Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series)

by Dennis Carstens

  “I’ve been kinda busy, counselor,” Carvelli answered. “So, how are you doing? How’s the big case going?”

  “Obviously, Tony, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I need an investigator.”

  “Yeah,” the throat growled. “I figured as much. Tell me about it. I want to hear your story.”

  For the next half-hour, around ordering and eating their lunch, Marc gave Tony an outline of the case against Carl Fornich. The witnesses, the victims and as much as he knew about the evidence against Carl. Tony sat quietly eating his corned beef sandwich and intently listening to Marc’s story. Nodding occasionally, and grunting an acknowledgement at appropriate times.

  “So,” Marc said in conclusion, “that’s about it up to this point. I need an investigator. You know the drill. Run down witnesses and I need someone who can track down my client’s life. Hopefully build an alibi. Maybe someone who can place him somewhere else at the time of the Powderhorn killing and maybe one or two others.”

  “Where does he say he was?”

  “In a bar over by the U. He thinks. I went there myself the other night. Talked to the owner and a couple of bartenders. They know him. It’s not far from where he lives but they can’t say for sure if he was there that night.”

  “Uh huh,” Tony grunted as he took a swallow from his whiskey soda. “What do you think, counselor? Is your boy innocent?”

  Marc pushed his half-eaten lunch aside, leaned forward crossing his arms on the table, looked directly into his companions eyes and said, “Yeah, I do think he’s innocent. And I’ll tell you something else. Something doesn’t feel right about this case. Nothing I can put my finger on, but I get a weird kinda feeling something’s not right here. Like there’s more here than just a simple mistaken identity thing. It’s the knife, I guess. How the hell did that knife turn up in his apartment? Somebody put it there, but why? Why would the cops want to frame Carl Fornich? He’s a nobody.”

  “That’s the question isn’t it?” Tony agreed. “Come up with an answer to that and your boy may walk. On the other hand what’re you going to do about this confession that was all over the TV news? You know, when they were bringing him in and he screamed at the cameras.”

  “Aw, come on, Tony. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Sure, counselor,” Tony said with a shrug. “I know it’s bullshit but you have to pick a jury of twelve people who either haven’t seen it or who also believe it’s bullshit. Let me tell you, I’ve seen it probably a half dozen times and it makes a pretty strong impression. Good luck with it. You have to ask for a change of venue.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m bringing the motion tomorrow. Actually, I think that’s the least of my problems. It’s the physical evidence I’m worried about. Especially that damn knife. I’m not sure what to do about it,” Marc said with a sigh as he slumped back in his seat. “Can you help me?”

  “How’s business?” Tony asked, ignoring Marc’s question.

  “Not too good. I think this case is costing me clients. Hey, that reminds me,” Marc continued as he again leaned forward on the table. “What did you mean on the phone before? You know, about watching my back and not talking on the phone. “

  “Words of advice, counselor. Just words of advice.”

  “Bullshit. You know something,” Marc said as he stabbed the tabletop with an index finger and continued, almost in a whisper, “Now, what the hell did you mean by that? Will you help me with this case or not?”

  Carvelli tugged on the cuffs of his expensive white silk shirt, adjusted the collar and finally leaned forward on the table, his arms crossed like Marc’s so that the two men were only inches apart. Finally, after another few seconds of silence had passed between them, the former police detective answered the question.

  “No, Marc. I’m sorry but I can’t. Couple reasons,” he continued as Marc started to protest. “First, I am too busy, but to be honest, that’s not the main problem. I’ve done a little nosing around, just idle chit chat with some cop friends here and there. I figured sooner or later you’d call and I was naturally curious about this case, what with all the publicity and everything. Anyway, one of my friends, a guy I’ve known over twenty years, told me flat out it wouldn’t be a good idea to get involved too directly. That the cops want this guy convicted and it would be best to steer clear of it.”

  “When did you start to care about things like that?”

