Sheriff Cale, boiling mad at the death of his deputy, was closely watching while Bellows made his way toward the house. He had his radio mic in his handset to give the order in case anything happened. The instant he heard the shot and saw Bellows go down, he pressed the send button and barked, “Fire! All units fire! Now!”
Two hundred cops opened up with everything they had. Within a minute, the fragile, crumbling old structure was literally blown apart. Amazingly with the place encircled and bullets coming in from every direction, none of the law officers hit each other. The autopsies of Clara and Lester would find more than twenty bullet holes in each.
For the next several days the massacre, as it came to be called, dominated both the local and national news. With the film provided by the helicopters, the cops shooting and the house being blown apart, the public couldn’t get enough. This was Reality TV at its best, or worst depending on your point of view.
It also engendered pious editorials on TV, in newspapers and magazines from coast-to-coast. Ninety-eight percent of the news stories and editorials were clearly negative toward the police in general and the on-scene officers in particular. Not surprisingly, they managed to overlook their own role in this sordid affair by stirring up the public in general and Clara and Lester Young in particular.
The media opprobrium was not limited to the police. Judge Connors was also in their crosshairs for allowing bail in the first place. Strangely, despite the fact that Marc had made a point of telling several reporters that it was Cale’s idea to send Brittany into the middle of the mob, there was very little airtime or newsprint given to this fact. Cale had leaked to his media sources the story that there was no way he could anticipate a lunatic couple in the parking lot shooting at Brittany. Oddly, he came across as almost heroic for his role at the farmhouse. Cale had it reported that he was certain Captain Bellows had been shot and Cale was trying to protect him. After all, the story went, Cale was the one voice of reason who wanted to wait out the suspects and take them into custody to answer for what they did.
Fortunately for all concerned, the attention span of the public and the media isn’t much longer than your average six-year-old. A few days after the shooting a married Republican congressman got caught in the backseat of his car, literally with his pants down, receiving oral sex from a prostitute. Much to the relief of the Republican Party hierarchy, the hooker was an adult female. However, she was African-American and the race hustler industry of America, having had a slow summer, decided to use this as an opportunity to further their personal political and financial agenda. The controversy over the exploitation of poor black women raged for a few days. Then, of course, the knucklehead congressman made the obligatory mea culpa apology with his poor, humiliated wife being forced to stand up on the stage with him.
Luckily for him, the next day something truly significant to feed the public’s appetite for news occurred. A rumor came out of Southern California that one of the Kardashian sisters was having marital problems. The story turned out to be untrue or at least denied, but no matter. A Kardashian marital rumor normally garnered the same level of media attention as the return of Halley’s Comet. And much to the media’s delight, a Kardashian family catastrophe occurred almost weekly rather than every seventy-five years.
Marc pushed open the window behind his desk and was shocked by the blast of arctic wind that hit him in the face. Using his bare hand he brushed off the eight inches of snow that had accumulated on the window’s ledge then quickly slid the window back down.
“Hey, sunshine,” he heard Carolyn say as he tried to dry his half-frozen right hand.
He spun his chair around and saw her holding a cup of hot coffee for him. “Thanks,” he said as he held the cup in his cold hand. “That feels good.”
“How was traffic?” Carolyn asked as she sipped at her own cup.
“Not too bad. What a pain in the ass this is. Two days ago it was beautiful and now this,” he answered.
“And according to the weather geeks, it’s here to stay,” Carolyn said. As she turned to leave she asked, “Open or closed?” referring to his door.
“Leave it open,” Marc said.
Despite the early hour, Marc dialed Madeline’s cell. She usually slept late because of the hours she routinely kept, but Marc wanted to talk to her so he tried her believing her phone would be off if she didn’t want to be disturbed.
“Hey, Marc,” she said before the first ring was completed. “What’s up?”
“You’re up early.”
“I wasn’t out much this weekend. Have you looked outside?”
“Good point. Where are we with witnesses?”
“I didn’t get a chance to get in touch with the new list you got for me. I’ll start working on them this week. How about you?”
