Authors: Alan Jacobson
“What did you say to that?”
He laughed. “I didn’t argue with her. I just wanted her off my line. She gave me the creeps. She’s like the kind of person you worry about pulling a gun out of her purse and blowing your head off.”
Chandler thanked him and ended the recording.
He told Ronald that he might need to ask him some more questions, took down his address, and gave him his card. Ronald studied it, seemingly intrigued by the title of forensic investigator.
“Maybe you can come by my lab one day when you’re in town. I’ll show you around, what we do.”
“Hey, that’d be cool. You’d do that?”
“Sure. Just call me so I know you’re coming. I’ll need to get clearance.” Chandler suspected that there weren’t too many people in Ronald’s life who took an interest in him simply for Ronald’s sake.
They shook hands and Chandler left. He phoned Jeffrey Hellman once he got back in his car and gave him the good news. That night, he emailed Hellman the audio file.
THE REMAINDER OF THE THREE weeks passed quickly for Chandler. He became engulfed in his cases again, working with Nick on the flood-tainted evidence to see if there was some way he could salvage the state’s case against Bobby Lee Walker. He went back to the crime scene, the victim’s apartment, and was able to secure an intact latent print from the underside of the coffee table near where the victim was found. With this sole piece of evidence, the prosecutor was going to go to the grand jury to try to secure an indictment. There was motive, and all they had to do was place the suspect at the murder scene.
The indictment came down, and again Chandler’s back was patted for his fine work. Hennessy growled and grumbled at Chandler’s luck, at the same time marveling at his natural talent for finding a way to fix whatever went awry.
Denise’s pregnancy test was positive, elating both of them as they began discussing the changes a new child would bring to their lives. But despite the numerous diversions, as the days passed, Madison’s case returned to the forefront of Chandler’s thoughts. Although he had marked the date on his calendar as a reminder to call about the DNA test results, his internal clock was ticking way, poised to notify him like an alarm chronograph to beep at a predetermined time.
It had been nearly two weeks since the Madisons had seen Hellman when Leeza called to invite him over for dinner. He arrived early, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a medium-sized box in the other. “I know how much you love dark chocolate. I saw this tort in the market when I was picking out the flowers and couldn’t resist.”
“A tort,” Leeza said. “Is that a little lawyer joke?”
“Apparently, very little.”
Leeza laughed, then took the flowers and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe we’ll skip dinner and go right to the dessert.”
“No word yet,” Hellman said. “But we should be hearing soon.” Hellman removed his suit coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. “My stomach has more knots than a roomful of men wearing ties.”
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Madison walked into the room and gave Hellman a pat on the back. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet.”
“So how is all this going to work, with the DNA?” Leeza asked.
Hellman took a seat at the dining room table. “If they don’t match Phil’s DNA to the DNA on the beer cans, the prosecution would have no choice but to reopen its investigation and essentially look for another suspect—something they don’t want to do because it’d make them look inept. But if that’s the way it goes down, I’ll force them into it.” Hellman lifted a tray of chicken and placed a breast on his plate beside the yam and string beans. “If Harding’s DNA matches the DNA in the saliva on the beer cans, you’ll be able to rest even easier—because then I’d be able to accuse Harding with absolute certainty: I’d know the winner of the horse race before the starting gun was fired. The case would likely be dropped against Phil.”
“If the beer can DNA doesn’t match mine, will they immediately dismiss the charges?”
“Denton won’t dismiss against you until he’s reopened his investigation and charged a new suspect with the crime. He’ll probably try to dig up some more evidence on you while they investigate Harding. Once he sees that video and hears my theory as to what she’s done, I think he’ll listen. He’ll probably go before a judge and request a search warrant based on motive and all the corroborating evidence we’re going to give him. The warrant will enable the detectives to get a sample of hair and blood from Harding for DNA testing.”
“Will the judge give him the warrant?” Leeza asked.
“We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, but I think there’s a good chance he would. But nothing’s guaranteed. It depends on how Denton presents it. Which I guess means it depends on how much Denton believes that she framed you. And then there’s the variable of the Judge. You don’t know who you’re getting, and if you’re catching him or her on a good or bad day.”
