Melinda was forced to take a vacation through New Year’s, a suspension that was rescinded the very next day when the overnight ratings came in. The four o’clock show was up almost fifteen percent and the 6:30 was up almost forty percent over the time slot’s normal audience. The viewing public had spoken loud and clear. Their voyeuristic appetite for the Brittany Riley reality show could not be sated.
Gabriella Shriqui called in sick the day after the broadcast and did not return to work until December twenty-ninth.
FORTY-TWO
Christmas Eve day was a balmy, sunny, wind-free thirty degrees. The winter had been prematurely harsh and the Cities had already received almost three feet of snow. This day was fairly mild and actually quite pleasant to be out, in fact, too much so.
They had started showing up on the Rileys’ street the day after Melinda’s grossly negligent broadcast. That day there had been almost two thousand of them lined up and down opposite their house. Many carried homemade signs of varying degrees of quality, none that were favorable on behalf of Brittany and many over the line and quite obscene.
As a condition of being reinstated, Melinda had promised no more drinking during the day, a promise she had no intention of keeping and station management was under no illusions that she would. She did cut it back to, at most, one or two glasses of wine and was always sober in front of a camera. The result was that she did scale back her accusations of Brittany Riley. Not that Melinda suddenly became ethical. The real reason for it was because her little on-air stunt when she gave out the Rileys’ home address had gone national. Most, not all, of the reports deleted that part, but Melinda herself had become the story and not in a positive way. A lot of sanctimonious editorializing and criticism hit her and station ownership was not pleased with the publicity.
Marc Kadella spent the better part of the next two days after the broadcast answering reporter’s calls and denying Melinda’s claims. Reporters bombarded him with requests for comment which he did his best to patiently accommodate. The damage had been done. The various media outlets dutifully reported Marc’s denials with little effect. A couple of TV stations even aired film and comments from other lawyers smiling while claiming that, of course, he’s going to deny it.
Marc turned the corner on the Rileys’ street with Maddy in the passenger seat and slowly drove past the crowd toward the Rileys’ house. The street was already quite narrow as a result of the snow piled up along both sides by the plows. Without the crowd, there was barely enough room for two cars to get past each other. With the Christmas Eve crowd lined up along the street, the people had to move aside to let one car pass.
“It’s Christmas,” he quietly said to Madeline. “Don’t these people have better things to do?”
“How many do you think there are?” Maddy asked him.
“I don’t know,” Marc replied. “There has to be two, three thousand. Maybe more.”
“They seem pretty well behaved at least.”
“The neighbors must be really tired of this,” Marc commented.
“God yes,” Maddy replied. “What a pain in the ass for them to deal with. We need the temperature to drop below zero with a good wind. That would send them packing.”
“You’d think Christmas would send them home!” Marc exclaimed as he pulled into the Rileys’ driveway.
The two of them stood in the driveway looking over the crowd. Despite the fact they both wore sunglasses, they still shielded their eyes from the glare of the sun coming off the pristine snow. Several of the protesters recognized Marc and started yelling obscenities and booing the two of them.
Marc looked at Maddy and said, “Can’t be me, it’s gotta be you they’re pissed at.”
Maddy flashed a smile and said, “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”
Sheriff Cale came storming up the driveway to them. “It’s bad enough I have to keep a dozen deputies out here on Christmas Eve. What I don’t need is you standing here inciting them and getting them all worked up.” By now the booing and yelling was so loud Cale could barely be heard.
Marc just shrugged, took off his glasses so the sheriff could see his eyes, then said, “I didn’t cause this. Some asshole leaked some lies to the media. That’s what caused this.” He leaned his head a little closer to the taller man and severely said, “You wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you Sheriff?”
“C’mon,” Maddy said as she took Marc’s arm and began to pull him away. Instead, Marc continued with an impassive expression to watch the sheriff’s face for a reaction.
“Please, just go inside,” Cale said much more calmly.
Floyd closed the door behind them and Maddy asked Marc, “What was that about?”
