[Lady Justice 22] - Lady Justice and the Conspiracy Trial

by Robert Thornhill

  I had to agree. It didn’t.

  “You’re not, by any chance, keeping another lady on the side, are you?”

  “Walt, get real. At my age I’m lucky to keep one woman satisfied.”

  “So do you want to cancel our ring shopping?”

  “Hell no! I don’t know who this creep is, but I’m not going to let him spoil my wedding.”

  In spite of the disturbing letter, we had a lovely morning.

  Kevin and Veronica both found rings they loved, and by noon we were finished shopping and famished.

  “How about lunch at Mel’s,” I suggested.

  Maggie and Veronica rolled their eyes, but grudgingly agreed.

  When we entered the diner, we were surprised to see Dad and Bernice. They waived us to their table and asked us to join them. It wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, but we didn’t want to be rude.

  After they oooh’d and ahhh’d over the wedding rings, we all ordered some of Mel’s delicious comfort food.

  We were about to order pie when Bernice announced she needed to make a trip to the ladies room.

  She had just left the table when a woman I’d never seen before entered the diner and approached our table.

  I felt Kevin tense as she came closer.

  “Gloria! What in the world are you doing here?”

  “I came to be with you, Fred,” she replied.

  We all looked at Kevin in surprise.

  Victoria was the first to speak. “Who is this woman, Sweetie?”

  “She’s no one,” Kevin replied. “Not now anyway. Gloria and I lived together in Phoenix --- until we discovered I had a fatal kidney disease. One morning I woke up and she was gone. Just vanished. Not a word of goodbye. I could only guess that she saw no future taking care of an old codger hooked to a dialysis machine. It just wasn’t what she had signed on for.”

  “Well now I’m back,” Gloria said. “I know I did you wrong and I’m here to make it up to you.”

  “Sorry, Gloria,” Kevin replied, shaking his head. “That ship sailed the day you left me alone to die. So beat it. Just go back where you came from.”

  “Sorry you feel that way,” she said, pulling a .357 Magnum from her purse. Then turning to Veronica, “I tried to warn you off, bitch, but you wouldn’t listen. If I can’t have Fred, nobody will.”

  As she pointed the .357 at Kevin’s head, I heard a voice from behind her.

  “Drop the gun, lady, or I’ll fill you so full of lead they’ll be able to use you as a trot-line weight.”

  We all looked and saw Bernice pointing her .32 at Gloria. I had no idea Bernice was a fisherman.

  Gloria looked at the ninety-year old and snickered. “You’re not going to pull that trigger. I doubt you’ve got the strength.”

  “Oh really?” Bernice replied. “Rule number 1. Never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s pointed right at you. Rule number 2. Never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. Well, guess what? That’s exactly where it is. So what’s it going to be? It’s all up to you. Go ahead, bitch. Make my day!”

  Bernice and Dad had obviously been watching some Dirty Harry movies.

  Gloria waivered and set the gun on the table. It was a prudent move. There was no doubt in my mind that Bernice would have blown her away.

  I called Ox and a half hour later, Gloria was in cuffs.

  As Bernice was putting her gun back in her ankle holster, I heard her mutter, “Thank goodness I just peed or my holster would’ve been soaked.”

  After things calmed down, I said, “I hope this revelation doesn’t change anything between the two of you.”

  Veronica looked lovingly at Kevin. “Like Pastor Bob said, the Lord doesn’t look at people as they used to be. He looks at them as they are now. We both have done things in our lives we’re not proud of, but that’s all in the past. What’s important is what we have now and what we’ll have in the years ahead.”

  Another bump in the road, but thankfully things seemed to be smoothing out --- at least for now.

  CHAPTER 9

  I had just sat down at the breakfast table with my coffee and Wheaties, and had taken my first mouthful when I opened the newspaper.

  I nearly choked when I read the headline.

  Body of Kansas City Star Reporter Jack Carson Found.