“I’m working on my motion to suppress the evidence found at the Rileys during the search. They didn’t have any real grounds to search her parents’ home. At least I don’t think so.”
“What happens if you win? Will they throw the case out?”
“I doubt it, although it would exclude some evidence, maybe.”
“Why only maybe?”
“It would exclude the life insurance policy but they could reasonably argue inevitable discovery anyway. That they would have found it with a routine review of Brittany’s finances, which is probably true.
“Then there’s the cinder block and rope. They could argue that they would have noticed the cinder block around the patio and the Rileys’ expectation of privacy in the backyard is thin. I haven’t researched it yet. There’s also the problem that the patio wall in the backyard is in plain sight and the cops could have easily seen it. If so, is that sufficient probable cause to obtain a search warrant for a sample of the cinder blocks? I’m just not sure.”
“When’s your hearing?”
“About two weeks. The judge wants to hear all motions, set discovery timetables and a trial date.”
“Why are you pushing for an early trial?” Maddy asked.
“I don’t want to give them any more time than I have to for them to come up with more evidence. There will be more witnesses for you to interview. The prosecution is doing everything it can to find someone to testify that Brittany was a bad mother and wanted to be rid of the kid. Be ready. Any luck on the Bob Olson search?”
“I’m pretty much going over the same ground the cops did. So far, nothing even close.”
“You know, I had a thought…”
“You did? You had a thought?” she teased.
“Yeah, about once a month or so I get one, smartass. Anyway, I was thinking: Did you and the cops check other people, other employees at Macy’s? Brittany says that’s where she met him. He had scouted her out and approached her at work. He must’ve been hanging around for a while checking her out. Maybe someone saw him.”
“Yes, I have a list of all of the mall employees, not just the ones at Macy’s, but every one of them that the cops interviewed. I have talked to each of them either in person or on the phone. We talked about this,” she reminded him.
“I know, but did they get all of them? Everyone who worked at Macy’s around that time? You could use your obvious charms to get a list from someone in their human resources and check. Maybe someone who isn’t working there anymore.”
“Hmmm. Not bad,” Maddy admitted. “Let me see what I can do. It’s a long shot but worth a try.”
Carolyn walked in and silently handed Marc a note. He read it and said, “I got another call I have to take. I’ll talk to you later,” and ended the call.
He immediately punched the button for the caller waiting for him. Without even saying hello, Marc blurted out, “I forgot. You were supposed to meet with the DNR agent this week to go back out to the crime scene. Now what?” he asked referring to the snow that had obliterated whatever might have been found there.
“We’re okay. I got together with her and we got out there again on Halloween day and went over everything. We als
o did the measurements and got all of the pictures to show what the actual water level was in July. Plus, she has a record and dated pictures of the water level during that time,” Jason Briggs, Marc’s criminalist said.
“She did? That’s great,” a relieved Marc said. “But why would she…”
“She’s a bit of a camera buff. Has tons of wildlife pictures and even has a website and sells them. Says she takes pictures of everything.
“She said she took pictures of a lot of the high water along the river and at lakes she has in her zone. They like to keep track. She even has some using a measuring device like a long yardstick. She didn’t mention it before and I didn’t think to ask. She was going to email them to me, but I talked to her yesterday and she has been really busy since the storm hit digging out campers and other idiots who didn’t get their asses home when they should have. She’ll send them to me the first chance she gets. Probably in the next day or two. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Okay. Good.” Marc said. “Anything else?”
“I’m still waiting for the results on the rope and cinder block. Don’t hold your breath. What about an autopsy?”
“I don’t see where it can help us. They can’t find a cause of death, why should we help them?”
“Agreed. I’ll call you later this week.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Melinda Pace yawned and rubbed both eyes with her knuckles. She had just finished watching the final edit of the show that would be aired later today. Melinda and her producer, Robbie Nelson, were in her office reviewing the taping. They were reporting on the trial of a suburban man who shot and killed a neighbor over a dispute about feeding local deer. The accused had been feuding about this with the victim and several of his neighbors for years.
