Certain Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  When Gabriella arrived back at her cubicle she checked her phone and found five messages. She had no interest in four of them. They were from a guy she stopped seeing when she found out he was married and he didn’t want to let it go. As she deleted the calls she thought about using Maddy Rivers to get him off of her back and out of her life. Maddy could teach him a lesson, Gabriella thought which brought a smile to her face.

  The fifth one was the police source from whom she had received the information about lawyers and judges as victims. Gabriella sat down and called him back.

  “Hey, Gabriella,” the plainclothes officer said. “Thanks for keeping my name out of the story.”

  “I told you I would,” Gabriella replied to the man who was clearly smitten by her. “Anything new come up?”

  “Well, yeah,” Josh Feherty said. “I was wondering if we could get together later for a drink or dinner and I could tell you then.”

  There it is, Gabriella thought, the date question. “Geez, Josh. I can’t, sorry. I’m working tonight. I work Friday evenings as a backup for the anchors and if we get any breaking news… sorry. I could really use what you have….”

  “I’m not sure you should use this,” a disappointed Josh said. “I got a line on one of the suspects but it’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “You’re right. I won’t use it,” Gabriella said while thinking, unless I can get confirmation of it from another source.

  Josh hesitated then, wanting to stay in good with Gabriella said, “His name is Howard Traynor. He’s one of the guys who got released from prison because his DNA test was doctored by a lab tech.”

  “I remember that,” Gabriella said. “Interesting. Look, Josh, someone just came in and I have to go. Stay in touch if you come up with anything else. I really appreciate your help.”

  Gabriella ended the call then took a minute to think about Josh Feherty. He was a fairly good looking and a nice, solid guy. The problem was he wasn’t the brightest bulb, had risen about as far as he would as a cop and Gabriella just didn’t feel it.

  Putting him out of mind she pulled her chair up to her desk and plugged Howie Traynor’s name into Google. For the next twenty minutes she read over everything listed about him. When she got halfway through the trial for the murder of Lucille Benson, she came across a name she wasn’t expecting.

  “Holy shit,” she quietly said. “Marc Kadella was his lawyer.”

  Gabriella finished her research of Traynor and sat back in her chair. Then she looked at the clock and speed-dialed a number on her phone.

  “Hey, Gabriella,” she heard her new best friend, Maddy Rivers say. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing for lunch? Can we meet?”

  “Sure, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. I don’t want to talk about it here. Same place?”

  “See you in a half hour?” Maddy asked.

  “That’ll work,” Gabriella replied.

  Maddy strolled through the door of the faux French bistro in downtown Minneapolis and saw Gabriella wave to her from a booth by the windows. The two women greeted each other as Maddy sat down in the booth across from her friend.

  “So, what’s up?” Maddy asked.

  Before Gabriella could answer, the server approached the table with the drinks Gabriella had ordered for them. The young man took a lot more time hanging around the two women than was called for looking back and forth at both of them.

  “Cute kid,” Maddy said as he wandered off.

  With a sad look on her face Gabriella watched him walk away then turned to Maddy and said, “Are they getting younger or are we…”

  “Getting older,” Maddy finished for her.

  “Thanks, I can hear my clock ticking which means I’ll probably get a call from my mother tonight. The reason I called,” Gabriella continued, “is I got a tip from a cop about that Howie Traynor, remember him?”

  “Sure,” Maddy answered.

  “He’s a prime suspect in the Crown of Thornes case. Did you know Marc was his lawyer? Someone should warn him.”

  “Marc knows,” Maddy said. “Tony Carvelli called him to tell him about Howie Traynor. When Tony told Vivian Donahue what was going on, she offered to pay for security for Marc. You can’t use that as part of a story.”

  “I know. I’m keeping it to myself for now. If my boss finds out I’m sitting on a piece of information like that he’ll have my ass. I’ll tell him I couldn’t independently verify it so I can’t ethically use it.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The office intercom buzzed on Marc’s desk phone. His door was closed so he could work at his desk while eating a sandwich for lunch. He answered the phone and Carolyn told him Maddy was calling.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Marc said when Carolyn put the call through.

  “This is a professional call so, behave accordingly and knock off the flirting,” Maddy good-naturedly chided him.

  Madeline’s phone was on speaker and Gabriella leaned toward it and said loud enough for the phone to pick-up, “You can flirt with me all you want.”

  “Is that Gabriella?” Marc asked.

  “Hi, Marc,” Gabriella said.

  “She says her clock’s ticking, her mother will call any day and she’s getting desperate,” Madeline said while Gabriella stared at her with a horrified look on her face.

  “Wow, that’s very flattering, especially the desperation part,” Marc said with a touch of sarcasm. “But tell her I’m a little busy right now. Maybe some other time.” Gabriella heard this and almost choked trying not to laugh. “What are you two up to?”

  “We’re having lunch. Gabriella got a tip about your old pal, you know, the one who just got out,” Maddy said not wanting to use Traynor’s name.

  Gabriella took the phone from Maddy and quietly said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew about him. Maddy says Tony already told you. Be careful.”

