[Marc Kadella 02.0] Desperate Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Shortly before 1:00, Marc walked through the door of the arraignment courtroom and into the middle of a media circus. He stood in the doorway looking over the scene. The arraignment courtroom was about double the size of most courtrooms due to the volume of cases it normally handled. On a Monday afternoon it was usually very crowded from the guests of the county picked up over the weekend. It was normally occupied by just defendants, their friends and family, lawyers and bail bondsmen, but today there was a mob of media all seated together in one section and all talking at the same time.

  Marc scanned over the horde of media people, recognizing several who nodded an acknowledgement. One of them, a woman stood when she saw Marc and left her seat to approach him.

  “Hi, Mr. Kadella,” Gabriella Shriqui said.

  “Please, Gabriella, Marc will do just fine.”

  “Okay, Marc. Are you here for Judge Prentiss?”

  “You look lovely today, Gabriella,” he said trying to avoid answering.

  “Thanks. Are you here for Judge Prentiss,” she persisted.

  “Did I tell you that you look lovely today?” he tried again.

  “You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

  “Have a seat and we’ll see what happens,” he said smiling at her.

  Marc looked toward the front of the courtroom and saw a man pass through the gate and come toward them. The man’s name was Randy Fletcher and he was the P.D. Marc had talked to about handling the arraignment.

  Marc introduced him to Gabriella and while shaking her hand Randy said, “We need to go talk somewhere, privately.”

  “Over here, Randy. Look at me and not her when you talk to me, please,” Marc slyly replied.

  “Oh, yeah, um, right. Sorry.”

  “Bye, Gabriella,” Marc said as the two lawyers walked off to the holding area to talk to Prentiss.

  They found an empty conference room and waited for the guard to bring Prentiss to them. While they waited, Marc made it clear that he was not going to represent Prentiss at the arraignment. Randy would plead him not guilty, make an argument for bail and tell the court that Prentiss was in the process of obtaining counsel.

  The door opened and the deputy stepped aside as Prentiss shuffled in. He was wearing shackles on his ankles, handcuffs locked to a chain around his waist and was unshaven, disheveled and had bloodshot eyes. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Marc had all he could do to suppress a laugh at how far the mighty judge had fallen.

  “What did you want to see me about?” Marc asked after Prentiss had taken a seat.

  “Who’s he?” Prentiss asked nodding toward Fletcher.

  Marc introduced Randy to Prentiss and explained to him that Randy would be handling the arraignment.

  “They’ll read the charges, at least the ones they have so far. We’ll enter a not guilty plea, request bail which,” Randy continued shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know if bail will be granted or not.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Prentiss asked still using the same condescending, arrogant tone he always had.

  “Because it’s a serious crime,” Randy replied.

  Prentiss turned toward Marc and said, “I don’t want a public defender. I’ve been here three days and he’s the fourth one I’ve seen.”

  “You’re in good hands. They know what they’re doing,” Marc said impassively looking at Prentiss. “Now what do you want to see me about?”

  “Obviously I want you to represent me,” he answered as if speaking to a child.

  “Right there, that attitude is enough to make me say no. Not to mention too many other reasons to list. I don’t think so,” Marc said.

  “All right, I see you’re right,” Prentiss said, his shoulders visibly slumping. “I’ll tone it down, I promise.”

  “Why me?” Marc asked.

  “Because I’m not guilty. And you’re one of the few lawyers I know who can handle my case, win it and not turn it into a marketing campaign for themselves.”

  Marc turned to Randy and asked, “Should I be flattered about that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still offended about the public defender crack,” Randy replied, obviously not the least bit offended.

  “Let me give you some free advice. Like you said, tone down the attitude. If Judge Eason is a friend of yours, don’t act like it. He’s not a friend or a colleague. He’s a judge and you’re a…”

  “I understand all of that,” Prentiss snapped. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “This is why I’m not going to take your case. I can’t see you keeping your mouth shut, listening to me and letting me call the shots. Is that why you called me? Because you think you can run the show?”

