False Accusations (23 page)

He raised an eyebrow. “The next morning, I had papers on my desk naming me in a lawsuit that had been filed, accusing me of sexual harassment. She claimed that I called her into my office and told her that if she wanted to keep her job, she’d have to perform certain...activities that went beyond her job description. I then supposedly began to fondle her breasts. She said that she refused my advances, and as a result, was fired.”

“Let me guess that it didn’t end there,” Chandler said, pulling his pad out to take notes.

“No, it didn’t.” Stanton leaned forward in his seat, rested his forearms on his desk. “Not by a long shot. I got a call from her attorney, who was considering a civil suit against me. Wanted fifty thousand dollars to make it all go away.”

“And you paid it?” Chandler asked.

“Wouldn’t you have? Here I was, fighting to keep my company afloat...the last thing I needed was a groundless civil suit that would’ve smeared my name across the papers. She’d once told me a friend of hers was a reporter with the
Herald
, who I’m sure would’ve jumped at a juicy story for the front page of the business section:
Imposing, dominant male president and CEO fondled the breasts of his attractive staff person while she cowered in his shadow, fearful for her life
.” He waved a hand through the air. “I had too much to lose and nothing to gain by fighting it. It would’ve been a massive smear campaign. Even if I was found not guilty, would you hire a management consultant who himself was charged with sexual harassment?” He shook his head, as if he were reliving the distasteful choice that had to be made at the time. “There were no viable options. I had to pay her the money.”

“Do you remember the name of her attorney?”

Chandler asked, hoping he could solidify the pattern of behavior that appeared to be forming.

“Movis Ehrhardt. Can’t forget a name like that.”

Chandler smiled.

Stanton sat back, presumably waiting for Chandler’s next question, which did not materialize. He looked down at his watch. “Have I been of assistance, Mr. Chandler?”

“Definitely. Mind if I give you a buzz if I think of anything else?” Chandler asked.

“As long as you keep our conversations confidential.”

“Would you be willing to testify as to what you told me today?”

He folded his hands and gazed down at the desk in front of him. “I need to discuss that with my attorney,” he said, “but my inclination is
no.
I’m sorry, but the very reason for spending the money was to put this incident behind me, and to keep this garbage out of the papers.”

“Please talk to your attorney. You’ve been there, you know what Brittany Harding’s capable of. Your testimony could make a huge difference for my client.” He stood and they shook hands.

“I’ll be in touch,” Stanton said.

FOLLOWING HIS CONVERSATION with Leeza, Madison felt that he should make the most of his time together with his family. With so few patients to be seen, on a forced vacation that could turn out to be permanent, he involved himself in every aspect of the children’s activities. Each time he would catch a phrase that Elliott would come up with, or observe the look of excitement in Jonah’s eyes with the discovery of something new, the horrifying thought that he might not get to see them grow up invaded his emotions and brought an instant choking sensation to his chest.

Fifteen to life
, he kept hearing in his head. The stakes were high...higher than he had prepared himself for, worse than he had ever imagined. Two to six was bad enough. But
life
? A gulp of air would help relieve the pressure in his chest, but it would be only a temporary fix.

However, when Chandler informed him of the information he had obtained from Stanton this morning, all of their spirits appeared to be buoyed. As they sat around the table preparing to eat their Subway sandwiches, Chandler explained to them how this could fit into the trial and Hellman’s planned defense of “someone else did it.”

More importantly, they knew who that someone else was. The more they dug, Chandler was saying, the greater the likelihood that they would find something of use.

Having been given the day off from his factory job due to scheduled maintenance on the equipment, Ricky was invited over to the Madisons’ for lunch.

“Thanks for calling him,” Madison told Leeza.

“I just figured with all that’s been going on, you haven’t seen him in weeks.”

“I feel awful. I shouldn’t have let that happen. My parents said he was angry with me for neglecting him.”

“You had a lot of stuff on your plate, Phil. I explained that to him yesterday when I called. At least he’s here with us now. Look at him,” she said, motioning to Ricky running around the backyard with Scalpel and the boys. “He’s in heaven.”