  “That’s kind of you Gabriella but Maddy’s right and I am being careful. I don’t believe it, though. My understanding is he’s been under surveillance for a while. And don’t use that unless you want to get sued.”

  “I know and I won’t,” Gabriella said.

  “Was that you that got the leak about the victims being judges and lawyers?” Marc asked. “I heard it was your station that first reported it.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny,” Gabriella coyly answered.

  “So that’s a yes and I figured it was you. Listen you two, I need to get ready for a hearing this afternoon. Let’s get together next week. I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “Deal,” Gabriella said.

  “But Madeline, you only get a salad.”

  “What? Why?” Maddy said into the phone.

  “Well, um, because the last time I saw you I noticed you were putting on a few pounds, especially on the hips.”

  Gabriella tried to stifle a laugh as Madeline snarled, “Give me that phone!”

  Gabriella held it in the palm of her hand and pulled it away as Maddy reached for it. They could hear Marc laughing as Maddy tried vainly to reach across the table to retrieve the phone.

  “I love saying things like that to her,” Marc said. “Even though it’s not the least bit true it keeps her ego in line. Plus, Gabriella,” he continued, “you watch, she won’t eat anything but carrots for the next month. I’ll call you next week. Bye.”

  Before Marc entered the fourteenth floor courtroom he took a few seconds to look through the small window in the door. It was ten minutes before nine o’clock, the time his hearing was scheduled to begin. Marc could see eight or ten people inside including his uncle sitting in a chair behind the rail. Marc wasn’t looking forward to this knowing the judge would want to see the lawyers right away.

  He saw Earl Bicknell, the lawyer for the city, already at his table. The judge’s clerk was next to the empty bench and several cops were seated in the gallery behind Bicknell.

  Marc opened the door and all eyes turned to look at h
im. He greeted Uncle Larry and the two of them went through the gate to the defense table.

  Before Marc sat down as the clerk said, “The judge wants to see both lawyers in chambers right away.”

  The two men shook hands as they both walked across the well toward the rear doorway.

  “Are you really going through with this?” Bicknell whispered to him.

  “I don’t know,” Marc said shaking his head as the two of them went through the door. “It’s not up to me.”

  They greeted the judge, Lucinda Gilbert, who promptly asked the prosecutor, “What are you offering?”

  “Two hundred dollar fine,” your Honor.

  “And?” she said looking at Marc.

  “My guy won’t plead,” Marc said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s his right not to.”

  “You’re right,” the judge said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Never having appeared in front of this judge before, a new appointment to the bench, Marc was a little surprised at the apology.

  “How about an Alford plea? He admits there’s sufficient evidence to convict while maintaining his innocence?” Bicknell asked.

  “I’ve listened to the recording, counselor. I have a little trouble with him maintaining his innocence. But if he wants to go that route, that’s his right but…,” Gilbert started to say.

  “So, your Honor,” Marc said sitting up and leaning forward to stare directly at the judge, “you’ve already decided he’s guilty?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” a perplexed Gilbert said.

  Marc continued to stare at her and she avoided eye contact with him. Bicknell sat quietly, mildly amused at the display he was witnessing.

  Without blinking or taking his eyes off the judge, Marc said, “I’ll put it to my client and let him decide.”

  When they reached the hallway behind the courtroom Bicknell asked, “You going to file on her?”

  “I don’t know,” a still angry Marc answered. When the two men reached the door to the courtroom a calmer Marc added. “She’s new. She needs to learn to be a little more careful about what she says.”

  Marc took the chair at the defense table next to his uncle and quietly explained to him what had been offered. An Alford plea is one in which the defendant maintains his innocence but admits there is sufficient evidence to support a conviction. It is usually offered as a way to obtain a reasonable plea bargain with a recalcitrant defendant. It is also normally coupled with a threat of more dire consequences if the defendant rejects it.

  “No,” was Larry’s one word reply. “Marc, my boy, this is the most interesting thing I’ve done since Ellen passed. What can they do, put me in prison?”

  “She could give you some jail time.”

  “I’ll worry about that when it happens. When does the trial start?”

  “This isn’t a trial, Larry,” Marc said. “I told you, this is what’s called a Rasmussen hearing or, a suppression hearing. We’ll get a look at the evidence and witnesses. Then we’ll argue about whether or not the evidence the cops have should be allowed in court. It’s to let the judge see if the cops entrapped you into doing this.”

  “They did,” Larry said.

  Patiently Marc replied, “To legally entrap someone the cops have to get someone to commit a crime he otherwise would not have done. In other words, but for the cops behavior this would not have happened.”

  “It wouldn’t have,” Larry replied.

  “We’ll see,” Marc said.

  The hearing itself lasted about an hour and a half. There were five witnesses called by the prosecution. They were the four MPD cops who had operated the sting including the woman who had posed as the prostitute. This would also give Marc an opportunity to see the witnesses on the stand and gauge the strength of the prosecution’s case.

  The first witness called was the female decoy. She had been sitting with the other three cops and the tech and Marc had not noticed her before this.

  As she was being sworn in Marc whispered to his uncle, “You only offered her fifty bucks? I would have arrested you, too. She’s gorgeous for God’s sake.”

