Marc held up a sheet of paper with several columns of print on it. “I have here your phone records for the past two months. What would you say if I told you it shows you called him seventy-two times, and he called you over fifty times during that period?”
“Objection, relevance,” Krain said. “They were dating so they called each other. So, what?”
“Mr. Kadella?” Williams asked.
“A little leeway, your Honor, and we’ll get there,” Marc said.
“Overruled, for now.”
“Ms. Gibson? Would you agree with those number of phone calls?”
“How do you know his phone number?” Lucy asked.
“Is it 672-878-4366?” Marc asked.
“Um, yes, it is,” she agreed.
“Answer the question, please,” Marc said.
“Yes, I guess that number of calls would be right. So what?” she said becoming defensive and a touch hostile.
“During the forty-eight hours leading up to the time when Mr. Knutson was killed, there are nineteen calls between the two of you. Did you tell this man you know as Bret Holston, when Brody Knutson would come in early to the office?”
“I, ah, I don’t recall…”
“You’re under oath, Ms. Gibson,” Marc reminded her.
“I may have. We talked about a lot of things…”
“Isn’t it true he asked you specifically what time Brody Knutson would be in on the morning of his death?”
“I, ah, am not, ah…”
“Yes or no,” Ms. Gibson.
“I think, I think, he, um, he did, yes.”
“In fact, during the two months you were seeing him, the two of you talked a lot about your job and the office routines, didn’t you?”
Marc was totally fishing, but knowing who the man really was, he believed he was on solid ground.
While Marc was going at her during this sequence, Carvelli’s phone vibrated. He sneaked a quick peek at it, then headed for the hall.
“I don’t think I would say we talked about it a lot, but he always seemed so interested in what I do for a living.”
“So, the answer to my question is yes, you told him about the office routines, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she reluctantly agreed.
“And at some point, you told him it was Brooke’s turn to come in early on the day Brody Knutson was murdered, didn’t you?”
“I, ah, don’t recall…”
“You’re under oath,” Marc said.
“Objection, she already answered him,” Krain said in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
“Overruled,” Judge Williams said.
“I may have,” she almost whispered.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Marc asked.
By this point, Brooke was ready to cry. She genuinely liked Lucy and was starting to feel terrible at the hammering she was taking. But there was something about the photo on the TV, the man in it that made her realize her lawyer knew exactly what he was doing.
“I may have,” she repeated clearly.
“On the morning of Brody Knutson’s death, you arrived at work early, at seven-thirty, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You found Mr. Knutson dead in his office and Brooke on the floor unconscious a few minutes later, isn’t that true?” Marc continued much more lightly.
“Yes,” Lucy agreed.
“And you helped Brooke up and out to her desk. You must have asked something similar to ‘what happened’, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And she told you she had no memory of what happened, didn’t she?”
“Yes, that’s what she said.”
“Did you believe her?”
“Yes, I did. She was very out of it, you know? Very confused.”
“According to the 911 operator record that I have,” Marc said holding up a report from the 911 dispatch department that he had been given by Krain, “you called 9-1-1 to report the death of your boss at seven-forty-eight. Does that sound right?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“The call lasted a little over four minutes. Does that sound right?”
“Yes.”
Marc held up the record of her calls made from her phone and continued. “According to your phone record, you received a call from the man you know as Bret Holston at eight-twelve and talked to him for three minutes.”
“Yes, that’s true. I thought he just called to say hello. He did that sometimes,” she blurted out.
“And you told him what you found when you came into the office that morning, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. It seemed like a normal thing to do.”
Carvelli slipped quietly back into the courtroom and took a seat in the back row, the second one in from the door. The man next to him, recognizing Carvelli being with the defense, looked nervously about. He was trying to decide if he should get up and leave.
“Hi, Richie,” Carvelli whispered almost directly into his ear. “You and me need to have a little chat.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Shouldn’t you give Aidan a call?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied. Without waiting for Carvelli to say anything else, he stood and fled out the door.
“I have nothing further, your Honor,” Marc said, much to Lucy’s relief.
“Mr. Krain, your witness.”
Gerald Krain sat silently for a full minute trying to think of something he could ask to fix this. Not digging into Lucy Gibson’s life and phone records was another screw up by Hunt. Unable to think of anything, Krain passed on any questions.
“Any more witnesses, Mr. Kadella?”
“One, your Honor,” Marc said after standing. “The defense calls Sean O’Rourke.”
Carvelli was already in the hall to fetch Paxton’s uncle. He had flown in the night before and Marc had spent a couple of hours preparing his testimony.
Sean took the stand and gave his occupation as a retired FBI agent. In order to bolster his credibility, Marc had decided to do a very thorough presentation of Sean’s career. By the time they were finished, there was not anyone in the courtroom who was not impressed. Sean O’Rourke had a long and very distinguished career with the Bureau.
“I’m going to cut to the chase here, Mr. O’Rourke and get right to why you were brought here. The photograph of the man on the TV screen, do you recognize him?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And is his name, to your knowledge, Bret Holston.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of him using that name, but he could be using it.”
