Howie removed his hand and Marc tried to gulp down several inhalations of air. He now fully understood what Howie had done. Marc stared wide-eyed and unblinking at Howie while he fought to normalize his breathing.
Howie pulled another of the chairs in front of Marc and sat down on it facing him, their knees almost touching. He leaned forward, his face inches from his frightened lawyer’s nose and quietly said, “Well, I guess that lets the cat out of the bag. You got it figured out now?”
Marc, his breathing having normalized, almost silently croaked, “Yes.”
“That’s right counselor, I’m guilty. In fact, I’m guilty of all of it, including the old broad thirteen years ago,” Howie confessed looking at Marc with a sinister smile.
“This whole thing, this has been a huge act,” Marc muttered.
“Every bit of it,” Howie acknowledged. “Pretty goddamn good huh? Had you and that faggot priest fooled. God! Laying on that prison bed night after night, dreaming of getting out and going after those people,” he said still smiling his sinister smile. “And I knew sooner or later some hanky-wringing, bleeding heart liberal would kick me loose. This is Minnesota…”
Regaining some of his composure, Marc asked, “What about Judge Segal and Cara Meyers? They didn’t do anything to you?”
“I threw them in just to give the cops something to think about,” Howie said with a mild chuckle.
“Why not me?” Marc asked, “I was your lawyer back then.”
“Here’s your deal, lawyer. You win this trial and all is forgiven. You lose it and well,” Howie shrugged, “even in prison I can get at you. People owe me and they’ll pay a little visit to your kids, Eric and Jessica…”
“You sonofabitch,” Marc almost yelled and started to come out of his chair. Howie stiff armed him back just as a voice came through the door. “Everything okay in there?” They heard one of the deputies ask.
Howie nodded his head at Marc indicating that Marc was to respond. “Yeah,” Marc said, “we’re good.”
“I’ve been following your career,” Howie said removing his hand from Marc’s chest. “I have faith in you. But you should’ve gone after that P.I. bitch friend of yours. Although I must admit, she’s a tasty little piece. Maybe I’ll pay her a visit some day,” he smiled.
Howie stood up, looked down at a still terrified Marc, smiled his cold, scary smile and said, “You’d better figure something out. If I go back to prison because of you, you’ll watch your kids die before you do and maybe that little judge you’ve been banging, too.”
Howie reached for the door knob to leave and Marc worked up the courage to say, “Do you know how batshit crazy you are?”
Howie turned his head back to look at him and said, “Yeah, I do.”
Over an hour passed since Marc’s meeting with Howie Traynor and he still sat in his car. Marc was practically numb from Howie’s revelation. The only thing he was capable of was reviewing the trial in his head. And the conclusion he came to was that he was likely losing. Or at least there was a very good chance of it.
With all of the blood, gore and gruesome details that had been presented to the jury, they could easily want to nail someone for this. The remainder of Marc’s case was weak, to say the least. He obviously had to come up with something and pull a rabbit out of a hat,
Tony Carvelli was lined up to testify about his surveillance; Marc had counted on Carvelli and the police following Howie as a foolproof, absolute alibi. Not only had the prosecution found a way to negate this, but they were right. Howie did sneak past everyone exactly the way the cops and prosecution said he did. What they didn’t have was a means of transportation. They had no evidence to show how he got around getting to his victims. Was this enough for reasonable doubt? Maybe.
Marc also had his criminalist, Jason Biggs prepared to testify. He would link the evidence found on each victim to the death of Judge Smith in northern Minnesota. This could help with reasonable doubt since the cops admitted there was no way Howie could have done that. Enough for reasonable doubt? Again, maybe at best.
He would wrap up his case with more character witnesses. Two priests, two nuns and a co-worker from the church. All of this might be enough but without the alibi of the police surveillance he could not count on it. Those three cigarette butts found on the roof of the building next to Howie’s might be the final nail in his coffin. Why did this sick bastard leave them up there?