  Hers was the longest testimony and it was through her that the audio recording of the transaction was presented to the court. She was emphatic that Larry had approached her and she did nothing to entice him. The audio was clear that Larry had offered fifty dollars for oral sex. It was then that she identified herself as Officer Jennifer Hall and arrested him.

  One at a time the three male cops testified that the defendant was read his rights and taken to a local precinct for processing. Larry used a credit card to post bail and was released; every step done strictly by the book and in conformance with police procedure. Not wanting to tip his hand and show the prosecution his case, even though he didn’t have one, Marc had not asked a single question.

  At the conclusion of the testimony, Marc went through the formality of requesting that the evidence and testimony be excluded. This was quickly denied.

  “Your Honor,” Marc said. “I want the prosecution to produce a picture, an exact duplication of how Officer Hall was dressed and what she looked like on the day this event occurred.”

  “That’s reasonable. So ordered. You will provide the photo to Mr. Kadella. When can you get it?’

  “A moment, your Honor,” Bicknell replied. He turned to the officers who were still in the court and waved one forward. He was the detective who was in charge of the sting. Bicknell whispered to him then turned to the judge and said, “Tomorrow, your Honor. I’ll messenger it to him tomorrow.”

  “Good enough,” Gilbert said.

  “Since it is obviously available now, I’m wondering why I haven’t been given it before this?” Marc asked.

  “He didn’t ask, your Honor.”

  “I shouldn’t have to…”

  “All right. Enough you two. You’ll get the photo. Anything else?” she asked Marc. He gave her a negative reply and she waved the lawyers up to the bench.

  “What about a trial date? How’s next week look?” she asked.

  “I’m booked,” Bicknell replied.

  “The week after? Find a day, Mr. Bicknell. Let’s get this over with.”

  “My client wants a jury, your Honor.”

  “Okay, that’s his right,” Gilbert answered. She looked at the small calendar taped to the bench and said, “How about Wednesday, October 6? Even with a jury we won’t need more than a day.”

  “I’m okay with that,” Marc said.

  “Me, too,” Bicknell agreed.

  “Okay, Wednesday, October sixth at 9:00 A.M. All discovery and witness lists to be done no later than Thursday, October first. I’ll put out an order today.”

  On their way out of the courtroom after waiting for everyone else to leave, Marc spoke with the man seated in the back by himself. When he finished, Marc escorted his client out of the front of the building to the light rail platform. He waited for the train with his uncle then found his car and drove back to the office.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cara Meyers hurried quickly down the back steps of the Church of Christ church on Forty-Eighth and Dupont in South Minneapolis. She nodded and pleasantly said good night to several of the people in her group before heading to the parking lot. Her Addicts Anonymous meeting had lasted longer than normal and she wanted to get home, shower and go to bed.

  “Hell of a way to spend a Sunday night,” she muttered.

  Cara pushed the button on her key fob and unlocked her two-year-old Accord. She had parked under a light and took a moment to cautiously look around. There were several people from her group getting into their cars and she did not see anything unusual in the lot.

  Cara was a thirty-eight-year-old senior associate in an insurance defense firm in downtown Minneapolis. The firm, Howard, Caine and Nugent, took up two floors of the U.S. Bank Plaza, a forty story glass and chrome building in downtown Minneapolis. Cara had just completed her sixth year with
the firm. She had been rejected for partnership three times. After the most recent rejection about a month ago, she had been flat-out told by the managing partner that a partnership would not happen. Cara was under no threat of being fired and could stay as long as she met her billable hours requirement, an average of fifty per week.

  On her drive home, Cara again pondered her situation. The money was good, with bonuses and 401k benefits over two hundred per year. The simple truth was she hated the place. Hated the firm, hated what she did, with few exceptions she could barely tolerate most of the lawyers and she hated herself for selling her soul for money. Cara was also quite trapped.

  At one time she had been a very good criminal defense lawyer. Cara had originally joined up with a local heavyweight criminal defense lawyer and was soon well on her way to becoming one herself. Even though she made less than half of what she made now she actually had a life and was happy.

  Six years ago Howard, Caine and Nugent had offered a lot more money and a phony promise of partnership. A good friend who knew the firm warned her but she didn’t listen. And now she was driving away from an Addicts Anonymous meeting because she had become addicted to speed and meth. The drugs were mostly to help her keep up and bill enough hours to keep her job.

  Cara pulled the Accord into the underground lot of her condo building. She lived six blocks from work which allowed her to walk to work; the only exercise she had time for.

  While walking toward the elevator she moved her head around in a circle as if taking the kinks out of her neck. Cara walked past a concrete support pole and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the floor of the garage, her back against that same pole, in a lot of pain and unable to move or speak.

  Owen Jefferson was leaning against the trunk of a car casually watching the M.E. examine the body. The car’s owner was steaming mad because it was parked inside the police tape surrounding the crime scene. He was late for work and needed his car. Ten minutes ago he had given up and called a cab cursing at the cops for making him spend the money. On top of that it was raining and his umbrella was in his car but because he had raised such a fuss none of the cops would get it for him.