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

by Dennis Carstens

  “That poor kid,” she almost whispered. “The waiter. He didn’t deserve to die for what he did.” In the transcript, there was a mention of the waiter Dernov bribed then murdered.

  Marc took over and explained to her the source of the transcript and their recent trip back East.

  “So, where are we? That,” she said tapping the transcript, “doesn’t prove anything. If they won’t verify it, where does that leave me?’

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Tony said taking her hand in his. “We’ve got some cards to play.”

  “How are things in here?” Marc asked.

  “Okay,” she shrugged. “I haven’t told you this, but they’re kind of afraid of me. The Carl Fornich story has made its way through the grapevine and well, most of the inmates want me on their side.”

  Marc and Tony hung around for another hour making small talk including their plans. Hugs and teary eyes came again, as they said their goodbyes. On the walk to Tony’s car, he made a phone call to Owen Jefferson to set up a meeting.

  About the same time Marc and Tony were meeting with Maddy, Vivian’s Cadillac limo was pulling into the driveway of the Governor’s Mansion on Summit Avenue in St. Paul. Vivian had called Governor Ted Dahlstrom on his private line when she returned from Teterboro. While her driver pulled the car into a parking spot, the governor’s chief-of-staff hurried out to greet her.

  “Hello, Laurie,” Vivian said as she exited the car and shook hands with the woman, Laurie Anderson.

  “Hello, Mrs. Donahue. It’s nice to see you again. He’s waiting upstairs for you. Please, follow me.”

  A minute later, Anderson opened a door to the study in the mansion’s living quarters. Vivian went in, Anderson followed and Governor Dahlstrom, seated on a sofa, rose to greet Vivian. Dahlstrom escorted Vivian to a sofa opposite the one he returned to and his chief-of-staff sat next to him.

  “You said you wanted to see me about your friend, Madeline Rivers. I’m not sure…” Dahlstrom started to say.

  “Ted, read this first,” Vivian interrupted him as she handed over a copy of the transcript.

  When he finished, he handed it to Anderson and asked, “Where did you get this?”

  “A friend of a friend. That’s not important. It is an authentic transcript of a legal, federal wiretap of Russian gangsters in New York. Maddy Rivers is innocent. We have an innocent woman in prison,” Vivian said.

  “Are you looking for a pardon?” Dahlstrom asked. “If so, there are procedures…”

  “No, not yet,” Vivian said shaking her head. “Besides, doesn’t a pardon require an admission of guilt?”

  “Normally, yes,” Dahlstrom said. “What do you think?” Dahlstrom asked Anderson, who was also a lawyer.

  “Well,” she began, “I’m not sure this by itself is enough. I think you’ll need some corroboration from the feds.”

  “We know,” Vivian said. “This could get political, Ted. That’s why I’m here. You’re the governor and not without political clout. I guess I’m just giving you a heads up and lining up resources. We may need your help.”

  “Are you absolutely certain this is genuine,” Dahlstrom asked referring to the wiretap.

  “Yes, and that’s all I can tell you for now,” Vivian replied.

  “Good enough. Let me know if there is anything I can do. I owe you a lot and I don’t forget my friends.”

  “You don’t owe me anything and I wouldn’t come to you if I wasn’t absolutely certain. But thank you, Governor. I appreciate it,” Vivian told him.

  “Mike Anderson, Holly Byrnes, this is Tony Carvelli,” Owen Jefferson said introducing them to each other. “You remember my partner, Marcie Sterling?” Jefferson asked Anderson and Byrnes.

  “Sure,” Anderson said shaking her hand. “I may have creeping old age but it’s only been a couple of days.”

  The five of them were in a conference room of the FBI office in Brooklyn Center north of downtown. Jefferson had arranged this meeting at Carvelli’s request.

  “Carvelli is ex-MPD. If you ask him he’ll brag about what a great detective he was. He’s retired and works private now. He has something you need to see,” Jefferson said.

