Page 96 of Maddy's Justice

“Nope, probably doesn’t apply. That’s only for cops violating a suspect’s constitutional rights,” Marc answered her.

“Is it? What if our hypothetical investigators are working as agents of the Feds?”

“Don’t go there,” Marc told her. “For now, I think a better analogy would be this. What if you happen to witness a client commit murder totally unrelated to your representation? You would certainly be allowed to testify…”

“Or, what if Jeff saw one of your clients rob a bank. Would he be allowed to testify?” Connie asked.

“Why does it have to be one of my clients? Why not one of yours?”

“Because yours are sleazebags. Would Jeff be allowed to testify?”

“Or, more accurately,” Marc said, “could my sleazebag criminal client invoke privilege and prevent him from testifying?”

“You’re splitting hairs,” she said. “Damn, it’s been a long time since law school,” Connie added rubbing her temples.

“I’m getting dizzy, lightheaded and a headache. Besides, splitting hairs is what we do. I don’t think Jeff could be prevented from testifying. Unless he came about his knowledge illegally, in which case he would invoke the 5th amendment,” Marc said. “Remember, Maddy was going to have to testify…”

“We never had a ruling from the court on that because the client died before it came out,” Connie said.

Ignoring her, Marc said, “On the other hand, if we’re talking about even a peripheral involvement in an international sex slave ring involving kidnapped children…’

“Then ethics be damned,” Connie said. “It has to be exposed.”

“But we would have to find a way to do it so it would be admissible,” Marc said.

“And we don’t get disbarred,” Connie added.

* * * * * * *

Later that afternoon, Maddy was waiting in Carvelli’s Camaro outside a biker bar near the University of Minnesota. It was the fifth place they had stopped, and they were running out of ideas.

Carvelli exited the bar and gave her a thumbs up as he hurried across the dirt parking lot. When he got in, he started the engine while Maddy anxiously waited.

“Got him,” Carvelli told her. “There was an insurance defense lawyer I know in there.”

“A biker bar?”

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a wannabe. Anyway, he’s got a big personal injury case he’s defending. He thinks the plaintiff is faking his injuries. He had a P.I. follow the guy and didn’t come up with anything. So, he took it to the next level.”

“The illegal level?” Maddy asked.

“Quasi-legal,” Carvelli said.

“There is no such thing.”

“Compared to what we’re about to do, you’re gonna throw stones at your glass house?”

“That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard, watch out!” she yelled while Carvelli ran a red light as a pedestrian was stepping off the curb.

“Sorry,” Carvelli muttered to himself.

“Hey, we found him,” Carvelli said.

Carvelli found the street address in Richfield the lawyer had given him. He drove past the house he was looking for and saw no sign of the van he expected to find. He continued around the block and found it farther away than he expected.

“Shall we drop in and say hello?” Carvelli asked Maddy after parking.

“Oh, by all means,” she replied. “I just love the way he drools when he looks at me. I get that sweet, tingling, skin-crawling feeling.”

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