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

by Dennis Carstens

  Marc straightened up against the back of the bench, looked up at the bright blue sky and heavily sighed. His head swiveled to his left to look at the spot he had consciously, deliberately avoided. The stand of tall conifers where it all began. The place in the park where the body of the last victim had been found. He tossed the remaining small stones still in his hand into the water, wearily stood up and turned to look around at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time and found himself wondering what had brought him here today.

  He bent down and picked up his coat, idly tossing it over his left shoulder. He stepped around the end of the bench and started walking down the asphalt pathway that circled the small lake, a pond really, past the pines and up the hill leading out onto the city streets. He had been over this ground himself a couple of times before, looking for any inconsistency he could find in the police reports or the testimony of the eyewitnesses. He had been unable to find one before and could come up with no good reason to be here now except it was as good a place as any to be at this moment. Away from crowds, reporters and telephones.

  Marc continued his stroll, the mental images still playing in his head, and after a few minutes, he found himself on Chicago Avenue idly looking around, up and down the sidewalk where Hobbs claimed to have seen Carl. He stood on the sidewalk, his coat still over his shoulder, staring vacantly up at the streetlight, the exact light that Hobbs claimed illuminated Carl so clearly, in the exact spot where Hobbs testified the light pole stood. He stared up at it for almost a minute with no conscious thought whatsoever as to why he was doing it. Perhaps, he thought, he was hoping it would speak and illuminate him with the truth as clearly as it did the sidewalk that night.

  “Get a grip,” he softly said to himself as he turned to go back in the direction of the park to retrieve his car.

  “Are you from the City?” he heard a voice say from the front of the house closest to him.

  It didn’t immediately register that the question was directed at him and when there was no response from him, the voice repeated the inquiry, “Excuse me, sir, but are you from the City?”

  This time the voice caught his attention and he turned his head and shoulders toward the sound and said, “I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”

  “Yes, sir. I was just wondering if you were from the City?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said as he turned to face her, his coat slipping from his hand at his side. The voice came from a middle age black woman who stood about fifteen feet from him on the small, neat lawn of the third house from the corner. She stood staring at him, her hands fisted and planted on her hips, a displeased look on her otherwise pleasant face.

  “Oh,” she said with obvious disappointment. “I thought maybe somebody finally decided to get off their ass and come out here from the City. They’re really starting to piss me off, excuse my language.”

  “It’s okay,” he smiled. “At one time or another they piss off just about everybody. Well, have a nice day,” he said as he tossed the coat back on his shoulder and turned to go.

  “All I want is for them to get out here and fix that damn light,” she said a touch angrily.

  With that Marc stopped dead in his tracks, swiveled to face her and said, “What? What did you just say? What light?”

  “That one right there,” she said pointing to the street light that had been the focus of Marc’s attention. “It’s been out for months and I’m tired of calling ‘em to get out here and fix it. If this was Kenwood you can bet they’d been out here the same day,” she said, now with both anger and disgust.

  Marc, his heart starting to pound, his mouth going dry and palms wet, took a couple of short steps toward her and said, “When did it go out, ma’am? Can you remember about when it was?”

  “I don’t have to remember ‘about’ when it was. I know it was April 14th when I first called ‘em cuz April 13th is my grandson’s birthday and the kids was here playing in front of the house and I noticed that light was out. It’s a damn busy street sometimes and I keep an eye on the kids. So, I called the City the next day. And I’ve called them at least ten times since and they still ain’t got out here to fix it.”

  “You’re positive? I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t doubt you,” he stammered when he saw the look of annoyance on her face. “It’s just that, I’m a lawyer and a man’s life may depend on it.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. “Yes, sir. I’m sure of it. April 14th.”

  “Did you make the calls from this house? From your home phone?”

  “Yes. All of them,” she answered. “Would you mind telling me why it’s so important?”

  “We can get the phone records,” he said quietly to himself. “We’ll get a subpoena for the phone records. I’m sorry ma’am. It’s about, well,” he continued with a big grin as he stepped up to her, placed his free right hand lightly on her shoulder, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I think I might love you. Hi, my name’s Marc Kadella and I’d like to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”

  EIGHTY-TWO

  Marc took the building’s back stairs two at a time as he headed toward his office. He went through the doorway and as he stepped into the reception room all movement and sound came to an abrupt halt when the occupants saw him standing there. Carolyn had been conferring with Barry Cline and Sandy was working at her computer. All three looked at Marc, all motion and speech suspended as the three of them stared at him while he looked back at them. Concern on their faces, puzzlement on his. It was Connie Mickelson, after appearing in her office doorway, who broke the silence first.

  “We heard the news on the radio, Marc. About your client this morning. How bad was it?”

  “Oh, Carl’s little outburst, you mean,” Marc said after thinking for a moment. “Well, not good. I’ve been moping around for a couple of hours now wondering what to do about it. But hey,” he said as he tossed his coat onto one of the reception area chairs and clapped his hands together, “we’re not out of this thing yet. I got a witness. I found a witness who can and will testify that that little bastard Hobbs is lying. I’ve known it all along and now I think I can prove it. Has Maddy called in?”