  “Please take a few minutes to read this,” Carvelli said as he handed a copy of the transcript to each of the FBI agents. “It’s pretty much self-explanatory.”

  When they finished Anderson handed his copy back to Carvelli and said, “So what? How do we know…”

  “Mike,” Jefferson interrupted him. “It’s time to stop the bullshit. We know you were investigating CAR Securities. We know Robert Judd was in Witsec hiding from the Russians. We believe Judd was working with you at the time of his murder. The whole CAR Securities investigation blew up this past weekend.”

  “We need to get this transcript authenticated. You can do that and help us get an innocent woman out of prison,” Carvelli said.

  Anderson turned to look at Holly who silently looked back at him. He turned back to Carvelli and said, “Give us a minute.”

  After Carvelli and the MPD detectives left the room, Mike and Holly conversed quietly for a few minutes. When they finished, Anderson brought the Minneapolis cops and Carvelli back in.

  Still standing, Anderson said, “I can’t help you. I need to use the john. I’ll be right back.”

  “I might be able to do something,” Holly said after Anderson left. “I have an ex-boyfriend back in New York. We’re still on good terms. I can check with him.

  “Mike and I talked. The U.S. Attorney’s office here and the people in Washington aren’t gonna like it. You might want to think about going public with this to put some heat on them. I’ll call my friend in New York and get back to you.”

  “Great. Thanks, Holly,” Carvelli said.

  “You can let Mike back in now. He needed deniability,” Holly said.

  “It won’t work,” Jefferson said.

  “He knows. But this CAR investigation has turned into such a shit storm we might as well do something good out of it,” Holly said.

  “How was she?” Gabriella Shriqui asked Marc.

  Marc was seated in a chair at the Channel 8 station having makeup applied. Gabriella’s local show, The Court Reporter, aired at 4:00 P.M. Normally the show would be taped ahead of time. Marc had called her with his news and they would do the show live today, instead.

  “She’s good. We cheered her up. She looks forward to your visits. I’m glad you get out there as much as you do,” Marc replied.

  “She’s my best friend, my pal and I love her. I’m totally psyched about your news. We’ll get her out. I just know it,” Gabriella said.

  “Good afternoon,” Gabriella said staring into camera one. “I’m Gabriella Shriqui and this is The Court Reporter. We’re doing the show live today because I have a very special guest. He is local defense attorney, Marc Kadella.

  “As you may recall, Marc is the lawyer who represented Madeline Rivers in her trial for the murder of her boyfriend, Robert Judd. Robert Judd was an employee of CAR Securities. That is the same CAR Securities whose principal owners were themselves murdered this past weekend.

  “Mr. Kadella has an amazing story to tell us about a government investigation gone awry, a murder for hire, Russian gangs and witness protection.”

  The actual amount of air time for a thirty-minute show is only twenty-two minutes. Marc and Gabriella rehearsed the interview twice and were barely able to get an overview of the case out within the twenty-two-minute time frame. Because of this Marc had set up interviews with two print journalists for later at his office. Separately he was interviewed by a reporter from both the Minneapolis Star Tribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press. Both papers ran the more in-depth stories on their front page the next morning. Later that same day, there was a meeting that took place at the Governor’s Mansion in St. Paul. In attendance were the local U.S. Attorney Winston Paine and his assistant Joel Dylan. From the FBI were Mike Anderson and Holly Byrnes. Also attending from Washington was As
sistant Attorney General, Loretta Palmer, and from the FBI, Assistant Director Blake Opperman, both of whom had flown into the Twin Cities together that morning.

  At the head of the table acting as a quasi-mediator was Governor Dahlstrom. Across from the contingent of federal employees were Marc Kadella, Connie Mickelson and Julian Bronfman.

  The final two attendees at the meeting were the representatives from the Hennepin County Attorney’s office, Steve Gondeck and the woman handling the appeal of Maddy’s case, Nancy Soli.

