[Marc Kadella 06.0] Delayed Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  As Tony made the walk from his car to the front doors of the Mansion with Maddy on his mind, he thought about how he had come to know Vivian Donahue.

  A black sheep member of the Corwin clan, Robert Corwin, Jr., Vivian’s nephew by her older brother Robert, was murdered by two men working for a local gangster. By coincidence, Marc Kadella had represented one of the men, the one that was mostly innocent. The thug who had killed Vivian’s nephew got off due to a corrupt judge and Vivian hired Tony to find out the truth.

  Vivian Corwin Donahue, annually one of Forbes Magazine’s ten richest and most powerful women, and Tony had become part-time lovers. It was through Tony that Vivian had come to know Maddy Rivers and loved Maddy like the daughter she would have liked to have. All of these things passed through his mind as he took the steps leading up to the front door. He hesitated a moment, drew a deep breath then rang the doorbell. Tony was not looking forward to telling Vivian what had happened to Maddy. But he also realized that this woman could move mountains, which might be useful in helping Maddy clear her name.

  Tony rang the bell again and in about twenty seconds, Vivian’s longtime housekeeper, friend and sometime confidante, Mary, opened the door and warmly greeted him.

  “Vivian’s on the patio down at the lake,” she told Tony.

  “Thanks, Mary. I can manage by myself,” he replied.

  Tony took the concrete pathway from the pool area the three hundred feet to the shore of Lake Minnetonka. He found Vivian seated on a cushioned patio chair on the upper level of the dock. There was a boathouse to their right larger than most homes, a one-hundred-foot portable dock extending into the lake and two eighty-year-old oak trees providing shade. It was a very nice way to while away a pleasant summer day.

  “Hello, Anthony,” Vivian smiled when she turned to greet him.

  Tony bent down and kissed her cheek, poured himself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the white, wrought iron table and took the chair next to her. Before saying anything he took a large swallow of the ice-cold drink.

  “Tell me about Madeline!” Vivian impatiently said. “I saw the news. They had film of the three of you coming out of the building. What happened?” she continued, obviously quite concerned.

  Tony held up a hand to politely stop her then said, “We’re not sure yet.” He then went on to go over all of the details, everything they knew about the death of Rob Judd and Maddy’s potential involvement.

  “This is dreadful. This is just horrifying,” Vivian said practically fighting back tears. “What are we going to do?”

  “The first thing we’re going to do is presume she is innocent and was set up. I’m pretty sure, because of her memory loss and the way she was acting, she was drugged. We’ll know in a few days,” Tony said. “I think somebody slipped her something at a party she was at the night before and when I find out who he won’t like the result.”

  Vivian quietly thought about it for a few moments. She watched a small cabin cruiser go by on the lake without really noticing it. Finally, she turned to Tony and said, “Will you call Marc, please? I’d like to talk to him if I can.”

  “Sure,” Tony said. He removed his phone, found Marc’s cell phone number and dialed.

  “Where are you?” Tony asked when Marc answered.

  “We just got back to her apartment,” Marc replied referring to Maddy.

  “What did the doctor tell you?”

  “He said she definitely showed signs of being drugged. He said he’d put a rush on the lab tests and thought maybe we’d have at least some preliminary results as early as a couple days.”

  Tony looked at Vivian who was leaning toward him with an anxious look on her face. “Vivian would like to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure, put her on,” Marc said.

  “Marc, hi, how is she?” Vivian asked.

  “Better than this morning,” Marc replied.

  “Is that Vivian?” Maddy asked Marc.

  “Yeah, you want to talk to her?”

  “Of course,” Maddy said as she reached for the phone.

  Marc covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand, the lawyer in him taking over, and said, “Be careful what you say to her. She can be forced to testify if it comes down to it.”

  Having been around enough cops, criminals and lawyers in her life, she understood what Marc was saying and why.

  “Okay,” she agreed and took the phone.

  Marc waited patiently while Maddy was on the phone with Vivian. From what Marc could make of the conversation hearing just one side of it, Maddy was trying to assure Vivian that she was all right. After almost fifteen minutes she pulled the phone away from her face to speak to Marc.

  “She wants me to come stay with her at the mansion. I told her…”

  “That’s a really good idea,” Marc said.

  “…I was all right and it…”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “…wasn’t necessary,” Maddy finished and gave Marc a severe look.

  “Vivian’s right. In fact, Vivian is always right. You shouldn’t be alone for the next few days. I have no doubt you were drugged, probably with roofies. You’re not all right. Besides, she’ll protect you from the media. You can hide out there and Vivian will spoil you like a baby.”

  “She heard that,” Maddy said holding up the phone. She put it to her ear and heard Vivian.

  “I did hear that and Marc’s right, I will spoil you. Please, dear Madeline,” Vivian continued, “it would make me feel better.”

  Maddy heavily sighed then said, “All right you win. I’ll have Marc bring me in a little while. I’ll throw some things in a bag and we’ll be along.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

  “CAR Securities,” Vivian began talking to Tony when she got off the phone with Maddy. “Have you discovered anything more about the people who run it?”

