“I thought he made me look like an idiot,” Gabriella said.
“No, not at all,” Oswood chuckled. “He just took a little shot at everyone who believed in the bullshit about lie detectors. Don’t worry about it.”
While Gabriella walked back to her cubicle after leaving Oswood’s office, her phone went off. She checked the ID, frowned but answered it anyway. Stu Doyle got right to the point. The lab tests of the rope and cinder blocks found in the Rileys’ garage matched the ones discovered at the crime scene. Gabriella thanked him then returned to Oswood’s office to tell him what she had just learned.
That afternoon, Melinda once again did her show live and had Gabriella on as a guest. It went exactly the way Oswood predicted. Gabriella explained about Marc stopping in for the interview and adamantly declining to allow his client to take a lie detector test. Gabriella was a little uncomfortable calling it a lie detector but Melinda insisted. Between Marc’s refusal to allow the lie detector to be administered and the news about the cinder block and rope to which Becky had been tied, Melinda had one of her best shows ever. It was again replayed at 6:30 and the public couldn’t get enough of it. The overnight ratings for the metro area of the 6:30 showing came in with an almost unheard of sixty percent of all homes with TVs on tuned to her show. Even Melinda was staggered by the number.
Oswood was right about the reaction. Every television news report in the Upper Midwest led with the lie detector refusal. It also was prominent on every cable news channel that evening and the next day. In the morning, almost every paper in America ran it somewhere on their front page and all of the national morning news shows devoted time to it. Every one of them used the same basic disclaimer. “It has been reported that the lawyer for Brittany Riley will not allow her to take a lie detector test.” Then, of course, the reporter would follow with the obvious question: “I wonder what she has to hide?”
THIRTY-FOUR
Vivian Donahue, seated on the loveseat in her home office, was watching the replay of the interview Gabriella had done with Marc Kadella. She was born Vivian Corwin, the only daughter of Robert Corwin, Jr. the great grandson of Edward Corwin. Edward had moved to the Minnesota prairie in the 1840’s and began farming. Having a natural head for business and a serious ruthless streak, Edward had founded Corwin Agricultural. Forbes listed the Corwin family eighteenth on its list of richest Americans. Vivian, as the undisputed head of the family, was one of the wealthiest women in the country. When she spoke, people listened. In her mid-sixties, she was still a very attractive woman and she could proudly boast, with the exception of her hair color, it was all natural.
Vivian was dressed casually in tan Armani slacks and a robin’s egg blue silk Hermes blouse. Her legs were crossed and her right arm rested comfortably on the arm rest of the small sofa. The door to her office opened, her favorite granddaughter, Adrienne came in and plopped down on the small sofa next to her. At nineteen, she was also Vivian’s oldest grandchild and practically lived with her in the family mansion.
“You really need to learn to knock, dear,” Vivian said as Adrienne affectionately looped her right arm through her grandmother’s left.
“What are you watching, Gram?” Adrienne asked.
“Ssssh. An interview,” Vivian answered patting Adrienne’s knee.
The two women sat quietly while Gabriella asked a question. “I’d kill to have her eyes,” Adrienne observed. “Hey, that’s Marc Kadella,” Adrienne exclaimed when the picture shifted to Gabriella’s interviewee. “Tony’s lawyer friend. He’s kind of hot, in a lawyerly sort of way,” she added knowing the statement would mildly needle her grandmother.
“Ssssh,” Vivian admonished her again.
For the next several minutes the two of them quietly watched and listened. Marc was patiently explaining to Gabriella the pitfalls of allowing Brittany to take a polygraph test. When the interview ended, Vivian leaned forward, picked up the TVs remote and turned off the power.
“Was that about the girl who murdered her baby?” Adrienne asked.
“Accused of,” Vivian corrected her.
“I hope she rots in hell,” Adrienne said. “How could she…”
“I don’t believe she did,” Vivian said.
