[Marc Kadella 06.0] Delayed Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Still replaying the trial?” he heard Connie Mickelson ask from his doorway.

  “No,” Marc answered Connie as he closed the window and swiveled around to face her. “At least not as much.”

  “You know better than to second-guess yourself,” she said as she sat down in one of the client chairs.

  “You two want some coffee?” they heard Carolyn ask when she came through Marc’s open door. She filled their cups from the pot she carried with her then said to Marc, “I’d tell you to go home but it wouldn’t help.”

  “No,” Marc agreed, “it wouldn’t. Sorry I’m not being very social…”

  “It’s okay,” Connie quietly said.

  “We get it,” Carolyn added.

  “I’ve never felt like this, I’m scared down to my toes. What if I screwed this up and they find her guilty? She’ll go to prison and I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Stop it!” Connie demanded. “Did you do your best?”

  “I don’t know,” Marc replied. “I guess so, I suppose so but…”

  “It’s our girl whose ass is on the line,” Carolyn said. “Not some stranger who was probably guilty anyway.”

  “Let me talk to him alone,” Connie said to Carolyn.

  “Sure, I have work to do anyway,” Carolyn replied, then left and closed the door behind her.

  “Get a grip,” Connie started off. “If they come back with a guilty verdict, it’s not over and you know it. We know what really happened and we’ll figure out a way to get those guys.”

  Marc had told Connie about Tony Carvelli’s clandestine and extremely illegal talk he and his pals had with Ethan Rask.

  “I know, I’ve thought of that,” Marc said. “I’m thinking maybe we go to Owen Jefferson. I’m not sure how…”

  The intercom on his phone buzzed and Marc stopped to answer it.

  “Okay, put her through,” he told Sandy. “Maddy,” he said to Connie.

  Connie started to stand up to leave and Marc waved her back into her seat.

  “Hey, how are you today?” Marc asked.

  “Fine,” Maddy replied. “In fact, last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. I feel great. Whatever happens, well, we’ll deal with it. I have great friends. They’ll help me.”

  “You have great friends who love you and will never stop fighting for you,” Marc added.

  “I know. Anyway, call me as soon as you hear something. I’ll be home!”

  Maddy’s phone call and cheerful attitude eased the stress Marc had brought on himself. Because of the trial, there were over a dozen case files piled on his desk needing his attention. He dug into those and was able to get some work done and put the jury deliberating his friend’s fate out of his mind, for a while. At 11:30, he got the call from Graham’s clerk.

  “They’re in,” she told Marc. “The judge wants everybody at two o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Natalie,” Marc replied.

  Without hanging up the phone on his desk, he quickly dialed Maddy’s number and gave her the news. Marc would pick her up and the two of them would meet Carvelli for lunch then go to court.

  Marc stopped in the office’s common area to announce to everyone what he had been told. As he was putting on his overcoat Connie came out of her office.

  “Mind if I tag along?” she asked.

  “No, not all. Grab your coat.”

  Marc turned back to the staff and said, “Two o’clock, courtroom 1540. You’re all welcome to come and sit with us. I think Maddy would like that.”

  “We’ll all be there,” Chris Grafton replied.

  “Absolutely,” Barry Cline chimed in.

  Marc looked over at the prosecution table and wondered where Steve Gondeck was. Jennifer Moore had come in, said ‘hello’ and was quietly sitting by herself.

  Behind Marc, Maddy and Connie at the defense table, seated in chairs in front of the rail, was the entire office staff. Best of all was the presence of Vivian Donahue seated next to Carvelli. Tony had called her after getting the news from Marc. Maddy’s eyes had started to tear up when they all filed in.

  “Hey,” Marc quietly said to Jennifer over the murmuring of the gallery, “where’s your boss?”

  Jennifer used her head to indicate Marc should join her.

  “He’s not coming,” she whispered when Marc got to her table. “He thinks they’ll find her guilty and he doesn’t want to be here for it. I don’t either but…” she shrugged.

