“The canvas bag being shown on the television now was found near his body, was it not?”
“I don’t think it was near the body…” Slocum began.
“It was less than twenty feet away,” Marc said.
“Okay, yes, I suppose that was near the body.”
For each of the next few questions Marc displayed a photo of each of the items found in the bag. He elicited a positive response that these items were, in fact, found in the bag.
“Isn’t it true that it was solely your decision to withhold the discovery of these items from the defense?”
“Objection,” Harris said as he started to stand.
“Overruled,” Koch abruptly told him. “The witness will answer.”
“Um, yes. I didn’t…”
“Nonresponsive, your Honor,” Marc said cutting off Slocum’s explanation.
“Answer only the question,” Koch reminded him.
Marc asked for and was granted permission to approach the witness. He stopped at the exhibit table and picked up several items. Marc placed them on the rail in front of Slocum then walked over to the back of the jury box and stood there while Slocum looked at the exhibits.
“Mr. Slocum, I have given you the items found in Howie Traynor’s apartment; the barbed wire, wire cutter and gloves. When the police found them you were told about it, were you not?”
“Yes,” Slocum admitted.
“Yet, when these exact same items were found by the body of Eugene Parlow, you decided that was not relevant, isn’t that true?”
Slocum paused for a moment and started to say something. Instead, his shoulders slumped and he quietly said, “Yes.”
“Mr. Slocum, was it you that had someone plant these items in Howie Traynor’s apartment?”
“Objection!” Harris exploded jumping to his feet.
“Overruled,” Koch quickly said, “The witness will answer.”
Marc was stunned that the judge did not chastise him for asking such an inflammatory question. Overruling Harris’ objection sent a clear message to the jury that it might be true.
“Absolutely not,” Slocum indignantly replied.
Marc walked back to the exhibit table and picked up a clear plastic evidence bag. In it were the three cigarette butts found with Howie’s DNA. He handed the bag to Slocum and resumed his position standing by the jury box.
“Mr. Slocum, you are holding the three cigarette butts found on the roof of the building next to Howie Traynor’s apartment. These items were found a few days after he was arrested, is that correct?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Slocum answered.
“And they were sent to the BCA lab in St. Paul for analysis the next day, isn’t that true?”
“Yes.”
The entire courtroom was as quiet as a funeral. The only sound being the exchange taking place between these two antagonists. The two men themselves seemed totally oblivious to it but the tension in the air was rising with each moment, each question, each answer. Everyone seemed to instinctively realize the trial had reached its make or break moment for both sides.
“And the result of that analysis was not received until last week, more than two months after these items were sent to the BCA?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Slocum shrugged. “I don’t run the BCA lab,” Slocum continued with a haughty smile.
“Really? Mr. Slocum, did you use your influence on the BCA lab to slow down and delay the report on the cigarette butts so they could be used as a dramatic surprise during the trial?”
“No, of course not,” Slocum answered but with noticeably less arrogance.
“Mr. Slocum, let me remind you that you are under oath and I have subpoenaed a man by the name of Richard Fletcher, who is currently in the hall waiting to testify. Isn’t it true he is the head of the BCA lab whose son is currently awaiting trial in Hennepin County on drug charges and did you use this to influence him to delay the analysis of the cigarette butts?”
“Objection,” Harris tried to say.
“Overruled and sit down,” Koch ordered him.
Time froze in the courtroom. Slocum sat in the chair, leaning forward, his eyes shifting about the room. A bead of sweat broke out on his upper lip and he noticeably licked it.
What seemed like an hour but was barely a half a minute went by in total silence. Everyone in the courtroom, especially the jury, knew what the answer was but waited for it anyway.
“I’ll wait all day,” Marc quietly said.
“All right, yes, I did,” Slocum finally admitted, the arrogance having returned.
“Did you order someone to take those cigarette butts from the ashtray in Howie Traynor’s car and plant them on the roof?”