“Grandma! It’s all over the news. It’s obvious she’s guilty.”
“Why, because the media says so?” Vivian asked her granddaughter. “They’re never wrong? They never have their own agenda? You should know better.”
After a long ten seconds, Adrienne meekly said, “Yeah, okay, point taken. But if not her, then who, this mystery boyfriend that no one has ever seen?” she said as Vivian stood up, walked to her desk and picked up her private cell phone. She punched a speed dial button and put the phone to her ear while Adrienne watched with a puzzled expression.
“Hello, Anthony,” Vivian said. “I was wondering if you could find time to stop by this evening.”
“I can be there in about twenty minutes,” the private investigator said.
Tony Carvelli, an ex-cop turned private investigator, had both a professional and personal relationship with Vivian Donahue. Tony had investigated the murder of Vivian’s nephew and while doing so, the two of them had become good friends and even part-time lovers. It was through Tony that Vivian had come to meet Marc Kadella. Despite the fact Marc had represented one of the men involved in her nephew’s murder, Vivian had grown to respect the lawyer.
Adrienne answered the door when Tony arrived and gave him a huge, affectionate hug when he came into the foyer. She led him into the office where Tony and Vivian exchanged a kiss and a hug. When all three were seated, Tony in a chair, the two women on the small sofa, Vivian began the discussion.
“What can you tell me about this case your friend is handling?” Vivian asked.
“You mean the murdered little girl,” Tony said.
“Yes.”
“Not much,” Tony shrugged. “I had lunch with him the other day. We talked about it a little. Some things I don’t want to get into.”
“Is his client really innocent?” Vivian asked. “I haven’t watched all of it but you can’t pick up a newspaper or turn the television on without being hit over the head with it. And they certainly imply she’s guilty.”
“Why do you want to know? This isn’t something you should get involved with. It’s not something you should have your name attached to,” Tony said.
“Anthony, stop it. I quit worrying about my name and reputation years ago. You don’t get to our level of prominence without stepping on some toes.”
“Or doing a little bootlegging,” Adrienne said lightly poking Vivian with her elbow, referring to rumors about activities Vivian’s grandfather may have done.
“Shush. Let’s not air the family’s dirty linen in front of our guest,” Vivian said with a smile.
“I was thinking if she is really innocent she shouldn’t be in jail.”
“You want to post her bail?” Tony asked incredulously. “I heard it’s two million bucks. Are you sure…”
“I could do that. Besides, I will get it back when the case is over. Will you call Marc and ask him if he will meet with me? I want to get his opinion.”
Tony stared at her for a few seconds then looked at Adrienne who shrugged her shoulders and raised both hands, palms up. Tony took out his phone, made the call and after Tony convinced him it was important, Marc agreed to come to the Corwin mansion at nine the next morning.
The Minnesota Attorney General, Anne Peterson, was relaxing in her husband’s multi-million dollar home in North Oaks. Peterson had graduated from the University of Minnesota law school twelve years before. Her husband Arthur Peterson, was a very successful investment banker almost twenty years older than Anne. Using her husband’s political connections she had obtained a job in the former attorney general’s office. Six years later, the AG ran for the US Senate and lost. But his misfortune opened the door for Peterson. She obtained the nomination for the state attorney general’s job and des
pite not having been in a courtroom since moot court in law school, won the election.
Peterson shut off the TV and called her chief deputy, H. Lowell Vanderbeck. She had been watching Gabriella’s interview of Marc and decided it was time to act.
“Did you watch the interview of Brittany Riley’s lawyer on Channel 8?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t, why?” Vanderbeck answered.
“It’s time we took over the prosecution. The publicity for this is too much to pass up,” Peterson said after sipping her twenty-year-old single malt.
“Are you sure LeAnne Miller won’t kick up a fuss?”
“Sure she will,” Peterson replied. “I’ll smooth that out. I’ll hint around that when I run for governor, I’ll recommend her for the AG’s job.”