Ricky’s thick-tongued speech was difficult to interpret at times. He often became frustrated when he could not adequately communicate, and due to the difficulty expressing his true feelings, he would yell, throw something against the wall, or cry, depending on how frustrated he became at the time.

After Leeza called everyone to the kitchen table, they unwrapped their sandwiches. Ricky took a swig of his soda, leaving a film of brown foam on his face. He wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. “Want th’ome?” he said, offering his drink to Chandler.

Elliott jumped out of his seat. “No, Uncle Ricky. Mom says you’re not supposed to share your drink. It’s got germs, right, Mom?”

“That’s right, Elliott.” Leeza turned to Ricky. “That was nice of you to offer, but I’ll get Ryan a can of his own.” As she brought a plate of pickles and Chandler’s soda over to the table, she asked, “Do you think we’ll have enough evidence to get Phil off?”

Chandler popped open his Coke Zero. “All we need is enough to create reasonable doubt. As long as there’s a hint of doubt in the jury’s minds, they’re not supposed to convict him.”

“What are our chances?” Leeza asked.

“That’s really a question best answered by Jeffrey. But I think we’re on the right track.” He picked up his sandwich and held it a couple of inches from his mouth, preparing to take a bite. “I just wish I had stronger evidence linking Harding to the crime. If I could only place her in the car somehow.” He took a huge bite of his pastrami hero.

“But there weren’t any fingerprints in the car except Phil’s, right?” Leeza asked.

Chandler nodded while his jaw swayed to and fro, trying to negotiate the enormous bite he had taken.

Leeza brought a few more napkins over to the table. “So if her fingerprints weren’t there, how else do we place her in the car?”

“Finding something belonging to her would certainly help,” Madison said.

“How about strands of hair,” Leeza asked. “Did they find any of her hair in the car?”

“Mm-mm,” Chandler managed, shaking his head “no.”

“Then what else would be there if she was driving the car?” she asked. “An article of clothing—”

Chandler’s eyes became round and large, as if he were choking. He held up an index finger and gestured while he struggled to rapidly chew his food and swallow. He munched animatedly, while Leeza looked at Madison, who was staring at Chandler.

“What?” Madison asked. “You have an idea?”

He nodded affirmatively and swallowed hard. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers.

“Ryan, what’re you thinking?” Leeza asked. Chandler didn’t answer, so she turned to Madison. “What’s he got?”

Madison shrugged.

“Can you connect me to Kurt Gray in Trace Evidence?” Chandler asked turned to the Madisons and covered the mouthpiece. “The cans. There might be—hello, Kurt? This is Ryan Chandler... Yeah, Lou’s friend, the Madison case. Listen, those beer cans that were found in the backseat of the Mercedes—have they been examined for saliva?” Chandler smiled and looked over to Madison. “Yeah, saliva. I’ll bet you find some. Where have the cans been stored?... Excellent...Well, you’re going to find that the DNA in that saliva will not match the DNA of the suspected driver of that vehicle... No, I told you, the driver was not Phillip Madison.”

Chandler stood there listening to Gray speak when suddenly the enthusiasm drained from his face. “Jennings? Bill Jennings is on this case?” Chandler squared his shoulders and refocused himself. “Well, regardless of Jennings’s opinions, I’d appreciate it if you’d run the tests.”

Shaking his head out of frustration, he placed a hand on his hip. “Fine, check with Lou. Can you put me through to him?” Chandler tapped his foot on the floor and waited. “Lou, Chandler. I stumbled onto something that may clear my client. I just ran it by Gray, but he was less than enthusiastic about it... Yeah, would you?”

Chandler nodded a couple of times. “Fine, get it cleared through the DA. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake... Thanks, man. I’ll call you in a few days.”

As he hung up the phone, Leeza spoke. “Saliva? How is that going to—”

“DNA,” Chandler said. “It’s contained in all our bodily fluids—blood, semen, and
saliva.
And everyone’s DNA is different, like a fingerprint. If we can identify the DNA in the saliva on the beer cans, it’ll tell us the genetic makeup of that individual—the one who was driving the car and drinking the beer.”

“If we’re assuming the cans belonged to Harding, why weren’t her fingerprints on them?” Leeza asked.

“There were a few sets of smudged prints, but nothing we could use to make an identification.”