  Before the meeting, Holly Byrnes had provided everyone with verification that the transcript was, in fact, valid. With Holly’s assurance of anonymity, her ex-boyfriend FBI agent had provided her with that verification.

  To say the meeting was acrimonious would be to describe the ocean as being kind of wet. Ted Dahlstrom, being the veteran politician that he was, managed to get things calmed down. By the end, the feds admitted the transcript was accurate and the Hennepin County Attorney’s office agreed to have Maddy’s case remanded back to Judge Graham. They would then agree to have the verdict set aside, the court file sealed and Madeline Rivers set free.

  After the meeting, Governor Dahlstrom, with everyone in attendance, held an impromptu press conference. He started by issuing an emphatic statement to the effect that all parties agreed Madeline Rivers was not only not guilty but totally innocent of the death of Robert Judd. Both the Assistant A.G. and Assistant FBI Director made brief statements corroborating this conclusion.

  Two weeks later— nothing in the U.S. court system moves with lightning speed — Maddy Rivers walked out of the Shakopee Women’s Detention Center. Vivian Donahue, in her chauffeured Cadillac, was there with Gabriella to get her. Of course, they went immediately to a celebratory party at the office of her lawyers and friends.

  A few days later, Candace Green, head of the Minneapolis office of the DEA, met with Winston Paine. Joel Dylan, Mike Anderson and Holly Byrnes were all there.

  Candace brought great news with her. The DEA had informants in the Del Sur Cartel. The coup that had brought about the demise of the psychopath, Javier Ruiz Torres, was leaked to the DEA agents by those informants in Mexico. They also found out about the gory end of Victor Espinosa and Pablo Quinones. These informants were highly placed in the cartel. If an infusion of three billion dollars had come their way, they would have known about it. For now, the CAR Securities money was gone.

  “At least a drug cartel didn’t get it,” an obviously relieved Winston Paine had declared.

  It would take another eight months and thousands and thousands of man hours to do it, but the money would be tracked down. Walter Pascal had scammed his partners. The money was supposed to make a dozen transfers between banks located in unfriendly countries. It was to have ended up divided into five equal parts into five separate accounts in five different banks. Walter had come up with a clever and well-hidden way for all of the money to make one more jump. A transfer back into one account in his name only. Once the feds were able to track it down, pressure from high up in the federal government and the State Department got almost all of it back. There were some very happy federal authorities and rich investors at the end of the trail.

  Several days after the Governor’s news conference, the story was on page three of the Miami Herald. Sitting in a beachfront, padded lounge chair, Charlie Dudek found the story in the paper. He read through the article several times that day and each time smiled to himself at the thought of Maddy Rivers being released from prison.

  Coming Fall 2017

  Political Justice

  A Marc Kadella legal mystery

  Dennis L. Carstens

  Additional Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries

  The Key To Justice

  Desperate Justice

  Media Justice

  Certain Justice

  Personal Justice

  Delayed Justice

  An Excerpt From Political Justice

  ONE

  FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

  “It’s okay, really, I understand,” Mickey O’Herlihy said into his office phone. “It’s no big deal. I’ll find someone else to go with. I’m not even sure how bad I want to go.”

  He listened for a moment then continued by saying, “Be careful and I’ll talk to you later.”

  He replaced the phone in its cradle then picked up the two tickets lying on the pad covering the middle of his desk. Mickey swiveled around in his chair and looked out the window behind his matching walnut credenza. October in Minnesota can be a gift from the weather gods and this one was especially delightful. Mickey continued to stare out the window, out past Snelling Avenue at the steady stream of traffic. He looked at the two tickets, then the political yard signs across the street.

  “Does it ever end anymore?” he quietly asked himself.

  Even though it was an odd-numbered year, the political season was not taking a break. St. Paul’s city council and mayoral race were in full swing. The local populace was, once again, being bombarded with unsightly political signs, barely honest TV and radio ads and it was about to get exponentially worse. Next year was the quadrennial presidential election. In fact, in Minnesota’s neighbor to the south, Iowa, it had been going on for months, a thought which brought Mickey back to the two tickets.