“Where does that leave me?” an anxious Vanderbeck asked. “That was supposed to be my…”
“Relax Lowell. I said I would hint around about it. I didn’t say she would get it. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know we’re taking over. I think you should handle the case personally with Danica Hart.”
“What if we lose,” a nervous Vanderbeck asked. He was always one to look at the downside of everything.
“Don’t. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Peterson said, then abruptly ended the call.
THIRTY-FIVE
Marc arrived at the Corwin Estate on Lake Minnetonka ten minutes early. As he was walking toward the granite stairway that led to the front door, he saw Carvelli’s Camaro come roaring up the driveway. He waited for his friend and as the two men walked up the stairs, Marc tried to find out why Vivian wanted to see him. Tony, having been asked by Vivian not to reveal the purpose, would only say Marc would find out soon enough.
The housekeeper let them in and as they were being led across the large, marble-floored foyer, the two men saw a bikini-clad Adrienne going out the back door to the pool. Both men watched her go through the door and both felt a little guilty staring at the backside of the young girl. Marc had been in the house before, but even so, he was still a bit awed by it. The housekeeper opened the library door and stepped aside so the two men could enter.
Vivian came toward them, offered a cheek for Tony to kiss then warmly and graciously greeted Marc. She followed them to the two matching couches. They were facing each other with a beautiful mahogany topped coffee table between them, all positioned in front of a large exquisite, gas fireplace.
Vivian poured the two men coffee from a sterling silver pot on the table. While Marc sipped from his cup, which he really didn’t want, Vivian said, “Marc, I want to talk to you about your client, Brittany Riley, if you don’t mind. If I ask anything out of bounds, please just say so.”
“Sure,” Marc said as he set the cup on the table.
“This is a bit awkward,” she began.
“Brittany Riley is innocent,” Marc abruptly said. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”
Visibly relieved Vivian replied. “That was the question I had and I wasn’t sure how or even if I should ask it.”
“Why do you want to know?” an obviously puzzled Marc asked her.
“Because I am sick to death of turning on the television or picking up a newspaper and having her guilt shoved in my face.”
“You think you are?” Marc laughed. “Try it while wearing my shoes.”
“How is she holding up?” Vivian sincerely asked.
“Not well,” Marc admitted. “Brittany and her family are pretty stressed and I’m worried about Brittany’s health. She’s quite depressed. It would help if they could make bail but…”
“That’s why I wanted to see you. As I understand it, bail is used to make sure she shows up in court. Correct?”
“Yes, essentially,” Marc agreed.
“How much is it?”
“Two million dollars,” Marc said.
“If someone were to put up the money do they get it back if she shows up for her trial?”
“Yes,” Marc said, a little too eagerly. “Are you thinking about…?”
“I’ll put up the money but I would like it to be anonymous,” Vivian said.
“That’s going to be difficult,” Marc said. “We can use a cashier’s check, but the reality is, if the media wants to track it back to its source, I’m sure they could do it.”
“What about cash?” Tony asked.
“You want to deliver two million dollars in cash?” Marc asked. “And even then, despite whoever brings it, they’ll still figure out that it came from Vivian,” Marc said turning back to her. “Where is this money coming from?”
“That’s not really your concern,” she politely replied.
He held up a hand to her and said, “I realize that. I’m thinking as a lawyer. Are you going to have family members or investors or anyone like that making a stink about…?”
“No,” Vivian smiled. “I’ll deal with that. So, what do we do? Cash or check?”
“A cashier’s check would be best. Vivian, I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
“Stop,” she said. “I’ll have the check tomorrow. It will be delivered here. I’ll let Anthony know when for sure. Then the two of you can go get her out.”
They all stood up and as they were leaving, Marc turned to Vivian and said, “I want to tell her the news. Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, of course. By all means go tell her in person right away. It will cheer her up.”
