When the show came back from a commercial break Melinda turned to her guest. Denise Flagler, the former prosecutor was back to give her expert opinion of a trial she was not watching.
“I must admit,” Melinda began, “I wasn’t sure if the jury would believe Traynor sneaked out to kill these people the way the police said he did. Using a wooden plank to go to the next building seemed like a bit of a stretch.”
“Juries aren’t stupid, Melinda,” Flagler said. “With the DNA of Howie Traynor found on the victims and the revelation that the police found proof he was on the roof of the building next to his apartment, I think his goose is cooked.”
“What about the judge telling the jury to ignore the testimony about the cigarettes found on the roof?” Melinda asked.
“They’re human,” Flagler said looking directly at the camera. At that precise moment, Flagler was delighted she had spent two hours having her hair done and face painted. She looked great and knew it. “The jurors are not going to be able to ignore it. They’ll say they did but it was a very powerful moment.”
While this was being shown on the jail TV, several of Howie’s neighbors stole quick glances at him. Howie ignored them and continued to watch the show with an impassive expression. When it was over he left the room without saying a word about it.
The next morning Judge Koch was late coming to the bench. She was delayed because she had to deal with an “emergency” motion on a civil case she was handling. It was a dispute between an insurance company and a corporate customer of the insurance company. To make sure that the lawyers billed enough time for this hearing which was no emergency and could have waited a month or two to be heard, there was a total of seven lawyers in Koch’s chambers. Afterwards, she took fifteen minutes to allow her exasperation to go away and it was past 10:00 A.M. when she entered the courtroom. She did not want her annoyance with the “emergency” hearing to affect the trial.
“Good morning, Detective Jefferson. I have just a few more questions,” Marc began. “I’d like to be clear about something. Isn’t it true that you believe Howie Traynor committed these murders because of some need for revenge?”
“I suppose you could put it that way, yes,” Jefferson replied.
“Do you have a different motive?”
“No, I don’t,” Jefferson admitted.
“And he is charged with the murder of Cara Meyers, a woman he had never met because it is possible he wanted to confuse the investigation, to throw you off the track, so to speak?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“And the single hair that was found on her body, you admitted it was possible it could have been planted is that correct?”
“Yes,”
“You believe it was possible he committed the other murders because they were involved in his original trial twelve years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Jefferson, are you aware I was his lawyer for that trial?”
“Objection,” Harris interjected, “irrelevant.”
“Sustained,” Koch ruled.
Even though the objection was sustained as Marc expected the question still hung in the air. The message was loud and clear. Marc is alive and well and willing to represent him again.
“Isn’t it true that Rhea Watson prosecuted both Eugene Parlow and Aaron Forsberg?”
“Yes, she did.”
“And you knew this didn’t you?”
“Yes,”
“Isn’t it true that Judge Ross Peterson presided over the trials of both Eugene Parlow and Aaron Forsberg?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Isn’t it also true that Cara Meyers was Eugene Parlow’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“And Julian Segal was Aaron Forsberg’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“And they were both murdered by the Crown of Thornes killer and I’m still alive?”
“Objection!” Harris jumped up and yelled.
“Withdrawn,” Marc said. “Are you aware that Judge Robert Smith the likely first victim in Beltrami County, was one of the appellate judges for Eugene Parlow, Aaron Forsberg and Howie Traynor?”
“Objection,” Harris said again.
“Your Honor, I’m merely asking if the witness is aware of this,” Marc said.
“Overruled. The witness will answer.”
“Yes, we knew that.”
“Do you believe beyond a reasonable doubt that Howard Traynor is guilty as charged?”
“Objection,” Harris jumped to his feet again. “That is strictly for the jury to determine.”
“Your Honor,” Marc countered by saying, “the witness is a decorated, veteran, homicide detective. He can give his opinion.”
Judge Koch thought it was an odd question for the defense to ask. She would never allow the prosecution to ask it but if the defense wanted Jefferson to give his opinion, it was their risk.
“Overruled. The witness can answer.”
“Yes, of course I do,” Jefferson said looking directly at the jury.
“Because even though he was under round-the-clock surveillance by private detectives and the Minneapolis Police Department, it’s possible he could have slipped away, several times, evaded the surveillance, committed horrible, bloody crimes then slipped back past the surveillance again without ever being seen. It’s possible he did that, isn’t it?” Marc asked managing to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice.
Jefferson’s reaction to the question was exactly what Marc hoped for. He paused at least ten seconds before answering. While he sat silently on the witness stand the courtroom was absolutely still and the question hung in the air.
“Yes,” Jefferson finally agreed.
“A lot of things going on in this case that hang on the word ‘possible’, isn’t there, Detective Jefferson?”
“Your Honor, objection,” Harris said again jumping out of his chair. “Argumentative.”
“Sustained,” Koch said. “The jury will disregard that last question.” All the while Marc sat quietly staring at Owen Jefferson.
“One last question, your Honor,” Marc said without moving his eyes from the witness.
