Gondeck stood up and said, “The state requests that the current bail be revoked and the defendant remanded to custody. This is a horrible, heinous crime, your Honor. She is originally from Chicago, has minimal ties to the jurisdiction and is a threat to others and a flight risk.”
After Gondeck sat down, Graham turned to Marc and said, “Mr. Kadella?”
Marc stood and said, “Ms. Rivers moved here permanently several years ago. She has been an upstanding, law-abiding citizen whose every intention is to use the trial to clear her name. There is no indication she will flee and no evidence she is a risk to anyone. As to the crime itself, it is no worse now than it was when Judge Jennrich set the original bail. The only difference is the state convinced a grand jury to grossly overcharge it. Bail should be continued.”
Gondeck stood again and said, “Your Honor. She is responsible for the deaths of two men…”
“Objection!” Marc yelled as he jumped out of his chair. “Mr. Gondeck knows perfectly well one of those men was trying to rape and murder her in her own home. The other was about to murder her best friend. Both were ruled justifiable homicides.”
“Is that true, Mr. Gondeck?”
“Well, ah, yes, your Honor,” Gondeck meekly replied.
“Then don’t bring it up again. Bail will remain as set. Has your client surrendered her passport?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Marc answered.
“Your Honor, her bail was paid by a very wealthy friend of hers, Vivian Corwin Donahue. No amount of bail will…”
“Stop,” Graham politely said. “It’s irrelevant who paid her bail, Mr. Gondeck. The questions are: is she a flight risk or is she a danger to the public? I am satisfied, as was the Chief Judge, that she is neither of those things.”
“Then she should at least wear a monitoring ankle bracelet,” Gondeck said.
“I disagree. Ms. Rivers,” Graham said looking at Maddy. She stood up next to Marc and Graham asked, “you going to run out on us?”
“No, your Honor. I am innocent and I am going to fight to clear my name.”
Graham turned to Gondeck and said, “For now, I’m satisfied and apparently Chief Judge Jennrich was satisfied. Plus, those things tend to hinder a defendant’s ability to meet with counsel and help in their defense. You can always reapply if you have grounds, Mr. Gondeck. If there’s nothing else,” he paused and looked at both lawyers, then said, “We’re adjourned. I’ll see counsel in chambers.” With that, he fled.
“Thanks,” a relieved Madeline said to Marc as she hugged him.
“What does he want to see you for?” Tony asked.
“Set a date for the omnibus hearing. You can wait for me in the hall in back. This won’t take long then we’ll get some lunch,” Marc said.
“I’ll call Vivian while we wait,” Maddy told him.
Javier Ruiz Torres, El Callado, the godfather of the Del Sur drug cartel walked out the front door of his Panamanian villa. He turned to his left and slowly made his way along the sidewalk toward the concrete patio surrounding the diamond shaped swimming pool. A slight breeze coming off of the Pacific Ocean barely ruffled the palm fronds in the trees overhead.
When he reached his destination, a padded lounge chair alongside the pool, he gently eased his bulky frame onto it. While he did this, two young women hurried to set up a small table with a snifter of Remy Martin King Louis Cognac. At over three thousand dollars a bottle, it was meant for people who could appreciate it. El Callado was not one of them. He could have been served ten bucks a gallon rotgut and this peasant would not have known the difference. Also on the table was an expensive Waterford ashtray and a fresh Montecristo. The man might not know fine Cognac but he did know his cigars. The older of the two girls, sisters, held the cigar lighter for him. When the man she secretly loathed was satisfied, he waved her off with a flick of his hand and she scurried away.
The fat man with the spindly legs sticking out of his shorts relaxed in the chair, smoking his cigar, sipping his Cognac. He ignored the gorgeous day and beautiful scenery, the clear blue, sunny sky and the ocean lapping softly on the white, sandy beach barely two hundred meters from him. El Callado had a problem and he was waiting for his tardy counselor so the cartel boss could ask him about it.