Harris started to stand but Koch stopped him with a stern look.
“No, I did not,” Slocum denied but it sounded weak and uncertain.
Immediately Marc slapped his left hand down hard on the rail in front of the jury box. The sharp, loud crack startled the jurors and caused both Judge Koch and Slocum to sit up.
“Isn’t it true,” Marc practically yelled, “all of this was done because you wanted to get even with me, personally? Don’t look at him,” Marc yelled at Slocum when Slocum shifted his eyes to Tommy Harris. “Answer me and tell this jury the truth!” Marc angrily almost screamed and slapped his hand on the railing again.
“All right, yes, goddamnit. I’ll get you, you sonofabitch!” Slocum snarled back at Marc.
The entire courtroom inhaled and froze, especially Marc Kadella. No one breathed, no one moved, no one even blinked. After a stunned moment, Marc thought, Holy shit! He admitted it! Another second passed as the image of Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson in the movie A Few Good Men flashed through his mind.
“I have no further questions, your Honor,” Marc quickly said as he retreated to the defense table. When he got there, he remained standing and continued, “Your Honor, the defense moves for immediate dismissal of all charges due to obvious prosecutorial misconduct.”
Before Marc finished saying this Tommy Harris was on his feet. “Objection, your Honor. The defense badgered the witness into making an obviously false statement in an excited response.”
“Overruled,” Koch said to Harris. “Recess,” she said then continued by saying, “I’ll see counsel in chambers now. Mr. Slocum, you stay right where you are.”
While the three lawyers followed the judge out of the courtroom, the gallery broke out in a stunned discussion. Howie Traynor leaned back in his chair, smiled and inwardly laughed at the spectacle.
“Your Honor, we demand a mistrial,” Harris said before anyone even had a chance to sit down.
“Absolutely not,” Marc countered. “They want a chance to clean their mess up and make another run at my client. That’s reversible error.”
“He’s right, Mr. Harris. There will be no mistrial,” Koch said.
For the next ten minutes, Koch sat back and listened to the lawyers make their respective arguments. When they finished, she said, “Thank you, gentlemen. Let me think about it. I’ll be out in a few minutes to make my ruling.”
Less than ten minutes later, Judge Koch came back out to the bench. No one had left even for a quick trip to the restroom. Apparently everyone lucky enough to be there did not want to chance missing a single word.
The first thing Judge Koch said was, “I want absolute silence in this courtroom while I make my decision and afterwards. If anyone interrupts me or causes a commotion, they will go to jail.”
She took a moment to gather her thoughts then started by saying, “I have three choices. One, I can declare a mistrial. That I will not do. I will not start this over. Two, I can let the case continue and go to the jury or, three, dismiss the charges in the interest of justice.
“After careful consideration, I cannot, in good conscience, hide my responsibility as a judge and drop this in the jury’s lap for them to decide. I cannot allow this travesty to continue. Therefore, I am dismissing all charges conta
ined in the indictment due to the misconduct and abuse of power by the county attorney.”
She turned to the jury and said, “I want to sincerely thank you, the members of the jury. My decision is in no way a reflection of you. It is part of my responsibility and I bear it alone.
“Mr. Slocum,” she continued staring down at the shriveled sight of the man in the witness stand. “I will be sending a full and complete report of your conduct and the transcript of your testimony to the Office of Professional Responsibility. You, sir, have some serious explaining to do.
“Mr. Traynor,” she said looking at the defense table, “you are free to go. Case dismissed, with prejudice.” Judge Koch hammered her gavel once, rose and quickly fled.
Bedlam erupted as she went through the door.
SIXTY-ONE
Marc heard his neighbor across the hall from his apartment close his door to leave for work. He was sitting in the dark on his couch, his feet on the coffee table, the television off. The front door was locked and a chair jammed under the doorknob. The digital read from the small clock by the TV glowed with the numbers 6:47. This early in the morning in December, it was still quite dark outside as the new day began.