“Detective Jefferson, you are certain that Howard Traynor is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt yet, isn’t it true that Eugene Parlow was under surveillance until his death and Aaron Forsberg is still under surveillance by the police?”
A slight murmur went through the crowd while Jefferson, Harris and Ramsey all wondered how Marc knew this.
“Yes,” Jefferson quietly admitted “Because…”
“Nonresponsive,” Marc said.
“Answer just the question as asked,” Judge Koch reminded him which caused Jefferson to admit it again.
“I have no further questions at this time, your Honor. I request the right to recall.”
“Granted,” Koch ruled. “Mr. Harris, do you wish to redirect?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Harris answered.
“Let’s break for lunch first,” she ordered.
The afternoon session also started a little late. It was almost 1:30 by the time Tommy Harris began his redirect-examination of Owen Jefferson. The basic purpose of a redirect-examination is to try to correct or rehabilitate statements made by the witness during the cross-examination. It is not supposed to be an opportunity to bring out any new facts. These should have been handled during the original direct-examination.
During Marc’s cross-exam of Jefferson, both Tommy Harris and Paul Ramsey made notes of statements to try to correct. Harris spent all afternoon basically going over the most important points Marc elicited from Jefferson that were favorable to the defense.
While Harris was doing this, Marc amused himself by listening carefully and objecting whenever he could. Almost all of the objections, at least a dozen, fell into one of two categories. Either “beyond the scope of the cross-examination” or “already covered during the direct-examination”. Every one of them was sustained and with each one Harris became a
little more flustered.
By the end of the day Harris did manage to get it out of Jefferson that the police believed Howie had an accomplice. They also believed it was either Eugene Parlow or Aaron Forsberg. When Harris finally finished, Marc was given an opportunity to recross-exam Jefferson.
“Let me be sure I understand you, Detective Jefferson. Parlow and Forsberg were under surveillance because you believe it was possible that Howard Traynor had an accomplice?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Jefferson sighed.
“There’s that word ‘possible’ again, isn’t it Detective?”
“Objection,” Harris said but didn’t have the energy to stand.
“Sustained,” Koch said hiding a smile.
“I have nothing further, but again, I do reserve the right to recall,” Marc concluded.
FIFTY-FIVE
Marc was at his desk reviewing his trial book for approximately the twentieth time. He was going through it page-by-page trying to be careful and not miss anything.
When the testimony of Owen Jefferson finally concluded, the trial entered its middle part.
A real trial isn’t like those depicted on TV or in the movies. They normally move at a snail’s pace because the prosecution must build its case piece-by-piece, brick-by-brick. They must be sure that each and every element of every charge is proven beyond a reasonable doubt. And they must do it for every crime charged. This requires a number of witnesses who add minor details that are important to the final product. The next witness to be called by Harris was Marcie Sterling, Jefferson’s partner. She had taken the stand first thing this morning and was done by noon. Sterling had little more to offer than a confirmation of what Jefferson already told the jury.
The afternoon was spent with several witnesses who were only ancillary to the prosecution’s case. There was a list of a dozen people who either discovered the victims or were first responder police officers. The only one who offered any real evidence was the tech who had performed the analysis of the items found in Howie’s apartment. She testified that the barbed wire was the same as that found on the victims’ heads and the wire cutters mostly matched the cuts made on those crowns. Marc had his own expert, his criminalist Jason Briggs to testify and dispute those findings. Hopefully Briggs could create some reasonable doubt about this evidence.
First up were the two women who called the police and went to the home of Rhea Watson. They were her assistant, Tricia Dunlop, and Rhea’s immediate supervisor and friend, Jacqueline Neeley. Paul Ramsey did the direct-examination of both, his very first time questioning a real witness in a real case. He confidently guided each woman through her testimony then turned them over to Marc. Marc’s cross-exam amounted to little more than a few questions to elicit a confirmation that neither of them had anything to offer regarding who might have committed this crime.
The next witness was police sergeant Norman Anderson. His testimony was much more riveting. During his walk through of Rhea Watson house, he had used a small camera to take pictures. Prior to trial there had been an argument before Judge Koch about this. Marc tried to convince the judge that these photos were unnecessary and added nothing to the question of guilt. Koch had ruled that ten pictures could be shown and Koch herself selected those. When Anderson’s picture of Watson’s body went up on the TV it created virtually no reaction. By this time these gruesome photos had been seen too many times and their shock value had worn off.
The afternoon dragged along and by 4:30 the jurors were having a difficult time paying attention. Marc had noticed a couple of them even nod off. When Ramsey finished with the two women who found the posed body of Elliot Sanders at the picnic table in Mueller Park, Koch called a halt for the day.
Before she dismissed the jury she called the lawyers to the bench.
“Are you on schedule?” she asked Tommy Harris.
Assuring her that they were the judge dismissed the jury for the weekend. She also politely yet firmly admonished them they were not to discuss the case with anyone and were to avoid news reports concerning it.
Marc looked at the clock on his office wall, noticed it was already past 7:00 P.M. when his cell phone rang. He checked the I.D. and saw it was Margaret Tennant. Marc answered the call and for the next ten minutes found a little solace in her comforting voice.