  “No, no,” Prentiss said practically pleading. “I told you because I’m innocent. I came home from my going away party, heard some noises upstairs, went up and found my wife on the floor. She was already dead. Then someone struck me from behind and knocked me out. I came to when the police got there.”

  Marc stood up, walked to the door, looked at Prentiss and said, “Great story, Gordy. Stick with it. You’ll do fine.”

  As he was walking out of the courtroom, now much quieter because the judge was on the bench, he was again accosted by Gabriella Shriqui and two other reporters. He quietly conveyed to them he was not representing Prentiss and made his escape.

  An hour later, Marc was seated in one of the client chairs in the office of his landlord and good friend, Connie Mickelson. Connie was a successful lawyer who handled mostly divorces and personal injury cases. She had also been the recipient of several successful divorces and was currently in marriage number six. Connie also had a history, and not a pleasant one, with J. Gordon Prentiss III herself.

  “Part of me wants to help build the gallows to hang the sonofabitch,” Connie was saying to Marc as one of the other office mates, Barry Cline slid into the seat next to Marc.

  “I heard Prentiss called you. Are you going to take the case and do you need any help?” Barry asked.

  “I wasn’t going to, now Connie is trying to convince me to take it.”

  “I’m not trying to convince you of anything,” she protested. “He deserves a defense just like anybody else.”

  “You want it?” Marc asked her.

  “Do you think he might be innocent?” she responded ignoring the question.

  “I don’t know,” Marc sighed. “I’m not sure I care. And it doesn’t really matter.”

  “He told you he was innocent?” Barry asked.

  Marc spent a minute telling Barry what Prentiss had told him about his wife’s death. “The thing is I was at that party with him last Thursday night.”

  “So what? Did you see him leave?” Connie asked.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m just… I don’t know,” Marc said hesitantly. “Something in the back of my mind is telling me he’s not lying. Nothing I can put my finger on.”

  “One other thing, and I don’t want to make too big a deal out of this,” Connie said leaning forward, arms on the desk looking at Marc. “The publicity for this could do good things around here businesswise. It’s not like that sick sonofabitch you represented last year. This case will generate a lot of good publicity.”

  After thinking it over for a short while, Marc said, “Okay, I’ll go downtown in a couple of hours and talk to him again, see if he has any money and what the whole story is, then I’ll decide.”

  “What if he’s retained someone by then?” Barry asked.

  “Well, then he has,” Marc said rising to leave.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  “Are you still looking for representation?” Marc asked Prentiss after he had taken a seat and the deputy left.

  Marc had driven back downtown to meet with the judge and at least give him the courtesy of hearing his story. Prentiss had been taken back to his cell after being arraigned on second-degree murder charges and it was now after 4:00 P.M. Marc was left waiting almost a half hour in a conference room while the deputies went to get Prentiss.<
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  “I have a few names,” Prentiss replied, “but you’re still my first choice. Bruce Dolan has inquired, but I don’t trust him. Will you take my case?” Prentiss asked with a pleading look on his face.

  “Maybe. Tell me why I should.”

  “Because I told you, I’m innocent. I didn’t do this.”

  “Okay, tell me your story.”

  Prentiss went over the events of the night his wife died telling Marc exactly what happened. When he got home and was having a nightcap in his study, he heard noises coming from upstairs. He went up to investigate and found her body. As he stood over her, something, a noise or a movement from behind him while he stood over his wife’s body, caught his attention. The next thing he remembered was being awakened by the police and having a throbbing headache.

  Prentiss went over everything he said to the police, which wasn’t much. Being a lawyer and a judge he knew he was going to be arrested so he kept quiet. He told Marc about all of the events in jail; the arrest, the booking and the meetings with the lawyers from the Public Defender’s office. When he was finished with the arraignment, he was brought back to his cell and then down to this room to meet with Marc.

