Insider Justice: A Financial Thriller (Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Book 8)

by Dennis Carstens

  Carvelli looked at Maddy and said loud enough for the phone to pick up,

  “Madeline Elizabeth Rivers might be just who we’re looking for.”

  “Wait a minute!” a startled Maddy said. “Ah, let’s talk about this.”

  Carvelli turned back to the phone sitting on the table they were seated around, and said, “Go into FedEx and mail the photos. Call back when you’re done.” He gave her Vivian’s address to send the photos to since someone was always there to receive them.

  “Give us a few minutes,” Carvelli said then pressed the end button on Maddy’s phone.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Vivian said.

  “Yeah, I do,” Maddy sighed and quietly said. “It’s the obvious choice. Who else are we going to get? You’re too well known,” Maddy continued looking at Vivian.

  “That’s very kind, sweetheart, but I still don’t think…” Vivian said.

  Maddy turned to Marc seated to her right. She placed her hand gently on the back of his neck and asked, “Are you okay? You look like something’s bothering you.”

  “Something is,” he answered her. “I’ve got a memory trying to break through. It’s very foggy, and I can’t quite get at it, but I can almost see it. I think it has something to do with Cal Simpson. It’s right there just below the surface. I’m trying to see it but…”

  “Don’t,” Maddy said. “Don’t force it. Relax, when it is ready it will come out.”

  “Are you having any other flashbacks or memories return?” Carvelli asked.

  “I get little bits and pieces. I vaguely remember leaving the courthouse and walking past the statue of the Civil War soldier. Little things like that.”

  “You’re not going to change the subject,” Vivian icily said to Maddy. “This could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous is my middle name,” Maddy jokingly said.

  “It is not. It’s Elizabeth. Even I remember that,” Marc said making a little joke out of it. He looked at her and added, “You don’t have to do this. Give us time. We can find another way.”

  “No, we can’t. Besides, I can handle myself.” She turned to Tony and said, “We should get some of your guys on this.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. For you, I can only get maybe twenty-five or thirty right away. But if I need to, I could probably get a couple hundred more from the MPD,” he joked.

  “I think four or five will be enough,” Maddy said. She looked across at Vivian and said, “We’ll be careful. We’ll research and plan it. I agree with Paxton. Calvin Simpson is involved in the death of at least two people and what happened to Marc.”

  “And if he’s not involved, if he is a legitimate guy, we’ll find that out, too,” Carvelli said.

  “All right,” Vivian reluctantly agreed. She then said to Tony, “Anthony, I’m going to trust you to make sure nothing happens to my girl. If it does, you will be singing soprano.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carvelli replied in a falsetto voice which broke the tension and brought some well-needed laughter.

  “Conrad Hilton,” Carvelli said when the laughter stopped. “Remember him?” he asked Maddy.

  “Yeah, that creepy little dude with the grabby hands,” Maddy said. “Is he still around?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard he’s back in town,” Carvelli said. “He’s the guy that bugged your office that time, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember him,” Marc said. “We could use him.”

  “Yeah,” Carvelli agreed. “Best electronic surveillance guy in the business.”

  Carvelli parked the Camaro two doors down from his destination. He was on Hennepin Avenue a half mile north of the river and downtown Minneapolis. His destination was a familiar one: Jake’s Limousine Service. It was owned and operated by an ex-MPD cop, Jake Waschke. Jake had run afoul of the law a few years back. In an attempt to protect his younger brother, Jake, an MPD homicide detective lieutenant, had tried to frame someone for a series of murders. Ironically, the guy he framed was, in fact, guilty. Jake had been dismissed from the MPD and did a couple of years in prison. It was Marc Kadella, with Maddy Rivers’ help, that had nailed Jake for what he did.

  Waschke had been out of prison now for a while and was running a very successful limo service. It helped to have the connections he did and the no-hard-feelings attitude he maintained. With eight cars and plenty of business, he provided good paying, easy, part-time employment for quite a few ex-cops and those still on the job, and a place for them to hang out. Mostly to get away from their wives.