Marc had been sitting like this the entire night with a couple of bathroom breaks his only disturbance. He was still dressed in the same clothes he wore to court the day before except for the coat and tie. They were removed and carelessly tossed on his bed.
Up until midnight his phone had rung with at least twenty calls from various people, including Margaret Tennant. Not in the mood to speak to anyone and knowing Margaret was safe, Marc ignored the calls and let them go to voicemail.
Marc remained on the couch all night barely sleeping. He would doze off occasionally for short stretches, fifteen minutes here, thirty minutes there. Each time the leering, sinister, sadistic image of Howie Traynor smiling at him would enter his mind and snap him awake. By morning he was starting to feel like a teenage victim in a slasher movie. Howie Traynor was out of jail and on the loose and Marc wondered if he would ever sleep soundly again.
He did have one significant, comforting advantage. On the couch next to him was his 1911 Model Colt .45 fully loaded, one in the chamber and two extra magazines lying next to it. In fact, he had held the handgun in his right hand for most of the night half expecting Howie to somehow magically appear. Marc noticed the read on the clock change to 6:48 as he again replayed in his mind the scene from the court the previous afternoon.
While Judge Koch explained herself to the jury, the parties and the spectators, Marc sat stoically, almost numb at what she was saying. When Koch dismissed the charges and freed Howie Traynor, it took all of Marc’s self-control to prevent him from jumping up to object. His mind was having an argument with itself over freeing this monster, protecting his children and maintaining his ethical responsibility.
The judge quickly left the bench and Marc remembered looking at Craig Slocum. He was still sitting on the witness stand ashen faced and shrunken while the gallery exploded.
Howie slapped him on the back as Marc quietly said, “My God, she actually did it.” At least he believed he said something along those lines.
Marc stood up and turned to Howie who grinned and offered his hand to shake with his lawyer. Marc ignored the hand and softly told Howie the deputies would take him to the jail to process him out. Father John was at the table by this point, grinning like an idiot. Marc ignored him also as he gathered his things to leave.
Waiting for him at the gate in the bar with a puzzled look on her face was Gabriella Shriqui. She witnessed the attempted handshake by the newly freed defendant and Marc ignoring him. This should have been a moment of triumph for Marc. Instead the look on his face, a man Gabriella knew fairly well, was the face of a lawyer who had lost the case, not won.
“Marc,” she said to him as he approached her, “can I get an interview?”
He abruptly stopped, looked over at the other reporters waiting for him and curtly said, “No comment.”
Marc turned his back to them, walked through the courtroom and out the back. To avoid the media he even went down the hall to the stairs and walked down the fourteen flights to get out of the building.
The clock changed to 7:02 and his phone rang. He picked it up from the coffee table, looked at the I.D. and answered it. Margaret was spending the Holidays with her parents in Florida. This was the third time she tried calling and Marc decided it was time to rejoin the world.
“Hi,” he said when he answered her.
“Are you all right? You have everyone who knows you worried sick, especially me,” she said a little anger mixed in with her concern. “Why didn’t you answer your damn phone?”
Fighting the urge to hang up on her, he said “I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I needed to be alone for a while.”
“Why?” she asked concern back in her voice. “Marc, what’s going on? I heard what happened. It was all over the news down here.”
Marc took a moment to think about his response. He finally said, “I can’t talk about it. Look, I’m okay. I need to work some things out. If you need to call me, I’ll answer the phone. Stay in Florida. Have a nice time. Say hello to Mom and Dad for me, okay? I love you. Just give me some time.”
“I don’t understand…” she began.
“I know and I can’t talk about it,” Marc said.
At that moment the light in Margaret’s brain went on and she blurted, “Oh my God! He’s guilty. You found out he’s…”
“I have to go,” Marc said to cut her off. “I’ll talk to you later,” and he ended the call. “Smart lady,” he quietly said to himself.
