Everyone sat in silence.
Finally, Maggie spoke. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that somehow Suzanne is going to try to throw the blame in another direction. I’m guessing her target will be the conspiracy assassins, and your job is to give her credible information she can introduce at trial.”
I nodded.
“I thought we talked about this and decided we were through with this conspiracy thing. I don’t want you --- or me, to be their fifth victim.”
“It’s not like that. Everything I do will be behind the scenes. I’m not going to be out there digging up new evidence. I’ll just be sharing what we already know. I won’t do anything to put either of us in danger. I promise.”
I could tell she wasn’t convinced.
“So what do you need from me?” Kevin asked. “How can I help?”
“Not a thing. That’s one reason I asked you to come tonight. I know you want to get married as soon as possible. You should concentrate on that. I just wanted you to know I’ll be tied up with this trial and I don’t want that to spoil your plans. You asked me to be your best man and I’m thrilled. I just don’t know if I’ll have the time to do the job justice.”
Kevin grinned. “That’s the least of my worries, Pal. Just make sure you’ll be there when the time comes.”
“So when is the big day?”
“That’s what we wanted to tell you, tonight,” Veronica replied. “It’s a week from this Sunday. We got the details worked out with Pastor Bob today.”
“Wow! That is quick.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door. It was Dad and Bernice.
“Evening, Son,” he said, barging into the room. Then he saw Kevin and Veronica. “Oops! Hope we’re not interrupting.”
“No, Dad. It’s fine. What can we do for you?”
“Bernice and I were going to bake some brownies, but discovered we were out of tequila. You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle laying around, would you?”
“I didn’t realize tequila was an ingredient. Those must be some special brownies.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Bernice replied. “The tequila is for margaritas. Baking is a lot more fun when you’re drinking.”
“Of course it is. I’ll see if we have a bottle in the pantry.”
“Before you inebriated chefs run off,” Kevin said, “Veronica and I have some news. We’re getting married a week from Sunday. Hope you didn’t have any other plans.”
“That’s great!” Dad said. “Sunday, huh? That means the bachelor party will be Saturday night, right Walt?”
“Uhhhhh ---.”
“What do you mean, uhhhh?” Dad replied indignantly. “You’re the best man and it’s your job to put on a big wing-ding the night before.”
Kevin came to my rescue. “Walt’s going to be tied up in a big trial, so there won’t be a wing-ding.”
“The hell there won’t,” he bellowed. “It ain’t no wedding without a wing-ding. Not to worry. Ole Dad to the rescue. You’re going to have the best party ever.”
He took Bernice’s hand and led her toward the door. “Come on, Babe. To hell with the brownies. We’ve got a party to plan.”
Bernice clapped her hands. “Oh good! I love parties. What’s it for?”
As the door closed behind them, I heard Kevin mutter, “Heaven help us!”
As I drove to the courthouse the next morning, I thought about the task in front of Suzanne Romero. This was the day the jurors would be selected to decide the fate of Carmine Marchetti. Recalling her words, “It’s not going to be easy to find even one person, let alone twelve, who doesn’t want to see your sorry ass in jail,” I didn’t envy her job.
Over the years, Marchetti’s name had been in the Star and on the evening news dozens of times, linking him to any number of nefarious deeds allegedly perpetrated by the mob. A person would have to have lived in a cave, cut off from pretty much everything, not to know he was the number one guy in the Kansas City crime syndicate. Finding an impartial juror was going to be a daunting task.
A huge pool of potential jurors had been selected for the process known as voir dire, where both attorneys may quiz each person to determine if any juror is biased and/or cannot deal with the issues fairly, or if there is cause not to allow a juror to serve such as knowledge of the facts, acquaintanceship with parties, witnesses or attorneys, or an occupation which might lead to bias or prejudice against the death penalty.
If, for example, the person is related to someone associated with the trial, they may be dismissed for cause. There are no limits as to how many may be dismissed for cause.
In addition, each attorney is allowed a fixed number of preemptory challenges where the juror is dismissed without having to state a reason.
As the morning continued, it became obvious that the prosecution was booting every juror with an Italian name. Every Accardo, Bellini and Capella was sent packing. Finally, Romero had seen enough.
“Your Honor, There is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Marshall is systematically excluding anyone with Italian heritage from the jury panel. I would remind the court that in Edmondson vs Leesville Concrete Co., 1991, the Supreme Court ruled that a juror could not be dismissed because of his or her ethnic background.”
“As long as we’re citing court cases,” Marshall responded, “let’s also cite J.E.B. vs Alabama, 1994. That ruling barred an attorney from dismissing a juror based on her gender. I think it is quite obvious that Ms. Romero is trying to exclude as many women as possible from the jury.”
Marshall was right. Suzanne figured that Marchetti’s ties to gambling and prostitution would undoubtedly come up in the trial and that men would more likely look the other way.
Judge Weathers agreed with them both and admonished each to follow the rules or be held in contempt.
So here it was, day one, and the gloves had come off. It was going to be a very interesting trial.