  Carvelli walked through the open garage door. There were two Cadillac limos and four Lincoln Town Cars inside which meant the other two Lincolns were on the street. The office was to his left. Carvelli walked to it, rapped on the office door’s glass and went in. Waschke was at his desk doing some paperwork and three men were seated around a coffee table watching Sports Center and arguing about baseball.

  “Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” Jake said when he saw Carvelli. The three men watching TV, Dan Sorenson, Franklin Washington and Tommy Craven, all stood to greet him. After a couple minutes of handshakes and good-natured, if somewhat foul-mouthed insults, the five of them got down to business.

  “What brings your sorry-ass dragging in here?” Sorenson asked.

  “Okay, smartass,” Carvelli said looking at Sorenson. “Apparently you don’t need any extra money, so I’ll scratch your name off the list.”

  “Hey, hey,” Sorenson replied. “I didn’t mean that. Besides,” he continued as he put his arm around Carvelli’s shoulders, “you were always my favorite cop.”

  “Get out of here, you degenerate,” Carvelli said with a light elbow to his friend’s ribs.

  They all pulled up chairs around Jake’s desk and Carvelli began.

  “I need some help, and there will be some surveillance money in it.” Carvelli looked at Jake and asked, “You ever hear of a guy named Calvin Simpson?”

  “Sure,” Waschke replied. “He’s a good customer. He uses us at least a couple times a week.”

  “Seriously? This might be easier than I thought,” Carvelli replied.

  Leaving out Paxton O’Rourke and her interest in the case, Carvelli filled his four friends in on what he wanted. When he got to the part about Maddy going undercover and needing them to cover her back, all four men spontaneously said they were in, even if they did not get paid.

  “If our girl needs help, we’re in,” Tommy said.

  “She’s not ever gonna sleep with you, ya know,” Franklin Washington, the lone black man of the group, kidded Craven.

  “That’s insulting,” Craven said. “Besides, I’m not too old to dream.”

  “Do you know if he uses other car services?” Carvelli asked Waschke.

  “Don’t know, but I’ll call around and find out,” he replied. Jake snapped his fingers as if remembering something and said, “Wait a minute. Let me check…” he quietly said while he turned to his computer. He typed in Simpson’s name and came up with what he remembered.

  “We got him this weekend. Saturday night. There’s a Republican fundraiser at the Leamington. He seems to be a big contributor. We take him to a lot of these things.”

  “He’s pretty bipartisan, too,” Dan Sorenson interjected. “Goes to both the Dems and Republicans.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Carvelli said. “Okay, we’ll shoot for Saturday night. We’ll get Maddy dolled up…”

  “Can I drive her?” all three ex-cop drivers said at once.

  “…and get her in to meet our mark, Cal Simpson.”

  “Maddy dolled up,” Waschke said. “Since I get to decide who drives her,” he continued, smiling at the others, “I guess this one’s on me. I’ll do it.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t find any photos of him?” Carvelli said into his phone. He was still at Jake’s limo business and had taken the call there.

  “I found a shitload of pictures of him, but they’re all of him, Calvin Simpson,” Paul Baker, Ton
y’s hacker said, “and they’re all from newspapers. All photos from various events. His daughter’s wedding, political events, even one with the owner of the Vikings at a football game. But none that go back more than a few years. And none from any law enforcement agency or police department.”

  Baker had received the photos of Simpson from Paxton and had run a comparison to find more information on him.

  “Did you try the name ‘Walter Kirk’?”

  “Sure. Nationwide there’s quite a few of them but none that fit our parameters for age, height, or place of birth. I checked Boston PD computers. Not a single photo or any reference to him.”

  “He’s been wiped clean,” Carvelli quietly said. “Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Paul said. “I’ve seen this a couple of times before, but it’s usually CIA or some other spook shit.”