  “All rise,” the deputy intoned. Everyone stood as Judge Graham took his seat. “Be seated,” he told the audience. He then looked at the deputy standing next to the jury room door and nodded his head.

  While the jurors filed in, Marc watched them carefully. It is believed that if the jurors look at the defendant, that it is a good sign for the defense. Is this true? No one really knows. In this case, some of the jurors looked at Maddy and some did not.

  Graham asked the foreman, a thirty-six-year-old, divorced insurance salesman Marc had wanted on the jury, if they had reached a verdict. The man answered affirmatively then handed the deputy the jury form. The deputy brought it to Graham who took a minute or so to read it over. He then sent it back to the foreman.

  “We the jury, in the matter of the State of Minnesota vs. Madeline Elizabeth Rivers…”

  This was all Maddy remembered hearing as Marc gently held her hand after easing her back into her chair.

  “It’s not over, I promise you, it’s not over,” he repeated several times.

  Her friends seated in the chairs behind her were too stunned to move. Even Carvelli, who was usually in total control of himself and every situation, was in a daze.

  Only Vivian Donahue was able to grasp the situation. She immediately went to Maddy, got down on one knee, wrapped both arms around her and held her as Maddy quietly began to weep.

  FORTY-FIVE

  It was past midnight when Marc inserted the key to the front door of his apartment, turned it to open the lock, then gently thumped his forehead against the door. He stood in the hallway like this trying to shake the image of Maddy in jail. After ten or twelve seconds, he opened the door and went inside.

  Marc kicked off his shoes at the entryway closet, went into the living room, tossed his overcoat on a chair and his suit coat on the couch. He flopped down on the couch, put his stockinged feet on the coffee table, stared at nothing and fought back the tears while replaying the day.

  The jury foreman started to read the verdict form and gave the defense initial good news. Not guilty to the charge of first-degree murder. The optimism was very short-lived.

  “As to the count of murder in the second-degree we find the defendant guilty,” he had said.

  The Foreman continued with the lesser included charges and repeated ‘not guilty’ for each of them.

  Despite being verbally kicked in the groin, Marc had enough presence of mind to immediately request that Maddy’s bail be continued until sentencing. Because of the seriousness of the crime, Graham denied the request. Maddy would be jailed immediately. While Maddy was being handcuffed and taken away, the gallery crowd, quiet and seemingly surprised, began to file out of the courtroom. Even the media members, not always behaving as paragons of decorum, were acting with suitable restraint. A couple of them approached the defense table but walked away when Marc looked at them and simply shook his head. The atmosphere had the definite feel of a funeral.

  Ten minutes after Maddy had been taken away, it was Vivian Donahue who broke the silence speaking to Maddy’s small group of supporters in the otherwise empty courtroom. “All right, we need to get together and figure out what we’re going to do to fix this,” Vivian said in a commanding voice. “Marc?”

  “She’s right. This isn’t over. Let’s all go back to the office and put our heads together,” Marc said to the people sitting behind his table. “You, too,” he told Vivian.

  “I’ve never been to your office,” Vivian commented.

  “Well,” Connie rep
lied standing up and putting on her coat, “You’re in for a real treat. Do you need a ride?”

  “I’ll ride with Anthony, but thanks, Connie,” Vivian replied.

  Barry Cline and Chris Grafton, having driven downtown together, stopped at a liquor store for a case of Grain Belt Premium beer on their way back. At the office, everyone, including Vivian, was served a bottle and they all found chairs in the common area.

  “I didn’t know you drank beer,” Tony said to Vivian.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she answered. Vivian looked at Marc and asked, “What is she looking at when she is sentenced?”

  Graham had scheduled a sentencing date for after the holidays, January third.

  “The sentencing guidelines,” Barry Cline said to answer her, “call for twenty-five years with a criminal history score of zero.”

  “She would have to do almost seventeen before being eligible for parole,” Marc said.

