Insider Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Aidan found Cal at his desk in the office working from his P.C. Cal glanced up when the door opened and asked, “Are the guys done yet?” He was referring to the two men electronically sweeping the house for listening devices.

  “Pretty soon,” Aidan replied.

  Knowing the techs had swept Cal’s office for bugs already and they could talk freely, Aidan sat down in front of the desk and said, “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Oh?” Cal replied. It was one of Cal Simpson’s absolutes. He wanted bad news right away. Problems needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. Good news could wait.

  “The lawyer, this Kadella guy, seems to know about the Mickey Finn his client was hit with when Knutson was popped,” Aidan said.

  Cal leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and asked, “How? Tell me what you know.”

  “Richie called during a break a few minutes ago,” Aidan said then paused.

  “And?”

  “And the secretary drank the coffee but didn’t finish it all. They found some in her cup on her desk. He hasn’t said so yet, this Kadella, but according to Richie, he’s making a big deal about the cops not analyzing what was in it.”

  “And you guys missed it,” Cal said.

  “Yeah, there’s no excuse for it. We cleaned out the coffee pot but missed the cup on her desk. He’s gonna show she was drugged.”

  “Any way they can trace it back to us?” Cal asked.

  Aidan shrugged, relieved that Cal did not seem too upset, and said, “I don’t see how.”

  Cal visibly sighed and said, “Anything else? Is he going to get her off? Get the case dismissed?”

  “Richie’s not sure. He doesn’t know, but he says Kadella is scoring points.”

  There was a soft knock on the door. Cal flicked a finger at it to indicate Aidan should answer it. When he did, he found the two techs standing there.

  “Anything?” Aidan asked them.

  “No, sir. Nothing and we were very careful. Very thorough,” the senior of the two answered.

  “Good,” Cal said who had joined them. “I want you back next week. Same time.”

  “Yes, sir,” the same man replied.

  As Aidan peeled off two one-hundred-dollar bills as a gratuity, the younger man asked Cal, “I’m curious, Mr. Simpson, are you still seeing Maddy Rivers?”

  “Who?”

  “Maddy Rivers,” he repeated. “That tall, gorgeous, hot chick I’ve seen here a couple of times.”

  Aidan gave Cal a quizzical look and Cal, grasping the situation, said, “Oh, yeah, Maddy. Sure. She’s great. How do you know her?”

  “A friend of mine went out with her a couple of times. It didn’t amount to much. He pointed her out to me in a restaurant once. She’s easy to remember,” the man said.

  “Yes, yes, she certainly is,” Cal agreed. “Aidan, will you escort these two gentlemen out, please. Thanks again,” he said to the techs as Aidan started to guide them out.

  Less than a minute later, Aidan was back and confronted by an obviously irate boss. Cal was pacing about the living room, his head down thinking about what he had just learned. He stopped and looked directly at Aidan.

  “Maddy Rivers? Madeline Rivers? Who the hell is…”

  “I’ll get right on it, boss.”

  A short while later, Aidan was back in Cal’s office. Cal was still at his computer, but his mind was on the tall, auburn-haired beauty he knew as Maddy Shore.

  “Pull her up on Google,” Aidan said. “Madeline Rivers, private investigator.”

  “What?” a distraught Cal Simpson practically yelled. “She’s a what?”

  Instead of ripping into Aidan he did the search and found her information. It was a website for her business complete with a photo of her. Cal read over her bio and references, then sat back with his eyes closed, his face pointed at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then leaned forward to look at Aidan.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Cal said. “How the hell did we miss this?”

  “My fault, totally,” Aidan said.

  Cal dismissively waved his left hand and said, “It’s all of our faults. We followed her for days. How could we…”

  “She’s obviously very good and was ready for us,” Aidan said.

  “And she works with this lawyer, Marc Kadella. Who, as you should recall, was brought in to represent Zach. He was hit by the van; I guess we know now where the surveillance came from,” Cal said.

  “What do you want done?” Aidan asked.

  Cal sat silently for a moment contemplating Aidan’s question. He slapped a hand on top of the desk, angrily stood up and walked out of the room. Aidan followed him waiting for a response to his question.

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do right now,” Cal finally said. “We have to assume they—whoever else is involved—are watching us. And this lawyer, this Kadella guy is all over the TV and in the newspapers right now. No, we have to sit tight for a while.

  “But,” he continued, pointing a finger at Aidan, “it moves our timetable up. We are going to have to move things along faster than we had planned.”

  “Should I put a tail on her again?” Aidan asked.

  “Yes, but find somebody good. Somebody she won’t spot in ten minutes.”

  “I know somebody I can bring in from Chicago,” Aidan told him.

  “Good idea. Bring in someone from outside. She’s obviously not acting alone. Whoever else is involved, this Kadella guy for sure, they’re on a mission to solve Zach’s death. And if they planted the bugs—and I’ll bet she did it—they have help.”

  Richie, Cal’s personal spectator, made it to his seat in the back of the courtroom as Krain was calling his next witness. The fingerprint technician from the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension was led in, given the oath, and took the stand.

