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

by Dennis Carstens

  The reporters took turns asking questions, mostly of Marc. None of them elicited any new information and by 3:45 the press conference was over. Marc was at least hopeful that he had set the record straight regarding his knowledge of Becky’s whereabouts. All he could do was get in front of the cameras and say it. He couldn’t make them use it in their news shows.

  The evening news for all channels that night had a brief story about the press conference. They did report Marc’s denial but most of the emphasis was on the reward being offered. In the next day’s morning papers, unlike the original story which was on the front page, the denial was on page three of the Metro section.

  When Marc returned to his office after the press conference, he was feeling a little guilty about his phone call to Margaret. He dialed the private line to her chambers and she answered after the fifth ring. He apologized to her for hanging up on her but she sounded a little distant. When he asked to see her for dinner she hesitated before responding.

  “Marc, um, look. I’ve been thinking these past couple of days and I think we need to take a break. I just think we could both use a little time out to think about where we are, what we want and where we’re going.”

  “Oh, um, sure,” a stunned Marc stammered. “I see that, so okay. I’ll talk to you later,” and he hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Your Honor,” Marc began with more than a touch of annoyance in his voice, “I’ve been trying to get the prosecution to send my discovery request for three weeks. She just handed it to me today when I got here.”

  Marc was in the judge’s chambers with the prosecutor who had been assigned Brittany’s child neglect case. Along with the lawyers, Brittany and the judge, was a court reporter to make a record of the hearing. They were conducting the required omnibus hearing and since there were no witnesses giving testimony, the judge, James Connors, decided to do it informally in chambers. The hearing itself amounted to little more than the judge making a record of the charges and having Brittany enter a plea again.

  “What about that?” the judge asked the prosecutor, Marcia Lindquist.

  “I was assigned the case yesterday, your Honor,” she said. “It was with Bob Swanson but he’s out sick so…”

  “How convenient,” Marc said.

  “What does that mean?” Lindquist asked indignantly.

  “It means, your Honor,” Marc said to the judge, “she’s now the fourth lawyer in that office to have a hand in this case. Obviously, they’re passing it around to avoid responding to my discovery requests! Plus, I’ve been seeing things on the news, such as witness statements being reported that I have not received. Things are being leaked to the media before they’re given to me.”

  “What about that, Ms. Lindquist?” Connors asked the prosecutor.

  “I have no knowledge of that and resent the implication!” she angrily replied.

  “Okay, put a stop to it, both of you,” the judge said. “Are you satisfied you have everything?” he asked Marc.

  “No, I’m not. The night my client was arrested she was interrogated for five hours, from 1:00 A.M, until 6:00. I want a copy of the video of that interrogation.”

  “The sheriff’s office denies that, your Honor…” Lindquist started to say.

  “That’s a lie!” Brittany said almost jumping out of her chair next to Marc. “I was there…”

  The judge held up a hand to her to get her to stop and Marc gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Let your lawyer speak for you,” Judge Connors politely admonished. “Remember, if you blurt out something you shouldn’t,” he continued, “It could be used against you.”

  “Yes, sir, sorry,” Brittany meekly replied. She looked at Marc who gave her a reassuring smile.

  “As I was saying,” Lindquist continued. “The sheriff’s investigators read Miranda to her and she signed the form agreeing they read her rights to her. Then they questioned her for, according to them, maybe half an hour.”

  “Where’s the video?” Marc asked.

  “They didn’t make one,” Lindquist replied. “This wasn’t a drunk driving case. They saw no reason to make a video.”

  The judge stared directly at her for almost fifteen seconds to show his displeasure, and then said, “I’m ready to rule. I find there is sufficient probable cause, on the face of the complaint to deny your motion to dismiss, Mr. Kadella. I will reserve ruling on evidentiary admissibility until the defense has had sufficient time to investigate the discovery material he was just given. As to any statements the defendant may have made during the night of her arrest, I am ruling them inadmissible. Now, a trial date,” he said.

  “My client refuses to waive her right to a speedy trial,” Marc said. “Plus, at the initial appearance, we requested a trial date which, by rule, must be set within sixty days of that date.”

  “Unless the court finds good cause for a later date,” the judge said.

  “Yes, your Honor. I’ll settle for sixty days from today. There’s no reason to drag this out longer than that,” Marc replied.

  “Your Honor. There’s still a missing little girl out there and we anticipate more charges,” Lindquist said.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” The judge replied. “Okay, it’s now September twenty-third.” He looked at the calendar on his desk then said, “How’s November tenth sound?”

  The two lawyers checked their pocket calendars and both indicated this date would do.

  “How long?” he asked them.

  “I’ll want at least two days for rebuttal witnesses to testify that she is not a neglectful mother,” Marc said.

  “Marcia?” the judge asked.

  “This case speaks for itself, your Honor. We’ll only need a couple days,” she replied.

  “Okay, we’ll pencil it in for the entire week.” He then looked at the stenographer and told her he wanted to go off the record.

  “Marcia, what about a deal? I don’t see me giving her any more jail time based on what I’ve seen so far.”

