[Marc Kadella 06.0] Delayed Justice Page 2

  Marc entered the suite of offices and heard Sandy Compton, one of the secretaries, say into the phone, “Let me check. I’ll see if he’s available,” and she put the caller on hold.

  “You available?” Sandy asked looking at Marc.

  “Who is it?”

  “Mary Cunningham. Before you say anything,” Sandy quickly continued cutting off the protest she knew was coming, “She’s called three times. She says it’s important.”

  “It’s always important with her,” Marc said heading toward his office.

  While Marc was on the phone listening to the woman, one of his divorce clients, Chris Grafton appeared in his doorway. Chris listened while Marc repeatedly said, “Uh huh, I see, you’re right, I don’t blame you.”

  Finally, Marc ended the call by saying, “Don’t worry, Mary. We’ll get it all straightened out in the end.”

  Marc hung up and Chris asked, “What was that all about?”

  “I don’t have any idea. I didn’t listen to a word she said. A woman scorned. She cheats on him, multiple times, he finally gets fed up and wants a divorce and she’s mad at him. She should be thankful he doesn’t own a gun. I don’t know how he put up with her as long as he did.”

  “Why do you do divorce work?”

  “It pays the bills. Plus, it reminds me how glamorous the practice of law is. What’s up?”

  “How did this morning go?”

  “Great actually. I thought he’d at least get six months on the county. No jail time. Probation and another promise of going through drug rehab. Probation services gave him a good report,” Marc told him.

  “He knows how to play their game and con them,” Chris said referring to probation services.

  “Sooner or later, he’ll end up with a tag on his toe, lying on a slab covered with a sheet. Does his dad know he’s moving into heroin?” Marc asked.

  “Are you serious? How do you know?”

  “I’m not positive, but I think so. You may want to pass it along to Bert,” Marc said referring to the father.

  “Did the kid tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s not privileged?”

  “Nope.”

  Connie Mickelson appeared in the doorway next to Chris. Connie was their landlord who shared office space with these two men and one other lawyer.

  “Hey,” Marc said to her. “Where have you been?”

  “Ramsey County,” she replied. “Listen, I heard a lawyer joke I haven’t heard before.”

  “Okay,” Marc said eagerly listening.

  “Terrorists break into a conference room where the American Bar Association is holding its annual convention. They take a hundred lawyers hostage. The FBI arrives and the terrorist leader tells them if their demands aren’t met, they threatened to release one lawyer every hour.”

  “Not bad,” Chris said, “but I heard a better one the other day.

  “An anxious fifteen-year-old-girl comes home from school and asks her mother if you can get pregnant from anal sex. The mother says, of course. Where do you think lawyers come from?”

  The three of them laughed, and then a voice behind them said, “I like that one.”

  “You looking to get fired?” Connie said to Carolyn.

  “Right,” Carolyn said. “I know where all the bodies are buried, remember?”

  “She’s got a point,” Marc said.

  Shortly before noon Carolyn buzzed Marc to tell him Tony Carvelli was on the phone. Carvelli was a private investigator Marc occasionally used and was also a good friend.

  Carvelli was in his early fifties and due to his years on the streets of Minneapolis looked it, but could still make most women check him out. He had a touch of the bad boy image they couldn’t resist plus a flat stomach and a full head of thick black hair touched with gray highlights; a genetic bequest from his Italian father.

  Carvelli was an ex-Minneapolis detective and had the reputation of being a bit of a street predator, which was well deserved. He looked and acted the part as well. Dressed as he normally was today, he could easily pass for a Mafia wiseguy. Growing up in Chicago, he knew a few of them and could have become one himself and very likely a successful one. Instead, after his family moved to Minnesota he became a cop.

  He was retired from the Minneapolis P.D. with a full pension and then became a private investigator. Over the years he was able to build a nice, successful business doing mostly corporate security and investigations.

  “What’s up?” Marc asked when he answered.