It was almost a half hour since he sat down that El Callado heard the car pull up behind him in front of the villa. A minute later, he was joined by Pablo Quinones. Quinones pulled up a patio chair next to the table, sat down in it, crossed his legs and waited for his boss to speak.
Torres exhaled a large cloud of smoke from his second cigar that the breeze quickly dissipated. “Where’ve you been?” he asked Quinones in Spanish.
“You know where I was, boss,” Quinones replied to the man he secretly believed was far beneath him. “I was in Texas at a skydiving competition.”
“I thought you would be back yesterday,” Torres growled. “I do not understand this foolishness of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. You risk your life too much. And this swimming under water with sharks? Why do you do this?”
“It’s exhilarating,” Quinones answered with a smile. “I told you many times, when I was in the army I fell in love with jumping.”
“We have a problem in Minnesota,” Torres said abruptly changing subjects.
“I know,” Quinones agreed.
“Why am I finding out about this from people other than you?”
“Because it came up while I was gone and right now is the first chance I’ve had to discuss it with you,” Quinones calmly replied. “And I already went to Minnesota and discussed the situation with our people.”
This last statement was a lie. He had not traveled to Minnesota. Quinones had spoken to Victor Espinosa on the phone about it and was satisfied their plan was still in place and on schedule.
The younger of the two sisters arrived with a fresh drink for Torres. She also had a bottle of Evian water and a glass of ice for Quinones. As she walked away, Quinones saw the lustful look on Torres face as he watched the young girl, barely fifteen, hurry off. Disgusted, Quinones tried to take his boss’ mind off of her.
“What do you want to do?” Quinones quickly asked.
“I want to pleasure myself with that child,” Torres said without turning his head. “See to it.”
“I’m talking about the money in Minnesota,” Quinones said ignoring the order to pimp for his boss.
“How much do we have with them?” Torres asked turning back to his counselor.
“A little more than one hundred million,” Quinones replied.
“One hundred and three million, six hundred eighty seven thousand,” Torres said.
Annoyed but not daring to say it, Quinones repeated his question, “What do you want to do?”
“You are sure my money is safe?”
“Yes. The returns are very good and everything is fine,” Quinones reminded him.
Torres knocked the ash off of the cigar, picked up the lighter and relit it before answering him.
“Very well but keep a close eye on the situation and do not fail to keep me informed,” he said as he puffed away to keep the cigar going.
TWENTY-NINE
“This is getting to be bullshit,” Mike Anderson said. He was at his desk in his office. His feet were resting in a desk drawer he had pulled out and was talking to Assistant U.S. Attorney Joel Dylan and Holly Byrnes.
Anderson turned his head to look out the large window behind his desk. He stared for two or three seconds at the wet, windy weather that was knocking the leaves off of the trees. Autumn was upon them and in Minnesota, it was always a portent of things to come, namely real winter.
“Patience, Mike,” Dylan replied. Joel Dylan was sitting to Anderson’s left on the cloth-covered couch. Holly Byrnes was seated in one of the barely comfortable government-issued chairs in front of Anderson’s desk.
“These things take time,” Dylan reminded him.
“I get that, Joel,” Anderson said. “But it’s almost N
ovember. It’s been almost three months and this asshole Pascal hasn’t given us dick.”
“He’s right, Joel,” Holly agreed. “He’s stalling. I think he knows more than he’s telling us.”
“We need to put a wire on him,” Anderson said.
“Can we get a court order to bug their offices?” Holly asked looking at Dylan.
“Probably,” Dylan said.
“But it won’t do us any good if Pascal is right when he tells us they sweep their offices regularly and randomly,” Anderson reminded Holly.
“How can you do something both regularly and randomly? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” Dylan said with a smile.
Anderson looked at Dylan, snarled then flipped up the middle finger on his left hand which made Dylan laugh.
