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

by Dennis Carstens

  Marc stood next to him for almost a minute listening to him remind Mackenzie of his football exploits. He finally paused for a breath and Mackenzie quickly used the opportunity to introduce Jerry to Marc. Smits stood up to shake hands with Marc who had set the drinks down.

  “Sure, I remember you, Kadella,” the paunchy ex-jock said. “Weren’t you on the badminton team,” he said laughing at his attempt at humor.

  “Wow, that’s really funny, Jerry,” Marc deadpanned. “Did you think that up all by yourself?”

  Ignoring the insult or more likely not getting it, Jerry asked, “So, Kadella, what’ve you been up to?”

  “Marc’s a lawyer,” Mackenzie told him.

  “Really, ambulance chaser, huh?” Smits laughed.

  “Another example of that rapier wit I remember from school,” Marc said.

  “Marc was sitting there, Jerry. We were talking. Nice to see you again,” Mackenzie said in dismissal.

  Jerry looked back and forth at the two of them as if he was wondering what Mackenzie could see in an ambulance chasing attorney.

  “Oh, sure, I get it,” he said. “Well, see you later Kadella and I’ll see you too, Mackenzie,” he added with a sly wink.

  Marc took his seat and said, “You didn’t date him, did you? Please tell me you didn’t, even if you have to lie to me.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Mackenzie laughed. “And I don’t have to lie about it. I wasn’t into the big jock guys.”

  “He was an idiot then and he’s an idiot now,” Marc said holding up his glass to her.

  She touched hers to his then took Marc’s hand and said, “You know, you were my first real crush.”

  “Seriously? I had no idea,” he said.

  “Yep, first day of class in seventh grade. Homeroom, Mrs. Anderson….”

  “You remember the name of our homeroom teacher from seventh grade? That’s actually kind of sad. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt about me?”

  “Because I was an insecure twelve-year-old girl,” she laughed. “And I didn’t think you liked me that way.”

  Marc leaned forward, lightly kissed her and said, “I was crazy about you and too insecure to do anything. Then when we got to high school, we kind of drifted apart and you were dating older guys.”

  “It’s not true, you know,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t the school slut.”

  “I never thought you were,” he quietly said.

  “Are you involved with anyone?” Mackenzie bluntly asked him.

  Marc hesitated a little too long before answering.

  “That means you are,” Mackenzie answered for him.

  “I have been and I suppose still am,” he said sounding a bit disappointed. “To be honest, I’m not sure where we are right now.”

  For the next two to three minutes Marc gave her an honest overview of his relationship with Margaret Tennant.

  “A judge, huh? I better stay out of Hennepin County,” Mackenzie weakly tried to make a little joke out of it.

  “Yeah,” Marc said.

  An awkward minute of silence passed between them while each took a sip of their drink. Mackenzie looked at her watch then set the half-full glass on the table.

  “It’s getting late and I should go. Do you have a business card?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Marc said. He gave her one from the card case he carried. He took it back, asked her for a pen and she found one in her purse. He wrote his cell phone number on the back and gave it and the pen back to her.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have your cell number on the card,” she said.

  “I do criminal defense. I don’t need these idiots calling me day and night. We have an answering service. If I want to talk to them, I’ll call them back.” Marc tapped the card she was holding and said, “You can call me anytime.”

  Mackenzie smiled and said, “Walk me to my car.”

  When they reached her shiny, new BMW, Marc opened the door for her. They gave each other an affectionate hug and a brief kiss. Then Mackenzie said, “If you figure out where you are with the judge, call me.”

  “I will,” Marc told her.

  Marc finished brushing his teeth and while he wiped his mouth with the hand towel, looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

  “Mackenzie Lange,” he said out loud. “She looks better than when we were kids,” he continued. He paused for a moment then said while still looking at himself, “And you, my friend, are more than a little smitten.”

  SIX

  “Hey, bro,” Adam Sutherland said when his brother entered Bob’s office.

  “Get your feet off my desk,” Bob growled at the younger man. “What are you doing here?” he continued as he sat down in his executive chair.

  “I need to talk to you,” Adam answered. “I talked to Hailey and we’re both gonna need money and soon.”

  “You could try getting a job,” Bob said.

  “As what, a grocery store clerk?”

  “It’s an honest living,” the older brother replied. “You’re a smart, educated man. You could work your way up.”

  “To what, become a store manager someday? I should have inherited enough so I wouldn’t have to work. It’s not fair that bitch gets it all!” Adam whined.

  “Christ, you should hear yourself,” Bob said with disgust.

  There was a long pause between them then Bob said, “I’ve been thinking it over and I have an idea to try. I’ll talk to Mackenzie, ‘that bitch’, tonight. There may be a way to get our share.”

  “Really? What, how?”

  Bob held up a hand, palm out, and said, “The less you know at this point the better. Let me talk to her and I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how it went, okay?”

  “Okay, great,” Adam replied.

  Mackenzie was seated on the sofa in the large living room quietly staring at the logs burning in the fireplace. She was in the Sutherland family homestead in the Crocus Hill area of St. Paul, a five bedroom, six bath, twelve room Tudor she inherited. Mackenzie never really liked the place and was going to be rid of it as soon as everything settled down. There wasn’t a mortgage on it and she figured another seven hundred grand easily. That should set off Bill’s kids, a thought that caused her to smile.

