[Marc Kadella 02.0] Desperate Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  At first she had not been overwhelmingly impressed with him. He was a third-year student at the U law school and about to graduate. The event at which they first met had basically been his graduation party since upon graduation he would be devoting himself full-time to the July bar exam. Although she had not been initially smitten with him, he had fallen head over heels for her and went after her with charm, sophistication and family money that would have snared most any girl her age. What finally did her in was the realization that his family connections, his father was a named partner in a very political law firm in downtown Minneapolis, would likely be a huge help for her career-wise. Or, so she believed. A little more than a year later, shortly after she graduated, she woke up one morning and almost did not make it to the toilet before vomiting. A month later, following a whirlwind engagement, they were married without having to confess to either set of parents that she was almost three months pregnant with Jonathon Gordon Prentiss, IV.

  SEVENTEEN

  Catherine checked the time on her watch, took one last drag of her cigarette before dropping it on the ground and crushing it with her shoe. She began walking slowly toward the building’s entryway and as she got to the door she paused to look over her reflection in the glass. Even with everything that weighed her down mentally and emotionally, she still took pride in her appearance. Her dark blonde hair with the light blonde highlights was stylishly cut. Her navy blue silk blouse and tan skirt accentuated her still trim figure. For forty-seven she thought she still looked damn good.

  She sat in the patient chair and waited patiently looking around the cluttered office while the doctor reviewed their session notes from her file on his computer. When he finished reading the notes, he turned toward her then turned on the recording device on the small table between them to make an audio record of the session on his laptop.

  “How are you feeling?” her psychiatrist, Dr. Jeffrey Chase began.

  “About the same,” she replied. “You know,” she said looking at the window sill next to her chair, “you’ve had the same pile of tea boxes sitting here the entire time I’ve been coming here. Plus, this place could use a little straightening up.”

  “I know, I just don’t notice it,” he answered this obviously good natured kidding. Turning serious he said, “Do you think the medication is helping?”

  “Mmmm, possibly. I guess I’m feeling a little more level. Not quite as much up and down.”

  “Are you still drinking?”

  “No, at least very little,” she lied.

  “If you drink alcohol and take antidepressants, the alcohol can counteract the benefits of the medication. It can even make things worse.”

  “I know, Jeff,” she replied obviously a little irritated.

  “Okay, this is now what, your fourth session?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Do you feel it’s helping you?”

  “Yes, definitely,” she lied again.

  “Really? That’s interesting since I don’t believe you’re being completely forthcoming. We haven’t even started to talk about what’s really causing your problems.”

  “Oh, and just what do you think that is?” she said with obvious annoyance.

  “I’m not sure,” the therapist said ignoring her sarcasm. “I have some ideas, but it would be best to hear them from you. It’s better if you search within yourself and be honest with yourself. It doesn’t help you to lie to me.”

  “You think I’m lying?” she asked looking away from him to avoid eye contact.

  “You need to answer that question. We can sit here for months avoiding the problem, but it won’t do you any good.”

  She continued to silently stare out the window not sure how she wanted to respond. Like any good therapist Dr. Chase quietly and patiently waited for her reaction. They stayed this way for almost five minutes while Catherine contemplated her next step.

  Even before her sessions with Dr. Chase began, her fifth attempt at therapy in the last ten years, she knew she would have to confront her demons or, more precisely, her demon. She just wasn’t sure what difference it would make or what possible good would come of it. Catherine Prentiss had been trapped her entire adult life and despite dozens of therapy sessions, she could see no way out.

  For the first few years her marriage to Gordon had been everything a newlywed could want. A healthy, beautiful baby boy came less than seven months into the marriage. Three years later Catherine gave birth to a girl they named Melissa.

  Gordon, for his part, in the first years was an excellent husband. He was kind, attentive and affectionate. It was clear to Catherine that he truly loved her and despite the fact that she had not been in love with him, she gradually grew to return his love. What was for her, initial feelings of fondness, and even a little awe, would eventually grow. Without realizing it though and only after twenty years of living the lie, she came to understand that what she had really fallen into was a spider’s web. And she felt as trapped as the proverbial fly.

  When he was initially hired, Gordon was working eighty to ninety hours per week at his father’s law firm. No special favors were granted to Jonathon G. Prentiss, Jr’s only son just because the old man’s name was one of four listed on the firm name’s letterhead. The white shoe firm of Kramer, Cullin, Prentiss and Moore, P.A., had solidified their position as a downtown Minneapolis firm because Thomas Kramer was a brilliant insurance defense litigator. When Kramer left his first firm when they refused to make him a partner because he was a raging, arrogant, asshole (or so the legend was told), insurance companies flocked to him for his representation. Within five years, much to Kramer’s delight, his original employer was out of business.

  Of course, when Gordon signed on to enslave himself as a new associate of Kramer, Cullin et al., he basically signed his life away to bill hours for his bosses. Ninety-hour weeks, an expected minimum, would put a strain on any marriage and Gordon and Catherine’s was no exception. Fortunately for her, the money he made allowed for a comfortable, if not extravagant lifestyle; a lifestyle far better than most young couples their age.