“Do you know what his name is?”
“He was born in Boston and his birth name is Aidan O’Keefe. He has a long criminal record including three prison terms. He was even an enforcer, in his youth, for Whitey Bulger’s Winter Hill Gang.”
The mention of the infamous and well-known Whitey Bulger brought a stir through the courtroom.
“He has been suspected of several murders and been convicted of armed robbery, serious aggravated assaults, and racketeering.”
“To your knowledge is he still using the name, Aidan O’Keefe?’”
“Over the years we, meaning the FBI and law enforcement, have known him by at least eight aliases. He is currently using the name, Aidan Walsh.”
“How do you know this, Mr. O’Rourke? Since you’re retired, how do you know these things?”
“I’ve known of this man for at least twenty to twenty-five years. At your request, I checked with contacts I have in the Bureau and received an update on him. They know he’s here in the Twin Cities and who he is working for.”
“And who might that be?”
“Objection, hearsay. He admitted he does not have personal, law-enforcement knowledge of that?”
“Do you?” Judge Williams asked.
“I haven’t been working a case on him if that’s what you mean.”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “
Do you have anything more, Mr. Kadella?”
“No, your Honor,” Marc replied.
“Mr. Krain?”
“Do you have any personal knowledge concerning the death of Brody Knutson, Mr. O’Rourke?” Krain asked.
“No, I do not.”
“Do you know if this person you claim to be Aidan Walsh or O’Keefe or whatever, do you know if he is involved in the death of Brody Knutson?”
“No, I do not,” Sean admitted.
“Your Honor,” Marc stood and said. “We made it clear that this witness was called for the sole purpose of accurately identifying the witness Ms. Gibson claimed was Bret Holston. He has done that positively. Mr. Krain’s questions are clearly outside the scope of the direct exam.”
“Good point. Mr. Krain, do you have anything to cast doubt on the credibility of the witness’s identification?”
“No, your Honor,” Krain said.
“Then maybe you should wrap this up.”
“I have nothing further,” Krain said.
Judge Williams called the lawyers up to the bench and first asked Marc if he had more witnesses. Receiving a negative reply, he told them to make their closing brief. Despite that admonition, Krain spoke for almost thirty minutes. When he was done, he had managed to make a good case for probable cause.
Marc quickly went through the same evidence and pointed out, probably unnecessarily, the weakness in the state’s case.
“Your Honor,” Marc began his conclusion, “it’s important to look at the broad picture here. The prosecution is asking you to find probable cause to give them an opportunity to do the investigation they should have done in the first place.
“I absolutely contend that they did not reach the burden of a finding of probable cause. And, your Honor, they are miles away from guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. It would be unethical to continue this travesty. They cannot possibly believe there is evidence to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. And, they are not going to find any more.
“This young woman, Brooke Hartley, has been through enough. Stop this now, your Honor. For the sake of justice, put an end to this farce. Thank you.”
Marc took his seat and Judge Williams turned to Krain. He reminded him that he had until Thursday, a day and a half or so from now, to submit a report on his own lab test of the coffee. With that, the hearing was adjourned.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Aidan ended the call he had taken from Richie and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. He was in his year-old Cadillac on his way back to Cal’s when the call came in. Because of what he had been told, Aidan’s attention to his driving was definitely distracted. He was sitting at a red light that had turned green several seconds ago. Being Minnesota, the driver behind him gave him a polite beep of his horn to wake him up. He pulled over and parked as soon as he got through the intersection.
While Aidan sat in the car he thought about what Richie had told him. His picture had been displayed during Lucy’s testimony. How did the defense come up with that? How did they find all the phone calls between him and Lucy? How did they get his unlisted number to know who she was calling?
According to Richie, he had been identified only as Bret Holston. But Richie left because of the defense team guy that confronted him. He did not see the rest of the day’s testimony. Did the defense know who he was? Now what? He had to tell Cal and then what? Aidan put the car in drive and was at Cal’s home fifteen minutes later.
“There’s that soft knock again. The one you use when you have bad news to tell me,” Cal said looking up from his desk at Aidan.
Aidan took his usual chair at Cal’s desk, took a deep breath and told him about Richie’s phone call.
Cal looked at his watch and without a word picked up the remote on his desk and turned on the TV. He quickly found a local channel that was just starting its five o’clock news show. The story came up after the first commercial break. On the screen, over the left shoulder of the female anchor, was the photo of Aidan that was displayed in court. Cal increased the volume to be sure to hear it all. When the woman was done reading the story Cal shut off the TV.
“Okay, they identified you as Aidan O’Keefe but apparently have nothing about who you work for,” Cal said. “This means we’re definitely going to move up the timetable. It won’t be long before they put us together.”
“How soon?” Aidan asked.
Cal thought about the question for a moment, then said, “I think we need to wrap this up and get out of here as soon as possible. Next week at the latest. Samantha is still in Europe moving money. If we walk now we may lose some but that can’t be helped.”
