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.
With that, Marc hurried up the sidewalk and into the house where Floyd was holding the door for him. Once inside he greeted an angry Floyd and frightened Barbara.
“Sorry,” Marc said as they all took seats in the living room. “I didn’t mean to get them riled up.”
“Are you all right?” Barbara asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. They’ll have something to show on the news tonight,” he added indicating the events outside. “I can just hear them now,” he continued mocking the voice of an anchor. “We, of course, the members of the media, strongly condemn this type of behavior even though we do everything we can to help create it and film it so we can bring it to you for higher ratings to make more money.”
His mocking of the phony piety of reporters brought a hearty laugh to both Barbara and Floyd.
“The reason I stopped by is, I have great news,” Marc said turning serious. “We are going to get Brittany out on bail.”
“Oh, my God, how? I mean that’s wonderful!” Barbara exclaimed.
“When?” Floyd asked.
“Tomorrow,” Marc replied. “We’re getting the money together.”
“Where is the money coming from? Who is doing this?” Barbara asked.
“For now, this person wants to remain anonymous.” His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. Seeing who it was, he figured it was important. “I need to take this,” he told the Rileys.
He listened to the caller for almost a minute then quietly said, “Thanks, Carolyn. I’ll be back in a while.” He ended the call and said to the Rileys, “Turn the TV on. That was my office. The news is reporting that the grand jury has returned an indictment.”
Barbara picked up a remote and turned on the flat screen in the corner of the room. She found a local channel with the news being reported. An attractive middle aged man with a perfectly styled full head of blow dried hair and brilliantly white, capped teeth was solemnly reading the news.
“Again, we have been informed that Brittany Riley, the young mother who allegedly murdered her daughter, (a picture of Becky came on the split screen) has been indicted with several counts of first and second degree murder. We’ll pass along more information as it becomes available.”
While Marc was driving back to his office in Minneapolis, he became curious about something. He took out his phone, found the number he wanted in his cell log and dialed it. Before the second ring had finished, it was answered.
“Hi, Marc,” Gabriella answered. “What can I do for you?”
“I saw the midday news show and your anchor reported the indictment of Brittany. I was wondering, did the station receive a copy of it or were you just tipped by a leak?”
“Ah, I’m not sure…”
“I’m not asking for your source, Gabriella. I just want to know if you got a physical copy of the indictment itself.”
Gabriella, sitting at her desk in her cubicle, looked around to make sure no one was listening. Satisfied and realizing what the lawyer was asking for was harmless, she said, in a whisper, “We got a copy of it by fax. I think it came in around 11:00. Why?”
“I thought so,” Marc said, the annoyance obvious in his voice. “I still don’t have it. I first heard about it from one of the women in my office who saw it on TV. Then I saw it on TV. So, once again, the media gets important information about my client’s case before I do.”
“Sorry, Marc,” Gabriella said.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Listen, thanks. I have to go.”
“You owe me one,” Gabriella said.
“No, I don’t,” Marc laughed. “Bye, Gabriella.”
“This just came by messenger,” Sandy said as she handed Marc a large manila envelope when he returned to his office.
Sandy had already sliced open the envelope and, as Marc pulled the document out of it, he looked around the office and said, “Where is everybody?”
“Chris is at a real estate closing. Barry and Connie are in court; Carolyn is in the ladies’ room and Jeff is off this afternoon,” Sandy answered.
“Oh, okay,” Marc muttered while he paged through the indictment.
“And here’s a message for you. It says it’s urgent and to call him right away. It’s from a Lowell Vanderbeck of the Minnesota Attorney General’s office.”
Marc took the message slip from Sandy and with a puzzled look, asked, “What did he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
Marc went into his office, closed the door behind him and called the lawyer back.
Vanderbeck’s secretary put him on hold which lasted over a very long minute while he waited listening to ear aching bad music. Finally, he heard a nasally voice that came across as a bit annoying.
“Thank you for calling,” Vanderbeck said. “I just wanted to let you know the attorney general’s office has taken over the prosecution of your client, Brittany Riley.”
“Really?” a surprised Marc responded. “How come?”
“Well, ah, that’s not something I care to go into,” Vanderbeck said. “Your client is set to be arraigned tomorrow at 1:00 on the full indictment. Are you aware of that?”
“Yes, I got the arraignment notice delivered with the indictment just now.”
“We can postpone if you need to. I realize it’s pretty short notice,” Vanderbeck said.
“No, let’s not. 1:00 tomorrow is fine. Are we still in front of Judge Connors?”
“Yes, as far as I know he is still assigned to the case. Personally, I don’t know anything about him.”