  Earlier that afternoon, she had received a call from the oldest Sutherland, Bob. Of the three of them, Bob was the only one she could barely tolerate. A little on the dull, boring, slow-witted side, he was at least employed and employable. The other two, Mackenzie believed, as did their father, were a waste of breathable air.

  She was dressed in a light gray, cotton skirt with pockets and a baby blue sweater. The day was cool and wet from a constant drizzle of rain coming down. Mackenzie checked her watch, saw that Bob was five minutes late, then heard the front doorbell ring.

  “Hello, Bob,” Mackenzie greeted him when she opened the door. “Please come in.”

  Bob followed Mackenzie into the house through the twelve-foot-wide foyer and onto the marble-tiled main floor. To their left was the living room with the fireplace against the exterior wall and the informal dining area by the patio doors. Directly ahead was the open stairway leading to the second-floor bedrooms. On their right was the formal dining room with the mahogany table set for ten people.

  “Let’s go into the living room. I have a fire going. I’ve been chilly all day. It’s June sixth and it just seems wrong to turn on the furnace in June,” Mackenzie said.

  You can certainly afford it, Bob thought.

  “Please, have a seat,” Mackenzie said indicating a Queen Anne that matched the sofa Mackenzie sat down upon. The chair was to the right of the fireplace and when Mackenzie sat on the couch, she was directly facing him.

  “What did you want to see me about?” Mackenzie asked as if she did not know.

  Bob hesitated for a moment, looked around the living room he knew so well then said, “I don’t think it’s right or fair that you inherited everything my parents worked for
and achieved.”

  Mackenzie sat quietly, her legs crossed at the ankles, her hands folded together in her lap.

  “It’s not right Mackenzie and you know it,” he repeated hoping for a better reaction.

  “It’s what your father decided. I don’t think you know this but he was not pleased with how the three of you turned out. You know what Adam and Hailey are like and you, quite frankly, he considered an underachiever. And after your mother died, he was sad, depressed and lonely. I brought him happiness the last few years of his life. Other than be born, what did the three of you do?”

  Bob, obviously taken aback by her stinging rebuke, sat angrily staring at her for several seconds. “That’s not true and you know it,” he finally said.

  “Do I?” Mackenzie laconically replied.

  Annoyed by Mackenzie’s seeming indifference and attitude, Bob leaned forward and stared at her. This posture actually impressed Mackenzie because she did not believe he had the backbone for it.

  “You murdered my father,” he said.

  “That’s quite an accusation,” Mackenzie calmly replied.

  Ignoring her non-denial, denial, Bob continued, “There was nothing wrong with his heart and there is no family history of heart problems.”

  “First of all, that’s not true about his heart being healthy which is obvious since he had a heart attack. Plus, there was an autopsy,” Mackenzie calmly reminded him.

  “I’ve been doing a little research. There are drugs that can induce a heart attack that would not be found in a routine autopsy,” Bob said.

  Mackenzie heartily laughed then said, “Chemistry was never my favorite subject. I wouldn’t know about such drugs.”

  “I’ve talked to a lawyer. He said we can have the body exhumed and another autopsy performed.”

  “Really?” Mackenzie said with a sly smile.

  “Yes, we can. And this time we’ll have them look for those drugs. Or…”

  “Or what?” she asked.

  “Or, you pay us, myself, Adam and Hailey our share of the sale of the business. I heard you got twenty-seven million. We each want two point seven million,” Bob said.

  “And if I don’t, you’ll dig up your father’s remains and try to prove I murdered him. But if I pay you the two point seven million, you’ll drop the whole thing. You believe I murdered your dad but you’re willing to let it slide for a total of eight point one million for the three of you.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Bob admitted thinking she was coming around.

  “Are you wearing a wire?” she asked.

  “A what? A wire? You mean like for the police to listen in?”

  “Yes, exactly. Are you wearing a wire?”

  “No, of course not,” he angrily proclaimed.

  “That’s good because you just admitted to a felony.”

  At that moment, Mackenzie shivered as if a chill had come over her.

  “Be a dear, Bob and stir the fire a bit, will you please?”

  “Sure,” he said. He stood up and took the iron, brass handled fireplace poker from its stand. He bent over the fireplace, his back to Mackenzie and stirred the logs sending sparks up the chimney and causing the fire to flare up.

  When he straightened up, he turned to find Mackenzie standing a few feet away, a pistol in her hand pointed at his chest.

  “What…” he started to say.

  Mackenzie fired the small handgun twice in rapid succession. The first bullet struck him in the sternum; the second went through his heart.

  The impact of the bullets drove him back into the side of the fireplace, crashing through the fireplace utensils and up against the bricks surrounding the fireplace. His heart was mangled and no longer beating but there was still enough oxygen in his brain to allow him to consciously wonder what happened and tell his lungs to breathe. Not yet dead, he stared at Mackenzie, an uncomprehending look on his face as he tried desperately to breathe and try to understand what just happened.