  “My god, this can’t be happening,” Vivian said.

  “First we ask Graham for a new trial. He’ll deny it. Then we start the appeal process,” Marc said. “Connie,” Marc continued, “who’s the best appellate lawyer in Minnesota?”

  “Criminal?” Connie rhetorically asked. “I’m not sure. Probably Julian Bronfman.”

  “Isn’t he a professor at the U law school?” Chris Grafton asked.

  “Yeah, teaches Con law and criminal procedure,” Connie replied, referring to Constitutional law.

  “Can you get him?” Vivian asked. “Money is no object.”

  “You don’t want to say that to a Jewish lawyer,” Connie said eliciting a much-needed laugh. “Yeah, he goes to my synagogue. I’ll talk to him about it. Especially when I tell him that we know for certain she’s innocent.”

  “And how do we know that?” Carolyn asked after hearing the tone of certainty in Connie’s voice.

  “We do,” Marc said. “Just leave it at that.”

  Carolyn looked at Marc who shifted his eyes toward Vivian as a signal to keep quiet about it.

  “I know all about it, Marc,” Vivian said when she saw him make that gesture.

  With a stern expression, Marc looked at Tony Carvelli and said, “And how does she know that? Never mind, but it’s a problem if she had to testify about it.”

  “Not if we make her part of the defense team,” Barry interjected.

  “Okay,” Marc said. He looked at Vivian and added, “You are now a member of my staff and covered by privilege. No talking to anyone,” he turned to an embarrassed Carvelli, “else about this for now.”

  Carvelli took Vivian home then met Marc for dinner at a place on Lake Street. Neither of them were very hungry and the meal was picked at by both men. Tony apologized for telling Vivian about his chat with Ethan Rask. Marc brushed it aside as spilled milk. They then drove back downtown and met with Maddy for more than an hour.

  The guard brought her in and at Marc’s insistence, removed the cuffs and leg shackles. Maddy then quickly exchanged long embraces with both men.

  “You’re not supposed to make physical contact with inmates,” the guard, an older man hanging on for retirement tried to tell them.

  Knowing who the guard was, Tony snarled at him, “Give me a break, Turner. You think what, we’re gonna slip her a file to cut through the bars?”

  “Look, Tony, I’m just doing my job,” the man said apologetically.

  “You told us, now beat it. We’ll call you when we’re done,” Carvelli said. After the guard left Carvelli said, “The guy was an elementary school principal for twenty years. Now he’s on the government tit for another pension.”

  “Double-dipping,” Marc said.

  “Yeah, he’s gonna spend his whole life with his face in the taxpayer’s trough slurping up other people’s money,” Carvelli said. “Plus he’s an asshole.”

  “How are you doing?” Marc asked Maddy.

  “I’m okay. The other women are pretty much avoiding me. One of them, a really nice, older black woman in for beating up her husband, told me they know who I am and are a little afraid of me.”

  “I must admit,” Tony said, “you even look good in orange.”

  Maddy smiled but said, “That’s not funny.”

  Tony reached across the table, squeezed her hand and said, “It’s a little funny. It got a smile out of you.”

  The three of them talked about everything except the actual verdict. Since there was nothing to be done about it no one wanted to bring it up. Oddly, Maddy did not ask about what her sentence would likely be. As they were getting ready to leave, Tony asked her why.

  “Because I know you guys will fix this and get me out. In my heart, I have absolute faith that you’ll find a way.”

  While driving toward his apartment, Marc took a call from Margaret Tennant. She had tried calling and left messages six times since the afternoon.

  They chatted for a few minutes, Margaret expressing her sadness. She had known Maddy as long as Marc and could not believe, even drugged, she could do this.

  “We’ll get her out of this,” Marc said toward the end of the conversation.

  “Do you want to come over?”

  “I think I need to be alone tonight,” Marc replied.

  “I understand. If I can do anything for you or Madeline, please call.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Marc promised.

