Wrongful Convictions, page 26
As the bus pulled to the side of I-90, Agent Shannon McCarthy pulled on her FBI windbreaker, unstrapped her service weapon, and stepped out of the Tahoe she was riding in. She approached the front of the bus with her gun drawn.
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Marcel got a call from Jarvis informing him that Will was in critical condition, and that Tess was once again in custody. Jarvis warned Marcel that he needed to get out of town.
“I am in Colorado right now on a Greyhound outside of Denver.”
“Get off at the next stop and get on a bus to El Paso,” Jarvis directed.
“What about Will?” He wanted to see Will, and he wasn’t going anywhere without Shannon.
“Kid, get off the bus and leave your cell phone there. They can track you with it. Do it now and don’t come back to Minnesota. I love you like you were my own son, and I never want to see you again.” With that Jarvis hung up.
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Shannon had missed Marcel by only a few miles. Only his cell phone remained on the seat where he had been sitting. The driver informed her that a passenger had suffered a panic attack a few miles back and had been let off the bus. She held up a picture of Marcel and the driver more or less identified him as the man who had been let off.
She immediately called her SAC to put out an APB on Marcel Wright. If she knew Marcel like she thought she did, he wasn’t running. He was heading back to Minneapolis to say his final goodbyes.
“Get me to the airport,” She directed the driver of the Tahoe.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To arrest Marcel Wright.”
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Banks wanted Marcel dead because of his obsession with loose ends. Banks was so spun that he hadn’t ever considered that Tess had already given him up and the game was over. The FBI and DEA were both closing in but Banks was oblivious. He knew that the big boy had been taken to North Memorial. Banks figured that if the big man was there, Tess and Marcel would both be soon to follow. It was of no concern to him that it was likely there would be a police presence there as well.
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Marcel changed his destination to St. Paul and found a mode of transportation way more low key than the Greyhound. He caught on with an over-the-road trucker who was happy to have the company and didn’t ask any questions. It took him about fifteen minutes to walk from where he was let off by the trucker to get home and grab his motorcycle. There was an obvious police presence monitoring the front entrance but nothing on the shed where his bike was stored.
He quickly made his way to the Minneapolis Greyhound station where there were more police waiting for him.
Damn it, I have to get word to Tess.
He had left his phone on the bus.
Library.
There was a public library not far from North Memorial. He used a public phone and left a message for her to meet him at North Memorial. He would say his goodbyes to Will and if Shannon had gotten his message they could leave from there. If not, he had made up his mind to hit the road either way. Jarvis had convinced him.
He walked into the hospital and approached the front desk.
“I am looking for Will Curtis?” Marcel asked the group of people behind the desk.
The man completely ignored him and a particularly unfriendly woman looked up at him. Marcel assumed it had been a hectic day in the ER.
“One moment,” she responded without looking up.
She banged wildly at her keyboard and after a long minute looked up.
“I am sorry, sir, he is in surgery right now.” She softened a bit “You likely won’t get to see him tonight.”
“How is he doing?”
“I am sorry, sir, who are you? That information is confidential.”
“I just want to know how my friend is doing?” Marcel was starting to show his exacerbation and frayed nerves.
“Sir, you are going to need to calm down or we will call security.”
That was definitely not what he wanted to hear.
“Okay, thanks.” Marcel turned, knowing that this was not a place for him to hang around. He started for the door. That was the precise moment Clifford Banks walked through. He had an unusual look in his eye somewhere between insanity and pure love. A man possessed by a demon he would never be free of. Marcel’s brain didn’t make a connection between Banks and danger right away, but realized quickly when the man pulled out a .357 revolver and pointed it at Marcel’s face.
Marcel recognized the look on Clifford’s face. He had seen it before a long time ago; it was the look of a man who was about to take a life. Marcel’s mind went to Tess. She was still pulling the strings. She had called Jarvis knowing that he would tell Marcel about Will, and then she tipped off Banks. The whole thing had been one big damned conspiracy. Joanne, Banks, and Tess had all worked together to set him up, and now it was time to pay the piper.
Marcel turned and sprinted away from Banks. He heard an explosion behind him and glass shattering followed by a woman screaming. Marcel turned down a hall still sprinting and tripped over a wheelchair that sat empty around the corner. The collision sent him sprawling to the floor. He scrambled to get to his feet and he heard another explosion. This time the bullet whizzed past his head like a supersonic gnat. He ducked into a room to his left and locked the door behind him.