  When he finished, Marc leaned back in his chair and thought about what he had just heard. Following a minute of silence, Marc stood up, removed his suit coat and hung it on the back of the chair. He sat down again, reached in his briefcase for a yellow legal pad, set it on the table and said, “Okay, tell it to me again.”

  “Why?” an indignant Prentiss asked. “I just told you…”

  “That’s first on the list,” Marc said as he placed his pen on the tablet of paper and leaned forward to stare directly into Prentiss’ eyes. “If I’m going to do this, I’m not going to spend half my time explaining things and arguing with you. Now, tell me again.”

  Prentiss went over the entire story again only this time Marc made notes. Marc asked no questions and just let the judge tell him his side once more.

  The judge finished and Marc spent a couple of minutes jotting down a few more notes and reading them over. Satisfied, he looked at Prentiss and said, “Okay, tell me again.”

  Prentiss opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He shrugged his shoulders, lightly sighed and went over it once more. Marc listened again without interruption, this time while looking over his notes.

  When Prentiss finished for the third time, Marc said, “Do you have any money?”

  “Will you take my case?” an obviously relieved Prentiss asked.

  “Yes, I will. That’s why I had you tell me your side of it three times. There were some differences each time. Minor things. Nothing of substance but enough to make me believe you might be telling the truth. It didn’t sound rehearsed.

  “Now, do you have any money? I’m going to need one hundred thousand dollars, up front. I’ll bill against that at three fifty an hour. I may have another lawyer help me and I’ll definitely need at least one investigator. If you didn’t do this, we need to come up with a plausible explanation for who did. From what Randy Fletcher told me, they have some pretty damning evidence.”

  “I’ll need a few days to raise that much cash. As to who might have done this,” he continued while not making direct eye contact with Marc, “I just assumed it was a burglar. I really can’t think of anyone. Certainly there are plenty of suspects from people I’ve sent to prison. I get threatening letters, occasionally. I always turned them over to the police. They will have them. I can’t understand why anyone would harm Catherine.”

  “How many threatening letters are there?’

  “Maybe a dozen or so.”

  “Okay, we’ll get them as part of discovery. I’ll need this signed by you,” Marc said as he slid a one-page document across the table. “It’s my retainer. It spells out what we discussed. As soon as you get the money, I’ll file for an omnibus hearing. In the meantime, in a couple of days, you can expect a first-degree murder indictment.”

  “Are you sure?” Prentiss asked as he slid the paper and pen back to Marc.

  “Sure. The prosecution will portray you as a blood-crazed husband stalking up the stairs of your house with murder in your heart.”

  “I want to take a lie detector test,” Prentiss said emphatically.

  “No way. First of all, there is no such thing as a lie detector and you, as a judge, should know that. Second, nothing good will come of it.”

  “I’ll pass it.”

  “So what? You think just because you pass a polygraph the prosecution will drop the case? No chance. I will never let a client of mine take a polygraph. It’s a waste of time. If you pass it, the cops will think you beat the machine and if you fail it, in their minds it proves guilt and they will leak it to the media before you leave the building. No. No way will I ever agree to a polygraph. It’s a publicity stunt.”

  “Okay, I see your point. What about bail?”

  “When the judge gets assigned, I’ll ask for it. We’ll see. Can you raise more money?”

  “There’s equity in my home.”

  “Raise the money for me and I’ll see you in a couple of days. I’ll start working on it, but I’m not going on the record as your lawyer until I’ve received the retainer.”

  “I understand,” Prentiss said.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Marc said as he slipped into his coat and leaned on the table. “I know you’re keeping something from me…don’t bother to deny it,” he continued when Prentiss started to protest. “That can’t happen. You’re not helping yourself.”