  Marc ended the call as he pulled the SUV over and parked in front of the Lake City Tavern, a neighborhood bar on Lake Street. Marc had been in the place only once before to meet a client. It was perfect for his mood; a quiet, seedy joint where everybody minded their own business. A half-hour later, after three shots of Jack and three small chasers, Marc decided pouring conscience relief down his throat was not the answer and was not going to help either himself or his client.

  Still sitting on his couch, his feet on the coffee table, Marc looked at the clock on the cable TV box.

  “12:40,” he quietly said to himself. “Time to go to bed and try to get some sleep.”

  The next day, Charlie Dudek opened his business email account to check for any new inquiries. He was across the river from his home in Kansas City at the West Wyandotte branch of the Kansas City, Kansas public library using one of their computers. Charlie had a PC of his own at home but never used it for this particular email account. If anyone, the police specifically, ever checked his home computer, they wouldn’t find anything incriminating on it. Instead, he used computers in the public libraries of both Kansas City, Missouri and across the river in Kansas.

  There was only one email and as luck— and good timing — would have it, it had been received just fifteen minutes ago. It was from a Russian Mafia boss located in Brighton Beach, N Y, a psycho thug named Dimitri Kirilov.

  As little as Charlie normally felt emotionally about anyone, he truly hated the Russians. Charlie was a professional and a businessman. He understood that his particular business was, to say the least, out of the mainstream. But he still took pride in his work and went about it in an unemotional, objective and professional manner. The Russians were anything but professionals. In fact, Charlie considered them to be little better than bloodthirsty animals. After serving honorably in the Army, Charlie considered himself a patriot. He despised the fact that these Russian gangsters were in America for one reason only; to rob and steal as much as they could. At least the Italian Mafia came here to be Americans.

  Charlie opened the attachment that came with the email. In it was everything he needed, including the contract amount, two hundred thousand dollars. Kirilov knew Charlie’s standard price and added an extra fifty grand to that. Instead of simply accepting the job, Charlie emailed back demanding an additional fifty thousand.

  Thinking he might get a quick reply, Charlie reviewed the target’s information. There was a recent photo along with the man’s name, address and usual hangouts; all in New York. He began printing off the attachment and Kirilov’s answer came back while Charlie did this. Kiril
ov had accepted the amount and had wired the first half into a Cayman Island bank account. Kirilov wanted this man gone in a vicious way to send a message in the process.

  When Charlie returned home, as he always did when accepting an assignment, he sat down and wrote out a thorough list of everything he needed. The list, of course, would be almost one hundred percent the same every time. Charlie took pride in his professionalism and the fewer things he had to purchase after leaving, the better.

  Two hours later, after notifying the neighbor he was on a business trip and shutting down the house, Charlie was ready to go. As he was going over his to-do list one last time before burning it, he remembered he had not checked on the trial in Minneapolis. He quickly got online, found the news story and saw the verdict. When he finished reading the story from the Minneapolis paper, Charlie’s heart sank and he felt furious; sensations he had never experienced over something like this before.

  He shut down the computer and while staring at the blank screen, quietly said to himself, “After New York, it looks like I’m heading back to Minnesota.”

  FORTY-SIX

  The short, slender, frizzy-haired man with a salt and pepper mustache and goatee quietly closed the hallway door behind himself. Without a sound, he poked his head into the open door of Connie Mickelson’s office and for seven seconds, watched her working at her desk.

  “Hello, Connie,” he finally said.

  “Goddammit, Julian,” Connie shrieked as she rose, startled, three inches out of her chair. “Jesus Christ,” she continued, “you just took five years off of my life which I can’t afford. I wish people would stop doing that to me.”

  “Sorry,” he said holding back laughter.

  “You are not,” Connie calmly replied as she stood up to greet the man. The two of them exchanged a quick, friendly hug. By this time, after hearing the startled Connie bellowing through her open door, everyone in the office was aware they had a visitor.