“Yeah, I heard she’s good, but I’m bettin’ she wouldn’t come close to me given my --- uhhh --- reputation and alleged ties to the mob.”
“That could be, but I may have some influence there. Look, I want to be totally honest with you. I don’t condone what you do, and I certainly don’t want to work for you, but I also don’t believe you killed Jack Carson. He was my friend, and if you’re convicted, then the real killer is going to get away with murder. I just wanted that up front. Now do you want me to talk to Suzanne Romero or not?”
Marchetti smiled. “You’ve got big balls for an old dude. I respect that. Sure, talk to the lady and let’s see where this goes.”
As I left the room, I wondered if my big balls had written a check my big mouth couldn’t cash. I now had to convince one of the city’s most respected attorneys to represent the godfather of the Kansas City Mafia.
Suzanne Romero was the defense attorney most feared by the Kansas City police, not because she was ruthless or vicious, but because she was a stickler for the letter of the law. Many an officer who had not followed procedure in an arrest, or a prosecutor who had not dotted his I’s or crossed his T’s, found themselves at her mercy in the courtroom, and many offenders had walked because law enforcement had not done their job properly.
Singlehandedly, she had done more to make officers in the field follow the book than anything their superiors could have said.
Knowing her reputation, we hired her on two separate occasions.
My good friend, and housemother at the Three Trails Hotel, Mary Murphy, shot and killed an intruder who had threatened her with a knife. An overzealous prosecutor, wanting to make an example of her because of a rash of vigilante murders, took her to court.
Later on, Ox and I were framed for the theft of valuable King Tut artifacts by a pair of dirty cops.
Both times, Suzanne prevailed.
A byproduct of these two cases was the development of a mutual respect, and when I retired and opened my P.I. firm, Suzanne hired Kevin and me to help clear one of her clients.
I wasn’t at all convinced that our past association would be enough to persuade her to represent a crime boss.
At least, it was enough to get an interview.
“Walt, good to see you again. Please don’t tell me Mary Murphy has struck again.”
“No, nothing like that, thank goodness. I’m sure you’ve been following the news stories about Carmine Marchetti being arrested for the murder of Jack Carson.”
“Of course. It’s been on the front page every day. Too bad. Jack Carson was a gifted reporter. He came to me several times for background material on stories he was writing. I know the city has been after Marchetti for a long time. It’s just a shame that Jack’s death had to be the thing that brought him down.”
This was the moment I had been dreading. “That’s why I’m here Suzanne. Carmine Marchetti didn’t kill Jack Carson and I know who did.”
Suzanne sat in stunned silence. “You know this how?”
“Because Jack and I were working on a story so big it cost the lives of three people, and now Jack is the fourth.”
She shook her head. “Walt, you never cease to amaze me. Start from the beginning. Let’s hear it.”
I knew if I was going to convince her to represent Marchetti, I would have to convince her that the chemtrail conspiracy was real, so I started with Jack’s first call wanting me to get more information about Falcon’s accident from Ox, right up to the time Carson disappeared. I did not tell her about the manila envelope in my safe.
The expression on her face as I was telling my story was probably the same face she would have made if I had been sharing an experience of being abducted by aliens.
When I was finished, her response was exactly like Derek Blaylock’s. “So you’re telling me Jack Carson was 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.”
At least, I was consistent.
“And you really believe this?”
“Tell me you’ve never noticed the trails in the sky stretching from one horizon to the other.”
“Of course I’ve seen them. Everyone has, but --- my God --- this is way too much to process. Okay, let’s put your incredible story aside for a moment. What makes you think Marchetti isn’t involved? You have to admit it’s a MUCH simpler explanation.”
“That’s exactly what the prosecution thinks. All they have is a possible motive, Carson digging into Marchetti’s business and his relationship with his daughter and the way Carson met his death which looks like a mob hit. Other than that, they’ve got squat. Nothing. No hard evidence connecting Marchetti to Carson’s murder. Blaylock told me in confidence they’re counting on this being enough to persuade a jury to put away a really bad guy.”
“Aside from your alternate theory, you really believe he’s innocent?”
“When Carson first went missing, Blaylock convinced me that Marchetti was the most logical suspect, so like I told you, I confronted him. Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but he looked me in the eye and swore on his mother’s grave he was not involved. He said no matter how much he disliked the guy, his daughter would never forgive him for killing the man she loved, and he couldn’t bear that. I believed him.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to represent him.”