  “Not yet,” Sandy answered. “How’d she do this morning?”

  “Oh, wonderful,” he exclaimed. “It was better than I hoped for. You should’ve seen her. Even Prentiss couldn’t take his eyes off her,” he laughed, the first good, genuine laugh he had in weeks.

  “What did you do?” Barry asked cautiously, suspiciously. So he told them.

  How he and Maddy had set it up for her to make her entrance at the exact moment she did. How Marc had waited until just before Hobbs’ identification of Carl, he had slipped a hand into his briefcase and pressed the speed dial button of his cell to call Maddy and signal her to make her entrance. Her phone buzzed, she waited another thirty seconds and then came into the courtroom, dolled up and dressed to kill. The two of them had thought it through, set it up and timed it for, hopefully, maximum effect. An attempt to distract at least some of the male jurors so that Hobbs’ identification would lose some of its impact. Steal some of the show away from Slocum.

  “It couldn’t have been better,” he said amid the laughter of his office mates. “I didn’t dare look at her for fear I’d start laughing. Everyone of the jurors was staring at her. Even the women. Prentiss, too. I glanced over at the prosecutors and Slocum, what an ass he is, he was oblivious to the whole thing. But Gondeck, I thought he was gonna step on his tongue. And Hobbs had trouble getting the words out to answer the question. It was just about perfect. And then,” he added turning serious, “Carl throws it all away.”

  “How much damage do you think Carl did?” Connie asked.

  “I don’t know. A lot, that’s for sure. It was about as bad as it could be. Anyway...”

  “Oh, Marc,” Carolyn interrupted him. “I almost forgot,” she continued as she stepped to her desk and pulled her purse from a drawer. “John gave me this to give you. I don’t know
what’s in it but he says it’s important,” and she handed him the plain white envelope she had been given that morning.

  Marc pulled his car into the space next to the dark blue Chevy sedan, the only one that looked like a police car among the dozen or so cars parked in the lot. After Carolyn Lucas had given him the envelope from her husband Marc had placed the call to John’s cell, left a message, waited for the return call and the two of them had set up this meeting. The note and the brief phone conversation had been vague. Lucas had merely said he had some information for him about his trial and he wanted to meet with him secretly and as soon as possible.

  Marc exited his car and began quickly walking up the asphalt toward the zoo at Como Park. The lot was on the south side of the park, about two hundred yards from the zoo. John had told him where to park and said he would meet him somewhere between it and the zoo grounds.

  He hurried along the walkway, glancing around through the trees half expecting Lucas to leap down from one of them. As he came around a slight bend he saw him seated on a park bench about fifty feet away. When he approached the bench, Carolyn’s husband stood and the two men shook hands and exchange a brief greeting.

  “Hi, John,” Marc said. “Nice to see you again. How’ve you been?”

  “All right, Marc. And you?” John answered as the two men took their places on the bench and half turned to face each other.

  “So what’s this all about, John,” Marc said cutting right to the point as men are prone to do when faced with a serious issue.

  Lucas sighed heavily, placed his left hand over his mouth while continuing to look directly at Marc who was staring back with a questioning expression. They stayed this way for a moment, then Lucas removed his hand from over his mouth and quietly, almost in a whisper, said, “I have some information for you, but before I tell you, I want your word about something. I want your word that you won’t call me as a witness. Will you do that? Give me your word?”

  Marc sat quietly for a few seconds, as if thinking it over, nodded his head a couple of times and said, “Okay, John. You got it. I won’t call you as a witness.”

  “Good. Okay,” Lucas said with obvious relief. “I’ll tell you what I know,” he began. “This guy Hobbs, that witness who testified today, he and Jake Waschke know each other. In fact, they’ve known each other for a long time. Hobbs is Jake’s personal snitch.”

  “I knew it,” Marc hissed between clenched teeth. “I knew it had to be a setup.”

  Lucas turned in his seat, leaned forward, placed his forearms on his knees, lightly held his hands together and looked away from Marc before continuing. “The first time I saw Hobbs was at the jail when they arrested your client, Fornich. I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. He had a familiar look but I couldn’t place it, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” Marc said wanting him to go on.

  “Anyway, it kinda buzzed around in my head from time-to-time. Kept nagging at me, just beneath the surface. So, about a week ago, almost out of the blue, I wasn’t even thinking about it, the light went on and I remembered when I first saw him.”

  “When?” Marc asked quietly.

  “It was about four years ago. A gang shooting here in St. Paul. A drive-by by some gangbangers from Minneapolis. So, of course, the St. Paul guys go to Minneapolis to get even. Now we had overlapping homicides between the two cities. Three guys get killed. A couple of others shot up. That’s when I first met Jake. We worked the case together,” he said as he sat up, leaned back against the bench and turned to again face Marc.

  “Jake said he had a good snitch who might know something about the shooters and all so, we went to see him. Jake told me his name was Marty and Jake had him in his pocket. I remember because when Jake went to this pool hall to talk to him I stayed in the car and made some notes.