  The article went on to say that Carson had been reported missing by his editor at the Star. Carson’s body was found in the Missouri River by a tugboat captain. Detective Derek Blaylock said the case was being treated as a homicide.

  So there it was.

  I knew from his note that Jack was trying to get away and start a new life, but obviously they had found him before he could make his escape. Sending me the envelope with all his work was most likely one of his last acts before being captured.

  Knowing that Carson was now on the list of people who had died trying to expose the chemtrail conspiracy made me shudder, and it strengthened my resolve to never let anyone know about the evidence locked away in my safe.

  My appetite gone, I flushed my soggy Wheaties down the disposal, gulped the rest of my coffee, dressed, and headed to the morgue.

  Dr. Grimm, the medical examiner at the county morgue, and I aren’t exactly close friends, but during my time on the force, I had frequented his domicile enough times that we were more than just acquaintances. I hoped that previous relationship would get me in the door.

  I wasn’t disappointed.

  “Walt, the aged half of the former dynamic duo! What brings you to my humble abode?”

  “Hi Doc. Good to see you again. I --- uhhh --- was wondering if you’ve had time to look at Jack Carson yet.”

  “Indeed I have,” he replied, “but I haven’t even had the opportunity to report my findings to Detective Blaylock. I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you. What exactly is your interest in Mr. Carson?”

  “Two things. First, we were friends, and second, we were working a case together when he disappeared. I understand what you’re saying, but anything you could give me would be appreciated. Detective Blaylock doesn’t even need to know I was here.”

  He thought for a moment, then whispered conspiratorially, “Okay, but mum’s the word.”

  I nodded.

  “Actually, I can’t tell you much. The body had been in the water for some time and was in poor shape. It looked as if the denizens of the deep, most likely turtles and gar, munched a bit. There were ligature marks around the ankles. A good guess is they were made by a rope tied to something very heavy on the other end.”

  “So you think someone tossed him in the river with weights tied to his ankles.”

  “It would seem so, but that’s not the worst part. His lungs were filled with water. He was most definitely still alive when he was tossed into the deep. A horrible way to go.”

  I cringed as I thought about poor Jack’s lungs bursting as he sunk deeper and deeper into the muddy river.

  I thanked the Doc, who once again swore me to secrecy, and headed home.

  My heart was heavy and I wanted desperately to avenge Jack Carson’s death, but I didn’t have a clue where to start.

  Maggie and I have a ritual. Every night, we hop in bed and watch a rerun of Two and a Half Men, the ones with Charlie Sheen. Best writing and funniest series ever. Then we turn on the ten o’clock news before tucking in.

  I had just switched channels when ‘Breaking News’ scrolled across the screen. Immediately following was a video of a man in cuffs being shoved into a police cruiser.

  The news anchor said that police had arrested Carmine Marchetti, the alleged head of the Kansas City crime syndicate, for the murder of reporter Jack Carson whose body was found floating in the Missouri River, and that his arraignment was scheduled for ten o’clock the next morning.

  I couldn’t believe what I had just seen.

  When Jack went missing, Detective Blaylock had a hunch that Marchetti was involved. It was commo
n knowledge that Carson was writing an exposé on the mob’s protection racket in northeast Kansas City. During his investigation, Carson met the lovely Calinda Marchetti, and much to her father’s chagrin, a romance blossomed. Blaylock figured that was sufficient motive to point the finger at the mob boss, but since there was no body, there was nothing he could do.

  But now there was.

  After that jolting news segment, I found it difficult to drift off to sleep. It was just as well, because a half hour later, the phone rang.

  “Hello, Walt Williams here.”

  “Walt, this is Carmine Marchetti. You seen the news?”

  “Uhhh, yes I have. Where are you?”

  “Where do you think? I’m in the hoosegow. Remember when I saved you and your sweetie?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I told you then I might be needin’ the services of a top notch private eye someday. Well, that day has come and I’m callin’ in my chit. My arraignment is at ten tomorrow. Be there! We’ll talk afterward.”

