Media Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Now what?” Marc said while putting on his shorts and undershirt.

  I told her we’d call her tomorrow. I filled her in on the trial and she said she’d be happy to testify but she has no money to get here…”

  “No problem. We’ll take care of it.”

  “I told her that. But she can’t come back until next week. Her dad’s going in the hospital for more treatment. Cancer.”

  “I remember. Next week will be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll call her from my office. Nice job sweetheart. I owe you one.”

  “Did you remember to add her name to your witness list?”

  Marc paused for a second thinking then said, “Yes I did. I remember it now. I remember thinking it over and decided to put her on the list.”

  “All right! Talk to you tomorrow.”

  FIFTY EIGHT

  Marc and Madeline arrived at Marc’s office simultaneously, Maddy driving into the lot right behind him. It was just before 10:00 A.M. and the air temperature was warmed to a plus twenty. The sun was shining brilliantly, there wasn’t a hint of a breeze and it was predicted to be a very pleasant winter day. It was the sort of day the natives broke their cabin fever and got out to enjoy. Of course, because it was so nice out, the semi-professional protestors were slowly parading around the front and side of the building.

  When Marc drove past them he noticed a CNN van and camera crew conducting interviews on the sidewalk. A couple of the protestors saw him and pointed him out to the reporter as Marc pulled into the lot behind the building. Maddy parked next to him and the two of them walked toward the back door and saw the camera crew already waiting for them.

  Marc was dressed in jeans, sneakers, a light sweater and a modest winter jacket. No hat, no gloves, no scarf. Maddy was similarly dressed except she was wearing four-inch heeled, suede half boots with a light blue silk scarf stylishly draped around her neck. Seeing the reporter waiting for them at the building’s back door, Marc almost started laughing.

  When they got close enough to be heard, before the reporter could ask a question, Marc said, “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You must be Nanook of New Jersey.”

  The man was dressed as if he was starting out on the Iditarod dog sled race. He was wearing a fur lined Elmer Fudd hat with the ear flaps down, a heavy wool scarf, insulated and hooded winter coat, large fur-lined mittens and insulated, heavy boots that came up to mid-calf.

  “How did you know I’m from New Jersey?” the man asked.

  Ignoring the question, Marc said to Maddy, “Notice the dull, drab, pathetic look of the East Coast candy ass whiner.”

  Maddy laughed then said, “Very similar to its close cousin, the West Coast candy ass whiner.

  “Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. At least we’re not crazy enough to live here in this frozen wilderness,” the reporter said.

  “He’s got us there,” Maddy said to Marc.

  “Excellent point for which we have no explanation. Are you filming all of this?” Marc asked the cameraman who nodded his head to indicate he was.

  “After taking that shot at you I suppose we could give you a couple of minutes,” Marc said.

  While the protestors stood a respectful distance away and watched, Marc politely answered a few questions. Most of them were innocuous nonsense. The few that were pertinent were mostly answered with a no comment or an extremely vague answer. The whole thing took less than ten minutes. The reporter’s main interest was getting Marc to give an opinion about the trial. Of course, all he would say is that it is still too early to tell.

  “Do you realize that conventional wisdom has it that you’re way behind and seem to be over your head?”

  “Conventional wisdom,” Marc laughed. “That’s an interesting phrase to describe the media in this country. I’m not sure I’d use the word wisdom when describing how they cover trials. But, they’re certainly entitled to their opinion. Look, I really have to go.”

  While the interview was taking place, every time the reporter was speaking while he asked a question the cameraman would aim the camera at Madeline. After the third time she scratched her nose with the middle finger of her left hand. The man got the message and stopped doing it.

  While Marc and Maddy walked up the back stairs to his office, Maddy asked him, “Do you think he’ll play it straight?”

  “Who knows and who cares?”

  “I can see it now, ‘Brittany Riley’s lawyer thinks the media are all idiots’.”

  Marc stopped on the next to last step, looked at her and said, “How could that hurt me?”

  Marc’s desk phone was set on speaker so both of them could listen and converse. Maddy made the call and after the fourth ring Marc asked, “You’re sure it’s not too early out there?”

  “No, she said…” Maddy stopped when the voice of a young woman said hello.

  “Hi, Julie, this is Maddy Rivers.”

  “Morning, Maddy.”

  “I’m with Brittany’s lawyer, Marc Kadella in his office.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hello, Julie. This is Marc. How are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Kadella.”

  “Please, call me Marc.”

  The three of them went over the conversation Maddy and Julie had the previous evening. Julie reaffirmed that she recognized the man in the drawing having seen him a couple of times in mid-July at Macy’s. When Marc gently pressed her about the time when this happened, she was certain because it was shortly before she quit working there. It was at this time she found out her father had cancer and she went home to be there for him and to help her mother.

  Julie was not only willing to testify for Brittany but quite eager. She said she was absolutely certain Brittany could not have done something so horrible. Marc assured her he would take care of all of her travel arrangements and expenses and he made sure she had his office and cell numbers before ending the call.

  “Julie, one last thing, I don’t want you talking to anyone about this. If it leaks to the press, they will be all over you and your family. Just keep it to yourself for now.”