“Do you think there’s enough saliva to run the tests?” Madison asked.

“First we have to see if there’s any on the cans. If she drank the beer, for sure there’ll be enough. If she didn’t drink it, and just poured it out in the sink, we’re shit out of luck. But if she took a couple of swigs while emptying it into the sink...”

“Then we’ve got her?” Leeza asked.

Chandler nodded. “I think so. We’ll have to wait and see.” He started to pace the kitchen.

“But why would she take a swig of beer while emptying it?” Leeza asked.

“Maybe she likes beer, so she took a few swigs and emptied the rest down the drain. Maybe she drank all of it.”

“But she wouldn’t drink the beer,” Leeza said. “That’d be taking an awfully big chance.”

Chandler was shaking his head. “To her, she wasn’t taking any chances at all. Despite the popularity of shows like CSI, the average person doesn’t think like a forensic scientist. And a criminal doesn’t always think everything through—or even know what he or she
should
be thinking about. And they tend not to be the brightest bulb in the fixture. It probably never crossed Harding’s mind that the police would investigate her, let alone test for saliva on the beer cans and use the DNA to match it to her.”

“Would the saliva still be usable after this much time?” Madison asked.

“Sure. After blood and semen, saliva’s the best medium to get DNA from. And aside from fingerprints, DNA’s at least as reliable, if not more so, than conventional forensic tests. For one thing, it’s a more stable molecule than the proteins and enzymes that we’ve used in forensics for years. The problems with DNA come when you have a very small sample to work with, or if the evidence is mishandled. Like if it’s left in direct sunlight in front of a window. But even then, the glass from the window filters out most of the harmful UV. If it’s been stored at room temperature, it should be fine.”

“Was it?” Madison asked.

“From what Gray told me, the beer cans were stored properly. You’ve got a well-respected lab here in Sacramento. And saliva generally provides a big enough sample, so if Gray’s right, there should be close to zero chance of contamination.”

Everyone sat there for a moment, trying to put it all in perspective. Ricky looked at everyone, wondering why they had all fallen silent. “What’th D-DA?”

“D-N-A,” Madison said. “It’s part of what makes your skin, your bones, your face. It’s sort of like a code that Mom and Dad gave us.”

He nodded, perhaps understanding some of it, enough to satisfy his curiosity. Then, “Ith that what made me retarded?”

Madison glanced at Leeza, gave her a look like,
how did I step into that one?
“That’s what caused the Down syndrome. Yes.”

“But,” Leeza said, “because everyone’s DNA is different, it makes each of us special. You’re special, just like Phil and Ryan and I are special.”

“You’re the one who gave me the idea of checking for the DNA,” Chandler said. “You may’ve saved your brother’s life.”

Ricky smiled.

“How long till we get those results from the lab?” Madison asked Chandler.

“It’s faster than it used to be, but their lab’s understaffed. Big time. I wouldn’t expect an answer for a few weeks.”

Leeza leaned forward. “
Weeks
?”

Chandler nodded. “I probably shouldn’t answer for them. Could be less. But that’d be my guess.” He sat there staring at his plate. “You know, there is one other thing we could check. If she did take a drink, she would’ve left a lip print.”

“A what?” Madison asked.

“A lip print. The pattern of the skin on our lips is different, in much the same way fingerprints are individual. It’s not a well-known or often-used forensic, but in certain situations it could be very revealing. And it’s a whole lot faster to do than DNA.” He picked up the phone again, dialed Palucci, and asked him to dust the can for a lip print as well.

“You know,” Madison said after Chandler had hung up, “when I saw her in the market, she had a six-pack in her cart.”

“Why didn’t you mention that before?” Chandler asked. “That’s a very important detail to leave out.”

“I didn’t think of it ’til just now.”

“Do you remember the brand?”

“The cans were gold and black, with some white on them, I think,” he said, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to recall their appearance.

“Millstone Draft?”

Madison pointed at Chandler. “That’s it.”

“Why is that so important?” Leeza asked.

“If we can find someone else who saw that brand of beer in her cart, and at least one of the beer cans has her lip print on it as well as saliva that contains her DNA, then we’ve got a very strong case for them having accused the wrong person.”