“I just wanted to see his reaction. He did it. He leaked that stuff about the plea offer. Someone in the AG’s office called him and had him or a deputy leak it. I could see it in his eyes,” Marc said.
Floyd led them down to the basement where Barbara and Brittany were waiting. Brittany and Maddy exchanged a warm hug and the five of them each took a seat in the large family room. There was a beautiful, nicely decorated tree in one corner next to a gas fireplace that warmed up the room. A few presents had been placed under the tree. The absence of Becky hung over the room and a Merry Christmas in the Riley house was not going to happen this year or maybe never again.
Marc and Maddy had been invited to dinner but had respectfully declined. Both had plans and if they could be totally honest, spending Christmas Eve in this depressing environment was not what either would have preferred. It is always best for a lawyer to keep his or her emotional distance from a client. It’s important to be a professional and maintain your objectivity to give the client the best representation you can. Despite what is generally believed, lawyers are flesh and blood humans too and maintaining that professional detachment is not always easy. Marc and Maddy both genuinely liked Brittany and felt horrible about what was happening to her. But as for her family, they didn’t know her brother, Tim, considered Floyd a eunuch and flat out did not like Barbara at all. Socializing with these people was not high on the “to do” list for either Marc or Maddy.
Over the next couple of hours, the five of them had an amiable, if somewhat strained, conversation. They talked about anything but the case and it seemed to help Brittany’s disposition. The stress was quite obvious. As they were seated together on the couch, she practically held onto Maddy as if she didn’t want her to ever leave.
As they were preparing to leave, Marc took a moment and pulled Brittany aside. He asked her about her session with the psychiatrist.
“I like her,” Brittany said referring to the doctor. “She’s really nice and easy to talk to. I think she’ll help. I’m going to see her twice a week for a while.”
“Good. Did she prescribe anything for you?”
“Yeah, um, Citalopram for depression and sleeping pills to help me sleep better.”
“Did you get them filled?”
“Yeah and I’m taking them. She said the Citalopram will take a while to really work, but you know, we’ll see.”
Marc slipped on his overcoat while Maddy gave Brittany a big hug and wished her a Merry Christmas. It sounded a little hollow with the specter of the missing Becky so obviously in the house. Even so, Brittany smiled and threw her arms around Marc. Marc returned the embrace, gave her a quick peck on the cheek and wished her and all of them a Merry Christmas.
Once outside they hurried to Marc’s car. It was almost 5:00, the sun was gone and the temperature had already dropped ten degrees. The crowd had dwindled to a few hundred die-hards and only two deputies were still present. Both of them waved at Marc or, since they were both men, likely the wave was meant for Maddy.
“That was pleasant,” Maddy sarcastically said as Marc drove away. “It’s hard not to feel terrible for those people with their baby being murdered and now it’s Christmas. How do you do it?”
“You don’t, really. You just have to learn to bury it and move
on. There’s nothing I can do to alleviate their pain. That’s not my job and I don’t know how. Do my job. That’s the best I can do.”
Marc’s phone went off and Margaret shook him to wake him up and answer it. She reached across him and turned on the table lamp, picked up his phone and handed it to him. He looked at the display and saw the call was coming from the Dakota County Sheriff which set off an alarm bell in his head and snapped him awake.
Marc’s feet thumped onto the floor as he quickly sat up on the edge of the bed and answered the call.
“Yeah, Marc Kadella.” He listened for over a full minute without saying another word. Finally, he replied with, “Shit. Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can and thanks.”
“What?” an anxious Margaret asked as Marc looked at the clock reading 2:30 A.M.
“It’s Brittany,” Marc sighed. “She tried to commit suicide.”
“Oh, God no! Is she all right? What happened?”
“Her parents went to midnight Mass. When they got home, Barbara went in to say goodnight and they found her. She was barely alive. She took a bunch of sleeping pills and others. The deputy who called just now didn’t know what. I’m guessing Citalopram.
