Page 108 of Precise Justice

“Come in,” Marc said to the knock on his door.

Ryan came in with a large envelope. Inside was an inch thick stack of documents.

“You just got served,” Ryan said.

“The first degree indictments,” Marc said as Ryan handed the envelope to him. Ryan left closing the door as he did so.

Marc opened the envelope, removed the papers and looked them over.

“Are they?” Maddy asked.

“Yeah,” Marc replied. “There’s also an arraignment scheduled for tomorrow. I better call Robbie.”

“What’s up with Kellie?” Connie asked.

“Well, not what my suspicious fiancée thinks,” Marc said.

“I’m not suspicious. I like Kellie and she’s too young for you. Or, more accurately, you’re too old for her.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Marc replied.

FORTY-ONE

The elevator door opened on the 16thfloor of the Government Center. Marc, Maddy and Robbie stepped off. Once again the crowd of semi-professional court watchers in the hall was too deep to wade through. Maddy led them to the back entrance security doors and buzzed for a deputy.

A deputy sheriff, a former high school teacher double-dipping for a second pension answered. She opened the locked door, took a quick look at the crowd then smiled.

“Hi, Maddy,” she said.

“Hey, Gloria. Can we sneak in the back way?” Maddy asked.

“Sure, come on,” Gloria said then looked at Marc. “Even you cause you’re with her.”

Marc looked at Maddy who said, “Don’t ask. Yes, she knows me. Come on.”

Marc checked in with Judge Malcolm Foster’s clerk then joined Maddy and Robbie at the defense table. Before he sat down, Marc looked over the packed gallery. He went to the rail then leaned down in front of a reporter to talk.

“How do you do this? How do you always manage to get a seat in the front row?”

Philo Anson, a reporter for the number one Minnesota newspaper, took a sneaky look around before answering.

“You want the truth?” Philo asked.

“If you say, ‘you can’t handle the truth’ I’ll have you kicked out of here,” Marc said referring to a famous movie line.

Philo leaned forward and whispered, “I bribe one of the deputies.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Marc said then went back to the table.

They were appearing before the judge assigned to handle Robbie’s case through trial. His name was Malcolm Foster; a sixty-three-year-old black man with seven years on the bench.

A former partner in the third largest law firm in Minnesota, Marc had two previous cases before him. The first wasa member of a biker gang running a stolen car ring. He received three to five in Stillwater prison. The second was a felony domestic assault he handled as a favor to Connie. He got the client a good deal. Six months’ work release in the Hennepin County Workhouse. The biker who was headed to prison was delighted with Marc. The violent husband, who got off easy, was furious with him. Welcome to criminal defense.

Robbie’s arraignment on the indictment for five counts of first-degree murder was scheduled for 2:00P.M. At 1:50, the prosecution team arrived through the same back door that Marc did. Of course, Marc already knew who was assigned.

The lead prosecutor was a man Marc knew going back to law school. His name was Thomas Hughes. Marc first ran into him as an opponent in the moot court competition between Marc’s school and the University of Minnesota Law School.

Marc and his moot court partner, now a judge in Dakota County, won their case. Ever since then, Hughes continued to carry a large chip on his shoulder. Marc knew this and was quietly amused at the childishness of the man’s ego.

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