  Marc walked to the door, pounded on it and yelled for the guard. The deputy must have been waiting because he opened it right away. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  The Delta airlines flight from Chicago to Minneapolis taxied up to the terminal gate. This flight was the last leg of the return trip for Leo Balkus and Ike Pitts coming back from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. The two of them had been away for several days on a business trip to meet with Mexican cartel drug suppliers. Despite staying in a two bedroom, ocean view suite in a five-star resort, both men were weary from the trip. This had been anything but a vacation. Dealing with Mexican cartel drug dealers who could find amusement in slitting your throat just to watch the blood drain was exhausting, to say the least.

  Like most travelers, the two men were glad to be home. Seated in first class, Leo and Ike were the first to disembark when the door was opened. When they reached the exit of the large terminal building they found Johnny Czernak, his broken nose still bandaged, dutifully waiting for them.

  Johnny was extremely anxious about Leo’s return. Leo had not called since leaving and Johnny figured he had not heard the news about Prentiss. To ease his personal responsibility to tell him, Johnny had saved several newspapers with articles about the death of Catherine Prentiss and the subsequent arrest of her husband.

  As Leo approached the Maserati, Ike having been dispatched to gather their luggage, he noticed a worried look on Johnny’s face. Johnny opened the car’s backseat door for Leo but Leo stopped and said, “What’s wrong? I can see it on your face. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Johnny leaned forward and whispered in his boss’s ear what had transpired in his absence. Without saying a word yet visibly angry, Leo got in the car and picked up the paper on top of the pile. Czernak got in the driver’s seat and sat silently while Leo read the article from the morning after the arrest.

  When he finished, Leo calmly folded the paper and placed it on the bottom of the stack of newspapers. One by one he scanned through the other papers, none of which had any more details to report. After about fifteen minutes, Ike arrived and Johnny helped him load the luggage into the car’s trunk.

  After the three of them pulled away from the terminal to head out into traffic, Leo asked Johnny, “Any more news than what’s in the paper?”

  “He was arraigned today. Dolan had a guy in the courtroom to watch. He pled not guilty and bail was denied. The
prosecutor said they were taking it to a grand jury for a first-degree murder indictment. That’s about it.”

  “Who was representing him?” Leo asked as Ike folded the paper he was reading and placed it on the pile between him and Leo.

  “The public defender, according to Dolan. He did say some guy named Kadella met with Prentiss but left before the arraignment.”

  “Why didn’t Dolan get the case?” Leo asked.

  “He said he tried, but Prentiss turned him down,” Johnny replied.

  “Charlie really made a mess of this,” Ike said to Leo. “I told you…”

  “Don’t even start that shit,” Leo snarled at Ike to shut him up.

  “Did you talk to Bruce?” Leo asked Johnny.

  “Yeah, I did. He said he’d be at the office when we got back.”

  When the three of them returned to Leo’s office, they found Bruce Dolan patiently waiting for them. He was seated on the couch, his suit coat lying next to him, sipping a cup of coffee when Leo came in. Ike and Johnny had been dismissed to take Leo’s luggage and clothing to Leo’s luxury condo so Leo and his lawyer could converse in private.

  The two of them greeted each other then Leo turned one of his chairs around, pulled it up to the coffee table in front of the couch to face Dolan and said, “So, what the hell do we do here counselor?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Leo,” the lawyer answered as he uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and set his cup in the China saucer on the table. “He got himself arrested for murder. The senate appointment is gone. And even if he beats it, I’m not sure how he can stay on the bench. Any way you slice it, he’s pretty much hosed.”

  “What about me and you? Can he make a deal to try to give them us?”

  “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought and I don’t think so,” Dolan replied much more calmly than he felt. In fact, since he first heard of the arrest, Dolan had been sweating bullets about this exact same thing. His worst fear was that the cops would find the DVD he and Prentiss had made about the blackmail scheme and the files he had stolen from Leo. Dolan would be finished if it came to light even if he could somehow protect himself from Leo.