The accused and his live-in girlfriend, both in their fifties, had been feeding the deer since moving into the neighborhood. Just about all of the people living within a half a mile had been trying to get them to stop. The accused had a double sized lot and on any given day, as many as forty or fifty deer would wander onto the property for food.
Deer may be beautiful and nice to look at but they are also dangerous, a health hazard due to Lyme disease and very destructive of lawns and gardens. Deer do not clean up after themselves either and everyone had to deal with the excrement they left behind.
A couple of months ago an argument between the deer-lover and the man who lived directly across the street became a bit heated. While the girlfriend stood on the front lawn screaming at the neighbor across the street, the accused went inside and grabbed a shotgun. He came out and stormed across the yard toward the victim who watched in apparent stunned disbelief. Witness’ stories varied about the number of shots but the best guess was somewhere between four and six. Whatever the number, the poor man was lying dead in the street in a massive pool of his own blood and internal organs when the police and paramedics arrived.
The victim’s wife accused the girlfriend of encouraging the shooting by screaming over and over for him to keep shooting. The girlfriend was subsequently acquitted of aiding and abetting a homicide. The deer lover was now being tried for murder claiming self-defense and temporary insanity.
Melinda wrapped up that day’s show by sarcastically explaining this somewhat novel concept. “What he is claiming to the jury is that: One, I acted in self-defense, in fear of my life. Or two, if you don’t believe I acted in self-defense, then I was temporarily crazy. I’m a little skeptical that he’ll be able to pull that one off. I’m not sure he’ll be able to get away with saying ‘I acted in self-defense and was crazy at the same time,’”
“Not bad,” Melinda said, yawning again.
“Are we boring you?” Robbie asked.
“Oh, shut up,” she mildly rebuked him. “We need something else. Something more about Brittany Riley. This trial of the deer feeder is pretty good, but it just doesn’t grab people the way Brittany does. Let’s face it; the deer feeder is just a crazy old goofball. What’s Gabriella been up to? Does she have anything going on with Brittany?”
“Gabriella’s been covering the deer feeder trial,” Robbie answered her. “I’ll talk to her. Maybe she can find some time to get together with her source in the sheriff’s office. That’s the way these things go. You know that,” Robbie continued. “There are periods where there isn’t much going on. There is some kind of court hearing scheduled I think. If I remember correctly, it’s in a few days. We’ll have the live feed come into the station and record it. If there’s anything worthwhile, we’ll use it.”
“See if Gabriella can find out what the hearing is about and if anything interesting is going to come out of it.”
“Will do,” Robbie said as he left Melinda’s office.
Gabriella hung up her winter coat and slid into the booth opposite Stu Doyle. She set her purse on the bench seat next to her, stretched her back and turned her head from side to side as if getting out a kink in her neck. Just before she arrived at the restaurant, she reminded herself to eat something and limit herself, at most, to two glasses of wine. The last time she met Doyle like this, having not eaten anything since breakfast, after four glasses of wine, Doyle was starting to look pretty good to her. Fortunately, her rational brain was still working and she managed to get out of there and home unsullied.
“Hey, Gabriella,” Stu said while giving her what he believed was a seductive look. “You’re looking particularly delicious this evening.”
“Don’t bother, Stu. Ain’t gonna happen,” she abruptly answered him.
“No harm in trying,” the married detective said with a slight grin and a shrug. “Aren’t you at least a little flattered?”
“Terribly,” she answered with a bored inflection. “Wait, I’m sorry. That was mean and unnecessary. Look, Stu, you’re not unattractive but you’re married and I don’t approve of married people, men or women, cheating. So give it a rest.
“I’m hungry,” she said when the waitress arrived. “You want to split a pizza? I’ll buy and expense it.”
“Sure, why not,” Doyle agreed.
“What’s going on with the Riley case?” Gabriella quietly asked after the waitress had taken their order and left.
Doyle shifted his eyes back and forth as if making sure they were not observed before saying, “We’ve dug up more dirt on her. More stuff on the internet. Plus, we’ve found old high school friends and acquaintances who tell us she was quite the little party girl.”