“He hates prosecutors and thinks all cops are lying assholes,” Marc said looking for a reaction. After twenty seconds of total silence between them, Marc said, “Are you still there?”
“Um, yes, I am,” Vanderbeck meekly replied.
“I’m kidding. I don’t know much about him either except so far on this case he’s been pretty straight.”
“Oh, good. Well, um, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“One other thing,” Marc said. “Are the leaks of evidence and discovery material to the media going to continue?”
“I resent that,” Vanderbeck said. “We do not try our cases in the media!”
“I’m glad to hear that. Is that a yes or a no?” Marc asked.
“I will see you tomorrow,” Vanderbeck icily answered and hung up.
Marc replaced the phone and chuckled at how easily he had jerked the man’s chain.
Marc leaned back in his chair, slipped his shoes of
f, placed his stocking feet on his desk top and began reading through the indictment.
There were five charges in total. The big ones were two first degree murder charges, a single second degree and a third degree murder charge. Also, the original charge of child neglect was included as well.
The indictment was basically a list of each charge and a statement of the facts of the case the prosecution believed supported a finding of guilt on each one. The document itself was barely ten pages which was an indication, Marc believed, of how thin their case was and what little evidence they had. The most significant fact that was missing was the cause of death. The reality was they had no idea how this child died.
“Hey,” he heard a voice say and he looked up to find his friend and officemate, Barry Cline, standing in his doorway.
“You know a guy in the AG’s office named…,” Marc paused to read the name from Sandy’s message slip, “Lowell Vanderbeck?”
“Nope,” Barry said. “Sounds like an East coast, old-money name.”
At that moment, Connie Mickelson crowded in and Marc asked her the same question to which she also replied negatively.
“Why would the AG’s office take over the prosecution?” Marc asked them both.
“Publicity,” Connie replied. “A high profile case like this will get Peterson’s picture in the paper a lot. Don’t ever get between that woman and a camera. The word is she’s going to run for governor next time around.”
Marc dropped his feet off of the desk, stood and held the indictment out for Barry. “Read this and let me know what you think.”
“Make a copy for me too,” Connie said.
Ten minutes later, having read the document through, they both took seats in Marc’s office.
“It’s probably a decent circumstantial case except for…” Barry began.
“No cause of death,” Connie finished.
“Thanks,” Marc said. “That’s what I thought too.”
“Juries have convicted on less,” Barry reminded him.
“I know,” Marc sighed. “Hell, she’s already been convicted.”
Connie and Barry left and a few minutes later Marc opened his computer file of clients to find a phone number. The number he was looking for was for a client by the name of Butch Koll. Butch had been involved with a gangster named Leo Balkus. While doing a little collection work for Leo, he had been at the scene when his fellow thug, Ike Pitts, had inadvertently killed a man. In fact, the man Pitts had accidentally killed on behalf of his gangster boss was the nephew of Vivian Donahue. Marc had represented Butch and had done a good job for him despite the crooked judge and Butch would be forever grateful.
Marc found it, dialed and Butch answered with a cheerful, “Hey counselor, how’ve you been?”
“Good Butch, listen,” Marc continued, “I need a favor from you.”
“Name it, Marc. You got it. I’ve been seeing you on the news lately, helping that young girl.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. I need some security for her. Tomorrow.”
“When and where?” Butch asked. “Whatever you need.”
“Here’s the deal,” Marc said. “I need a couple of big guys to run interference for her. We’re getting her bailed out of jail tomorrow. Keep that to yourself. I’m expecting a big crowd so, I’m guessing I’ll need some help just getting her to a car to get her home. I’ll even toss you a couple hundred bucks cash for the afternoon. It shouldn’t be that big a deal. I just don’t think the cops will be much help. Do you know somebody who can lend a hand?”
“Yeah, I know a guy. Maybe a little bigger than me. He’d do it. Can I tell him two hundred cash?”
“Sure. Is he reliable? Will he keep cool if he’s hassled?”
“Yeah, he’s good. I’ve worked a couple of concerts with him. Nothing fazes this guy.”
“Perfect. You know where the Dakota County Government Center is in Hastings?”
“No, now that you mention it, I don’t. I’ve been through Hastings a few times but never been to court out there. What’s the address? I’ll look it up and find it.”
Marc gave him the address and told him to be there by 1:00. Butch gave Marc the second man’s name, Andy Whitman, then ended the call.
When Vanderbeck hung up the phone after talking to the defense lawyer he opened the door of his private bathroom and went inside. He checked himself in the mirror and unnecessarily tightened the knot of his four hundred dollar tie. While leaving his corner office, he slipped into his Brooks Brother’s suit coat and headed toward the press briefing room.