He found himself in some sort of office that luckily had a window to the outside. He grabbed a nearby medical book and threw it against the window until it smashed out. He bailed out the window and crashed to the ground. The ground was covered with rocks. The landing hurt, but he didn’t feel it because of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The situation he was in was very similar to a fight. He had tunnel vision. He focused only on getting away from Banks and getting the hell out of the hospital campus. He couldn’t hear anything, including the approaching sirens.
He scrambled to a parking lot where he was hemmed in. He started to head for the exit where he was cut off by Banks. Banks raised the gun, and this time Marcel had nowhere to go. There were three quick explosions and Marcel was sure it was the end. Only it wasn’t. The shots did not come from Bank’s gun. Instead he watched Banks crumple to the ground in what felt like slow motion.
Shannon came around the corner with three members of the Minneapolis Police force as her back up. Her gun was drawn.
“Marcel Wright, get on the ground and put your hands behind your head,” Shannon barked the order to him in a voice he couldn’t recognize.
He turned around in disbelief to see Shannon, a woman whom he had considered his closest friend at St. Stevens, pointing a gun at him. He had no idea what to do.
“Marcel Wright, get on the ground now!” she barked again.
He made a quick move and another shot rang out. Marcel felt a burn in his leg and crumpled to the ground in a heap, blood spouting from his leg.
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2014
The bell rang and Marcel moved forward to touch gloves with his opponent. The crowd for this title fight was the most raucous crowd he had ever fought in front of. The man across the ring from him was one of the most ferocious fighters he had ever fought against, though far from what Marcel would consider skilled. Marcel hated him. His opponent was aggressive, quick, and had tremendous power behind his punches, but no technique. Marcel knew that if he was sloppy that the man could be trouble. Marcel knew that If he wanted the title, he was going to have to have to dig in and be disciplined. His opponent continued his relentless attack throughout the first round. Marcel moved and countered but he still took several solid shots before the bell sounded, signifying the end of the first round.
He took a seat in his corner. He splashed some water around his mouth, took a couple deep breaths and closed his eyes while his cornerman applied more Vaseline to his brow. The second bell sounded. It signaled the end of the shortest minute of his life, and he came back out with a renewed vigor. He had a second wind that his opponent was not ready for. Marcel parried his opponents jab with his left and countered with a front right hook that landed square and buckled the man’s legs. This time there would be no advice from his corner, so Marcel decided on his own that he would end the fight. He stepped in with a rear uppercut that picked up his opponents chin and followed with an overhand left that dislocated the man’s jaw and sent him sprawling to the canvas with no hope of answering the referee’s ten count.
After it was over, Marcel stood in the center of the ring with his hand raised. He was now the Federal Prison System Middleweight Champion. It was the highest title that he would ever have the opportunity to fight for. Marcel had plead guilty to second-degree murder under the Major Crimes Act. He was sentenced to thirty years to life in a federal prison. Parole was not an option under the federal sentencing guidelines but he avoided the death penalty from a first degree murder conviction.
After the fight, he returned to his cell in the Marion Federal Penitentiary. He thought about all the things that transpired for him to arrive at this place. Deep down he attributed it to the strength of his convictions. He loved his brother and believed that his actions, in accordance with his brother’s value system, were the right ones. He had been loyal to a fault. After his brother was killed, his moral code was thrown into chaos. Jarvis had taught him about redemption, discipline, and work ethic. He had believed in those lessons. He believed that a zebra really could change his stripes. He had believed that leaving his old life behind was the right thing to do, and because of it he had chosen Shannon over Tess and Shannon had betrayed him. He had been wrong in so many of his convictions.
He was happy to hear that Tess had been freed. She cooperated with the police and they had been able to close their case on Clifford Banks. Will had survived and corroborated her entire story. The Feds had seized Banks’ assets and turned them over to the tribe. For all the good he had accomplished for the people, his belief that the ends justified the means had been his downfall. He had become a man drunk on his own power, destroying lives in order to better the lives of his people and in the process pad his pockets. Clifford wasn’t even really one of them. Jesus Ramirez had died of a result of the gunshot wounds he received in the shootout at the hospital. He was given a government funeral and buried in St. Paul. A fitting end for a man who caused so much destruction.
Marcel’s life, along with his brother’s, were destroyed by Ramirezs’ ambitions. Antonio Eagle had lost his life blindly following the man he knew as Banks. And even though Eagle was a psychopath destined for a federal pen, the fact of the matter was: Ramirez had manipulated Eagle and thrown the man away when he was done with him. Marcel believed he deserved better even if he was the one who had actually killed Henry.