  “I don’t think that’s him. Too much money and too much visibility,” Carvelli said. “Sit tight. Let me think about this. Thanks, Paul.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The surveillance of Cal Simpson by Carvelli’s little band of ex-cops started immediately. Sorenson, Washington, and Craven took turns doing a stakeout of Simpson’s home on Lake Minnetonka. Using equipment Carvelli had for his P.I. business, they took good, clear, high-resolution photos of everyone coming and going. These would then be immediately emailed to Carvelli who would send them to his hacker, Paul Baker.

  They got shots of Samantha Evans, Cal’s daughter, coming and going at least two or three times a day. Other than that, there was little activity. Deliveries, mail, and household staff were mostly all that happened. Then, on the second day during the evening shift, Dan Sorenson scored an interesting hit.

  Two middle-aged men, both white and one very familiar looking, paid a call on Cal. Sorenson got good shots of the car, a late-model Cadillac DTS, then license plates and the men. Fifteen minutes later another car slowed to turn onto the grounds of Simpson’s home. This time there were also two people in it, a man driving and a woman passenger. Again, Sorenson obtained an excellent set of photos of the people, the car, and the plates.

  The next day Carvelli’s hacker had the identifications. The men in the first car, the Cadillac, were Dane and Greg Cannon of Cannon Brothers Toys. The man and woman in the second car were Congressman Del Peterson of Minnesota and Elaine Krohn from California. Obviously, there was a meeting taking place at Cal’s home. A rational guess would be that it had something to do with Cannon Brothers Toys.

  “Are you going back to work on Monday?” Maddy asked Marc.

  The two of them were in the living room of Marc’s apartment. Having spent a week with Vivian, Marc felt foolish and had insisted on going home.

  It was the Friday evening before the fundraiser Maddy was to attend to meet Cal Simpson. The surveillance team had been in place for a few days. Carvelli and Jake Waschke were on their way for a strategy session to be sure everything was set for tomorrow night.

  “Connie or Carolyn have been dropping off work for me every day. Then one of them stops by to pick up the files when I’m done with them. I need to get back in the office. Carolyn tells me I have four or five appointments every day next week. Plus, I’m going a little stir crazy sitting inside so much.”

  The front doorbell rang, and Maddy went to answer it. A few seconds later she returned followed by Carvelli and Waschke.

  It was Marc’s investigation that caused Jake Waschke to be dismissed from the MPD and sent to prison. Despite that, Waschke felt no ill will toward the lawyer. He accepted his responsibility—almost unimaginable these days—did his time and moved on.

  Marc was sitting in his recliner, his broken leg still immobilized and extended. Waschke walked over to him reached down and they shook hands. The bandage around his head had been removed and Jake tried to avoid looking at his scarred, hairless head.

  “Hi, Jake. Thanks for coming.”

  “How are you doing?” Jake sincerely asked.

  “Better,” Marc said.

  Maddy took a chair near Marc and the two men sat on the sofa.

  “Where are we?” Marc asked, looking at Tony Carvelli.

  “We’ve got a little bit. He’s had a few interesting visitors,” Tony began.

  He gave them all a quick briefing on the surveillance. There was not much to tell. In the few days that they had been on him, Cal Simpson had not left the house even once.

  “He’s more boring than me,” Marc commented.

  “That’s hard to even imagine,” Maddy replied then laughed as she reached over and squeezed his arm.

  “Does he have an office somewhere?” Marc asked.

  “Not that we know of. He seems to work out of his home,” Carvelli replied. “We need to get inside. We need to plant some bugs.”

  The three men looked at Maddy who nodded her head and said, “And that’s where I come in.”

  “Afraid so, sweetheart,” Carvelli said. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she said. “I figured we’d have to do this.”

  “What about your hacker?” Marc asked. “If we, I mean she, could get his phone number or numbers, could your guy monitor them?”

  “Good question,” Carvelli said. “I don’t know.”

  “Ask Conrad about it,” Waschke said. “He might know.”

  “We’ll certainly look into it. Now, tomorrow night,” Carvelli said looking at Maddy. “You ready? You need to get your hair done and…”

  “Oh, jeez, Carvelli,” Marc said while cringing. “You never mention hair, weight or age to a woman. Don’t you know that?”