When it was all said and done, the jury was composed of six men and six women, one man was black and another’s name was Giordano.
Neither side got exactly what they wanted, but I suppose that’s the way it ought to be.
CHAPTER 12
After the jury had been impaneled, I headed to the john to drain the remains of my morning coffee.
I was met in the hall by Derek Blaylock.
“Morning, Walt. I hear you’re playing for the other team on this one. After five years on the force, I can’t believe you’re in bed with this creep.”
“Good morning to you, Detective. And for your information, I’m not in bed with anyone. I don’t like the guy any more than you do, and I get it that you and the brass want to get Marchetti, but you’re wrong on this one. He didn’t do it. I’m only on board to see that justice is served.”
“We’ll see about that when you’re on the stand,” he said, slapping a subpoena in my hand.
“What the hell,” I replied, shocked. “Why in the world would the prosecution want me to testify? What information could I possibly have to make their case?”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” he replied, smugly. “We’ve had Marchetti under surveillance for months, and guess what? You’ve been seen visiting the Don three times since Jack Carson disappeared. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“But ---.”
“Save it for the stand,” he said, walking away.
Totally bewildered, I stuffed the summons in my back pocket and headed for the can. I had to pee so bad my teeth were floating.
I had just unzipped and was in mid-stream when I heard the door open. I casually glanced over my shoulder and was shocked to see a matronly woman making her way to one of the stalls.
“Uhhh, excuse me! I think you might have taken a wrong turn.”
“Nope, don’t think so,” she replied.
“Didn’t you see the sign on the door? This is the men’s rest room.”
“Better look again, buster.”
“I’m kind of busy here. I’d like som
e privacy.”
“If you want privacy, then you’d better find another john. It’s no big deal. I’ve seen a penis before.”
Not mine, you haven’t, I thought.
I finished, shook, and zipped, and as I headed out the door, I heard the tinkle coming from the stall. This just isn’t right!
Back in the hall, I checked the sign on the door and was shocked to see the woman was correct.
All Gender Restroom. I was still mulling over the implications of this new development when I entered the attorney-client room.
“You look a bit perplexed,” Suzanne observed.
“You could say that. I just had my first experience in an all gender restroom.”
“It’s a new world, Walt.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. By the way, I have some bad news,” I said, pulling the subpoena from my pocket. “I’ve been served. Looks like I’ll be testifying for the prosecution.”
“You’re not the only one,” Marchetti grumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“I just received the list of witnesses the prosecution intends to call,” Suzanne replied, handing me a document.
Sure enough, my name was on it. Then I saw the other names.
“Whoa! Calinda? They’re going to have a daughter testify against her father?”
“Actually, that’s not unexpected. They need to establish a motive, and Calinda’s affair with Carson is a doosey.”
I looked at the other names.
“So who is Nick Valenti, and Melina Abadondo?”
“Valenti manages The Rat Pack Lounge, one of Carmine’s ‘businesses,’ and Ms. Abadondo works at Elite Escort Services. Another tactic of theirs will be to tie Carmine to these questionable ventures to disparage his reputation.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to do,” I observed.
“Bite me, Williams!” Marchetti growled.
The trial was about to begin, and poor Suzanne had to convince a jury that Carmine wasn’t such a bad guy.
A daunting task indeed.
Grant Marshall’s opening statement was short and to the point.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the charge against the defendant, Carmine Marchetti, is murder in the first degree in the death of Jack Carson, a reporter for the Kansas City Star.
“I’m sure the defendant’s name is not new to most of you. He has been indicted numerous times for prostitution, drug trafficking, and a host of other crimes. The defense will hasten to point out that he has never been convicted in any of these charges, but as the old saying goes, where there is smoke, there is fire.
“As this trial proceeds, the prosecution will establish two facts. Number one, Jack Carson was pursuing a story that would prove once and for all that Mr. Marchetti’s organization was masterminding the protection racket in northeast Kansas City. Second, during the course of his investigation, Carson met Calinda, Marchetti’s daughter, and the two became involved. Either of these events taken alone, could have provoked the defendant to take Jack Carson’s life, but together, there can be no doubt about the motive that drove Carmine Machetti to take the life of Jack Carson. Thank you.”
Suzanne realized how ridiculous it would sound to stand up and try to convince the jury that Marchetti was really a good guy, falsely accused, so she elected to reserve her opening statement.
The first person called to the stand by Grant Marshall was Dr. Grimm, the Medical Examiner.
“Dr. Grimm, did you have the opportunity to autopsy the body of Jack Carson?”
“I did.”
“And what did you find?”
“Mr. Carson’s body had been found in the Missouri River. The exposure was such that time of death was difficult to pin down accurately, but I would estimate that he had been in the water at least two weeks.”
“What was the condition of the body?”
“There were numerous bite marks and pieces of flesh had been torn away, most likely the result of river dwellers such as snapping turtles and gar.”
I noticed several women on the jury cover their mouths and wince.
“There were ligature marks around the victim’s ankles and his lungs were filled with river water,” Grimm continued.