  Taking care of young Johnny, Gordon insisted on calling him Jonathon to honor his father whom he secretly despised but Catherine called him Johnny, was more joyous, rewarding and fulfilling than she would have imagined. Then a short three years into the marriage, a beautiful baby girl added to her maternal duties.

  Eventually, of course, Gordon’s hard work and never ending ass-kissing paid off and he was made a partner. Up to this time, while Gordon was still an associate of the firm, whenever Catherine brought up the subject of her life, her desires, the goals she had set and the things she wanted to do, there was always a ready made excuse. He was putting in so many hours and she had the children and the house and on and on which always put her off and ended the discussion in Gordon’s favor.

  When he made partner the money he made allowed an even better lifestyle and gradually, without even realizing how or when it happened, she completely lost her identity to his. His life, his career, what he wanted to become was the only thing that mattered. On those increasingly rare occasions when Catherine tried to bring up her dreams, the career she had wanted, the goals for her life she had set, the discussion would quickly turn into an argument and he would use his litigation skills to grind her down.

  As the years went by Gordon became more and more controlling and more and more demanding. It was all so gradual that Catherine did not even notice at first what was happening. Little things, over time, began to take on more and more significance. His food had to be prepared a particular way. How she folded his clothes must be done just right or he would throw them on the floor and make her do it again. The children’s school clothes were to be put out for his approval every morning before he left for the office. The house was to be cleaned, dusted and vacuumed every Monday, Wednesday and Friday and on and on until without even realizing how it had happened, by the time she turned forty, she was little more than another
possession.

  Their sex life, for the first few years when he wasn’t too exhausted from overwork, had been, as far as Catherine knew from various magazines, normal, satisfying and even quite rewarding. Over time that changed as well. Gordon would always present new things as simply a way to keep their physical life from becoming routine, tedious and boring. He became more and more physical, rougher and for her taste, kinkier.

  Toward the last years of her thirties, Catherine let her physical appearance go. She began to put on weight, stopped having her hair done as often as before, and began to use and abuse alcohol with increasing frequency. It wasn’t long before he became less and less interested in her sexually, but his control over their lives did not diminish. If anything, he began to treat her more like a servant, literally leaving written instructions for her each morning before he would leave. Then not bothering to inform her when or even if he would be home.

  Finally, about two years ago upon his appointment to the bench, she used some household money she had managed to save and hired an investigator to follow him and find out what he was up to. Less than a week later the man reported back that Gordon was involved in an S & M sex club. The investigator tracked down one of the other members who informed him that Gordon liked to both dish out the punishment and take it himself. The man offered, for money of course, to get pictures, but Catherine declined. That was the day she decided she was not going to live like this for the rest of her life.

  She cut down on her drinking, joined a health and fitness club, found a diet she liked, lost the weight, got herself back into shape and even made some friends and started to socialize a bit. At first Gordon paid little attention to her physical transformation. As long as she kept the children’s schedule the way he insisted, maintained their home the way he wanted and served as his partner at firm social events, her life became indifferent to him.

  About a year after she found out about his bizarre lifestyle, several events happened that profoundly affected Gordon and his reaction almost drove her to suicide.

  First, Gordon’s father died. On the surface this would not seem like an earth-shattering event. The old man was well into his eighties, had a heart attack and died. On the inside, Gordon couldn’t have been happier. His mother had passed several years before and his younger sister had run off and estranged herself from their abusive father who then left an eight million dollar estate to Gordon. Or so he assumed. When the Will was read, Gordon received two million and the rest went to Dad’s mistress in whose arms the old man had died while combining Viagra with heart medication, something he had been warned about several times. Gordon tried to contest the Will but the document was rock solid. The probate court judge knew and loathed Gordon and the thirty year-old-girlfriend got the money.

  A few months after his father’s death Gordon was assigned a notorious, highly publicized, serial killer trial. The Governor himself, whose daughter was one of the victims, had pressed for the case to be given to Gordon who assured the Governor a conviction was a certainty. Gordon saw the case as an opportunity to obtain a seat on the Minnesota Supreme Court with maybe a federal court appointment in his future.

  The trial rolled along smoothly and when it looked like a slam dunk for sure conviction, the whole thing blew up in his face. The defense lawyer, Marc Kadella, had dredged up the proof that the lead police investigator had tampered with some evidence, planted other evidence and suborned perjury to protect his brother. The defendant walked. This outcome, Prentiss believed, made him look like a fool and damaged his ambitions. Prentiss saw his future shattered and his career would go no further than a state court judge; right where he was now.

  About this same time their son informed them he was dropping out of law school one semester short of graduating to move to New York to study dance and theater and Catherine confronted him with the news of an affair she was having and demanded a divorce. For Gordon it was the proverbial last straw. The last piece of bad news he was going to take. He didn’t love her anymore, had no interest in her emotionally, physically or in any way at all. But in his sordid, twisted way, she belonged to him.