  “Let me tell you something, I always cared about things like that. I have to live in this town and my best connections have always been with the Department. Besides, I can help you a little but it’ll have to be subtle. Not too direct okay? I know somebody to recommend. In fact, I’ll set it up for you after lunch this afternoon. Somebody new. Hungry and damn good.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Her.”

  “Her?”

  “Yeah, her name. Madeline Elizabeth Rivers. Maddy. You’ll like her. She’s only been in town a year or so and I’ve helped her out a bit. Tossed some business to her and stuff. She’s sharp as hell. Besides, like I said, I can help out around the fringes a bit this way. And I won’t charge you nothing for it.”

  “Why? You sleeping with her?” Marc asked, mildly irritated.

  “Shit,” Tony grunted and growled, “I wish. Wait’ll you see her. Anyway, this should work out fine for you. Trust me okay?”

  “Okay. Have her give me a call.”

  “One other thing for now, Marc. Something for Maddy to look into. About the knife. Something one of my department friends said to me. He just thought it was kind of strange the way the knife was found like that and nothing else. You know, in the guy’s apartment and all. Look into that.”

  “What do you mean? What’d your guy say?”

  “Mmmm, nothing specific, really. Just that, well, he’s not sure, but he thinks maybe some other cop might have looked in that closet before the guy who found the knife did.”

  “Was your guy there? Does he know something?” Marc asked, his voice rising in agitation.

  “Keep it down,” Carvelli said as he held up his right hand to calm Marc. “Yeah, he was at the scene but he wasn’t in the bedroom with Waschke when Waschke found the knife.”

  “You know this Waschke guy?”

  “Jake? Sure. I’ve known him a long time. Good guy. Good cop. A straight shooter. That’s why I think it’s probably bullshit but it’s worth looking at. Who knows,” he continued with a shrug, “what’s really in another person’s heart. It’s something for you to check out. A place to start.”

  “Great. Investigate the cop heading up the investigation.”

  “Hey!” Carvelli said, “I just remembered what I wanted to ask you. How’d you make out with that case you have against the IRS?”

  “Kicked their ass,” Marc beamed. “Including a decent chunk of attorney fees.”

  “No shit? That’s great, I’m glad somebody stuck it to those assholes once. “

  “Yeah, it felt pretty good. As I recall, you’ve had some problems with them yourself, haven’t you?”

  “Who hasn’t? Cost me a ton of dough but it’s all straightened out now. Anyway,” he continued as he handed the lunch check to Marc, “I believe this is yours. I’ll get a hold of Maddy for you and call you later.”

  “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it,” Marc answered as they both rose to leave.

  FORTY-THREE

  At about the same time that Marc and Tony Carvelli were discreetly mentioning his name as a source to investigate, Jake was locking his office door from the inside and closing the blinds covering the windows that overlooked the squad room. The room was empty except for the civilian secretary and Jake. Most of his people had been reassigned as the case wound down and headed toward trial and the few remaining still assigned to Jake were out of the office.

  Jake sat down at the desk and dumped the contents of the envelope he had retrieved from the evidence storage room on to the blotter on the desktop. Switching on the desk lamp, he
reached in one of the drawers and removed several items placing them carefully next to the envelope’s contents.

  He replaced all of the items from the envelope except for three coins, that had been in Carl Fornich’s pocket on the night of his arrest. Jake spent the next several minutes applying the fine fingerprint. dust to each one and holding them with tweezers as he held them under a magnifying glass to examine the results. The first two came up empty, no usable prints on either one. The third one, however, a quarter, appeared to have a full thumbprint and a partial of what was probably an index finger, both clearly readable on the shiny new coin.

  He placed a copy of Carl’s fingerprints on the desk, a set taken at the time of his booking and compared the thumbprint on the coin to Carl’s. Satisfied that the print on the coin was from Carl’s right thumb he blew the dust off of the coin with a small can of compressed air. Still holding the coin with the tweezers, he dropped it into a plastic zip lock sandwich bag and closed it tight. Taking a quarter from his pocket, he wiped it clean, blew the dust off of the other two and put all of them into the evidence envelope and resealed it by winding the string around the two button sized clasps.

