, gesturing for her to hang up.
Connie was watching with her lips pursed tightly together. Several of the others had left and were laughing in the common area.
Marc put his hands together as if praying and mouthed the word “please” several times to Connie.
“Fine, I’ll call him but both of you are on my shit list!” Marc heard his mother say just before Connie ended the call.
By now the entire office was practically rolling on the floor at Marc’s embarrassment. After a minute it died down. Connie wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath.
“So, you found out your mommy knows what a blow job is,” she said.
Marc sat staring at the wall, too embarrassed to speak. A few seconds later he heard Carolyn yell at him.
“Hey, get out here. Melinda’s talking about Howie Traynor.”
Melinda was staring directly into the camera when Marc and Connie arrived in front of the TV. “Here it is folks,” Melinda said holding a document in her right hand. “This is a copy of the indictment handed down by the grand jury. We received it earlier today and I read through it before today’s show.
“The county attorney’s office and the police are obviously positive that Howard Traynor is the Crown of Thornes killer. As I said, I read through it but I haven’t had a chance to study the facts and allegations contained in it.”
She thumbed through the pages of the indictment, held it up a
gain and continued.
“Forty-four pages, fifteen felony counts including ten counts of murder involving five victims.”
By this point, Marc was practically seething with anger. “How the hell did she get a copy of it before me?” he growled.
The office phone rang and Sandy stepped away from the TV to answer it.
“Marc, it’s Steve Gondeck from the…”
“Put him on hold!” Marc snapped. “Wait better still, tell him I’ll call him back when I’ve had a chance to calm down. Tell him that exactly as I said it so he’ll know how pissed I am.”
Marc turned back to the TV while Sandy passed the message along to Gondeck.
“I’ve also received information about the evidence they have against him. They searched Traynor’s apartment and found barbed wire, wire cutters and leather work gloves hidden in his apartment. Forensic testing has matched the barbed wire to that found on the victims. The wire cutters are an exact match to the cuts used on the barbed wire crowns and they found Traynor’s DNA inside the gloves.”
By now, Marc had begun to calm down. He had been through this before, seeing news of evidence on TV that should have been sent to him first. There wasn’t much point in getting angry about it; better to deal with it in court.
“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, let me remind you that Howard Traynor is innocent until proven guilty. That, at this point, these charges are only allegations and he must be given the benefit of the doubt. We’ll be back after a short break.”
Marc was seated on the front edge of Carolyn’s desk staring at the screen. A commercial came on and he picked up the TV’s remote and shut it off. Everyone in the room had gone silent waiting for Marc to speak. Marc sighed heavily then said, “First my mother and now this. Quite a day. Can someone remind me why I went to law school instead of getting a job at, oh, I don’t know, maybe a grocery store or car wash?”
“Because you wouldn’t have this much fun and meet such interesting people. Of course, you’d probably make more money,” his friend and officemate, Barry Cline said.
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Marc lightly replied. “I forgot how much fun this is. Thanks for reminding me.”
He stood up and headed toward his office while saying, “At least I get to chew Gondeck’s ass.”
“Marc, I’m sorry. I don’t know how she got it. There’s a messenger on the way right now with a copy of the indictment and all of the discovery we have for you,” Gondeck said even before he said hello. Knowing Marc was royally and rightfully fuming about Melinda’s show, Gondeck tried to preempt the blast he was about to get.
Instead, Marc calmly but passive-aggressively said, “Okay. I’ll look it over when I get it. Thanks,” and hung up the phone without another word. Fifteen minutes later Gondeck’s messenger arrived.
Marc was now in his car going north on Lyndale toward downtown. It was after five o’clock and the staff was packing to leave when he finished scanning the documents. Marc made a copy of the indictment and was in a hurry to meet with his client.
While Marc was seated on the edge of Carolyn’s desk seething over Melinda Pace, Howie Traynor was in the jail’s common area also watching her show. The Court Reporter was a favorite among the inmates in the various jails scattered throughout the Cities. Melinda was a particular favorite among the guests of Hennepin County. Occasionally one of them would be featured, usually in the “dumbest criminals” segment of the show. Being the level of intellectuals that most of them are, seeing themselves featured as the dumbest criminal was considered a badge of honor. Melinda’s show was never missed and always attracted a large and attentive, if somewhat captivated, audience.
When Melinda finished reporting the information she had about Howie’s case, several of the inmates turned to look at him. A couple of them even tried to give Howie a little good-natured ribbing about it. Instead, as they started to speak, Howie gave each a look that turned their blood cold. Not another word was spoken to Howie as they all stood and moved away from him to other seats.
Marc looked up when a knock on the door broke the silence of the room he was in. He was seated on a cheap, molded plastic chair at a small, metal table in a conference room at the jail. Marc had been there for almost twenty minutes waiting for a deputy to bring Howie down to him.