  “I’ll check with my boss,” she said.

  That evening on the newscast of one of the local stations, the afternoon’s hearing was reported. Even though it was not held out in the courtroom, the reporter had a fairly accurate description of what occurred. It was the only station to mention it and the reporter claimed Brittany was said to have been bored with the whole thing. The anchor stated Brittany acted as if she didn’t have a care in the world and even seemed to be a little annoyed to be there. Marc didn’t see the newscast himself but was told about it the next day by Sandy, one of the office assistants. Knowing he didn’t talk to a reporter and it was safe to assume the judge and court reporter didn’t, the list of suspects who leaked this information was quite small.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sheriff Cale, in civilian clothes, along with Paul Anderson, Stu Doyle and two uniformed deputies, stood just outside the yellow crime tape. The five of them were patiently watching three members of the county crime scene unit go over every square inch of grounds where the small skeleton was found. The three of them, two men and a woman were carefully looking for any possible piece of evidence. One of the men moved slowly behind the other two people and videotaped their search.

  Cale turned away from the scene and walked back toward the parking lot. There was a crowd of gawkers gathering and several members of the press were present and filming. Cale ignored them and sought out Shannon Keenan. Shannon was seated on the tailgate of a pickup truck next to the young boy who had discovered the remains.

  “How’s he doing?” Cale softly asked looking first at Shannon and then the boy’s dad. Jackson was seated between them solemnly looking down at the gravel-covered parking area. Shannon wiggled her hand back and forth several times to indicate he was so-so. To that, Cale indicated with his eyes he wanted a private word with Shannon.

  “Seriously, how’s the kid?” Cale asked as they stepped away from the truck and ou
t of earshot.

  “He’ll need some counseling,” she said. “That’s not a pleasant thing for anyone to find, let alone a ten-year-old.”

  “Did you and Kristin get statements from everyone?” Cale asked.

  “Yeah, but we didn’t get much. Not much to get. They were out on the peninsula,” she said pointing to where they were hunting. “The kid went to pee and saw something in the water. He waded out and found her. At least, we think it’s her. He ran back scared to death and got his dad. The father went in the weeds, saw the remains and they called it in. Can we let them go?”

  “Yeah, do that. But I want a word with the father first.”

  Cale went back to the truck and took Eric Carson aside. They stepped away from the truck and Cale asked, “How’s he doing?”

  “He was pretty scared. Upset. But he’s a tough kid,” Eric replied.

  “How about you?” Cale asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m okay, I guess. Though I didn’t need to see that,” Eric said. “It’s awful.”

  “Some counseling will help, especially for Jackson. Probably wouldn’t hurt you either. Listen,” he continued. “This may not be appropriate but I’ll tell you anyway. If that is who we think it is…”

  “That missing little girl, Becky?” Eric said.

  “Yeah. If it is, there’s a reward for it…”

  “I don’t know. I doubt we’ll want a reward. That’s a little too…”

  “If it is, use the money. It’s fifty grand. Pay for his counseling, college, whatever.”

  “We’ll see,” Eric said.

  “You don’t have to decide anything right this minute. Go on home, we’ll be in touch,” Cale said extending his hand.

  Cale turned back toward the crime scene area and rejoined his deputies. The crime scene people had finished and a couple of people from the medical examiner’s office were in the water. They drove a six-foot metal pole into the river bottom to mark the location of where the body was found. The tiny skeleton had a piece of clothesline attached to the left ankle. One of the men carefully held the remains while the other one cut the clothesline a couple of inches from the little ankle bone. The two of them placed the skeleton in a small body bag, closed it and the man who had been holding the skeleton brought it out and placed the bag on a gurney.

  While he was doing this, his partner was lifting a cinder block out of the water to which the clothesline had been attached. All of this had been filmed by the crime scene crew and by several media cameras. The media camera operators were standing on the roofs of their vans using long-range lenses to get very clear images of the tiny body being removed from the river.

  While the gurney with the small black body bag was being wheeled toward the parking lot, Cale walked over to where the media was waiting. Before he could get within fifteen feet of them, the questions were already being shouted at him. Cale stopped at the rope line and held up both hands indicating a request for quiet. When the reporters settled down, Cale cleared his throat and began.

  “I have a brief statement to make and then I’ll take a few questions. A young boy who was with his dad and several other men duck hunting on the river discovered the skeletal remains of what we believe is a very young girl. She was attached by a rope to a cinder block and left in the water. By the shape of the skeleton, we’re certain it was a girl. At this time, that’s about all we know for sure.”

  Immediately several voices practically shouted out the question they all wanted answered.

  “Is it Becky Riley?”

  Cale hesitated for a moment, not sure if he should answer at all and said, “I can only speculate but I do believe it is most likely her. We’ll know for sure in a few days.”

  He felt his phone vibrate in the back pocket of his jeans and while other questions were being hurled at him, he looked to see who it was. When he saw the caller I.D. displayed, he held up his left hand and said, “That’s all I have. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I need to take this call.” With that he turned and walked away.

  “I just got your message,” Cale heard LeAnne Miller say. “What do you have?”