Driving back to the office he thought about his son and daughter. Obviously, he had to get them out of town for a while. His ex-wife and Marc got along now probably better than when they were married. Karen and her new husband Tom, would cooperate. They could all go to Karen’s parents who had moved to Texas. They would be all right there at least through the Holidays.
He weighed the consequences of the outcome of this trial. If he lost, Howie Traynor would be back where he belonged; doing life without parole in prison. Were his threats legitimate? Could he really get others to do his bidding? Maybe but probably unlikely.
If he won, Howie Traynor would be back loose on the streets. How could that be good? Maybe he would really go after Maddy and she would put a bullet between his eyes. Too risky he realized.
An idea had been germinating in his head. As he drove Marc came to the conclusion he had to try it. He had to pull out all of the stops and take a flyer to win the case. Protecting his son and daughter were the absolute priority. Losing this trial was no longer an option. He would worry about what to do about Howie Traynor on the loose later.
Marc hurried through the outer office, went straight into his private office and quickly closed the door. Unable to use Maddy during the investigation, preparation and trial, Marc worked with someone else he knew, a middle aged man who did mostly divorce work. Marc used him primarily as a process server to serve subpoenas and line up witnesses.
Without bothering to remove his overcoat, Marc dialed the man’s phone number.
“Al, it’s Marc Kadella,” Marc said when the man answered.
“I know, Marc. What’s up?”
“You know those subpoenas you have that you’ve been holding for me?”
“Sure,” Al replied.
“Okay, for the first one, fill in the date and time for tomorrow at 9:00 A.M. For the tech guy, same date and make his for 9:30 and can you make sure he gets there?”
“No problem,” Al said. “When do you want them served?”
“Tomorrow morning, early. Then call or text me when it’s done.”
“Will do.”
SIXTY
Having barely slept the night before, a stressed out Marc Kadella was on Third Avenue driving toward the government center. Around midnight his ex-wife called and told him they were on the road heading south to Texas. Persuading her had been a difficult conversation but she finally agreed for the sake of their son and daughter to spend the Holidays at her mother’s. It was one less thing for Marc to worry about.
Around 4:00 A.M. Marc gave up trying to sleep. Instead, he spent three hours preparing for today’s testimony, especially for his surprise witness. Shortly after 7:00 his process server called with the news that he had served one of the subpoenas. Marc was walking through the second-floor courtyard when he received the text that the second one, the more important one, had also been served.
Marc went into the courtroom through the back door. Seated at the table doing his best altar boy impersonation, was his client. Marc took one look at him and his knees went weak, his palms started to sweat and his stomach became queasy.
“Good morning, Marc,” Howie greeted him as he took his seat. “Hope you slept well.”
For the benefit of the audience, Marc weakly smiled and nodded at Howie but did not say a word. Instead, he opened his briefcase and set up the table for today’s testimony. When Marc finished, a question he was curious about got the better of him and he quietly asked Howie.
“Why did you leave those cigarette butts on the roof next door to you?”
&nb
sp; “I wondered if you were going to ask,” he smiled. “For the same reason I put the barbed wire, gloves and wire cutters under my mattress. I wanted to get arrested and fuck with the cops.”
“You may proceed, Mr. Kadella,” Judge Koch informed him.
Marc looked up at the wall clock in the courtroom which read 9:15. The witness he wanted, the one subpoenaed to be there at 9:00, had not yet arrived. Marc was prepared to go forward. Tony Carvelli was out in the hall, but he wanted the shock value and was disappointed he would not get it.
“Your Honor,” Marc said as he arose, “the defense calls…”
At that precise moment the exterior doors blew open and an obviously angry Craig Slocum burst in. He quickly stomped toward the gate in the bar.
“…Craig Slocum,” Marc finished.
“Objection!” Harris yelled jumping to his feet as a loud buzz went through the courtroom.