  The monster that lurked in him just below the surface came raging out and exploded all over Catherine. He beat her, kicked her, and dragged her around the house by her hair until she was practically dead. Then he threw her onto a bed and took just enough care of her to make sure she didn’t die. Four days later, when she had recovered sufficiently to listen, to open her eyes and comprehend him, he sat on the bed and calmly informed her she wasn’t going anywhere. And if she saw her lover again, Gordon would find out who he was and have him killed.

  Catherine turned her head away from the window, looked back at Dr. Chase, heavily sighed and said, “You’re right, I have to open up and talk to someone about this. I know you are bound by patient confidentiality but I want your word, I want to hear you say that you will not tell anyone.”

  “Of course you have my word, I won’t tell anyone. Now, Catherine, you need to tell me why you are so afraid of your husband that you can’t even admit it.”

  “How did you know that?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

  “I’ve been doing this over thirty years,” the balding, slightly pudgy mid-fifties psychiatrist replied. “So tell me.”

  “My husband the Honorable Judge Gordon Prentiss, is, pure and simple, a monster.”

  EIGHTEEN

  A week after Butch was sentenced, Marc and the man he had brought with him sat in two uncomfortable molded plastic chairs waiting in one of the small, windowless client conference rooms of the Hennepin County jail. They patiently waited for Butch Koll to be brought down for their visit. The gentleman Marc wanted Butch to meet was an attorney with the State Public Defender’s Office, Chuck McReady. Chuck was only thirty years old and because of his light-blonde hair and all but invisible facial hair looked ten years younger than that. Despite his youthful appearance, Marc had known him for several years and had referred several cases to the State P.D. office for potential appeals and knew Chuck to be a first-rate criminal appellate lawyer.

  “Ever notice how cold these places are?” Marc asked.

  “They don’t want you to get too comfortable. These geniuses must figure if you’re freezing your ass off you won’t want to waste much time helping criminal scumbags. What these morons never consider is that because we do our jobs it makes it less likely the government can come and kick their doors down whenever they get an itch to harass someone.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Sure. Well, yeah, maybe. At least that’s what I tell my mother when she gets on my ass about what I do.”

  “What’s your wife say?”

  “Wife? What wife? As young and good looking as I am I’m in no hurry for one of those. Why would I want to give up sex for marriage?”

  “Good point,” Marc replied as both men laughed.

  At that moment they heard a key in the door lock and a few seconds later a deputy opened the door and stood aside as Butch Koll, manacled at the waist and ankles and chic clad in a county orange jumpsuit, slowly shuffled into the small room.

  “Take these things off of him,” Chuck said in a demanding tone.

  “Sorry, counselor. No can do,” the deputy replied. “You know the drill. Pound on the door when you’re done,” he continued as he closed the door.

  “I always say that to them just because I know it annoys them to have a lawyer tell them what to do,” Chuck said to Marc with a big grin.

  “Hey, Butch,” Marc said as he rose to shake his client’s hand.

  “Who’s he?” Butch asked nodding his head at Chuck as he slumped into one of the chairs.

  “He’s your new lawyer,” Marc answered.

  “I don’t want another lawyer.”

  “Yes you do,” Marc said while Chuck impassively sat listening to the exchange. “He handles nothing but criminal appeals, which I don’t and he’s damn good at them, which I’m not.”

  “Is he outta
high school even?” Butch asked which brought a hearty laugh from Chuck and a smile to Marc.

  “Almost,” Chuck said.

  “Let’s start this over,” Marc said. “Butch Koll, meet Chuck McReady. Chuck is with the State Public Defender’s Office and he’s agreed to take your case and appeal it. They won’t even charge you for it,” he finished as Chuck shook hands with Butch.

  “No offense,” Butch said to Chuck,” but I don’t want no P.D., I want you,” he said while looking at Marc.

  “I already told you, I don’t do appeals and he does. Trust me on this. You’ll be in good hands, besides…” he said turning to the other lawyer. “You want to tell him?”

  “Marc and I have been over your case and I’ll be very blunt about this, an appeal is a long shot. About the only grounds we can come up with to try to get your pleas and sentence thrown out and get a new trial granted is ineffective assistance of counsel. We have to go before a panel of three appeals court judges and convince them that Marc here screwed up.”

  “Which I did,” Marc interjected.

  “I don’t need a new trial. I’ll take the nine months they offered in the first place.”

  “We’ll ask but it won’t happen,” McReady said. “Unfortunately, your best bet is to convince them Marc screwed up by not getting the sentence done right away.”

  “I should’ve gotten Prentiss to agree to it on the record when he accepted your plea.”

  “That reminds me,” Butch said. “That Prentiss guy, there was always talk, I heard this from Ike, that Leo had a Hennepin County judge in his pocket. Maybe a couple of them and one or two others over in St. Paul.”

  “Hold it,” Marc said, visibly surprised. “Did anyone, Leo or Ike, ever mention anyone’s name?”

  “No,” Butch shook his head. “In fact, I asked Ike once and he said he didn’t know who any of ‘em might be. Said only Leo and Dolan knew.”