Barry Cline had been absolutely correct. Vanderbeck was from East Coast old money. At least his lineage was East Coast money. A long succession of inept Vanderbeck men, including, if not especially, his father and grandfather, had squandered the money part of the East Coast old money heritage.
Lowell, as he preferred, had moved to Minnesota after graduation from Dartmouth for the sensible reason that his wife’s wealthy family was here. Tall and good looking, charming when necessary, he had landed Victoria his senior year and upon graduation, they married after Lowell found out about her very substantial trust fund.
Nearing forty and with the obligatory two children produced, he saw his job as Chief Deputy in the Attorney General’s office as a potential escape route. He secretly loathed Minnesota as a backwater, provincial hell and would use politics to force his wife out of here. She loved the place, especially winter and since it was her money, a divorce was not an option.
Vanderbeck joined Anne Peterson, the Attorney General, on the dais for the press conference. First off, Peterson made a brief statement about the AG taking over the Riley case. The reason she gave was the significance of the case and the resources of her office would make certain that justice would be done. While she said these things, LeAnne Miller, the Dakota County Attorney looked on and did her best to act as if she agreed, even making a statement of her own supporting the decision. Vanderbeck and Danica Hart were both introduced as the lawyers who would try the case. Then Peterson spent twenty minutes in front of the cameras taking questions and acting as if this was all being done for the people of Minnesota.
Marc Kadella would later, somewhat cynically, remember how phony he believed the whole thing was.
THIRTY SIX
Madeline Rivers, dressed for court, walked a couple of steps ahead of Marc as the two of them made their way toward the courtroom door. There was at least a hundred people milling about in the hallway, disappointed and grumbling about being refused admission. How these people always managed to find out about these hearings was a mystery to Marc. Maddy, sporting a grim look of determination, marched straight toward the double doors where the two deputies stood guard. Marc, along with Butch Koll and his friend Andy Whitman, followed right behind her. Butch was a six foot four inch two hundred forty pound weight lifter and he looked small next to Andy. Butch had suggested that he and Andy lead the way through the crowd but Maddy assured them that wouldn’t be necessary. Not with these people at least. Marc followed right behind her. He had his briefcase in hand wearing his best suit, the charcoal gray Armani with light blue pinstripes and acting as if this was all routine business. Suppressing a laugh, he watched as the mob silently parted to allow the dazzling Ms. Rivers to march past them. Without a word and without breaking stride, Maddy smiled at one of the deputies who opened the door for her as she marched into the courtroom with Marc on her heels.
“That’s too much fun to watch you do that,” Marc whispered to her.
The two of them went through the gate and took the table on the right hand side of the courtroom. The first row of the gallery on that side of the room had been reserved for the defense, mostly for family of the defendant. Butch and Andy slid into it next to the Rileys who looked at the two large men with trepidation in their eyes. Marc turned around in his chair and leaned over the rail to talk to Barbara, Floyd and Tim, who was far more interested in Maddy than what Marc had to say about his sister. He in
troduced Butch and Andy and briefly explained again, what would happen today.
Marc took a moment to look over the crowd. Seated behind the Rileys were the fortunate few court junkies who had managed to get seats. On the other side of the aisle were the media members. He looked up at the camera on the back wall and noticed the little red light was not on. Whoever was remotely operating it was apparently waiting for the judge to come out.
Marc turned back around and pushed his chair up to the defense table. As he did so the door behind the judge’s bench opened and two people, a man and a woman came into the courtroom.
They were both very well dressed, carrying briefcases and obviously lawyers. The man was about six feet, around forty years old, a full head of hair and could pass for a TV news anchor. The woman was a little older, had short brown hair and dressed conservatively in a navy blue matching blazer and skirt. They both put their briefcases on the other table and walked toward Marc.
Marc stood and the three of them introduced themselves. They were the lawyers from the attorney general’s office who had taken over the case. The man explained to Marc that they had been in chambers with Judge Connors to let him know what was going on with the prosecution and the AG’s office was handling it. Clearly, Lowell Vanderbeck was quite impressed with himself.
“That’s interesting. I’ll tell you what Lowell,” Marc said with a sarcastic smile. “I don’t care who you are or who you work for. If you ever talk to the judge again without me being there, I’ll have your ass up on charges before the Office of Professional Responsibility faster than you can say ‘bad publicity’.”
“Well, ah, I didn’t think…”
“That’s obvious,” Marc said. “Don’t do it again.”
The woman with him, Danica Hart, was trying hard not to smile while this exchange took place and Marc noticed it. Annoyed, Vanderbeck turned and went back to his table. As he did this, Hart stepped up to Marc and whispered, “I warned him.” She then turned and joined the chastened Vanderbeck at their table.
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