  “Anyway, since he was Jake’s snitch, I didn’t want to interfere so I didn’t talk to him but I did see him. He came to the door with Jake and I got a good look at him. It was Hobbs. No doubt in my mind. Just to be sure, I dug out my case notes and sure enough, there it was. He gave us some good information, too. Right on the money. We were able to use it to get a confession from one of the bangers and then he turned on his buddies. Wrapped up the whole thing.”

  Marc leaned back and draped his right arm across the back of the bench and sat this way, silence between the two men for over a minute while Marc thought over what he had just been told. He quickly replayed Hobbs’s testimony, the part where he had specifically denied knowing any police officers or having any inducement to testify.

  Finally, after the uncomfortable minute had passed, he turned his head back toward Lucas and said. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve known for a week now that Hobbs was lying and you’re just now coming forward? It took you a week to decide to do the right thing?”

  “It’s not that simple,...” Lucas began to protest.

  “Yes it is, John. Don’t give me this cop bullshit about protecting a brother officer the ‘thin-blue-line’ crap,” Marc interrupted fighting to remain calm and keep the anger out of his voice.

  “Wait a minute,” Lucas said staring angrily at Marc. “That’s not bullshit. You don’t understand ...”

  “You’re damn right I don’t understand. I don’t understand what the big decision could be. Let me think: ‘Do I come forward and rat out a corrupt cop or do I let an innocent man go to prison for the rest of his life?’ That’s a tough one all right, John,” he added sarcastically. “That’s a no-brainer, John. You don’t let an innocent man go to jail,” he said as he dropped his right foot to the ground and angrily stabbed the index finger of his right hand into Lucas’s chest. “Period. You don’t do it. I don’t get it. I don’t get you guys at all. That whole thing about cops covering each other’s asses no matter what. It’s so morally corrupt. So morally bankrupt it’s unfathomable to the rest of us. I just don’t...”

  “I’m here aren’t I?” Lucas quietly said stopping Marc cold.

  Marc leaned back again, the anger receding and placed his hands in his lap. He nodded his head several times while looking down at his hands before softly continuing. “Yeah, you’re here. Okay. You’re doing the right thing and it’s not too late. But I’ll tell you right now, all bets are off as far as calling you as a witness. If I have to, I will.”

  “You sonofabitch,” Lucas snarled. “You gave me your word…”

  “I lied,” Marc said simply. “I knew it when I said it, it was probably a lie. I don’t like myself for it, but I did it.”

  “Damnit, Marc,” Lucas seethed, “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

  “Yeah I do. It would probably kill your career, which I don’t understand either. You should be a hero for coming forward but the department would crucify you.”

  “Exactly. I’ll be finished. No one will ever want to work with me again.”

  “Grow up, John,” Marc said, turning angry again. “I have a higher responsibility here and so do you. I’m an officer of the court and so are you. Look, I’ll do everything I can to avoid it. I’ll only call you if I have absolutely no choice but I’m not going to lose this thing to save your ass. I can’t. I have no choice. But,” he continued, “I came up with some new information that may be enough. We’ll see. I can’t promise you, though.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. I guess I knew that going in,” Lucas glumly replied.

  Marc paused at the bottom of the stairway, his left hand holding the hand rail that ran up the wall, his right hand holding his coat that was draped over his shoulder. He stared up at the light at the top of the stairs, his mouth partially opened in weariness as he continued to mentally work his way through his emotional turmoil. John and Carolyn Lucas were good, dear friends. He had known them both for years. He loved Carolyn like a sister. Of all the people whom he knew, it was Carolyn who had helped him through the rough times when his marriage had broken up. Been there for him when he needed a friendly voice, a word of encouragement or a pat on the
back. He had been to their home many times. Had watched their kids grow up.

  Now he was faced with the very real possibility of ruining their lives to uphold his professional responsibility and the prospect of it made him feel, literally, sick to his stomach. He was beginning to believe he would save Carl now and what should be a joyous feeling instead brought him close to the edge of vomiting.

  Marc trudged wearily up the stairs, one heavy foot after the other as he used his hand on the rail to pull himself along. He finally reached the top and plodded the few steps down the hall to the office door. He silently stood in the hall, his hand on the door knob, listening for sounds coming from inside and praying that everyone was gone so he wouldn’t have to face any of them. Fearing that John had called Carolyn to tell her what had happened.

  Hearing no sounds coming from within, he slowly turned the knob, quietly opened the door, eased his head through it and looked around, relieved to see everyone gone on this Friday evening.

  He went into his office, tossed his coat on a chair, slumped into his seat and stared across his desk at the Monet print his wife had given him that hung on the wall behind the client chairs. The phone in the outer office rang and he turned his head to watch the blinking light on his phone. He let it ring two more times before he lifted the receiver from its cradle, punched the button on the blinking line and wearily said, “Yeah, Marc Kadella.”

  “Marc, hi, it’s me,” he heard Maddy’s excited voice say. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes to pick you up.”

  “Why? Where we going?” he quietly asked.

  “I’ve got someone you need to talk to,” she answered. “I’ve just spent the last two hours with her and she’s agreed to see us tonight. You have to hear this for yourself. You won’t believe it.”

  “Who?” he asked, straightening in his chair.

  “Louise Curtin,” Maddy said. “Jake Waschke’s mother.”