Margaret not only knew Marc well she also knew trial work. Before calling she expected Marc would beg off spending the weekend with her. The stress and significance of the case were all consuming and he would need some time to himself, to be alone and decompress a little. Plus, during a trial like this, the weekend, even if the trial was in recess, would not be time off for the lawyers.
Moments after ending the call with Margaret, Marc heard the front door being unlocked and opened. Knowing who it was Marc watched through his open door waiting for her to appear.
“Hey,” Marc said when Connie Mickelson appeared in his doorway.
“I figured you’d still be here,” she answered him.
Connie placed her large, leather purse on Marc’s desk. She reached into it with both hands and when they emerged, she had two small glasses in her right hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other. She set the glasses on the desk blotter and poured three fingers in each one. She handed one to Marc, held hers toward him and he lightly touched it with his in a toast.
They each took a sip then Connie sat down and said, “Figured you could use a little pick-me-up.”
Marc took another small sip while Connie tossed all of her drink down. She refilled her glass, held up the bottle to Marc who smiled and declined.
“So, how you doing?” she asked after setting the bottle back on his desk and leaning back in her chair.
Marc also leaned back, opened a desk drawer and put his feet up on it. “Okay,” he answered.
“How’s the trial going?”
Marc thought about his answer, sipped the bourbon again then said, “Okay but I’ve got a couple problems.”
“The cigarette butts found on the roof?”
“Yeah,” Marc agreed. “That’s one.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not sure. How do you know…”
“It was on the news, of course. The Princess,” Connie added sarcastically, “Melinda Pace, was practically giddy about it.”
“It was excluded by Judge Koch,” Marc said shaking his head. “They shouldn’t report it at all.”
“The jury heard it. They can’t ignore it,” Connie said.
“I know,” Marc agreed. “I’ll think of something. I hope.”
“What’s the other problem?”
Marc drained his glass, cringed a little as the liquid burned down his throat, then held the glass out to Connie. Connie had finished her second drink and splashed more into both glasses.
“Madeline Rivers,” Marc said in answer to Connie’s inquiry.
“I figured,” Connie said. “You have to go after her.”
“I know,” Marc sighed. He looked away from Connie and stared vacantly at the drink in his hand. Up to this very moment he had been putting off dealing with this particular dilemma. He still did not want to, but talking about it with Connie might help.
Marc was still leaning back in his brown leather desk chair, his feet on the opened drawer. He turned his head to Connie, drank half the bourbon in his glass and said, “I can either force her to commit perjury or admit to a felony.”
“You didn’t send her into Traynor’s apartment. That was a choice she and Carvelli made,” Connie reminded him.
“Connie, she’s just like you. She’s my pal, my girl. This sickens me.” Marc looked at the wall clock, tossed down what remained in his glass and said, “I have to get out of here. If I don’t, I’ll stay until that bottle’s empty.”
“It might be just what you need,” Connie smiled.
Marc dropped his feet onto the floor, swiveled his chair to face forward, handed the empty glass to Connie and said, “Probably, but I don
’t think that would be a good idea.”
Marc’s personal phone rang at that moment and he checked the I.D. It was not a number he recognized and he almost did not answer it. Marc’s curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the phone and put it to his ear.
“Hey, Marc,” he heard a man’s voice say, a voice he recognized but couldn’t place. “It’s Steve Gondeck.”
“Steve,” Marc said. “What’s up?” Marc continued as he looked at Connie with a puzzled expression.
“Look, Marc,” Gondeck continued speaking almost in a whisper. “I have some information for you but I can’t tell you over the phone. Can we meet tonight?”
“What, you think the NSA is listening in? Trust me, Steve. I’ve been dealing with the IRS and the Feds for twenty years. They’re not that competent.”
“Marc, I’m serious,” Gondeck said.
“Okay. Where and when?”
Gondeck gave him the name of a restaurant on the 494 strip in Bloomington and Marc agreed to meet him in twenty minutes.
Marc walked into the restaurant, stood in the dining room entryway and looked for Gondeck. At first, he did not see him then finally noticed him waving from a table in the back. Approaching the table, Marc realized why he didn’t recognize him. Marc had never seen Steve Gondeck wearing anything but a business suit, white shirt and tie. This man had on a cotton pullover and jeans.
The two lawyers shook hands and took their seats. Gondeck was sipping a short glass of beer and Marc ordered the same. While the waiter went to get it, the two of them made small talk about the Vikings, the weather and the upcoming Holidays.
“Okay,” Marc said after a swallow of his beer while patting his mouth with a napkin. “What’s up?”
Gondeck hesitated for a long moment once again thinking about the information he had. His professional responsibility divided between his ethical obligation to his job and clients, the people of Hennepin County and the State of Minnesota, and his ethical obligation as an officer of the court. He had been weighing these commitments most of the day. Normally they did not contrast as they did now. Gondeck had finally decided that his duty as an officer of the court and his responsibility to seek justice outweighed his loyalty to the county attorney’s office.
Certain Justice Page 35