  Julie agreed and they ended the call.

  “What do you think?” Marc asked Maddy.

  “She didn’t vary a bit from what she told me last night.”

  “She sounds credible.”

  “They’ll go after her,” Maddy said referring to the prosecution.

  “I know. I’ll have Jeff do a thorough background search on her including Facebook and all of that other internet nonsense.”

  “It’s amazing what some of these kids put out there for the world to see.”

  “No kidding. I’ll smooth her out once she gets here. As long as she sticks to the truth, she’ll be fine. When are you doing your interview with Gabriella?”

  “We’re going to meet for lunch and go over it and then go to the station and do it. I’m really nervous about it. What should I wear?”

  “A thong bikini,” Marc immediately answered.

  That made her laugh and say, “And show off my Carl Fornich scars?” This was a reference to the first case the two of them had together. Carl was a serial killer Maddy had fought and thrown to his death through a window in her apartment.

  “How are they?” Marc politely asked.

  “Not bad but no bikini on TV.”

  “Wear something professional and don’t get too carried away fixing your hair or putting on make-up,” Marc seriously told her. “You’ll do fine just being yourself. Let me give you some advice. Don’t anticipate questions. Let her finish asking you the question and take all of the time you need to answer it. This is more of a puff piece anyway, a human interest thing. Gabriella isn’t out to play ‘gotcha’ with this.”

  “I made it clear, no questions about the trial. You think she’ll try to set me up for some? Get me to say something about Brittany?”

  Marc thought about the question for a brief moment then said, “No, I don’t. She strikes me as pretty straight. In all of the times I’ve talk
ed to her she’s been very professional. Relax. Have some fun with it. It’s okay to joke around and laugh a bit. Be yourself. Just don’t shoot anyone. Besides, it can’t hurt your business.”

  “Don’t shoot anyone! Won’t that take most of the fun out of it? What are you up to today?” she asked.

  “I’m going to spend some time here getting ready for next week. Then, I’m going out to the Rileys’ this afternoon.”

  “Have fun with that. Are they still being mobbed with protestors?”

  “Not as bad but, it’s Saturday and the weather’s nice so, we’ll see. One other thing. Keep this business about Julie Makie to yourself. Talk to no one including Brittany and the Rileys. I need to figure out exactly how I want to handle her testimony.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Maddy met Gabriella precisely at noon, just as they agreed. Maddy was barely out of her car when Gabriella drove up, waved at Maddy and put her car in the slot next to Maddy’s. They had agreed to meet at a trendy and pricey French bistro named Oceane in an upscale mall located in an upscale neighborhood of an upscale suburb west of Minneapolis. Maddy had been there a couple of times on dates. Gabriella was here for the first time.

  The lunch time crowd had filled the dining area and left eight or nine people waiting to be seated. The two beautiful women, led by Maddy, spoke to the young man in charge of seating and within a minute they had a table.

  They ordered lunch on Gabriella’s expense account and spent the next hour getting to know each other. Gabriella started off by asking Maddy about herself, her background and how she got into the private investigator business. Gabriella took notes to prepare for the interview. They exhausted that topic after a while and Gabriella put the notebook she was writing on back in her purse.

  “I have a confession to make,” Gabriella said, a little nervously.

  “Oh?” Maddy said, giving Gabriella a suspicious look, her natural investigator’s alarm going off in her head.

  “No, no,” Gabriella protested waving a hand at her. “It’s um, well, I’m not sure how to say this.” She paused, looking nervously at Maddy and then continued by saying, “First of all, I’m not gay.” This comment caused Maddy to almost choke on the soda she was sipping. “Alright, alright, here it is,” Gabriella said as if to start over. “I’m not from around here and I don’t have any girlfriends. You know, someone to get together with and just be friends with. I see you with Marc and I did a little digging to find out who you are. We’re about the same age and I just thought you might be someone I’d like to get to know.”

  “I’m flattered,” Maddy said.

  “Really? I can’t believe how nervous this made me. How do men do this? Ask girls out.”

  “Yes, really, believe it or not I’m in the same boat you are. All of my friends are lawyers or cops. Besides, Marc has good things to say about you.”

  “Does he really?”

  “Yeah, he does. Says you’re good and professional. No games, no agenda, no bullshit.”

  “That’s nice to hear. He’d be a good one, I think. A little too old. If he was maybe ten years younger and no kids…” Gabriella let the thought drift off.

  “I’ve had the same thought.” Maddy smiled. “Besides, he’s involved and I think it’s pretty serious. A judge.”

  “Too bad. Why is it so hard to meet a decent, normal guy?” Gabriella asked.

  “Marc has a theory,” Maddy said. “He calls it: The Curse of the Beautiful Woman. He claims decent, normal guys are too intimidated to approach beautiful women, which you certainly are. That just leaves the assholes who never met a mirror they didn’t fall in love with. Insecure little boys.”

  “That actually makes sense. That does seem to be the type I attract. The assholes who would love to spend their time in front of a mirror,” Gabriella said. She checked the time on her watch and continued, “We should go. They’ll be waiting.”