  “I thought I’d call and offer to let you buy me lunch,” Carvelli said.

  “That’s awfully considerate of you. What’s the occasion?”

  “I just got a call from a guy I know who works for 3M, a high up the food chain executive type. He’s got a kid in a jam and needs a defense lawyer. I told him I knew you and he recognized your name.”

  “What did he do?”

  “I don’t know the details. Drug bust. I didn’t ask what or how or anything,” Carvelli told him.

  “I hate doing drug cases,” Marc said.

  “I know. Look, this guy, the dad, gets me a lot of business. Not just 3M but other corporate guys he knows. I would appreciate the favor,” Tony pleaded.

  Marc hesitated for a brief moment then said, “Okay. I may owe you one anyway. The dad has money?”

  “Oh yeah. He can pay. Try not to gouge him too much.”

  “I won’t,” Marc replied. “I’m meeting the girls for lunch. Want to join us?”

  “Maddy and Gabriella?”

  “Yeah,” Marc said.

  “I need to talk to Maddy anyway. Where and when?”

  “Axel’s and I’m already late,” Marc replied.

  “See you there.”

  By the time Marc arrived at the restaurant, his three lunch companions were already there. He joined them at a booth and sat next to Gabriella Shriqui, across from Tony and Maddy Rivers.

  Gabriella was a minor local celebrity. She started her career in TV news as a reporter for local Channel 8 covering local courts and criminal activity. This is how she first came in contact with Marc and Maddy.

  She was excellent at her job and looked great in front of the camera. Gabriella was stop traffic gorgeous. The product of Moroccan Christian parents who immigrated to America when her mother was pregnant with her older brother. Gabriella had silky black hair six inches below her shoulders, light caramel colored skin that looked like a perpetual tan and dark, almost black, slightly almond shaped eyes.

  A job hosting a half-hour show entitled The Court Reporter had opened up when the previous host was murdered. Gabriella had done a bit of work for the show and was given the job. The show was, as the title implied, about what was going on in the courts both locally and nationally.

  Madeline Rivers was an ex-cop with the Chicago Police Department in her early-thirties. In her three-inch heeled, suede half-boots she liked to wear, she was over six-feet tall. She had a full head of thick dark hair with natural auburn highlights that fell down over her shoulders, a model gorgeous face and a body worthy of Playboy. In fact, foolishly posing for that magazine was what led her to quit the Chicago P.D.

  Maddy, as she was called by her friends, had moved to Minneapolis after quitting the Chicago cops following her Playboy pose. At the same time, she went through an ugly breakup when she found out the doctor she had fallen for was married. After arriving in Minnesota she got a private investigator’s license. Maddy was befriended by Tony Carvelli and she was now doing quite well for herself. It was through Tony that she had met Marc. They had done several criminal cases together and had become great friends.

  Marc’s appearance interrupted a conversation taking place between Tony and Maddy. Maddy was not as successful as Tony, although she was making a good living. A lot of her work came from advertising for investigating prospective boyfriends and on occasion, girlfriends.

  With the advent of online dating services came a growing market for quietly inve
stigating people who were beginning to date. Maddy had saved quite a few women from involvement with men of questionable character. Even so, it surprised her how many women did not heed Maddy’s warnings and refused to dump a guy whom Maddy found out was a total sleaze.

  Madeline also did some criminal work for a few defense lawyers, mostly Marc and his officemate Barry Cline. This was her favorite work. To help supplement her income, she handled the occasional wayward wife or husband in a divorce, which she hated.

  “So, when I get some overflow stuff from my corporate security clients, you want in?” Tony asked Maddy.

  “God, yes! Please tell me I can stop doing divorce work,” Maddy said.

  “Yeah, I can probably get you enough so you can drop that,” Tony assured her. “But don’t be stealing my clients. Some of the guys I work for will like you, maybe a little too much.”