“So, Dr. Grimm, would such findings be consistent with the notion that some heavy object was tied to Jack Carson’s feet and that he was thrown into the river to drown?”
“That would be a reasonable assumption. There’s no doubt Mr. Carson was alive when he hit the water.”
More wincing in the jury box. Marshall was painting a gruesome picture of Jack Carson’s demise.
“Dr. Grimm,” Marshall continued, “in your many years as Medical Examiner, have you seen other cases similar to this one?”
He thought for a moment. “Most definitely. Several years back I autopsied the body of Sven Marchand. If my memory serves me correctly, a man by the name of Tony ‘Shoes’ Gambini was convicted of his murder.”
Suzanne leaped to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The death of Sven Marchand has absolutely nothing to do with this proceeding.”
Judge Weathers turned to Marshall. “Counselor?”
“Actually, it does, Your Honor. I’m simply establishing a pattern of behavior here. It was established at that trial that Marchand was a shopkeeper who refused to pay protection money to the mob. Tony Gambini was convicted of murdering Marchand by tying weights to his feet and hurling him into the Missouri River.”
Romero was incensed. “I’ll restate my objection. I don’t see the relevance of that case to this proceeding.”
“The relevance, Ms. Romero,” Marshall interjected, “is that Tony Gambini was a known associate of Carmine Marchetti.”
Romero looked at Carmine and he shrugged his shoulders.
“Objection overruled!” Weathers barked. “You may continue, Mr. Marshall.”
“Thank you, Judge. Dr. Grimm, do you recall from that trial how Tony Gambini got the nickname, ‘shoes?’”
“As I recall,” he replied, “Gambini would remove a shoe from each of his victims as a trophy before tossing them in the water. When the police searched his home, I understand they found a closet full.”
More shudders from the jury panel.
If this first witness was any indication, Grant Marshall wasn’t going to have any difficulty establishing Marchetti’s credentials as a really bad egg, and it was equally obvious that Judge Weathers wasn’t cutting Marchetti any slack.
When offered the opportunity to cross-examine, Romero declined. There was nothing to be gained by dragging out the horrible death that Carson had endured.
Marshall’s second witness was Michael Gross, Carson’s editor at the Star.
“Mr. Gross, please describe your relationship with Jack Carson.”
“Sure. Jack Carson was the crime reporter for the Kansas City Star. He had been with the paper about ten years. I was his editor. Jack was the consummate news man, a real bulldog. Once he got his teeth into a story, he just wouldn’t let go.”
“Were you usually aware of the stories Mr. Carson was investigating?”
“Most of the time, yes. Often, his investigations involved public figures and the paper’s attorneys were always concerned about any legal implications.”
“And most recently, did one of his investigations involve the defendant, Carmine Marchetti?”
“It did. Jack was looking into the protection racket in northeast Kansas City and had contacted one of the men the mob would send to collect the weekly protection money from the shopkeepers. The collector was disgruntled because he felt he wasn’t being treated fairly, and agreed to provide background information for Jack’s story and testify against the mob in exchange for witness protection.”
“Do you know the name of this informant?”
“His name was Salvatore Salucci.”
“So, Mr. Gross, was Carson’s story ever published? I don’t recall seeing anything like it in the paper.”
Gross shook his he
ad. “No, it was a dead end.”
“Why was that?”
“Salvatore Salucci disappeared. One day he was meeting with Carson feeding him information, the next day he was gone. Without Salucci to testify as to the accuracy of the information, the story was dead.”
Marshall zeroed in for the kill. “Pretty convenient, Salucci disappearing like that. Did you ever wonder if maybe he too was at the bottom of the river with cement blocks tied to his legs?”
Suzanne leaped to her feet. “Objection! On so many counts. Leading the witness, presenting facts not in evidence. I could go on.”
“Not necessary, Your Honor,” Marshall said, smiling. “I’ll withdraw the question. I have nothing further for this witness.”
Marshall had made his point. There wasn’t a person in the courtroom, myself included, who didn’t believe that poor Salvatore was turtle food.
“Your witness, Ms. Romero.”
“So sorry for your loss, Mr. Gross. I know Jack Carson was a valuable asset to your paper. I’ve seen his name in the byline many times. As an investigative reporter, I would imagine that over the years he has, for lack of a better word, pissed off a lot of people. Are you aware of any threats he may have received?”
“Oh, sure. We have a file full of letters and emails threatening everything from emasculation to mayhem, but nothing has ever come from them. They’re just a lot of blustering and hot air.”
“How can you be so sure? Isn’t it possible that someone in that file might have made good on their threat?”
He thought for a moment. “I --- I guess that’s possible, but ---.”
Suzanne cut him off. “Thank you, Mr. Gross.”
It was a small victory, but Suzanne had at least planted the possibility that someone other than Marchetti had an axe to grind with Carson.
“One more thing, Mr. Gross. I would think, with all the crime in Kansas City, Jack Carson would have been working on multiple stories at the same time.”
The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22) Page 21