  “I got a picture of the mystery man, this Ethan Rask guy…”

  “The one with very little history?”

  “Yeah, that one. Anyway, the picture I had wasn’t the best but I had my computer guy run facial recognition on it and he came up with a half a dozen possibilities, none of them good.”

  “What does that mean?” Vivian asked while refilling their glasses.

  “It means none of the six possibles he came up with are Boy Scouts. They all have rap sheets for serious things and arrests for violent crimes, including murder.”

  “Convictions?”

  “Some, yes. None for the most serious stuff. The problem is the pictures themselves. They are all possible. They could all be him at various ages and it may be that none of them are him. There’s nothing that you could take to court. My guy is running them down now to find out where each of them is living and see if we can eliminate any. Could be at least a couple are in jail somewhere.”

  “Have you discussed this with Marc or anyone else?”

  “No”, Tony replied shaking his head. “I’ll keep working on this Rask guy. The rest of them, the people at CAR, are who they seem to be. Oh, wait a second, I forgot. The guy who looks the most like our Mr. Rask has a couple of interesting things on his record. He’s not just a crook, he’s a con man. He did time, almost two years about ten years ago in a federal prison in Florida for running some kind of securities scam. I couldn’t find out what exactly.”

  Vivian thought about that news for a moment then said, “That is interesting. And it may help explain what I found out. I checked with several investment people I know and trust, independently of each other, of course. They all had the same basic things to say about them. Their returns were bordering on too good to be true, but not quite. Although one of them did tell me the Chief Investment Officer, Jordan Kemp, is a mathematical wiz, almost genius level.”

  “What about their SEC filings?”

  “I obtained copies and had them reviewed. SEC filings aren’t necessarily very valid,” Vivian told him.

  “Why is that?”

&nb
sp; “Because, dear Anthony, the SEC is a bigger revolving door than Congress. Too many people work for the SEC to make friends with Wall Street firms so they can score a lucrative job when they leave the government. Simply put, corruption is rampant and business filings, especially investment firm filings, how shall I put this,” she asked slightly nodding her head from side to side with a sly smirk on her face, “are not the most reliable and honest source of information.”

  “What about the credit rating firms?” Tony asked.

  “Same answer,” Vivian replied. “Now, it could be that CAR Securities returns are absolutely legitimate. The market over the last six or seven years has been pumped full of cheap, almost free, money. Our economics and business knowledge-deprived president is clueless about how all of this works. Real under- employment and unemployment are still ridiculously high and income for almost everyone, especially the middle-class people who have to work for a living, is down. Yet he believes he’s doing a splendid job because the market is overheated.”

  Tony laughed then said, “Stop before you get yourself angry over the guy. I’m sure he’s doing what he thinks is best.”

  “You’re right. Still, the man’s a fool,” Vivian smiled. “Now what?”

  “I need to get fingerprints from Mr. Rask,” Tony said. “It would be nice to get them from the others as well, but I need Rask for sure. There’s something there, in his background,” Tony said.

  “Cop’s intuition?” Vivian smiled.

  “Probably,” Tony agreed. “Cynical ex-cop.”

  Tony heard the sound of a car approaching. He stood up and looked across the huge lawn, through the trees and caught a glimpse of Marc’s SUV.

  “They’re here,” he said and held out a hand to help Vivian out of her chair.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  Marc pulled up and parked diagonally next to Tony. He turned the key to shut off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. As he began to open the door, Marc noticed that Maddy had not moved.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  She turned in her seat to look at him. With a very troubled look on her face, she said, “I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay, what?”

  She hesitated a moment then said, “All day I’ve been having, I’m not sure what, visions or images like flashes of photographs pop in and out of my head. At first, I wasn’t even sure if they were real or what they were. But they’re getting clearer. Marc…” she paused.

  “What, sweetheart?” Marc softly asked.

  “They’re images from Rob’s bedroom. I see him dead and the blood everywhere. I think I may have done it. I might have killed him.”

  NINETEEN

  Marc peeked through the tiny window in the exterior door of courtroom 1745. He was in the hallway on the court’s side of the Hennepin County Government Center in downtown Minneapolis. It was a little after 10:00 A.M. Having finished a court appearance for an incarcerated client, Marc wanted to stop and see Margaret Tennant.

  Yesterday, Tuesday, had been a long stressful and hectic day dealing with the drama surrounding Maddy Rivers. Margaret, after seeing the noon news reports, had left a half-dozen messages, the last one with an annoyed tone to it.

  Marc continued to look through the little window at the proceeding taking place. He had forgotten but now recalled that Margaret had a trial starting today. A personal injury case where liability was clear but the insurance company refused to pay anything at all. They were employing the usual defense strategy. When you have no case, stall, stall and then stall some more.