  “Hey, maybe I’ll meet a rich executive type.”

  “Find one for me too,” Gabriella laughed.

  While they ate lunch, the four of them chatted amiably. Marc told his lawyer jokes and Tony added two that he had recently heard. After the table was cleared, Tony told Marc about the drug case he had called him about. Tony gave Marc the father’s name, information and of course, the son’s name and information also.

  It had been long established that anything said at these informal get-togethers was not to be used by Gabriella as a newsperson unless agreed upon.

  “He’s out on bail?” Marc asked.

  “Yeah, Ramsey County,” Tony replied.

  “We need a good, juicy murder case,” Maddy interjected.

  “Yeah,” Gabriella quickly agreed. “My show could use something spicy.” She looked at Marc and continued, “How about a sex scandal murder involving some rich people or politicians?”

  Marc looked at her and said, “You want me to see what I can do to create one?”

  “Would you?” Maddy asked smiling.

  He frowned at her across the table and said, “I’ll do my best.”

  Changing the subject, Gabriella asked Maddy, “How’s the new boyfriend?”

  “Good, we get to listen to the girl-talk part of the conversation,” Carvelli sarcastically said.

  Maddy turned to look at Tony with a steely-eyed, stern expression.

  Uh-oh, Marc thought and then quickly said, “I always enjoy hearing about these things.”

  Maddy turned her head to Marc and gave him the same look. After a few seconds she looked at Gabriella and said, “He’s great.”

  “Really? Wow! He is a bit of a hunk,” she added. “Great, huh?”

  “Well, he’s you know, good. I mean he’s okay… we’re doing all right.”

  Tony looked at Marc and said while ticking off each item on his fingers, “She went from, ‘he’s great’ to, ‘he’s good’ to, ‘he’s okay’ to, ‘we’re doing all right’ all in one breath.”

  “He’s history,” Marc said.

  “Probably tonight,” Tony agreed.

  Maddy scratched her nose with the middle finger of her left hand while looking back and forth at the two men. Gabriella had a hand over her mouth trying not to laugh.

  “What’s his name and what does he do?” Tony asked.

  “His name is Rob Judd and he works for a small, local investment firm in their bond department. He makes a good living; he’s good looking and not an asshole.”

  “Everything your dad told you to look for. Maybe you could murder him. That could make a great local story,” Marc said.

  “Why are you being so mean?” Maddy seriously asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Marc and Tony both said.

  “We’re just teasing you a bit,” Marc added.

  “Well, stop it,” Gabriella said. “You guys have no idea how hard it is to find a nice guy.”

  “With a job,” Maddy interjected.

  “It’s no easier for us,” Marc said.

  “How’s Margaret?” Maddy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Marc said and sighed. “I think she wants marriage and I’m in no hurry. In fact, the longer I live alone the more comfortable I get with it.

  “I need to get back to the office,” Marc said wrapping up the discussion.

  THREE

  The two visitors returning to the states from Panama City had barely made their 6:16 P.M. connection in Houston. Victor checked his watch as the American Airlines 737 smoothly cruised across the American heartland. They were due into Minneapolis/St. Paul at 10:59 which would get them home by midnight.

  Victor looked past the softly snoring Walter Pascal and through the window into the starlit sky. The flight down to Panama had been very stressful on Walter because of his fear of the Torres. The moods of the two men were reversed for the return flight. Victor had his misgivings about how they would handle the drug money and the firm’s ability to provide a fourteen percent return. The cash flow was nice, but to make an interest payment plus a laundered five million dollars pressed and cleaned each month could cause problems. And Victor was well aware of how these particular clients solved problems. His friendship with El Callado’s counselor, Pablo Quinones, was helpful but certainly no guarantee.