When the two men got outside, they stood by their cars for a couple of minutes discussing how best to handle this.
“What about security?” Tony asked. “If word gets out, and it probably will, every goofball in town is going to show up at the jail. Protesters, media, you name it.”
“The sheriff can provide security,” Marc said.
“You trust him to do it? No, we’ll need our own. You want me to make a couple calls?”
“Wait,” Marc said snapping his fingers. “I know just the guy. And he owes me a favor. Besides, who are you going to call, cop friends?”
“Yeah,” Tony answered.
“Do you think they are going to want to get involved with this?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Tony agreed.
“I’ll check with my guy and let you know if I need you to get some help. Talk to you later,” Marc said.
Marc left the Corwin Estate and drove directly to the jail in Hastings. The forty-mile drive took almost an hour. As a criminal defense lawyer it was not often he was able to bring good news to a client. Knowing how much it would boost Brittany’s morale was a tonic to his disposition and put him in a very good mood.
He stepped up to the glass partition and slid his attorney license card through the opening on the counter. The deputy recognized Marc and told him he would have his client brought down right away.
While waiting for Brittany, Marc paced around the conference room, too wound up with the good news to sit down. He barely had to wait five minutes before the door opened. A different deputy stepped aside for her and Marc immediately noticed she was not shackled or handcuffed at all. The deputy stepped into the small room, closed the door behind himself and quietly said, “I just want you to know, most of the deputies heard about what you did to Cale the other day and we’re all pretty pleased with it. Take all the time you need. Let us know when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” Marc said with a large grin as he and Brittany sat down while the deputy closed the door and left.
Marc reached across the table and took both of Brittany’s hands in his. He quickly told her why he came and she immediately burst into tears, sobbing almost uncontrollably. He let go of her hands so she could use them to cover her face. Marc removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. It took more than a minute, but she finally got herself under control.
“Why is she doing this?” Brittany asked.
“I know her a little bit. A good friend of mine and Maddy knows her a lot better. She’s a terrific lady. She thinks the media is screwing you over and i
s willing to help.”
“Please, tell her, I’m so grateful. I don’t know what to say.”
“I have and you’ll probably get the chance to tell yourself,” Marc said. “We’ll do this tomorrow as soon as we can. In the meantime, you keep this to yourself. We’re going to try to get you out of here without making a big circus out of it, okay?”
“Sure. Yes, I will.”
“I’ll go see your parents yet today. In fact, I’m going to go now. Maybe you’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
While they waited by the door for the guard, Brittany weakly smiled up at Marc then threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said as she kissed his cheek and Marc hugged her back.
The sheriff’s deputy, standing in front of the Rileys’ house, recognized Marc when the deputy stopped him before the Rileys’ driveway. With a pleasant grin and a tip of his cap, the deputy waved Marc forward to allow him to park his car. Marc got out of his car and started up the walkway toward the house. Half way to the front door he stopped and looked across the street at the people and TV vans.
Recognizing him, the protestors began booing, yelling obscenities and several of them slowly walked toward him. Marc saw a few of the media cameras pointed at him then he turned back toward the protestors in time to see the two deputies intercept those coming at him. Marc impassively stared at the scene, wondering at the ignorance of these misguided fools. Did they really not understand how the justice system worked? That the accused is only that, accused? Could they not grasp how easily any one of them might find themselves wrongly accused of a crime and be in Brittany’s place? What is wrong with people in this country?
He saw one of the men who walked across the street pick up a rock and hurl it toward Marc. He watched the rock’s flight and it landed harmlessly in the front yard several feet from him. At the same time, one of the deputies hit the man with a Taser and dropped him onto the asphalt. The site of this idiot flopping around on the ground with the wires protruding from his chest made Marc laugh and stunned the crowd into silence which made them all back up. While one of the deputies stared down the crowd, the one with the Taser cuffed the rock thrower and put him in the backseat of the deputy’s car.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 113