“For a system that’s supposed to be objective,” Leeza said, “there’s sure a lot of subjectivity. I don’t like all those ‘
ifs.
’”
“I know, but we’re real close,” Hellman said. “I have to think things are going to go our way.” He rubbed at the beard stubble on his face. “One thing we haven’t covered yet, though. Denton’s gonna ask me how Harding was able to steal your car without the alarm going off. Because if she set it off, for sure you would’ve heard it. Any thoughts?”
Madison shrugged. “Obviously she did it, so there has to be a way.”
“I can accept that, but Denton won’t.”
“She must have had the key,” Leeza said. “That night when she was here, she must’ve taken it.”
Hellman looked at Madison. “What key?”
“Leeza couldn’t find the spare key to my Mercedes. We kept it by the phone in the kitchen.”
“And it’s gone?”
Leeza nodded. “I even checked with Ryan. He hadn’t seen it either.”
“Okay,” Hellman said. “Denton should accept that.”
Their attention was suddenly diverted as Elliott and Jonah came downstairs with their Masters of the Galaxy swords and costumes on.
“C’mon, Dad. Let’s play!”
Madison looked over at Leeza.
“Oh, go ahead. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and then took off after the boys, chasing them through the living room and dining room, around chairs and underneath the table before finally catching them.
Leeza turned to Hellman. “It’s time to put this matter to rest, Jeffrey.”
Hellman looked at Madison wrestling with the boys on the floor, and then nodded.
IT WAS A Monday morning, two weeks and five days since Kurt Gray had begun testing the samples. Trying to keep focused, Chandler went to the lab and pretended to work; Nick sensed what was bothering him—Chandler had told him all about the case when he first returned to New York—and he tried to take his partner’s mind off it.
A couple days shy of three weeks, Chandler couldn’t wait any longer. He glanced at his watch. Given the time difference, it would be a few hours before the Sacramento lab would be open.
At eleven o’clock, Chandler walked over to his desk and dialed Palucci.
“Lake Tahoe cabin, huh?”
“I needed him to run the test, Lou, and Gray was being a total asshole.”
“Why, because he wanted to go by the book? Things are different out here, remember? You used to work here. All that New York smog has clouded your judgment or something. This could really get me in deep shit if it ever got out—”
“Lou, I’d love to shoot the breeze with you, but the wait is killing me. I haven’t slept in three nights.”
“Your guy is clean. No match on the DNA. But that other sample is another story. Whoever’s DNA that was is a dead ringer. Good match with the saliva on the beer cans.”
Chandler sighed relief. “Lou, you’ve just helped bring the wheels of injustice to a grinding halt.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not for publication. Just keep it between you, me, and the bedpost, will you?”
“Of course,” Chandler said. “Take care of yourself, man.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“And tell Gray I said thank you.”
“Be best to leave him out of this.”
Chandler hung up and immediately dialed Hellman.
In a deposition.
Interrupt him.
Can’t do that.
Interrupt him.
He’ll thank you later.
Hellman came to the phone. “You got it?”
“No match on Phil. Dead ringer on Harding.”
Hellman let out a shrill yell that probably caused his entire staff and the visiting attorneys to turn their heads toward his office.
“You okay?” Chandler asked.
“I’m on cloud nine.”
“Go back to your deposition.”
“Deposition? It’ll wait. I have to call Phil.”
They agreed to talk in a few days.
“Oh,” Hellman said, “when is the lab report going to be ready on the DNA? I’ll need to turn it over to Denton.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. It’s an issue of discovery, you know that.”
“Jeffrey, there’s not going to be any report. If they produced a report, all hell would break loose.”
“What are you talking about? Chandler, where did you have these tests run?”
“At the lab.”
“What lab?”
“You know,” Chandler said, “the lab.”