“I hear the case against Rob Judd’s girlfriend is moving toward trial,” Dylan said. “Her lawyer has subpoenaed records from CAR Securities. There’s a hearing on it in a couple days.”
“What’s he looking for?” Anderson asked.
“The stuff Judd turned over to us; the securities fraud documents. I think he’s trying to show that CAR Securities had a motive to kill Judd to shut him up,” Dylan said.
“They did,” Holly added. “Are we sitting on exculpatory evidence?” she asked.
“That’s not our problem,” Dylan said. “Keep your eye on the ball, Holly. Our case is our case and we don’t have any legal or ethical obligation to help out a defense lawyer on a state murder trial.”
“Seems wrong,” Holly said.
“It’s called the law. Besides from what I hear the prosecution has a very good circumstantial case against the girlfriend. She snapped and butchered the guy. Her lawyer’s just trying to muddy the waters with bullshit. He has no proof that anyone else could have done it. It’s not our problem.”
“I think maybe it’s time to bring Walter in for another chat. He needs to get us evidence of the money laundering we know is going on,” Anderson said getting them back to the subject at hand.
Holly Byrnes opened the door to the same interrogation room Walter Pascal was put in the first time he was brought to this building. He appeared to Holly to be a lot more nervous than what he actually was. So far, Walter had been able to stall and put them off. He also knew why he was being brought in again. They were going to try to browbeat him into stepping things up.
“I’m trying my best,” he pleaded as Holly stood aside for Walter to go in.
“Get in, Walter,” she said, letting her annoyance show. “Sit down and shut up. Stop your whining. I’m tired of it.”
Holly closed the door behind him, locking him in. Walter took the chair facing the mirror and looked nervously around the room. While he did this he thought, We’re going to play this same, silly game again where they make me wait trying to intimidate me. Fortunately, I used the toilet before I came here this time.
Holly went into the observation room behind the mirror where Mike Anderson and Joel Dylan were watching Walter. Holly joined them at the window.
“How long do you want to wait?” Dylan asked.
“We’ll see…” Anderson started to say.
“I don’t think sweating him will make much difference,” Holly said. “We can probably go in now.”
“Let’s do that,” Dylan agreed.
“We think you’re jerking our chain,” Anderson said to Walter.
Pascal sat by himself on one side of the cheap table. Anderson and Dylan were opposite him and Holly was sitting on the end to Pascal’s left.
“It’s been almost three months and all you’ve done is confirm what we already knew,” Dylan interjected.
“We think you’re stalling, Wally,” Anderson said.
“No, I swear I’m not. Look, I told you I work in bonds. I went to Panama with Espinosa because no one else wanted to. I was ordered to go by Corbin. All we talked about was how much money they were going to send. I don’t know anything about how it’s done or any other details.”
“Why haven’t you come up with anything about who this Ethan Rask guy is?” Anderson asked.
“What?” Walter said looking nervously between his three antagonists. “I told you who he is. He’s a guy Corbin knew. Corbin brought him in. He’s the…”
“Compliance officer,” Anderson said.
“That’s right,” Walter agreed.
“Bullshit. What’s his background? Where did he come from? Who has he worked for?” Anderson asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to find out and was not too politely told to mind my own business. I’ve told you this. I can’t find out what they won’t let me know,” Walter said.
“Who killed Robert Judd?” Holly abruptly asked.
Startled by the suddenness of the question, Walter’s eyes shifted about before he said, “Ah, his girlfriend. What’s-her-name? The chick being brought to trial on it. It’s been in the papers. That’s all I know about it.”
Holly Byrnes stared directly into Walter’s eyes, while he said this. Holly was a former NYPD detective and had been with the Bureau for three years. An experienced and very capable investigator, Holly trusted her instincts enough to know when someone was lying to her. At that moment she had no doubt Walter Pascal was lying. He knew more about the murder of Robert Judd than he was admitting.