Ken was freed from prison. He had worked with Shannon on the case. Setting up Marcel was an added bonus. Freedom, as it turned out, meant a lot to Ken Northbird. He enrolled in college, got his degree and was contemplating a run for tribal government. Though Ken could have been a tragic victim of Bank’s master plan, he didn’t allow himself to be a victim. He lost ten years of his life to Banks and used it as motivation to give back to his people. Ken even traveled to visit Marcel and to forgive him for all the pain Marcel had caused him.
Joanne had plead not guilty. Her trial had been a media sensation, of course, and her team of lawyers dragged it out for almost six months. With the trial winding down she had made a run for it and evaded authorities for a year and a half before she was eventually found in Rio. Authorities found her body in a low rent motel, dead from an overdose of heroin.
Joanne had believed that the world owed her something for what her husband did to her. She died alone and broke in a shitty motel feeling no more pain. Marcel had no doubt that her last thoughts were that she was the biggest victim of all of Bank’s crimes.
Shannon’s official report named Antonio Eagle as the perpetrator of the killings of Walter Carmody and Henry Wright. It was the last chapter in a sad life. Antonio had believed that Clifford was a father figure to him. Someone, possibly the only one on the planet. who actually cared about whether he lived or died. In the end, it was Clifford who sent him to his death as a way to cover up his own sins. Antonio wasn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination but Marcel couldn’t help but think, what if Antonio had met Jarvis so long ago? What could Jarvis have done for him? Would his life have had a happier ending?
Tavian Springs, the man Marcel had known as Joanne’s sidekick, had been awarded a Medal Of Valor for his part in bringing down one of the largest drug operations in the Midwest. All in all, the investigation shut down a five million dollar a year operation and the largest manufacturer of illegal prescription drugs in the country. Tavian had reached out to Marcel, had thrown him a lifeline, but Marcel had selfishly believed that the man was trying to destroy him. If only he had seen things a little more clear, he could have grabbed it.
Jarvis had tried to come visit Marcel but Marcel refused to see him. He had let Jarvis down and the one thing that Marcel wanted to give Jarvis was to allow the man to be true to his work. Marcel thought Jarvis really shouldn’t ever see him again. Jarvis had a new protege, Deshawn Thunder. Deshawn had just won a spot in the Olympic games. It was another thing that Marcel hadn’t given Jarvis that his trainer and mentor had deserved. There wasn’t a lot that made Marcel happy anymore. Knowing that Jarvis was taking a fighter to the olympics was something that did. The man had sacrificed so much for him, for others and the only thing he ever asked for was that the people that worked under him be the best versions of themselves. It seems like an easy request. Yet rarely was the man ever paid off. It was fifteen years in the making but maybe now Jarvis could reap the rewards of his sacrifice.
Tess Whitebird cooperated and all charges against her were dropped. She had returned to the reservation. She realized that her skills were best suited for helping her people the best she could. She was hired as an assistant by the new Chairman of the tribe and worked diligently to set up counseling centers for young mothers and families to assist them in whatever way they could to raise the children. She participated in cultural events and put on Annishinabe cultural classes for the young people in Cass Lake. Tess had always believed that her worth had come by the acceptance of others, first from Henry, then from Banks. What she learned was that she had a value independent of anyone else. She had more to offer others than just sex. It was in giving that she became truly free of everything bad that had happened to her.
Shannon was given official recognition for her role in the investigation. She was promoted and was no longer in the field. She had written a letter to Marcel shortly after his conviction that he never opened. It had been five years since the judge had banged the gavel and sentenced him to life in prison. It had taken him some time but he had come to accept responsibility for his actions. He came to realize that the reason he sat here in this cell was because of his own beliefs, his own convictions. Convictions that were so strong, but at the same time wrong. He took the letter out from the special place in the mattress where he had kept it. He looked at the envelope for a longtime. He admired Shannon’s perfect penmanship. Marcel considered what he had once believed about her, which was that he had loved her. Somewhere in that cold cell, locked away from society, he had finally made peace with everything that happened. He made peace with all the pain that was inflicted on him and he made peace with all the pain he had inflicted on others. He grasped the envelope in both hands and tore the letter into small pieces and threw it into the wastebasket in his cell.
Micheal Poncelet, Wrongful Convictions