Hellman was silent a moment, then said, “The state lab? Chandler, you know they’re not supposed to run tests for us. We need to go through a private lab—”
“Jeffrey, we needed the results and we needed to have it done by a lab where the methods and techniques were the same. We had to be sure before we went public with your accusations. I had the connections. Bottom line, I got it done.”
“But now I don’t have a report to take to Denton.”
“Doesn’t matter, we’ve got enough. He’ll buy the case motive alone. Tell him to do a DNA test on her and that he won’t be disappointed.”
“Chandler—”
“We hold all the cards. We know the results of a test that officially hasn’t been run yet. I told you I’d get the job done, and I came through. Now the case rests in your hands. Do your thing. Get the charges dropped.”
Hellman told Chandler it wasn’t that simple—and that a lot of things had to happen in order for Madison to walk away from this a free man. “I think you fucked up on this one, Chandler.”
“Regardless of what I should have or shouldn’t have done, bottom line is you’ve got what you need to get Phil off.”
Upon hanging up and clearing his mind, Hellman realized that Chandler was right—he had to focus on the task at hand. He had all the tools and evidence he needed: all he had to do was convince Denton to look at Harding as the prime suspect. Considering Denton’s ego and political aspirations, he would need to make a compelling argument in order to convince him to abandon his high-profile suspect. But if he approached Denton properly, subtly giving him a choice between losing his high-profile case and prosecuting the wrong man, a prominent surgeon, Denton would opt to prevent either from occurring.
He dialed Madison and told him he had the results. He started to tell him a story about a case he once had handled in order to give the test results some perspective, but Madison would have nothing of it.
“Just give me the results,” he said.
After Hellman relayed the good news, he heard Leeza crying in the background.
Hellman reminded them that they still had hurdles to overcome, a speech that really would have been better expressed by the brief anecdote he had tried to relate a minute ago. But Madison said they couldn’t think about that now. They just wanted to enjoy the moment.
Hellman couldn’t blame them. “I’ll call you later when I’m done with my deposition.”
Madison and Leeza made immediate plans for a baby-sitter—and went to Mikuni, a well-known Sacramento sushi restaurant that never disappointed.
Madison was uncomfortable calling this a celebration. He felt he should try to temper his emotions until the charges were formally dropped. For now, they would relish the good news and try to view it in relation to what their lives had been like of late.
Together they toasted forensic science, the lab technicians, and even the very existence of DNA and God’s wisdom in creating it. They would wait to toast Chandler until the formal celebration: a party, they decided, at the house, with everyone there they could think of, if and when Harding was convicted.
IN THE MORNING, Hellman scheduled a meeting with Denton, who immediately requested that the lab fax a copy of Gray’s DNA report over to him. As they both read the conclusion indicating that Madison’s DNA did not match that on the beer cans, Denton nodded. Hellman wished it said something about Harding’s DNA and the cigarette, but at least the report ripped significant holes in the prosecution’s case.
“You look disappointed,” Hellman said.
“I spend two months investigating and preparing a case against a defendant, we’re days away from trial, and then it turns out he may be innocent? You’re damn fucking right I’m disappointed.” He looked at Hellman, who took a breath to speak, but Denton held up a hand. “You’re going to tell me that I should be glad that justice is being done, that we’re not going to prosecute the wrong man.”
“That’s exactly what I’m about to tell you.”
“Spare me.”
“I strongly urge you to look at Brittany Harding. She’s got motive and I’ve got plenty of evidence that you’ll be interested in. If you take this information in good faith and investigate, you’ll be able to corroborate everything I’m going to give you. I can practically hand you a case complete with evidence, on a silver platter. I’ll make you look good.”
“I don’t need you to make me look good.”
“You know what I mean. We both know that for the next two or three weeks you’re going to have a little egg on your face.” He figured it was better not to sugarcoat it. “But I’m telling you: look into Harding and you’ll have your suspect—with a very reasonable chance of conviction.”
“Let’s hear this so-called ironclad evidence,” Denton said, loosening his blue tie and sitting down behind his desk. Although it was only nine in the morning, he looked exhausted...the lines in his face deeper, his complexion a bit pallid.