“Anyway, there were still protesters out front and a couple of deputies. Floyd got them and they took her to Fairview in Burnsville. The deputy that called said they’re not sure but believe she’s going to make it.”
Brittany would be held in the hospital for observation for a week. On the night before she was to be discharged, two young nurses working the graveyard shift strolled casually toward the bank of elevators. It was time for their break and they were headed down to the cafeteria for a cup of really bad machine brewed coffee and a chance to sit and relax for a few minutes.
When they got to the elevators, a young, fairly good looking doctor came through the stairwell door wearing a white doctor’s smock and a stethoscope looped around his neck. He was apparently new since neither could remember seeing him before, but on this shift, doctors came and went frequently. The sight of a new one was hardly unusual. The young women smiled, said hello, which he acknowledged with a bright smile just as their elevator arrived.
The doctor, keeping his head angled downward to avoid any security cameras stopped at Brittany’s room. The chair next to the door that should have held a sheriff’s deputy was empty. Probably in the men’s room, the doctor surmised. No matter. If the cop came back, he was ready with the name of a real doctor to use if necessary.
He stood next to the bed holding Brittany’s wrist as if he were checking her pulse while she slept under the influence of a sedative. He quickly read over the notes on her chart and was relieved to see that she was doing fine and expected to make a quick, full recovery. Satisfied, the disguised Bob Olson slipped out of her room and walked down the hall to the stairwell door. Within minutes he was in his car and on his way home.
FORTY-THREE
“Is your client strong enough and psychologically stable enough to assist in her defense?” Judge Connors asked Marc.
The four of them, the judge and the three lawyers were in the judge’s chambers doing last minute motions and scheduling. It was Thursday morning and jury selection was still scheduled for the coming Monday.
“Yes, judge,” Marc said. “She seems to be doing better as we get closer to the trial. She’s anxious to get it going.”
“How about you?” Connors said looking at the prosecution. “You’ve had your psychiatrist examine her and are you satisfied she can assist in her defense?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Hart answered the judge. “He has not actually examined her but he has been through her charts and is confident she is able to assist in her defense.”
“Okay. Moving forward,” he said. “We’re going to start jury selection, Monday morning, 9:00 A.M. at the Olmstead County Courthouse in Rochester. It’s all arranged. Have you been there before?”
“No,” Marc and Vanderbeck said.
“Yes. I did a trial there last year,” Hart replied. “It’s really quite nice. The courthouse is on the Zumbro River in downtown, a couple of blocks from the Mayo Clinic.”
Connors handed both the prosecution and defense a copy of a document seven pages in length. “Here’s a list of one hundred prospective jurors. Names, ages, addresses, etc.” Connors said. “We’re going to get twelve jurors and four alternates. As you know, because this is a first-degree-murder case, we will call each prospective juror into the courtroom, one at a time. I will question each first, then Mr. Kadella, then either of you,” he said to the prosecution. “You two decide which of you will do the questioning. One of you, not both.
“If a juror is selected, he or she will be sequestered immediately from any other potential jurors until we have all twelve and the four alternates. All of these people have been told this will be a three to four-week trial and they will be sequestered the entire time. They have not been told where the trial will take place. We didn’t want to give them a heads up and have them figure out it was the Riley case and have that leak to the media.
“The defense will get fifteen peremptory challenges and the prosecution nine as set out in the rules of criminal procedure. Jury selection will be done by Friday, the thirtieth and we will give opening statements first thing Monday morning, February second.”
Before continuing, Connors looked over all three lawyers with a serious expression. “This trial will not, I repeat, not take longer than four weeks.”
Vanderbeck started to speak but was abruptly cut off by Connors holding a hand up, palm out. “I don’t want to hear it, Mr. Vanderbeck. Four weeks. I am not going to keep the jurors locked up away from their families and their lives longer than that. After the first two weeks, we can evaluate how fast things are moving. If it looks like we need to speed it up, we’ll start staying late and work weekends. So, I suggest you plan your cases accordingly and get things moving.