  “Please state your name and current occupation,” the court clerk said.

  A twenty-something man of Asian descent, Hmong to be precise, replied in perfect English, “Donald Vang. I am currently employed by the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in the Forensic Science Division.”

  Krain carefully went through Vang’s education and experience to satisfy the requirement that the witness was a fingerprint expert. Although Vang was in his mid-twenties, he had testified enough times to be comfortable with it. In fact, he secretly loved the spotlight. Having prepared him, Krain was able to let him loose and nail down the fingerprints on the letter opener. Through a series of photos that Krain’s assistant put up on the monitors, Vang had almost everyone in the room bored to death by the time he was done. No doubt about it, the fingerprints on the letter opener found sticking out of Brody Knutson’s chest belonged to no one except Brooke Hartley.

  “Help me to be certain I understand you correctly, Mr. Vang,” Marc said to begin his cross-examination. “On the handle of the letter opener, State’s Exhibit A, you found a clear set of fingerprints that could only match those of Brooke Hartley. Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “It was her right hand?”

  “Yes, it was her right hand.”

  “And every finger except the thumb, correct?”

  “Yes, again.”

  Jeff put a close up of the letter opener with the fingerprint dust showing the prints up on the TVs.

  “Now, I’m a layman and not a fingerprint expert,” Marc began, “so help me out. To my eye, the fingerprints on the letter opener handle up on the TV, is this Exhibit A? The letter opener you examined?”

  “Yes.”

  “Again, to my untrained eye, these fingerprints look really good. Very clear and well defined, would you agree?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Are fingerprints normally this clean? This clear?”

  “More often than you would think,” Vang said, having been prepped for this question.

  “Nonresponsive, your Honor,” Marc said. “I didn’t ask what I might think. I asked if this
is normal.”

  “Answer just the question,” Judge Williams said.

  “Perhaps before you do,” Marc interrupted. “I should tell you I have an independent fingerprint expert with far more experience than you, who has reviewed your work and is willing to testify.”

  Vang hesitated then said, “Well, no, this is actually quite unusual to get a set this clear.”

  “And, isn’t it true, you found no other fingerprints from anyone else on the letter opener?”

  “That is true, yes.”

  “Would it be possible, Mr. Vang, in your expert opinion, for someone to take the hand of an unconscious person and place each finger on an object like this letter opener and plant these fingerprints?”

  “Of course,” Vang admitted.

  “And would your analysis of the fingerprints reveal that, if this person was wearing gloves?”

  “No, it would not,” Vang answered.

  “You may call your next witness, Mr. Krain,” Judge Williams said while a dejected Donald Vang was walking out.

  Dr. Farida Najafi was sworn in, took the stand, and gave her name and occupation for the court record. This was the doctor from the medical examiner’s office who had conducted the autopsy.

  An hour and a half later, the doctor was finally finished making it absolutely clear how Brody Knutson died. She also left no doubt, if there ever was any, that the single stab wound, which was consistent with the letter opener, caused his death.

  “And did the tissue analysis show any drugs in the deceased’s system?” Krain asked.

  Marc could have objected to this since Dr. Najafi herself did not perform the tissue analysis. Instead, he stood to address the court.

  “Your Honor, as it was not Dr. Najafi who conducted the tissue analysis, I will forego an objection but reserve my right to do so at trial. If the need arises.”

  “Very well,” Williams said. “You may answer, Doctor.”

  “No, there were no drugs of any kind found in the deceased.”

  “Doctor Najafi,” Marc began, “You testified that the stab wound that killed Brody Knutson was done by a person between five-feet-six and five-feet-eight-inches tall, is that your testimony?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And you base this upon the angle of descent of the wound, correct?”

  “Yes,”

  “A taller person would have stabbed in a more downward manner?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she answered.

  “Would it be possible for a taller person to bend his knees a bit?”

  “Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence. There is no evidence that a man did this,” Krain said.

  “Overruled,” Williams quickly said. “You may finish, Mr. Kadella.”

  “Would it be possible for a taller person to bend their knees,” Marc turned, looked at Krain and smiled, “and thrust the letter opener straight into the deceased’s heart to make it look like someone shorter did it?”

  “Sure, that’s possible but I…”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Marc said cutting her off.

  “I have nothing further, your Honor.”

  Krain had her complete her answer on re-direct, that there was no evidence of a taller person stabbing Knutson. It was a little weak and Judge Williams was clearly unimpressed.

  The prosecution rested, believing they had submitted enough evidence to reach probable cause. Even Krain knew they had more work to do to reach beyond a reasonable doubt.

  Judge Williams adjourned for the day. The defense would go tomorrow.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  “Are you ready to proceed, Mr. Kadella?” Judge Williams asked.

  It was Tuesday morning a few minutes past 9:00 A.M. Judge Williams had made it clear they were going to finish today. Since there was no jury involved, only Williams himself, he told the lawyers they would go late, however long it took to finish.

  Marc stood and made a brief opening statement. Judge Williams knew what was coming so Marc kept it short and to the point. He spelled out the basics of what his witnesses would say, then wrapped it up.