  As he started to get up to return the envelope to the storage room, the phone on the desk shattered his concentration. He stared at it for a moment, small beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he held his right hand to his chest to calm his breathing. Realizing that the phone ringing at that moment was merely coincidence and that no one could possibly have seen what he had just done, he reached for the handle just as the fourth ring began.

  “Yeah, Waschke,” he growled, trying to sound as normal as possible.

  “Lieutenant, it’s Jefferson,” he heard a voice answer. “I’ve found the locker and we may have something here.”

  “Where are you Owen?” Jake asked completely composed now as he drew his free hand across his forehead to wipe the small droplets of sweat away.

  The detective relayed his precise location and Jake wrote it down in a notebook as he normally would then ordered Jefferson to standby and guard the area and wait for Jake who would be there shortly.

  He called Steve Gondeck and told him what Jefferson had found and asked the prosecutor to get a search warrant for him. Gondeck assured him he would have it by the time he came across the street to the county attorney’s office.

  Before leaving the building, he returned the envelope to the evidence locker then stopped to pick up the warrant before he headed out for his rendezvous with Owen Jefferson.

  After arriving at the little mall and parking his car in the exact spot he parked in before, Jake went in through the same door that he previously used and immediately saw Jefferson standing guard in front of the lockers, precisely where Jake knew he would find him.

  “What do you have, Owen?” he asked as Jefferson stepped aside while Jake pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and opened the metal locker.

  “Don’t know, Lieutenant. A bag in here. Haven’t opened it yet,” the detective answered.

  “You got gloves?” Jake asked as he pulled the bag from the locker.

  “Sure, Lieutenant,” Jefferson answered.

  “Let me have them,” Jake said as he reached in to remove the bag. “I have a lab team coming over. They’ll check for prints around here,” he continued as he placed the bag on the floor and unzipped it. “First, go see if you can find the manager. We’ll want the contents of the coin box.”

  As soon as Jefferson rounded the corner in search for a manager of the mall, Jake removed the coin from the plastic bag, carefully held it by the edge and dropped it into the slot on the locker’s coin box. He took another one from his pants pocket, rubbed it between this thumb and index finger to be certain of smudging any possible prints and dropped it into the slot as well. Having paid the necessary amount, he turned the key to lock the door and without bothering to remove it, turned it again to unlock it once more.

  FORTY-FOUR

  When Marc arrived back at his office there were several messages and Connie Mickelson waiting for him. As he quickly read through the pink notes, saving only those from his wife, Margaret Tennant and Tony Carvelli, he heard Connie say, “Marc, we have to talk.”

  “Sure, Connie. What’s up?” he answered.

  “Business business. Come on in and see me when you’ve got a few minutes,” his landlord said, not unpleasantly.

  “Okay Connie. Let me return a few calls and I’ll be right with you.”

  He spent the next fifteen minutes on the phone. Marc assured his wife that the child support check was in the mail. He then called and made a date with Margaret, whom he had not seen for almost a week, for that evening and confirmed an appointment with Carvelli’s investigator friend for later that afternoon.

  “What’s up, Connie?” Marc said as he walked through Connie’s office door.

  “Sit down, Marc,” Connie answered without her usual good natured banter. “It’s business around here. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are starting to dry up a bit. I hate to say it but it’s because of this Fornich business. You’ve got yourself one very unpopular client and I think that it’s starting to hurt the rest of us. Barry’s had two people flat out tell him they were going somewhere else because of it and I’ve lost a couple of long time clients. They didn’t come out and say it but they both strongly hinted that was the reason. Wait, Marc,” she said holding up a hand to cut him off as he began to protest. She rose from her chair behind the desk, placed a motherly hand on his arm and continued. “My personal opinion is: fuck ‘em if they can’t understand why a guy like Carl Fornich needs a lawyer. For chrissakes, any idiot oughta be able to see that. But people are people.”