  Cale quickly told her the details of the finding and the condition of the body.

  “Do you think it’s her? Becky Riley?” Miller said.

  “I can’t say positively but according to the M.E.’s guys, the size of the skeleton is right and there were a few strands of blonde hair attached to the skull.”

  “How horrible. That poor little girl. It breaks my heart,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Okay, now what?”

  “We need a search warrant. Make it cover Brittany’s apartment, car, her parent’s house and their cars,” Cale said. “Do we have enough to get one?”

  “We may have to wait until we get a positive ID on the remains,” Miller said.

  “That’s going to take some time to do a DNA comparison. We need to move now,” Cale replied.

  “I’ll go into the office now and draft it myself. I’ll call Judge Stinson and see if she’ll sign it for us,” Miller told him.

  “Good, let me know right away. I’d like to execute it today. They’re going to find out about this and we want to do the search before they can remove anything they haven’t already.”

  “You keep saying ‘they’. Do you think the parents are in on this?”

  Cale thought about that for a few seconds, then said, “No, probably not. But who knows at this point?”

  “I’ll call when I have the warrant. Where will you be?” Miller asked.

  “I’ll be back at my office organizing the search warrant search teams. We’re pretty much done here.”

  Cale disconnected the call and took a few minutes to talk to the crime scene investigators. Except for the remains and a few scraps of cloth, there wasn’t much left. He then decided some more positive news coverage would not be a bad thing so, he let the press roam around the crime scene filming and destroying any evidence that might be still there.

  Miller called Cale a couple of hours later with the news that the warrant would have to wait until they were certain the remains were Becky Riley. Cale assured her he would get right on it and asked her to use her political connections, if need be, to make the DNA results a top priority from the state’s crime lab.

  While Cale and Miller were discussing obtaining a search warrant, the Rileys, with Brittany in the back seat, were driving down the street where their house was located. The three of them stared through the windows, surprised at how much the crowd had grown. They were getting used to seeing four or five TV vans lined up on the street but not this many people. There were at least another fifty, none of whom appeared to be with the reporters. Many of them were carrying signs and marching up and down in front of the Rileys’ house.

  Just before Floyd turned into the driveway, ten or twelve news people, reporters and cameramen, rushed in front of their car and blocked it off. Floyd quickly opened his window and angrily yelled at them to get out of the way. Instead, one of the women reporters from a local station stuck her head in Floyd’s window and shoved her microphone at Brittany who was seated directly behind her dad.

  While her cameraman filmed through Brittany’s closed window, the female reporter said, “How do you feel about the news that the police have found your daughter’s body?”

  Of course, Brittany had not heard a word about this and she was stunned, her mind could not even compute what she had just heard. Instead of responding, she simply stared forward at the back of her father’s head.

  Seeing the Rileys’ car, several of the protestors broke ranks and began running toward it. Barbara, realizing what was taking place, pushed the button for the garage door opener and yelled at Floyd to get going. Floyd hit the gas and the people in front of the car scattered as Floyd blew by them and into the garage. He slammed on the brakes, jumped from the car and grabbed an aluminum softball bat leaning against the wall. While Barbara and Brittany scrambled into the house, Floyd ran down the driveway waving the bat, shouting ob
scenities and chased the crowd back into the street.

  Every local TV station in the state and virtually all of the national television newscasts led their evening news with the story of Becky Riley’s remains being found. Not a single one of the reports even mentioned that a positive identification had not been made. They all simply stated that, “It had been reported that the remains of the missing girl, Becky Riley, have been found.” The envy of all of them was the woman who “scooped” them by getting a mic inside the Rileys’ car while Brittany was being filmed. The reporter, a very attractive, fair-skinned Latina woman named Candida Morales, appeared live, on camera with the station’s blonde-haired, blue-eyed anchorwoman. The two of them made a stunning pair.

  “What was your impression of how Brittany took the news?” the anchor asked Candida.

  “Oh, obviously she couldn’t have cared less. Just look at the film. She barely even blinks or reacts in any way.”

  “Did she ask anything, such as where was her daughter found or who or how, anything at all?”

  “No, nothing. In fact, the way she looked makes me think that she knew where the body was,” Candida said.

  “That’s quite an allegation,” the anchor said in mock surprise even though the two of them had rehearsed this.

  “Well, just look at her reaction. She could not be more uninterested.”

  At seven o’clock, Bob Olson shut off his television set. He had been captivated by it since 5:00 when he watched the late afternoon local newscasts. The story had jumped off the screen and slapped him in the face when he saw the images of the body being removed from the water. A momentary feeling of fear gripped him at the thought they somehow knew and were coming for him. He quickly calmed down with the realization that if that was true, he’d be in custody by now.

  Olson had been glued to the screen for two hours, first switching back and forth watching the five o’clock local reporters. Then he did the same thing at 5:30 to check out the broadcast networks evening news, all of which had film of the tiny body being recovered. At 6:00 he went back to the local news and then, until 7:00, the main cable networks. All of them gave the story significant airtime which left Bob with a fuzzy feeling, a glow that he couldn’t define.