Mike Anderson knew exactly what had just taken place between Pascal and his partner. He saw Wally’s eyes fidget and the look on Holly’s face told Anderson she believed Pascal had lied to her. Anderson knew he and Joel Dylan were going to get an argument from Holly. Quickly he decided to get the discussion back to where it should be.
“Wally, we want you to wear a wire,” Anderson said.
“No way. Not a chance. I’ll never be able to pull it off,” Pascal answered. “I’ll find out what you’re looking for, I promise. I just need more time. I know what’s going on and I’ll find out how and what. You’ll see. These things take time.”
“Get us a copy of Rask’s fingerprints or DNA,” Anderson said.
Pascal looked over the three of them with a concerned look on his face. “How am I supposed to do that? Go up to Ethan and say ‘Put your fingers on this ink pad so I can get a set of your prints’? That won’t look too suspicious,” he added sarcastically.
“Get a coffee cup or a glass or a piece of paper he’s handled, dummy. Anything will do,” Anderson growled at him.
“Oh, yeah. Okay, I get it. But I don’t work with him. I’m not even in the same part of the office as him. But I’ll see what I can do. I’ll come up with something sooner or later,” Walter assured them.
Holly, who had continued to stare at Pascal throughout this exchange, said, “Bullshit. He’s full of it. I say we lock his ass up right now, get a search warrant and go after the place.”
“That will be our next step,” Dylan said.
Thinking quickly, Pascal said, “The things you’re looking for might not even be on the premises. With computers, it’s easy to store information anywhere in the world. You’re better off letting me find it for you. I don’t want to go to prison. I’m doing my best,” he pleaded.
“Get on with it,” Anderson said. “Our patience is at an end.”
“I know what you’re going to say and don’t bother,” Anderson said to Holly when she came through his office door.
Holly had escorted Walter Pascal back to his car when they were done with him. In the meantime, Anderson and Joel Dylan had retreated to Anderson’s office to wait for Holly to return. Both men knew what she was going to come at them with as soon as she got back.
Holly, annoyed her partner would say that to her, dropped down on a chair across from the two men. They were seated around a small, round table.
“Oh, and what was I going to say, Mr. Clairvoyant?” she asked.
“You were going to say Pascal knows more about the murder of Robert Judd than he’s admitting. That maybe the boys at CAR Securities had something to do with it.”
“And?” she said
now even more annoyed because Anderson was right.
“And we’re not going to blow our investigation by running to the defense lawyer for the girlfriend with conjecture and speculation,” Dylan told her. “We have no legal or ethical obligation to help him and we’re not going to.”
“How about a moral obligation?” Holly asked. “How about the fact that she is likely innocent?”
“You don’t know that,” Dylan said.
“You may believe it but we have no evidence of any kind to back it up.”
“And if we find evidence?” Holly asked Dylan.
“We’ll see,” he said. “But I’ll tell you right now, I probably won’t change my mind. Our case is our case and we are not involved in the murder of Robert Judd.”
Holly looked at her partner and asked, “Do you agree with that, Mike?”
“Keep your eye on the ball, Holly. Joel’s right. We work for the federal government. Not the state of Minnesota.”
“That is…”
“Relax, Holly,” Dylan said. “We’ll see how it goes, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay, but we’ll see,” she said.
THIRTY
Tony Carvelli parked the Camaro in front of his internet hacker’s house, turned off the wipers and shut down the big engine. Before he got out, Tony took a few seconds to sit and look through the windshield at the weather. Another wet, windy, late-October day. I already miss summer and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, he thought.
Tony turned up the collar of his full-length, black leather coat, opened the driver’s door and when he got out, ran up the house’s sidewalk, his head scrunched in like a turtle’s. When he reached the four stairs leading to the front door, he jumped two steps to get to the stoop, pressed the doorbell twice and impatiently pounded several times on the door.
[Marc Kadella 06.0] Delayed Justice Page 20