  Michael ‘Mickey’ O’Herlihy was an institution in the Twin Cities. In his early seventies, he had been a very successful lawyer for almost fifty years, practicing in both St. Paul and Minneapolis. In the legal and political community of both cities, Mickey O’Herlihy was like Cher; only one name was necessary to identify him. If anyone in either the legal or political world used the names Mickey or The Mick, everyone understood it referred to only one person and no identifying explanation was necessary.

  Mickey was also an Irishman’s Irishman. At five feet nine inches, with his slight build, smiling blue-eyes and Irish red hair, which was now gone mostly gray, Mickey could have played the part of a leprechaun. Underneath that Irish charm and affable exterior was the heart, mind and soul of a courtroom killer. Mickey received almost sexual gratification from turning a prosecution witness, especially a cop, into a confused fool. Despite this, even cops and prosecutors liked and certainly respected the man.

  Mickey had also planted legal seeds all over the Cities. Like a very highly respected Super Bowl winning coach, Mickey had mentored many young lawyers over the years. He would bring one on for a couple of years, teach him or her the reality of the practice of law and trial work then turn them loose. They, in turn, had gone on to ‘coach’ other lawyers. The local legal talent that had branched out from Mickey’s family tree had to be in the hundreds.

  Mickey’s office was located on Snelling and Kincaid Avenues, two blocks south of another institution of even longer standing than Mickey, O’Gara’s pub on the corner of Snelling and Selby. Opened just a few years before Mickey came into the world, 1941, Mickey and his favorite watering-hole were growing old together.

  Mickey owned what had been a six-unit apartment. It had been deeded to him by a client for his representation who was currently doing a minimum of thirty years as a guest of the State of Minnesota. This particular client, a very shady businessman, had decided a divorce would be too costly. His wife’s untimely demise would be quicker, more efficient and let him get on with his life and girlfriend. The idiot told the girlfriend, the girlfriend told the cops and Mickey got the apartment. It was a small, three-story that Mickey had converted. He turned the two units on the third floor into one large apartment for himself. He made the second floor into his law firm office and the first floor into rental space for two other small law firms whose monthly rent checks were a nice source of cash flow.

  In back was a parking lot large enough for a dozen cars. Mickey had a one-car garage built on the lot for his Cadillac. While it was being constructed, an inspector from the city showed up. He shut down construction of Mickey’s garage and started issuing citations because Mickey had not bothered with permits, inspections or any of th
e local bureaucratic nuisances normally required, not only for the garage being built but for all of the renovations done inside the building. The Mick made one phone call to his good friend and one-time protégé, the current mayor of St. Paul, Kevin Stevens. Mickey then tore up the citations in front of the now apoplectic inspector. The next day that inspector was reassigned to building inspections in St. Paul’s low-income ghetto. Mickey’s garage was completed without further ado.

  Over the course of his career, Mickey had made millions. Not from his first love, criminal defense, but from personal injury cases. Unfortunately, four marriages had taken their toll on Mickey’s money. The small apartment office was about all he had left. Mickey liked to joke that he had spent half his money on booze and women, the rest he just wasted.

  Mickey O’Herlihy was a Twin Cities institution.

  The young lawyer Mickey was currently mentoring was a man by the name of Marc Kadella. Marc had been recommended to Mickey by a former protégé about a year ago. Kadella had gone to work for an insurance defense firm right out of law school. The money was very good but after almost three years with them, he could barely remember what his children looked like and he had yet to meet a live client or see the inside of a courtroom. Kadella talked it over with his wife, Karen, who surprised him by being totally behind the move. Apparently she was willing to take the pay cut to end her status as a single mom. Besides, between what Mickey paid him and what he made from his own cases, the pay cut was not as bad as it at first seemed. On top of that, Mickey O’Herlihy saw the potential of a first class trial lawyer.

  “Hey, Marc, what are you up to this evening?”