  “The defense calls Sondra Neil,” Marc announced.

  Since she was first up, there was no need to sequester her from the other witnesses. Because of this, she was seated in the front row behind the defense table.

  Sondra Neil was a fifty-two-year-old professional and looked the part. Well-groomed and professionally dressed, Sondra always made a good impression on the witness stand.

  She was sworn, took the stand then clearly gave her name and occupation for the record. Sondra Neil, with over twenty years at the FBI forensics lab, was one of the foremost experts in the country, if not the world, on fingerprint analysis. It took over twenty minutes for her to recite her qualifications for the record. She not only had a Ph.D. but had written three books on the science of forensic analysis. She was also quite expensive.

  Judge Williams readily agreed, and Krain did not object, to qualifying her as an expert. This would allow her to give her opinion about matters within her area of expertise.

  Jeff Modell hit a couple keys on his laptop and a photo of the letter opener appeared on the monitors.

  “On the TV screen is a photo of State’s Exhibit A, do you recognize this?” Marc asked.

  “Yes, I do. It is a photo of the letter opener that allegedly caused the death of Brody Knutson.”

  “Have you had an opportunity to examine and analyze State’s Exhibit A for fingerprints?” Marc asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what, if anything did you find, Ms. Neil?”

  “Mrs. Neil,” she said with a smile. “I don’t mind being identified with my husband.”

  “My apologies,” Marc replied.

  “First of all, I found a clean set of fingerprints from the right hand of a person. All four fingers except the thumb.

  “I then compared them to a set of prints I had obtained from Brooke Hartley, the defendant.”

  “And what did you conclude?”

  “Well, without going into too much detail about whorls, grooves, and ridges…” she began looking up at Judge Williams.

  “Thank you,” Williams quietly replied. He shook his head at his court reporter so he would not take down that comment.

  “…the prints on the handle of the letter opener, State’s Exhibit A, are an absolute match with the defendant’s fingers of her right hand. No doubt about it.

  “In fact,” she continued, “they may be the best set of prints I’ve ever seen. They’re too good. Too clean. No one holds a knife or letter opener with the tips of their fingers. If you are going to stab someone…”

  “Objection. The witness has not been qualified as a medical expert or technician…” Krain stood and said.

  “Overruled,” Judge Williams said with a touch of annoyance in his voice. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  “As I started to say, your Honor, if you are stabbing someone, you don’t hold a knife—or in this case a letter opener—with the tips of your fingers. It would be more in the palm of the hand.”

  “Did you find any evidence of this on the letter opener?” Marc asked.

  “No, none.”

  “What, if anything, did you conclude from this, in your expert opinion?”

  “The defendant’s fingerprints were somehow planted on the handle of the letter opener by someone else.”

  “One last question, Mrs. Neil. Were you aware that Brooke Hartley was discovered unconscious lying on the floor a few feet away from the dead body of Brody Knutson?”

  “What? No…what? I had no idea. I was not told that. That explains how her prints were found on…”

  “Objection, foundation, speculation,” Krain practically jumped up while saying.

  “Sustained,” Judge Williams said. “Don’t go where I think you’re going, Mrs. Neil.”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  Krain spent a half an hour with his cross-examination. He did his best to discredit her qualifi
cations and findings but came up empty. The best he could do was get her to admit it was possible that Brooke stabbed Knutson and left her prints on the letter opener as they were found.

  On re-direct, Marc had her tell the court that the likelihood of that happening was close to zero. A much more rational explanation for prints being that perfect was they were planted.

  While the courtroom emptied for the morning break, Marc wheeled his chair around Brooke to talk discreetly to Jeff Modell.

  “There’s a guy sitting in the back row on the left side in the seat next to the door. He was here all day yesterday and he definitely looks out of place,” Marc quietly said.

  “I noticed him, too,” Brooke said. “You’re right, he doesn’t look like the rest of the crowd. Too serious.”

  “Okay,” Jeff said.

  “After the break is over I want you to use your laptop to get a photo of him. I’ll look for him and let you know if he is in the same seat.”

  Jeff positioned his laptop on the table to have a clear shot of that seat. The photo was going to be difficult to get through the crowd.

  “You better look for him as he comes in and I’ll try to get him before he sits down. I might not have an open line of sight once everyone is back,” Jeff told him.

  Brooke took the time to head for the ladies’ room. She came in while Jeff was making a video of everyone coming back from the break. This way, he got a very clear picture of Aidan’s man, Richie.

  The rest of the morning was taken up with the testimony of Tony Carvelli and Jordan Fisk. Fisk was the lab technician who had done the analysis of the coffee found in Brooke’s coffee cup. First to go was Tony Carvelli.

  Carvelli’s testimony was not long at all. He identified himself as a private investigator working for the defense. Marc walked him through the process of identifying the coffee cup itself and the small Tupperware container he had poured the coffee into. The Tupperware was something he found in Brooke’s desk. He cleaned it out, marked it with his initials and poured what was left of Brooke’s coffee into it.