“He’s on our witness list, your Honor,” Marc said.
“I thought that was a joke,” Harris stammered.
As a sort of pain-in-the-ass type of move, witness lists are often loaded with names whose connection to the case is, at most, peripheral. This is done primarily to make your opponent interview witnesses you have no intention of calling. You are supposed to have a good faith basis for including someone on your list but this is usually very flexible.
“How is that my problem?” Marc asked.
“This is preposterous,” Slocum loudly proclaimed, trying to assert his authority.
“This is my courtroom, Mr. Slocum. You will speak only when I want you to. Mr. Harris represents the state here, not you,” Koch admonished him.
Slocum owed her an apology but his ego would not allow it. Instead, he stood silently at the gate glaring back at the impertinent judge.
Ignoring him, Judge Koch rapped her gavel and said, “Recess. I’ll see counsel in chambers.” As she stood she indicated to the court reporter that he was to attend also. Slocum began to come through the gate to follow the lawyers into chambers. Koch was on her feet and saw him. “Have a seat, Mr. Slocum,” she said indicating a chair behind the prosecution table. Slocum grumbled under his breath as he sat down.
Once the reporter was set up and ready, Koch began by asking Marc, “Okay, Mr. Kadella, what are you up to?” Koch was seated at her desk still in her robes, the lawyers arrayed in the chairs before her. Harris was obviously still steaming and Marc inwardly smiling.
“Your Honor,” Marc began, “my client is fighting for his life. I have reason to believe that the county attorney has abused his authority in an effort to circumvent justice and…”
“That’s a lie!” Harris burst out.
“That’s an accusation you had better be prepared to back up with evidence, Mr. Harris,” an angry Judge Koch said staring harshly at him. “Do you have such evidence?”
“I’m sorry, your Honor,” Harris meekly said. “I apologize to both the Court and Mr. Kadella.”
For the next several minutes Koch heard the lawyers, in turn, make their arguments for and against allowing the county attorney to testify. When they were done Koch sat silently for a full minute. Her hands were together as if in prayer on which she lightly rested her chin. She looked past the silent lawyers apparently thinking over her decision.
The judge put her hands down. Looked at Marc and said, “I’ll allow this but you’d better have something. Do I make myself clear?”
“Your Honor!” Harris tried to protest but was cutoff when Koch held up a hand to stop him.
“Yes, your Honor,” Marc replied.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she said.
As the lawyers were filing out of the judge’s chambers, Marc whispered to Harris, “What’s the matter Tommy, got something to hide?”
Slocum was sworn in and took the witness stand. No longer angry, his arrogance took over. Dressed in a two-thousand dollar three piece suit, he fiddled with the knot on his hand-painted silk tie while smugly waiting for Marc to begin, all the while allowing himself to believe that he would make a fool out of Kadella.
“Please state your name and occupation,” Koch told him.
“Craig T. Slocum. I am the duly elected county attorney for Hennepin County, Minnesota,” he said.
“You may begin,” Koch told Marc.
“Mr. Slocum,” Marc politely began, “As the county attorney you are the chief law enforcement officer for Hennepin County are you not?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You must have at least a hundred lawyers working for you in the various departments, don’t you?”
“Objection, relevance, your honor,” Harris said.
“Overruled.”
“More than that, actually,” Slocum replied.
“How many cases do you personally try each year?”
“Well, my duties are such that…”
“Nonresponsive,” Marc said to Judge Koch.
“Answer the question,” Koch said. “How many cases do you try yourself each year?”
“None lately,” he admitted.
“Isn’t it true, Mr. Slocum, you have not tried a single case since you personally tried the case of The State of Minnesota vs. Carl Fornich, several years ago?”
“Objection, relevance,” Harris said again.
“I’m getting there, your Honor,” Marc told her.
“Very well, overruled for now.”
“Mr. Slocum?” Marc said.