  “And business is business,” Marc said, repeating a favorite phrase of Connie’s.

  “One of the first things we’re taught in synagogue,” she said with a smile and soft chuckle. “Are you sure this case is worth it? I’ve talked to the girls out front and I know how many clients you’ve lost lately. Are you sure this case is worth it?” she repeated.

  “Hell no I’m not sure,” Marc answered softly.

  “I’m not telling you what to do. In fact, I’ll help you anyway I can but…” she said letting the last word trail off.

  “He’s innocent, Connie,” Marc said turning slightly to face her directly. “In my heart of hearts I know he’s innocent and someone’s setting him up. I’m not sure who or why, yet. But I really believe it.”

  “You have a theory?” she asked.

  “The cops.”

  “Why would the cops set him up?” she asked, taking on the role of devil’s advocate.

  “Don’t know for sure. Get a conviction if for no other reason. I don’t know,” he shrugged. “High profile case. Lotta heat. Lotta political pressure. Hell, Connie, the governor’s daughter. You won’t get more heat than that.”

  “True enough,” Connie answered. “Assume for a minute you’re right, that the cops got Fornich just to make an arrest, just to convict somebody of these murders. That would mean that the real killer’s still out there. And sooner or later, he’ll strike again. Then what will the cops look like?”

  “I know, I know,” Marc said nodding in agreement. “I’ve thought of all that. But what if they know who it is? What if they’re protecting someone or know he’s gone? They still need to convict someone to clear the case. Take the heat off. Make the governor happy.”

  “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. You know you’re going to have to prove that at trial. It won’t be good enough just to create reasonable doubt here to get this guy off. In fact, it may be worse if you do. This isn’t L.A. You won’t become a celebrity if you win this case with legalistic bullshit. You’re going to have to convince this community that the cops got the wrong guy or your career may be in jeopardy. Have you thought about that? Hell, we’d all be better off if you fought a helluva good fight and lost. Not that I’m telling you to do that. I’m telling you maybe it’s time you thought about getti
ng out of this. This case could ruin you in the long run.”

  “He trusts me. The family trusts me. Besides, it could have the opposite effect. If I win it my reputation and business could explode.”

  “True. It could. Let me give you a little advice. Get this thing to trial ASAP. The sooner it’s over the better. If it drags on for months it could be a disaster around here. Right now, we’re all okay. If this thing drags on for a year we could be in trouble.”

  “Carl wants it over too. He wants a quick trial date. Scares the hell out of me though. Sometimes I can’t help thinking I’m about five feet over my head with this thing.”

  “That’s good. That’ll help make you cautious. Careful.”

  “Are Barry and Chris complaining?”

  “No, not at all,” Connie said shaking her head with emphasis. “In fact, I think Barry’s a little envious. Like he’d like in on the case with you. If you need anything, any help at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I still think you oughta remove that bastard Prentiss. Don’t trust him Marc. He’s the epitome of why people hate lawyers.”

  “We’ll see. He’s been okay so far. Even seems like he’s going out of his way to be fair to me. Besides, sometimes better the devil you know. None of the other judges want this case and I’m not sure I want to deal with one that’s pissed off because he’s been assigned a case because I filed on the original judge. We’ll see.”

  “Prentiss is a political snake. Be careful with him.”

  Two hours later Marc looked up from his desk when he heard a sharp rap on his door. It opened and Carolyn poked her head in and with a strange smirk and raised eyebrows, informed him that Madeline Rivers had arrived. He gave Carolyn a quizzical look as he passed through his office doorway she held open for him, all the while wondering what was up with the mischievous look she gave him. Marc took two steps past the doorway and immediately understood Carolyn’s amusement. Seated on one of the reception area chairs was a woman in a light summer dress, her long shapely legs crossed as she casually paged through the current edition of TIME magazine. Marc’s mouth immediately went cotton dry and he involuntarily wiped the palms of his hands on his pants as he approached her, for Madeline Rivers may have been the most beautiful female he had ever had the good fortune to gaze upon.