  Marc checked his watch, 10:13, and believing a break in the trial was coming, quietly slipped in and took a seat in the back row. He patiently waited while the plaintiff’s lawyer, a woman Marc didn’t know, was making her opening statement. It was pretty obvious who the plaintiff was. It was the man who would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Evidently one of those frivolous lawsuits conservative TV and radio big mouths are always railing against, Marc thought. Those poor insurance companies, he continued silently thinking, I practically weep for how maligned they are and how much unjust advantage people take of them.

  Ten minutes after Marc sat down, the plaintiff’s lawyer finished up. Marc had spent most of the time waiting, watching the six jurors. Minnesota Rules of Civil Procedure do not specify the number of jurors to hear a civil case. The rules simply state between six and twelve. Being a criminal defense lawyer, the small number of people in the jury box looked a little odd to Marc.

  Having seen Marc come in and take a seat, Margaret chose the moment when the plaintiff’s lawyer finished to take a break. Marc stood as Margaret left the bench and waited for the jury to be led out.

  Margaret’s clerk, Lois, waved Marc forward and when he got to her she warned him. “You’re in big trouble, pal.”

  “Thanks, Lois. Is she really mad?”

  “Nah, I’m just pulling your chain. Go on back.”

  A minute later he closed the door of Margaret’s chambers and sheepishly said ‘hello’.

  “How is she?” Margaret asked as she walked toward him. “What happened?”

  They gave each other a brief hug and light kiss then the two of them sat next to each other on her couch.

  “I’m not sure,” Marc said. “I really don’t know what happened.”

  He then told her, as much as he could without violating attorney-client privilege. If Maddy was ever charged, it would be handled by a judge in this building but it would not be Margaret Tennant

  “So, she’s staying with Vivian for a while?” Margaret asked when he finished.

  “Yeah, at least for a few days,” Marc replied. “I know she was drugged. Probably at the party…”

  “If someone drugged her then Rob was deliberately murdered and she was set up,” Margaret said.

  “Or, at least that will be a defense,” Marc agreed.

  “God, this is horrible,” Margaret said. “Can we go see her? Maybe this evening? Will you call Vivian and see if it’s okay for you to bring me out to see her, please?”

  “Of course,” Marc smiled. Just then he felt his phone vibrate. He took it from his coat pocket and looked at the screen.

  “What is this about?” he muttered out loud while reading it.

  “What?”

  “It’s a text from Carolyn. My kids are at my office.”

  “You’d better go. Something might be wrong and …”

  “No,” Marc continued, “she says there’s no problem they just dropped in to see me.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Marc thought for a couple seconds then said, “Ah, no. But it’s probably not too bad since they’re both there.”

  Mark poked the screen for the office number and heard Sandy answer it. He told her he was on his way and hung up.

  “I’ll call Vivian,” he told Margaret as he started to leave. “Call me this afternoon when you take a break and I’ll let you know what she said. I’m sure it will be okay.”

  “Hey,” Marc said to his son and daughter when he entered the suite of offices. He could actually feel the twinkle in his eye while he watched them stand up from the client chairs they were seated on waiting for him. If there was anything that he was proud of and always brought him joy, it was seeing them, especially the rare sight of seeing them together. Sibling rivalry was alive and well.

  “Hey, Pops,” Eric said.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Jessica, daddy’s little girl, said.

  They exchanged hugs then Marc asked, “It’s a little early but should we get some lunch?”

  “You buying?” his son asked.

  “Why, do you want to volunteer?” Marc asked with a skeptical look.

  “No, no, I’ll let you,” he grinned.

  “I figured you might,” Marc replied. “Let me put this away,” he continued referring to his briefcase, “then we’ll walk across the street.”

  Ten minutes later the waitress had taken their orders and left to put it into
the kitchen.

  “Okay,” Marc began, “which one of you is in trouble?”

  On the drive back from downtown all he could think was, please don’t let Jessica be pregnant. Anything but that, a father’s number one concern for his daughter. Having once been a teenage boy, fathers know what boys were sniffing around for when it came to their little girls.

  “Go ahead,” Eric told his sister. This statement and the way it was spoken and to whom caused Marc’s anxiety meter to take a significant, upward spike.

  “Actually, Daddy,” she leaned forward and began, “we think it might be you.”

  “Me?” Marc asked trying to mask his relief. “Why am I in trouble?”

  “Mom’s been talking about you a lot lately,” Eric said.

  “Saying really nice things,” Jessie added.

  “What things and why?” Marc asked with serious suspicion.

  “You tell him,” Jessie said to her brother.

  “Um, well, Mom and Tom, her husband…”

  “I know his name,” Marc said.

  “…aren’t getting along too good.”

  “And?”

  “Well, you know, Mom’s always felt a little guilty about you and the divorce and how she was,” Jessie added.

  “No, she hasn’t. Guilt is not a word in your mother’s vocabulary but go ahead,” Marc said again looking back and forth at the two of them.

  “We think she might want to get back together with you,” Eric flatly stated.

  “And if you even think about it, we’ll have you committed and put in a home,” his daughter quickly added.