“Yes, that’s true,” Slocum admitted.
“That was a highly publicized murder case concerning a serial killer similar to this case wasn’t it?”
Slocum hesitated for a moment then admitted it was.
“And you tried that case yourself because you believed it would be a slam dunk easy win and the publicity would do wonders for your political career, isn’t that true?”
“That’s absurd,” Slocum said as he shifted in his seat.
“Mr. Slocum,” Marc said staring straight at him. “I am prepared to subpoena at least twenty people in your office who know that to be true. I’ll put them on that witness stand and force them to testify. You’re under oath. Would you like to change your answer now?”
This was almost certainly a bluff. It was highly unlikely that, because of attorney-client privilege, any of them would be allowed to testify. But no one, not Tommy Harris, Craig Slocum or even Judge Koch thought of it or knew it for sure.
Slocum’s eyes narrowed, he drew a deep breath then said, “All right. Yes, I suppose that’s correct. I have political ambitions. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“In fact, you were going to run for governor, isn’t that true?”
“Oh, I’m not sure, maybe I had thought about it,” Slocum tried to hedge.
“Mr. Slocum, you’re still under oath in front of a jury. Should I ask it again?”
“All right, yes. I was going to run for governor after that case. So what?”
“Your dream of becoming governor went up in smoke after you lost the case, didn’t it?”
Once again, Slocum’s eyes narrowed, he uncrossed and re-crossed his legs and his face became visibly red.
“It was a setback,” Slocum said.
“It was more than a setback,” Marc said. “The Democratic Party told you to forget it, did they not? You’re still under oath and I can find witnesses,” Marc continued.
“Your Honor! This is absurd. Where is the relevance?” Harris said.
“I’m almost there, your Honor,” Marc replied without taking his eyes off Slocum.
“I’ll give you a little more, Mr. Kadella, but you’d better get there soon.”
“Isn’t it true, Mr. Slocum, your dream of becoming governor crashed after losing that case?” Marc repeated insistently.
Slocum hesitated, clearly aggravated then said, “All right, yes, it did.”
“And who was the lawyer for the defense in that trial?”
Again Slocum hesitated then finally admitted, “You were.”
&nb
sp; Most of the media in attendance knew this but none of the jurors did. When they all heard this there was a slight shifting in their seats as they looked back and forth at the two antagonists.
“Isn’t it true, Mr. Slocum, you have harbored a deep, personal animus toward me ever since?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Slocum said although his expression noticeably belied his words.
“You’re still under oath,” Marc quietly reminded him. “You want to try again?”
“Argumentative, your Honor,” Harris said.
“Sustained,” Koch ruled.
“I can still get those subpoenas served,” Marc said virtually ignoring Koch’s ruling.
“All right, yes. I admit I find you to be a loathsome defense lawyer like…”
“Isn’t it true,” Marc jumped in cutting him off from embellishing his answer. “You originally assigned this case to your head felony litigator, Steven Gondeck?”
Annoyed at being cut off Slocum reluctantly said, “Yes.”
“Isn’t it also true you replaced Mr. Gondeck with Mr. Harris because you believed Mr. Gondeck and I got along too well? That we were too friendly with one another?”
“That’s none of your business. I…”
“Why are you trying so desperately to keep information from this jury?” Marc asked.
“The answer to your question is no that is not why I replaced Steve Gondeck with Tommy Harris,” Slocum haughtily said to a skeptical courtroom.
“Mr. Slocum, does the name Eugene Parlow sound familiar?” Marc asked abruptly changing the subject.
Slocum shifted slightly again in his seat and his tongue flicked briefly across his lips. “Yes, I think so.”
“Isn’t it true he was one of the men the police suspected of committing these murders?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“He was found murdered in an alley in south Minneapolis?”
“Yes.”
Marc hit a couple a keys on his laptop and an image appeared on the TV screen. It was the picture of the bag found near Parlow’s body.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 177