  While Marc was saying this, Waschke visibly moved a little farther away from Carvelli on the couch. Maddy was glaring at him with a look that could kill.

  Carvelli threw up his hands and with a panicky look said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your hair looks great. Please pretend I didn’t say that.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Maddy quietly said.

  “You could go the way you are right now,” Carvelli said.

  “Tony, stop digging trying to get out of the hole you’re in,” Waschke said. “Maddy, I’ll pick up you and the idiot here,” Jake continued referring to Tony, “at your place at 7:30. The shindig starts at 7:00 so let’s make an entrance. Is that okay?”

  “That should work,” Maddy said slyly smiling at Carvelli. “Did you get the tickets from Vivian?” she asked Tony. “And a tux?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t forget the tickets. Are Dan and the others all set?” Maddy asked Jake.

  “Yeah,” Jake answered. “We all know the guy heading security, retired MPD, so we got them on the security detail. You’re covered.”

  “Any problems, you bail out and we’ll find another way to go at him,” Tony reminded her for at least the tenth time.

  “It’s okay, Tony. I can handle this guy,” Maddy said with a smile.

  “Hey, Connie told me a good lawyer joke today,” Marc said.

  An attorney was sitting in his office late one night when Satan appeared before him. The Devil told the lawyer: ‘I have a proposition for you. You can win every case you try for the rest of your life. Your clients will adore you, your colleagues will stand in awe of you, and you will make embarrassing sums of money. All I want in exchange is your soul, your wife’s soul, your children’s souls, the souls of your parents and grandparents, and parents-in-law, and the souls of all your friends and law partners.’ The lawyer thought about this for a moment, then asked. ‘So, what’s the catch?’”

  Maddy’s condo was less than a mile from their destination. With Saturday night downtown traffic in the way, Maddy and Carvelli could have walked there more quickly than Jake was able to drive it. Except, Tony in a tux—even Maddy had to admit he cleaned up well—and Maddy in a gown and heels would have drawn a bit too much attention.

  Jake pulled the Lincoln into line on Third Avenue. They were the fourth car back from the hotel’s entrance. While waiting in line, Waschke looked over his sho
ulder and said, “I always wanted to get in here and see where the Beatles stayed. Isn’t that a little silly?”

  “The Beatles stayed here?” Maddy excitedly asked.

  “You weren’t even born then,” Carvelli said. “Come to think of it, neither was I. Did you know Vivian snuck out to see them?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she was grounded for a month. Her dad hated them. She says it was the best sneak ever,” Carvelli said.

  “Here we go kids,” Waschke said as the car ahead began to pull away. “Now you kids behave. No making out in the back, no smoking dope and…”

  “Shut up, Jake,” Carvelli said while Maddy laughed.

  Being fashionably late had been a good idea. As the two of them made their way to their table in the ballroom, virtually every man in attendance was watching. And most of the women. Maddy in four-inch heels and a clingy yet stylish black gown could attract attention.

  Tony held the chair for her and when they were seated, whispered to her that he had spotted Cal Simpson. Within a minute a waiter brought two flutes of champagne. Between the two of them, it took less than another minute to find their ex-cop friends doing security. Tony casually looked around as if checking out the crowd and saw Cal still staring at Maddy despite his sitting next to her.

  “Is he looking?” Maddy asked.

  “Yeah, he sure is. After the first speaker,” Tony said. “I’ll go to the men’s room; you go to the bar.”

  “I know, I remember. I’m going to check out the crowd the way you did. Where is he?”

  “Two aisles over and one table closer to the front. He’s seated facing us,” Tony said.

  While Maddy did this, two more couples, older and obviously very well-to-do by the jewelry they wore, sat down. Tony stood and introduced themselves while Maddy spotted Simpson. She then took a moment to greet their tablemates.

  Carvelli leaned into her and whispered, “Get him?”

  “Yes, I did,” she replied. “I’ll walk right past him. He’s practically leering at us.”

  “I think it’s you, probably not me.”