“Witness lists. You’ve exchanged a final witness list?”
“Yes, your Honor,” they all replied.
“Good. The jury list. I know there’s not much time for you to go over them. If it will help at all to give you or your staff more time, we’ll call them in the order listed on the sheet you have.” Connors held his list up and said, “They are listed randomly and not in alphabetical order. Agnes Moore, first on the list will be the first one called. Got it? Good. Anything else?” he asked then paused for a response.
“Okay then,” the judge continued when no one asked anything. “Monday morning. There’s a nice Holiday Inn right across the river from the courthouse. There’s a skyway to walk through between the motel and courthouse and I took the liberty to reserve two rooms for each of you plus a conference room for your use. Obviously, you can stay wherever you like. The Holiday Inn is pretty convenient. One last thing. I know the news about where we are doing this will leak out to the media today. But these lists of prospective jurors, there are only three copies and if it gets leaked to the media I will have somebody’s ass for it. And I will find out. Just so you know; there is a minor change in each of yours different from each others’ and mine. Only I know what those are and if your copy gets leaked,” he sternly looked directly at Vanderbeck, “I will find out whose copy it was.” This last part was a lie but Connors figured it would keep the jurors’ names safe from being made public and having the media hound them.
“I’ll see everybody Monday morning.”
Later that same day, during her four o’clock show, Melinda Pace reported quite accurately, when, where and how the jury selection was to take place. She even reported the fact that the jurors would be selected in Rochester, then moved to Hastings and be sequestered during the three to four-week trial. Much to her disappointment, the juror list had not been leaked to her. Certainly good fortune for those on the list.
“Did you get your list?” Barry Cline asked Marc. Barry was standing at Sandy’s desk, one of the office staff. He had been talking to her about some papers she was working o
n for him when Marc came through the door into the office suite.
“Yeah, I did,” Marc acknowledged. “Want to help me go over it?”
“Sure, give me a few minutes.”
Marc made a copy and gave it to their paralegal, Jeff Modell. Jeff was in that age group that grew up with the internet. If there was anything out there about any of the people on the list, he would find it. Sandy, a few years older than Jeff, was also adept at mining the internet and she would lend a hand.
Before Barry was done talking to Sandy, Madeline came through the door which caused Barry to stop breathing. She walked past the staff area, said hello to everyone as she did and went directly into Marc’s office.
Carolyn had been watching Barry’s reaction to Maddy and when she closed Marc’s door she said to him, “Breathe dummy.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he replied to which Carolyn and Sandy both laughed.
“Men, you’re all alike,” Sandy said.
“Right. And women are so different,” Barry said. “I’ll remind you of that the next time Butch Koll stops by and the both of you start drooling.”
“That’s different,” Carolyn said. “But never mind how.”
That afternoon, Marc, Maddy and Barry went over the list looking for obvious pluses and minuses of the names. The list included some cursory information about each of the people. Things such as name, address, age, occupation, marital status, spouse’s name and occupation. Like any jury trial, selection was much more art than science. A jury selection consulting industry had developed that was more sophisticated in its guesswork and claimed to be accurate. They tended to be quite expensive and very few criminal defendants could afford to hire one. The prosecution with the virtually unlimited resources of the state would certainly have a team of consultants. Were they worth the expense? Some lawyers swore by them, some scoffed at them.
By the end of the day, the three of them, Marc, Maddy and Barry had placed all one hundred names into one of three categories: 1) definite yes; 2) definite no; 3) maybe. The definite yes were young, single men and women without children. All three of them agreed these would be most likely to sympathize with or, be more open-minded to Brittany. The problem was there were only a dozen names in that category and the prosecution would likely try to get them removed. The other end of the spectrum was the definite no list. There were over thirty names on that list, mostly men and women with young children. Of the remaining fifty to sixty, all had some question marks but the final jury would likely come from those people.
[Marc Kadella 03.0] Media Justice Page 26