“What about your friends in D.C.? The ones that are getting really impatient.”
Cal smiled and said, “We’re done setting them up. Samantha’s done a great job.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Aidan said.
“I wish that were the case,” Cal laughed. “Anyway, the politicians and military people think their accounts are all set up. By the time they figure out they’ve been scammed, we’ll be on the beach and untouchable. In the meantime, get rid of that phone.”
“I already have. It’s in pieces in the lake,” Aidan replied. “Have you decided it’s time to get rid of me?” Aidan asked.
“No, not going to happen. You’re too valuable and loyal. You’ll have to trust me. I won’t do that,” Cal said. Cal was also thinking that Aidan could just as easily dispatch him. Better they stick together.
“What about Lucy?” Aidan asked.
“I don’t know, what do you think?”
“I think she’s untouchable now. Besides, she’s already spilled everything she knows. It would only lend credibility to her if she were dealt with.”
“Agreed. Probably best to leave her alone.”
“What about this P.I. chick? Your girlfriend, Maddy?” Aidan asked.
“Without the bugs, they don’t know that we know who she is. Is your guy in place? The one from Chicago you were going to put on her?”
“Yeah, he got in last night. I took him around to her place myself. He was gonna set up on her.”
While Cal and Aidan were discussing Aidan’s awkward court appearance, Marc, Brooke, Carvelli, Jeff and Sean O’Rourke were leaving court together. They had waited a half-hour for the media to leave and the crowd to thin out. Marc had gone out into the hallway to make a few comments to the press. Satisfied, they began to melt away to file their stories.
“Tell me the truth,” Brooke said to Marc. The four of them were waiting for an elevator. It was quitting time in the large building and the elevators were busy.
Before Marc could answer, Carvelli’s phone rang. He looked at the ID and walked off a few steps to take it.
“My honest opinion,” Marc replied, “is I don’t know. Having said that, I feel pretty good. I think Judge Williams is going to dismiss it. Unless there is a big difference in their lab test results.”
“Can they appeal it if he does dismiss it?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, they could,” Marc said. “I doubt they will. The judge has broad discretion in these things.”
“We definitely showed reasonable doubt,” Jeff added.
“True,” Marc agreed. “But that’s not the standard. We’ll see.”
An elevator car arrived. When the doors opened, they looked into it and a sardine could not have slipped in. Marc smiled at the sullen crowd and the doors closed.
“Thanks, Paul. I’ll get back to you,” they heard Carvelli say.
“What?” Marc asked when Carvelli rejoined them.
“Ready for this? He didn’t find any unusual bank accounts in the names of Mason Hooper or Norah McCabe.”
“That’s a little disappointing,” Sean replied.
“But,” Carvelli continued with a sly smile, “he dug a little deeper and found two accounts under the names of Norah’s children. And combined they have a little over three point six-million in them.”
“Where?” Marc ask
ed.
“The Caymans,” Carvelli replied. “What do you think, Sean?”
“I know some people who will be very interested to find this out,” the ex-Feeb answered.
“He’s emailing the report to me in an hour or so. He wasn’t done with it,” Carvelli told Sean. “When I get it, I’ll forward it to you.”
“Great,” Sean replied. “I’ll bet they have more than that. Cal Simpson is rich and if Mason Hooper has been covering for him all these years…”
“I’ll talk to my guy,” Carvelli replied. “I’ll have him keep digging.”
“Have him check out Hooper’s parents. Hooper would have access to their social security numbers and any other information he might need.”
The man that Aidan had brought in to follow Maddy was watching her move around her apartment. His name was Harry Semple and he was a forty-eight-year-old retired British SAS soldier. Ten years ago, he left the British Army under a cloud. The rumors about his association with the London underworld had proven to be true. Nothing had been proven about any criminal activities that he might have been involved in so no charges were brought. He was given a “notice to leave” type discharge. Essentially, he had been fired.
SAS soldiers are among the most rigorously trained and toughest in the world. None of his comrades were sorry to see Semple go. Among his many postings, he had spent several tours in Ireland and was an expert in urban surveillance. He was also a little too enthusiastic about enhanced interrogation.
Semple had essentially been run out of the U.K. and made his way to Boston. From there, he went to Chicago where he earned a good living as a mob enforcer and collections expert. His skill at urban surveillance served him well.
This evening he was standing at the window of a darkened living room. It was an eighth-floor apartment directly across LaSalle from Maddy’s condo. The occupants of the apartment, a very well-to-do elderly couple, had left for Arizona in early October. The sub-lessee would be moving in next week. A bribe to building security had gotten him the use of it until then.
Semple sat down in a chair facing the window. Unconcerned about being seen in the dark room, he lit a cigarette and sipped his glass of Guinness Draught. He stared admiringly through his field glasses at Maddy and quietly said, “Well, lassie, what are you up to tonight? It’s a shame a beauty such as yourself doesn’t have more of a social life.”
Insider Justice: A Financial Thriller (Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Book 8) Page 36