The door opened and Howie shuffled in while the deputy held it open.
“Hey, Big Train,” Marc said smiling at the large black man. “How you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“I’m good, Mr. Kadella,” the deputy said flashing a large, toothy grin. Carl “Big Train” Johnson was a Viking offensive lineman until bad knees ended his career. Ever since he had been one of the most respected and liked guards in the jail.
“Knock when you’re done,” he told Marc.
Fifteen minutes later Howie finished scanning through the indictment then looked at his lawyer. “They’re throwing everything they can think of at me,” he calmly said.
“Hoping something sticks. They’re hoping if the jury buys some of it maybe they’ll buy all of it,” Marc answered. “Or if they cannot make the case on all of it the jury will believe you must be guilty of some of it.”
“What do you think?” Howie asked Marc.
“Nothing at this point,” Marc replied. “Here’s the deal. They’re going to arraign you again on the indictment. We’ll waive reading of the charges, you plead not guilty and we’ll argue about bail which will be denied again.
“We’ll schedule an omnibus hearing to argue admissibility of the evidence. We’ll see about that. I’m inclined to push for an early trial date. I don’t want to give them more time to find more evidence. What do you think about that?”
“Sounds good. I’m innocent and I believe God will not let them convict me of something I didn’t do.”
“The downside of pushing for a speedy trial is that it gives us less time to prepare. But they don’t have witnesses except cops and technical people. We’ll have their reports.
“For now,” Marc continued, “you take that with you,” he pointed to the indictment. “Read it over carefully. Memorize it. Go over every fact. Every claim they’re making especially dates and places. Let me know where you were and what you were doing. Okay?”
“Yes, sir, Marc. I’ll get right on it,” Howie politely replied.
THIRTY-NINE
Marc was, as usual, early for Howie’s second arraignment. Being a criminal defense lawyer, punctuality was mandatory. Because the news of the hearing was leaked to the media, by the time he arrived, there was a mob of people jamming the hallway of the fourteenth floor. Before Marc realized how bad it was, he had become stuck in the middle of it. He couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back either.
Marc pressed forward, eliciting several dirty looks, snarls and barely concealed cursing. When he got within twenty feet of the courtroom doors, one of the four deputies guarding the doors recognized him. Two of the deputies brusquely shoved their way through to him and led him past the unruly crowd.
Once inside he looked over the gallery, shook his head a couple of times and smiled. It always amazed him how many people would stuff themselves into uncomfortable benches for a meaningless court appearance. Marc walked up the aisle dividing the gallery and just before he reached the gate, a woman stood up to block him.
“You still owe me an interview,” Gabriella Shriqui said.
“Why are you people even here?” Marc said loud enough for the entire quiet crowd to overhear. “Nothing’s going to happen today.”
“When will I get my interview?” Gabriella asked a little too loudly.
Marc leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Thanks for putting that on Melinda’s show so my mother could see it.”
Gabriella looked up at him with a puzzled expression and said, “How was I supposed to know and why would I care? You were the one that asked me to do it, remember? I’ll call you to schedule the interview.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marc muttered then
walked past her through the gate.
He dropped his briefcase on an empty table and an older, burly man seated in the first row leaned over the rail. Marc recognized him as a local news reporter for the Star Tribune.
“What’s up, Gary?” Marc asked.
The man motioned Marc to come closer then whispered, “How does she merit an exclusive interview?”
Marc looked at Gabriella who was not paying any attention to them. He turned back to the man and answered loud enough for the media people in the front two rows to hear him.
“Are you blind or are you getting to the age where it doesn’t matter anymore?”
When the laughter died down a deputy approached Marc and said, “Your client is in the jury room, counselor.”
Marc followed the deputy across the courtroom to the jury room door. Just before he opened the door for Marc, the deputy quietly said, “The judge told me to tell you to take all the time you want. She has nothing else on the calendar for this afternoon so she’s in no hurry.”
“Okay and thanks,” Marc replied. A moment later Marc took a seat across the jury room table from Howie. He was a little surprised to see the priest, Father John, seated next to his client.
“I realize you know the drill for what we’re doing today,” Marc said. “But I just want to be sure so I’ll go over it again. Yours is the only case on the docket this afternoon. When the judge comes out she’ll call your case. We’ll get up and stand in front of her. She’ll ask if you’ll waive reading the charges and I’ll say yes. She’ll ask if you understand your rights; you say yes then she’ll ask you to plead. Oh, I almost forgot, she’ll ask if you have received a copy of the indictment.
“Again, I know we’ve been over this but I want to make sure. The courtroom is overflowing with media and spectators. When we go out there, no matter what happens or is said, show no emotion. No matter what you do, the media will misinterpret it and blow it all out of proportion. So don’t give them anything that they can use to make it worse.”
Certain Justice Page 24