  The line went dead.

  At the time, I was grateful that Marchetti and his men had saved our butts, but I hated the fact that I was indebted to a mob boss and that someday I would be asked to return the favor.

  Apparently, that day had arrived.

  The next morning, I left the house early so I could stop by the precinct for a chat with Detective Blaylock before Marchetti’s arraignment.

  I knew the brass had been after the crime boss for years, but just couldn’t get the goods on the wily old Don. Since I was convinced Carson had been murdered to squash his investigation into the chemtrail conspiracy, I needed to know what they had that convinced them that Marchetti had done the deed.

  I caught Blaylock just as he was leaving for the courthouse.

  “Walt Williams! Carmine Marchetti’s arraignment is this morning and here you are. What a surprise!”

  “Derek, I think you have the wrong guy.”

  “Great! Here we go again. If I remember correctly from our conversation right after Carson disappeared, you were trying to convince me that he had been the victim of hired assassins sent by a government cabal involving the Navy, Air Force, the CIA, the NSA and God knows how many other alphabet organizations, to cover up his exposé of a clandestine conspiracy to spray poison into our atmosphere to control the weather, prevent the Russians from pelting us with ICBM’s, and allow Monsanto to take control of the world’s food supply. Did I forget anything?”

  “No, that pretty much covers it, and I still believe it’s true.”

  “Look, Walt. I really respect you. You and Ox did some fine work together, but you’re way out in left field on this one.”

  “If I am, convince me. What have you got that ties Marchetti to Carson’s murder?”

  “Same as last time we talked. Carson was digging into the mob’s protection racket. That’s motive enough right there, but then add to that, Carson was boning his little girl, and you’ve got motive out the wazoo. I didn’t have a body back then, but now I do, and guess what? A plunge in the Muddy Mo wearing cement shoes fits the mob perfectly.”

  “I certainly see where you’re coming from, but it seems to me everything you’ve said sounds pretty circumstantial. Do you have any hard evidence, like maybe a witness --- anything?”

  He looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Okay, I shouldn’t even be talking to you, but I’ll level with you. Everybody in this city, you included, knows that Marchetti is up to his neck in gambling, drugs, prostitution and protection, but we just haven’t been able to prove it. We may not have any hard evidence, but the brass is convinced that twelve solid citizens on a jury, presented with Marchetti’s motive and opportunity, will jump at the chance to put away Kansas City’s crime boss.”

  “Okay, I get it. Carpe diem. Seize the day. Take down the bad guy one way or the other. The ends justify the means. But there’s one huge flaw in your plan.”

  “What would that be?”

  “If Marchetti didn’t kill Jack Carson, then the real killers are still out there and will get away scot free.”

  Blaylock nodded. “I see your point. Let me turn the tables and ask you the same question. You seem convinced the government assassinated Jack Carson. Now you convince me. Where is your evidence?”

  I thought about the manila envelope in my safe, but there was no way I was giving that to Blaylock.

  When I didn’t respond, he shrugged his shoulders. “That’s what I thought. Someone killed Jack Carson, and I still have to go with Occam’s razor. When two competing theories make the same prediction, the simpler one is better, and in this case, my money has to be on Carmine Marchetti.”

  The courthouse was packed. News crews from every TV, radio station and newspaper in town were scrambling to get the best shot of Kansas City’s crime boss being led into the courtroom in handcuffs.

  I was barely able to squeeze inside before the doors were closed.

  Marchetti was already seated at the defense table accompanied by his attorney, Martin Cheatum, of the law firm, Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. The firm had been successful thus far in keeping Marchetti out of jail, so I wasn’t surprised to see them here this morning.

  Seated at the prosecution table was the imposing figure of Grant Marshall, the DA’s top prosecuting attorney. Marshall had the look and the air of an Atticus Finch, the storied attorney from To Kill a Mockingbird, played by Gregory Peck. With Marshall leading the charge, there was no doubt the city was pulling out all stops to get the crime boss behind bars.