  Like Corbin Reed and Jordan Kemp, Victor and Pablo had met in college twenty plus years ago at Stanford. They remained very close over the years then a year or so after Victor had joined CAR Securities, Pablo paid him a visit. Victor had mentioned to him how the firm could really take off with a steady cash flow from just one or two customers. By the end of their first meeting, CAR Securities had a five million dollar a month commitment. Ironically, it was Victor who was the lone hold out to turn it down. No one on the decision-making team was a virgin. Everybody knew exactly where this money was coming from and exactly what was being done with it.

  Corbin Reed was the smoothest salesman Victor had ever met. Having spent ten years in a New York investment firm as a sales manager, Victor Espinosa had met more than his share of smooth talking sales people, both men and women. None of them could hold a candle to Corbin Reed. In fact, Corbin was becoming so good at it, so sophisticated, he did not have to sell at all. His reputation in the Twin Cities and Upper Midwest was such that investors were beginning to ask him to take their money.

  Typically, the way this worked, a current client would brag to a friend or fund manager that he knew about Corbin’s solid returns in the eleven to fourteen percent range through good times and bad. The friend would end up begging Corbin’s client to set up a meeting. During the course of the meeting, in fact it usually took two or three meetings, Corbin would almost reluctantly agree to take the friend’s money.

  Corbin would say something along the lines of, “Well, I don’t know. We’re trying to stay small so we can give our customers personal service. I’m just not sure we want to grow much faster.”

  Of course, by this time, the would-be new client was practically barking like a seal begging Corbin to take his money.

  The best ones were the fund managers. Corbin had managed to net a dozen local funds, mostly 401k’s set up for small and mid-size business employees and several local school district pension plans and even a couple of churches. The steady returns his current clients always bragged about made the eyes of the fund managers light up. The fund managers’ bonuses were tied directly to returns they generated. And of course, the cash flow from these clients was always put to good use.

  Walter Pascal woke up, yawned, sat up, stretched then turned to Victor, “How much longer?”

  “About a half-hour.”

  “We on schedule?” Walter asked while taking a peek down below at the darkness of southern Minnesota.

  “A far as I know, they haven’t said anything.”

  “Been a long day. Too much time spent on airplanes.”

  The next morning the two travelers, along with three others, all men, were in a meeting in Corbin Reed’s office. Victor Espinosa related the trip, the meeting in Panama and the results. He also expressed his reservations.

  “Do we
really want to guarantee that kind of return on this money? Will we continue to have the cash flow long enough to do so and meet our goals?” Victor asked.

  The five of them were seated around an inexpensive, round, wooden table that had six chairs around it. There was coffee, water, pastry and fruit in the center of the table and the pastries were rapidly disappearing.

  “Yes, Victor,” Corbin answered him. “Everything is going better than I had hoped.”

  “As long as the market stays stable,” interjected the small firm’s numbers wizard and CIO, Jordan Kemp. “They need to have a big uptick just to avoid a large collapse.”

  “Unless we see it coming and short sell,” Walter Pascal said.

  “I’m not worried. We have the cash flow and more investors circling the bait,” Corbin said, proud of his metaphor. “The politicians in Washington can’t afford to let another meltdown happen again.”

  “We may have another problem I need to show you,” Ethan Rask said. Rask was technically listed as the firm’s compliance officer. His job was to make sure that the firm’s trades and business practices were in compliance with the state and federal laws and regulations. That was his title but it wasn’t his job. In fact, the only thing he knew about securities and investment was what little he was able to grasp in these meetings. But it helped that he had his hooks into the chief investigator for Minnesota of the Securities and Exchange Commission. Rask was both blackmailing and bribing the man.

  “Listen to this,” Rask said as he opened a laptop, set it on the table and played an audio recording.

  What they heard was a recorded conversation between a man, whose voice they recognized, and a woman. The man was an employee in the bond department and he was sharing his concerns about things he believed did not add up at work.

  “They are getting their customers good rates of return and you think this might be a problem? I don’t understand why that would be a problem. Isn’t that what they are supposed to do?” the men at the table heard the female voice say.