Marc looked across the unfrozen surface of Lake of the Isles at an attractive young woman jogging on the path on the other side of the lake. He was sitting on a park bench, by himself, waiting for someone.
For December, the weather was quite mild. The snow was long gone, the ground was dry and temperatures would go into the forties again. The weather geeks were predicting a brown Christmas in a few days. Not normal but not necessarily unusual either. Northern Minnesota had two feet of snow and temps in the teens. Because of the size of the state this was not atypical either.
After talking to Margaret he decided it was time to get moving. He shaved and showered, made a phone call and set up this meeting. It was now almost 9:00 and he felt much better than he did after the trial ended.
“Hey, how you doing?” Marc heard Tony Carvelli say as his P.I. friend sat down on the bench next to him.
“Been better,” Marc replied shaking hands with his friend.
“So, counselor, what’s up?”
“I hadn’t thought of this when I asked you to meet me here,” Marc said ignoring the question. “Look familiar?” he added holding his arms out to indicate the area.
“Yeah, it’s Lake of the Isles,” Tony said. “So?”
“Turn around,” Marc told him. Tony swiveled to look behind them as Marc again asked, “Look familiar?”
“Yeah, it does. That’s the house where your psycho client murdered Lucille Benson,” Tony said referring to the big house on the corner with the wrought iron fence. Tony turned back to Marc and said, “Is there something Freudian going on here? What do you need to tell me?” he added.
Marc took a deep breath and started by saying, “I’ll tell you because I know you’ll know what to do and keep your mouth shut to protect me. I could get disbarred for this.”
“No problem, Marc,” Tony quietly, seriously said.
“The cops need to keep an eye on Howie Traynor. He’s on the loose and...” Marc paused.
“He’s not done,” Tony said completing the thought.
“I didn’t say that,” Marc said. “But I won’t dispute it either. I have to be very careful what I say.”
“I get it,” Tony said patting Marc on the shoulder. “Open your coat,” Tony said.
Marc was wearing jeans, sneakers, a light sweater and a coat more suited for autumn than
December weather. Tony, being the cop and investigator that he was, noticed a slight bulge under Marc’s jacket.
Marc unzipped it and showed Tony the .45 in its shoulder holster.
“I have a permit,” Marc said as he zipped the jacket closed.
“I just wanted to know. Is it that serious?” Tony asked.
“Absolutely,” Marc answered.
Marc’s phone rang and he removed it from his coat pocket. He looked at the I.D. answered it and said, “Hi, sweetheart. I’m glad you called.”
“Are you okay?” Maddy Rivers asked him. “Gabriella called me after court yesterday and told me what happened and how you were acting. I tried calling you last night. Is everything all right?”
“I’m here with Tony,” Marc said. “Are you at home?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Good, stay there and keep the door locked and a gun handy. Tony will call you in a little while and tell you what’s going on, okay?”
“All right,” a puzzled Maddy answered.
“Talk to you later and I’m really, really happy you and I are okay,” Marc said.
“Me too,” Maddy agreed.
The two men discussed Marc’s dilemma with his ethical obligation and client confidentiality. While not once overtly admitting to anything, Marc let the savvy P.I. know that Howie was guilty as sin. Tony assured Marc he would quietly inform the appropriate people, especially those who might be on Howie’s list. This included himself as one of the original arresting officers for the Benson murder.
They parted company and on his way back to his SUV, Marc took a call from his office. It was from Carolyn who had news and questions.
“Are you okay? Are you coming in? Everyone is wondering,” she asked.
“I’m fine and no, I won’t be in probably for a few days. I don’t know, maybe I’ll stop by. Maybe Monday, which is what, the 21st?” he said. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Okay, I just heard from Glenda Albright, Howie’s personal injury lawyer. She has his settlement money. She wants a final bill from you. Says she’ll pay you first, before him.”
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 178