  The bailiff called out, “All rise for the Honorable Judge Milton Weathers.”

  Weathers was known around the courthouse as the ‘Hanging Judge,’ and as soon as I saw him take this place on the bench, I knew the deck had been stacked against Marchetti.

  After everyone was seated, the bailiff read the charge, which to no one’s surprise was first degree murder.

  Judge Weathers turned to Grant Marshall. “Does the prosecution have a motion as to bail?”

  Marshall rose, “Yes, Your Honor, given the serious nature of the charge and the financial status of the defendant as well as his reputation, we believe the defendant to be a flight risk, and ask that bail be denied and the defendant remanded to the county jail until his trial.”

  The judge turned to the defense table. “Mr. Cheatum.”

  “Your Honor, the defendant is a life-long resident of Kansas City. He is a successful businessman with ties to the community. He has a daughter in the home. If the prosecution feels Mr. Marchetti is a flight risk, he will gladly surrender his passport. We petition the court for reasonable bail.”

  Judge Weathers peered over his glasses at Marchetti. “Yes, counselor, the court is well aware of the defendant’s business and his ties to the community, and so knowing, I must agree with Mr. Marshall. Bail denied! The defendant is hereby remanded to the county jail to await trial.”

  “Your Honor, please!” Cheatum pleaded, but to no avail.

  The judge slammed his gavel. “My decision is final. Next case.”

  The courtroom emptied quickly as reporters rushed to get their stories finalized.

  I had just stepped into the hall when a beefy hand grabbed my arm. “Mr. Marchetti will see you --- now!”

  I had tried to imagine how Marchetti thought I could help his case, but I came up empty.

  I was about to find out.

  CHAPTER 10

  Marchetti’s stooge led me to a room reserved for defendants and their attorneys. I could see the look of surprise on Martin Cheatum’s face when I entered.

  “Carmine! What the hell is Williams doing here? He was a cop, for chrissakes. He plays for the other side.”

  “Actually, Mr. Cheatum,” I replied indignantly, “I’m a private investigator, and for your information, I don’t play sides.”

  “Calm down, Martin,” Marchetti ordered. “Walt’s here at my invitation. I think he could be helpful.”

  Given the fact that I had been escorted to
the room by a musclebound Neanderthal, I thought ‘invitation’ was a bit misleading, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Marchetti turned back to me. “Walt, can you believe it? They’re trying to pin Carson’s murder on me! It’s a bum rap and you and I both know it. I didn’t have that reporter iced.”

  “I believe you, Mr. Marchetti, but what I believe really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the prosecution thinks they can make a case.”

  “Okay, you knew the guy. If I didn’t whack him, who did?”

  I doubted Marchetti knew anything about Carson’s pursuit of the chemtrail conspiracy, and I wasn’t about to open that can of worms yet.

  “Could be anybody,” I replied evasively. “Carson was an investigative reporter. I’m sure he pissed off a lot of people over the years.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s where you come in, Mr. Gumshoe. You need to find out who else had a hard on for the guy, and get me off the hook.”

  “I want to help. I really do. Could we talk privately for a moment?”

  Marchetti nodded to Cheatum. “Give us a minute, Martin.”

  Reluctantly, Cheatum left the room.

  “Now, what’s so important my attorney couldn’t be here?”

  “I’m going to level with you Mr. Marchetti. You know I used to play for the other side and I know how they operate. I’m telling you the state’s not pulling any punches. Grant Marshall is their best prosecutor and Milton Weathers is known as the hanging judge. No offense, but you need the best lawyer you can get.”

  “So what’s wrong with Cheatum? His firm has kept my butt out of jail so far.”

  “It’s one thing to beat a drug or prostitution rap, but this is murder one. If you’re convicted, you could get life without parole or even the death penalty.”

  “So who do you suggest?”

  “Suzanne Romero. She’s the best defense attorney in the state.”