“Good Lord. If what I hear is true, Carmine Marchetti’s organization is into drugs, prostitution, and God knows what else. He’s a scumbag. Why would I want to help a man like that?”
“Because you believe in the letter of the law. Marchetti may be a creep, but he’s being railroaded, and if he’s convicted, then Jack Carson’s real killer will get away with murder. Can you live with that?”
She smiled. “You’re good, Walt, real good. You know just what buttons to push. I need to think about it. I mean, that story of yours --- well --- it’s pretty hard to swallow.”
I figured that might be the case, so I brought a copy of Thornhill’s novel, Lady Justice and the Conspiracy. His story, while fiction, really hit home, and presented our case better than I ever could.
I handed her the book. “Promise me you’ll read this before you make a decision. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
The next morning, the phone rang.
“Walt, Suzanne here. I’m in!”
CHAPTER 11
The first meeting with Marchetti and his new counsel was memorable.
“Ms. Romero, pleased to meet you. When I told Martin Cheatum what was going on, he freaked. Walked right out on me. Told me not to call him to bail me out when you screwed things up. I hope you’re worth it.”
“Oh, trust me, Carmine. I’m worth it.”
“I’m counting on it. Here’s what we’re going to do ---.”
Suzanne cut him off. “If I’m going to represent you, we’re going to have to establish some ground rules. First of all, I don’t like you even a little bit. I may represent you, but I’m not one of your lackeys. You’re going to have to get used to the idea that I’m the boss and you’ll do whatever I tell you to do. If that’s not agreeable, then I’m out of here and you’ll go to jail. Do we have an understanding?”
I’m quite sure no one, especially a woman, had ever spoken that way to Carmine Marchetti.
I saw him bristle, and was expecting a tirade, but the thought of spending the rest of his life in jail made him reconsider.
Still, he had to save face, so he turned to me. “Wow, Walt! She’s a hot one for sure. I like that!”
Then to Suzanne. “Okay, Sweetie, I’ll play ball. Let’s see what you got.”
“Never call me ‘Sweetie’ again,” she shot back. “It’s Ms. Romer
o or Counselor to you.”
Once there was a mutual understanding, she got to work.
“I’ve looked at the prosecutor’s evidence, and like Walt said, everything they have thus far is circumstantial. The problem is, Carmine, pretty much everyone in Kansas City knows you’re a douche bag, and they’re counting on that being enough to convince a jury to take you off the street.”
“Great! Just great! My own attorney is calling me names. What chance have I got!”
“I’m just calling it like it is. My job, as distasteful as it is, is to make you look as good as possible to the jury and convince them that the state just doesn’t have enough hard evidence to lock you away. Walt, I want to hire you as my investigator. In order to create reasonable doubt, we need to find someone else to point the finger at who had motive and means. That’s your job. Bring me another viable suspect to throw at the jury.”
We both knew she was talking about a government assassin. We just didn’t know how yet.
“Okay, that’s all for today. Jury selection starts tomorrow and I’ve got a lot of work to do. 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.”
Marchetti threw up his hands. “Great! Just great!”
That evening, I figured I’d better have a family conference to bring everyone in my small circle up to speed. I invited Kevin and Veronica to supper and prepared my signature dish, tuna casserole.
I decided the best time to make my announcement was over big slices of key lime pie. Kevin had just shoveled a huge bite in his mouth when I dropped my bomb.
“Well, it looks like Walt Williams Investigations will be working to free Carmine Marchetti.”
Kevin nearly choked. “You’ve got to be kidding! When word gets around that we’re working with a creep like that, no respectable client will hire us.”
Maggie was visibly upset. “Walt, have you thought this through?”
“Actually, I have. There’s two reasons I took the job --- well --- maybe three. First we owe the guy. Remember when the Columbians were shoving the two of us into their van? If Carmine’s men hadn’t intervened, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Second, Kevin, you know as well as I do, that Marchetti didn’t kill Jack. He was killed by assassins to prevent him from exposing the chemtrail conspiracy. If Carmine goes down for this, that’s the end of it and that will make four people they’ve killed with impunity. And third, Suzanne Romero is representing Marchetti and she asked me to help. If Suzanne is willing to risk her reputation to see that justice is served, then that’s good enough for me.”
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 r
uling 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.
[Lady Justice 22] - Lady Justice and the Conspiracy Trial Page 8