“Exactly what?” Gabriella asked.
“You know, the school bicycle. Everybody rode her.”
“That is really disgusting, Stu,” Gabriella said with a look of distaste. “Plus, is that fact or rumor?”
“It’s probably a little of both. Even these days it doesn’t take much for a girl to get a reputation. Give it to Melinda Pace, she’ll use it.”
“Is there anything else going on?”
“Yeah, there is. The sheriff knows about our little arrangement, he doesn’t know why I talk to you, specifically. He probably thinks we’re sleeping together,” Doyle said holding up a hand to Gabriella as she started to protest. “I didn’t tell him that. Anyway, he told me to ask you, as a payback favor, to cover a bust we’re gonna do in the early morning, day after tomorrow. There’s a pretty good size meth lab on a farm about ten miles southeast of Farmington. We’ve been watching it for a while. After the shit hit the fan when Brittany made bail and we had the shootout a couple weeks ago, Cale figures, politically, he could use some good press. What do you think?”
The pizza arrived before Gabriella could answer and as hungry as she was, she wolfed down two large slices. She drank most of her glass of Miller Lite, mulled it over for a bit then agreed to cover it. A little quid pro quo for the information she was being fed never hurt and besides, a meth lab bust could get interesting. Some of these biker types were not shy about a gunfight with cops.
The raid was timed for dawn and Gabriella, along with a cameraman named Ramone who also drove
the van, followed the caravan of cops south to the farm. Robbie Nelson had talked Gabriella into letting him ride along. All three wore Kevlar vests and were given Kevlar helmets as well.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the raid went off without a hitch. The northwest wind that had blown across the state for the past several days was gone. It was an unseasonably cold twenty degrees this morning and the farm and surrounding countryside was blanketed by almost two feet of snow.
The twenty sheriff’s deputies and state troopers had stealthily surrounded the property just before dawn. There was a total of four buildings, a rundown old farmhouse and barn, a newer shed for farm implements and equipment and a shiny new pole barn sitting off by itself. The raid was over in less than ten minutes and for the next hour, Gabriella and Ramone filmed just about everything that happened. The best shot, the one Cale pressed her to use was when she was interviewing him, had been set up so the eight scraggly looking prisoners, including three women, hard, foul-mouthed biker chicks, were used as a backdrop. The eight of them were sitting in the snow, cursing and cold on the ground with their wrists flex cuffed behind themselves. All of this was filmed in front of the new pole barn meth lab while deputies were carrying out the evidence.
It turned out to be one of the largest meth lab busts in the state for the past several years. The state BCA and Federal DEA office made sure they got in on it as well by running out to Hastings to get filmed with Cale. Every newscast the station aired that day ran between five and seven minutes of the raid along with Cale being interviewed. Sheriff Cale could not have been more pleased.
THIRTY-NINE
Marc drove his new Buick Encore north on Third Avenue in downtown Minneapolis. The small SUV was a bit of an indulgence he gave himself after being fully paid for the Prentiss trial. Mother Nature dumped another three inches of snow on the city the night before. He was again being taught that four-wheel drive isn’t a big advantage in slick, wet snow. Marc was running a little late for a settlement conference of a DUI client and it annoyed him. Marc wasn’t what anyone would call punctual obsessive but he did like to be on time for court appearances. As he approached the big granite, glass and chrome building, he cursed a little when he saw the “Full” sign turned on for the building’s underground parking ramp. Just before he reached the corner of Third and Fifth Street, a man in a Ford F-150, going much too fast, cut in front of him, slid into the curb and spun the pickup completely around before it stopped on the light rail tracks on Fifth. Marc was lucky to have seen him coming and was able to stop in time. The driver of the pickup was even luckier. The truck came to a stop in the middle of the intersection astride the train rails. Fortunately, there was no train in sight. Even luckier for the knucklehead behind the wheel was the fact that there weren’t any cops around even though this happened in front of the Old City Hall building which also houses the police department.
[Marc Kadella 03.0] Media Justice Page 23