  As the two women walked to their respective cars, Madeline hooked Gabriela’s right arm with her left and said, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Both of them laughed and Gabriella said, “That’s one of my all time favorite movies.”

  “Is it really? See, we already have something in common,” Maddy said.

  “Casablanca and being hit on by assholes,” Gabriella said which elicited another hearty laugh.

  FIFTY NINE

  “Did you come in through the front or the back?” Marc heard the deputy ask him.

  It was Monday morning and Marc was at the defense table setting up for the day’s testimony. He looked at the man, an older deputy whose name escaped him, and said, “Through the back, why?”

  “You should go down to the lobby and take a look at what’s going on outside. Go ahead. I’ll watch your stuff.”

  Marc gave the man a puzzled look, shrugged and started toward the hallway door. He made his way through the crowd on the second floor, went down the stairs and a minute later was looking at what the deputy meant. To his left, as he looked through a window by the entryway, was a small crowd. They were milling about on the sidewalk in front of the county offices, loosely watched over by three deputies. What he looked at were thirty five to forty people, a number of whom carried signs with slogans painted on them. He read the slogans such as “Free Brittany Now!”; “Brittany Is Innocent”; “Brittany Is Being Framed”.

  While Marc stood silently watching them, one of the sheriff’s deputies, the sergeant in charge of the door security team, silently slid up next to him. The two of them watched the crowd and the deputy said, “Seems you’ve created some fans.”

  “Interesting,” Marc said. “The other side still seems to be a bit more popular.”

  To their right, crowded along the sidewalks stretching from the jail a couple hundred yards to the back parking lot were the anti-Brittany demonstrators. Even on a chilly morning there were at least three hundred of them.

  “Don’t any of these people have jobs?” Marc asked turning back to the pro-Brittany crowd.

  “Guess not,” the deputy said. “Just so you know; the office pool odds have dropped quite a bit. It’s now down to three to two in favor of a conviction. The word is you’re doing pretty well.”

  “What were the odds originally?”

  “Five to one.”

  “If I had known, I would have taken some of that.” Marc pulled some bills from his pocket, peeled one of them off and handed it to the sergeant. “Here, put me down for twenty and if the odds go back up, let me know. I’m gonna win this thing.”

  “You got it,” the man said as he took Marc’s money.

  Marc took one more look at the pro-Brittany side and noticed one of them, a man, staring back at him. While Marc watched, the man smiled and gave Marc a thumbs up sign, a gesture Marc returned.

  The man who gave Marc the thumbs up signal watched as Marc retreated from the window and walked away. He continued to stare for a moment then looked at his watch, stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward the parking lot. Bob Olson, in a new disguise, decided it was time to go to work.

  The day’s testimony was taken up entirely by the staff from the medical examiner’s office. Hart was the one who took the testimony of all of these individuals for the state. Following routine evidentiary procedure, Hart was going to call everyone involved in the chain of custody of the body. The purpose is to establish that the cause of death and time of death are as accurate as possible and that the autopsy is performed without any taint. The actual cause of death was unknown and the time of death was at best, a guess based not on a clock but a calendar.

  First up were the two responders who recovered and transported the remains. Marcia Clark, one of the two medical examiner responders called to the scene was first up. Hart quickly went over the day’s events that brought her and her partner, Jerry Hoy to recover Becky’s remains.

  Hart got her to the river bank and the main purpose of her testimony. As Clark described what they did, Hart had phot
os up on the television screen giving graphic, visual details of the area where the body was found and more importantly several close-ups of Becky in the water. An especially pitiful one was left up on the screen while Clark explained how difficult it had been to recover the body and keep what was left of it, the skeletal remains, intact.

  The final photo was one of the tiny little body, covered up, lying on the gurney. The contrast between the size of the gurney and the remains of the little girl actually caused three or four of the jurors to gasp and sob.

  The showing of the photos was designed for one purpose. It was designed to tug at the hearts of the jurors. “Look at this tiny little baby and what was done to her. Somebody needs to pay!”

  The content of this testimony and the photo display had been the subject of a heated argument several weeks ago. Marc, of course, had argued vehemently that these photos should not be allowed at all. Neither of the medical examiner’s team had taken them. The person who shot the pictures had already testified and the photos admitted. Showing them again to the jury would have no additional probative value. Connors came down in the middle, allowing a few of them but not all. The most damaging one, the one the state would have loved to be shown, was the picture of a live, beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Becky Riley holding her favorite teddy bear and smiling adorably at the camera. Of course, while Clark testified and just before the first photo went up on the screen, Marc renewed his objection for the jury to have it on the official record.

  The rest of the morning session, after the break, was taken up by Clark’s partner Jerry Hoy. His testimony was an exact duplication of Clark’s and Hart was allowed to go through the same routine with the same highly prejudicial photos. While this was taking place, Marc spent a lot of time observing the jury. It was clear the shock effect, the emotional value of the photos was dissipated. By the time Hoy was finished, Marc noticed a number of yawns and even stifled yawns from the jury. Apparently they were getting used to seeing this type of evidence.