  Mackenzie stood watching him, waiting for him to die. Just before his lights went out, she leaned forward and said, “You should have kept a tighter leash on your brother.”

  When it was obvious he was dead, Mackenzie tossed the .38 Smith & Wesson snub nose revolver eight to ten feet to her right. She left it on the carpeting and walked into the dining room, pulled out a chair from the table, took out her phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!” Mackenzie frantically started when the 9-1-1 operator answered. “Please, help me! I, I, ah shot someone in my house. He was going to kill me. Please, send the police.”

  “Calm down, ma’am,” the operator coolly said.

  “I think he’s dead but maybe not. Please, send an ambulance,” she almost hysterically yelled. “He was so mad. He threatened me with a poker. A fireplace poker. Please hurry.”

  It took almost a minute for the operator to get a stammering and stuttering Mackenzie to give her the address. She assured Mackenzie help was on the way and the call ended.

  Mackenzie looked at her watch, waited a few seconds longer than two minutes then dialed a number off of a business card she held. The phone was answered on the second ring and Mackenzie repeated her performance for Marc Kadella.

  Twenty minutes later Marc parked on the street several houses down from the Sutherland’s. Being Crocus Hill, an area of St. Paul with more money than most, the cops were there in force. There were at least six squad cars, an ambulance and a vehicle from the medical examiner’s office. Marc would have to walk up the sidewalk in the rain to get to the house.

  On his way he was stopped three times before finally reaching the front door. Each time he politely explained to the officer who he was and that he was there for his client. Marc also told each of them to keep an eye open for a tall, attractive, brunette woman, a private investigator that worked for him and would be arriving any minute.

  Marc entered the house and saw Mackenzie sitting meekly to his right in the dining room. She was by herself and looking very frightened about the chaos taking place in her house. Marc waved to her which caused her to slightly smile as if in relief. He held up an index finger to her to indicate he would be with her in a minute. Marc then found the detective in charge and introduced himself.

  “I don’t want anything moved or disturbed, detective,” Marc told her. “I have an investigator coming and I’ll want pictures myself.”

  “No problem, counselor,” Anna Finney politely replied.

  “Did you try to question my client?”

  “When we first got here, yeah,” she said. “She told us she had called a lawyer, he was on the way and he had told her not to talk to anyone or answer any questions. So, we left her alone in the other room.”

  “Okay,” Marc said. “Let me go talk to her then I’ll find you.”

  Another cop tapped him on the shoulder and Marc turned around to face him. He was the officer guarding the front door.

  “Your P.I. is here and you weren’t exaggerating. Can I get her phone number?” the man asked.

  “You’ll have to ask her,” Marc smiled.

  “I’m afraid to try. She’ll probably laugh,” the cop said.

  “Let her in, please,” Marc said shaking his head at the ‘Madeline effect’.

  Madeline Rivers came striding up to him a few seconds later.

  “I hate her already,” Anna Finney whispered to Marc when she saw Maddy coming.

  “Maddy Rivers, Detective Finney,” Marc said introducing them. The women shook hands and Maddy produced an excellent Nikon digital camera from a bag.

  “Don’t disturb anything but take all the pictures you need,” Finney told her.

  While Maddy began taking photos Marc went into the dining room to talk to Mackenzie. As soon as he reached her, she stood, threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing.

  Marc managed to calm her down and over the next twenty minutes, while Marc asked questions to steer her through it, Mackenzie told him her version of what happened. Just a
s they were finishing, Maddy joined them. Marc introduced the two women.

  “Did you get everything?” Marc asked.

  “Yeah and I did a video of the room with my phone,” Maddy said. Maddy had taken a chair next to Mackenzie and placed her hand on one of Mackenzie’s. She then politely asked, “Were the two of you in any other room that I should photograph?”

  “No, um, just the living room,” Mackenzie replied. “We went there after I let him in.”

  “Okay,” Maddy smiled.

  “Wait here,” Marc told the two women.

  He walked back to the living room and found Finney and her partner together. Finney introduced them then Marc said, “We have a self-defense case here…”

  “Good, we’ll talk to her now,” Finney’s partner, Dale Kubik said.

  “No, you won’t. I’ll bring her to the police department tomorrow morning. How’s ten o’clock sound?”

  “Fine,” Finney politely replied.

  “That’s nice of her,” Kubik sarcastically interjected.

  “I’d like someone from the county attorney’s office present,” Marc continued ignoring the snide comment from Kubik.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Finney replied. “We’ll see you then. Ask for me when you get there,” she said and handed Marc her card.

  Marc went back into the living room and told Maddy and Mackenzie about the next day’s meeting.

  “I don’t want to stay here tonight,” Mackenzie said.

  “Will you take her to a hotel for me?” Marc asked Maddy, thinking it would not be a good idea for him to do it.

  “Sure,” Maddy said. “There’s the St. Paul Hotel or Crowne Plaza downtown. Which one?” she asked Mackenzie.

  “Either is fine. Let me pack a bag.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” Marc said.

  SEVEN

  “You made the paper again today,” Carolyn told Marc as he came strolling into the office.