False Accusations

by Alan Jacobson

  “Honey, I swear to you. I never laid a hand on her. I have never, ever even thought of getting involved with her.”

  “Oh, come on, Phil. She’s gorgeous. You can’t tell me that you’ve never had fantasies about her.”

  “Lee, she’s attractive. So are a lot of women in Sacramento. What does that mean?”

  “Yeah, but you don’t go out to dinner with those other women.”

  He did not like what he was hearing. She was adding up all the little tidbits of circumstantial occurrences, throwing them into the broth with the rumors she’d heard, and cooking them into a hearty serving of deceit.

  Pausing for a deep breath, he realized that she, too, had been feeling the stress of recent weeks. “Lee, you’re just going to have to believe me. Nothing happened.” He looked at her and let his eyes penetrate hers. “She may be physically attractive, but she’s crazy—a nut job. Nothing could be more ugly than the type of behavior she’s been exhibiting.”

  She dropped her chin to her chest and nodded. He knew that she needed some time to herself to unwind; he told her that he would take care of the boys for the afternoon, freeing her to drive over to the mall, where she could unwind for a few hours.

  He spent the rest of the day with the kids—a rare day with just Dad—playing in the yard with them. Scalpel chased balls while he and the boys shot hoops.

  He, too, tried to forget the incident with Harding. He called Hellman and relayed the sequence of events. His friend told him he was on his way out with his brother for the weekend, but he promised to call him back Monday morning unless he returned home early enough on Sunday night.

  “Meantime,” Hellman said, “don’t worry about it. I know exactly what needs to be done.”

  Leeza came home with a new dress and a couple of pantsuits from Nordstrom. Her spirits were better, but she was still quiet. He could tell that she had been crying during the day.

  There was also a package from Victoria’s Secret, but he did not dare ask what was inside.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE WEEKEND passed without further incident, with one exception. Madison ran into Matt Prisco late Sunday afternoon while wheeling the recycling and garbage bins out to the curb. His neighbor was polite, but wanted to know what had happened yesterday with “that looker.”

  Madison, in turn, was curious as to what Harding had said to him before storming his driveway.

  “Something about you being a pervert,” Prisco said. “I don’t know, Phil, she was raving mad. To be honest, with Scott standing right there, I didn’t want to provoke her. She seemed a bit off.”

  Prisco was a psychologist, and although Madison didn’t know him professionally, he was impressed that he’d pegged her that quickly.

  Madison’s face flushed deep red. “Honestly, Matt, I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but I haven’t got a clue as to what she was talking about.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  He explained in a few sentences who she was and the problems the Consortium had been having with her. Although Prisco listened intently and appeared to understand, Madison couldn’t help but notice something on his neighbor’s face that indicated a shred of lingering doubt. He knew what Jefferies must have been thinking: Harding might be “a bit off,” but that doesn’t mean that what she was ranting about didn’t really happen.

  Madison made the long walk back to the house, hoping that Jeffrey would return to town in time to talk with him tonight. He wondered what course of action his friend had in mind.

  Monday morning was overcast and unusually humid. As Leeza helped Elliott get ready for school, Jonah sat in front of the TV watching Sesame Street in the playroom on the second floor. Madison was knotting his tie when he heard a knock at the door. Leeza, thinking it was their car pool, allowed Elliott to answer the door. She was in the kitchen when she heard him shout to her. “Mommy, there’s a policeman at the door. And a girl, too.”

  “A policeman,” Leeza said as she wiped off her wet hands and walked toward the entryway. “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Madison?” asked the man in the suit, holding up a badge.

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Coleman, Sacramento Police Department. This is Detective Valentine,” he said, nodding toward his female partner. “Is your husband home? We’ve got a few questions for him.”

  “Elliott, run upstairs and get your father. Hurry,” she said, giving him a slight push on the buttocks.

  “What’s this about?”

  “We’d rather discuss it with your husband. No offense, ma’am.”

  “Offense taken,” she said, turning and walking back toward the kitchen.

  Madison came trudging down the stairs, Elliott following closely behind, almost hiding behind his father’s legs.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Phillip Madison?”

  “Yeah, what can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to ask you some questions about Brittany Harding.”

  He shot a glance at Leeza across the hallway, then looked over at Elliott, who was staring with fascination at the gun that was planted in the male detective’s holster inside his suit jacket.

  “I have to get to the office, can this wait—”

  “It’ll only take a few moments, sir.”

  He sighed, reasoning that he was just as curious to find out what this was about as they were to ask him the questions.

  “Come in here,” he said, leading them into his den. As they walked into the richly appointed room complete with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases and a matching desk, Leeza came over. He motioned with a nod of his head for her to look after Elliott, then settled into his large leather seat. “Please,” Madison said, gesturing to the guest chairs.

  As they sat, the male detective said, “Mr. Madison, I’m Detective Paul Coleman and this is Detective Kimberly Valentine.”

  “It’s Doctor,” he corrected, “and it’s good to meet you.”

  “We have a complaint sworn by Brittany Harding. Do you know her?”

  “Just what kind of complaint are we talking about?”

  “Do you know her?” Coleman pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “Where were you on the night of September eleventh?”

  “Why?”

  “We’ll ask the questions, sir,” Valentine said.

  “Not without my attorney present.”

  Valentine glanced over at Coleman, an I told you so look on her face.

  “Fine,” Coleman said. “Call him. We’ll see you at the station in a couple of hours,” he said as he handed Madison his card. They stood up and left, leaving him sitting behind his desk, staring at the card, pondering what wonderful surprises were in store for him now.

  CHAPTER 20

  WHEN HE WALKED into his office through the back door to the orthopedic clinic twenty minutes later, he saw the red light blinking on his phone. He picked it up and retrieved his voicemail messages. Jeffrey had called, apologizing that he had not returned home earlier last night. He had hit three hours of traffic and did not get in the door until midnight.

  As Madison moved a hand toward the phone pad to dial, his intercom buzzed. “Doctor, we have Jan Harvey, Bill McNally, and Loril Kennedy waiting. They’re in rooms and ready to go.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, Monica. I just need to make a quick call.” He glanced at the clock and, seeing that he was already running behind, buzzed her back. “Who’s first?”

  “Jan. Room One.”

  He walked out of his office and grabbed Jan Harvey’s file that was in the receptacle on the exam room door. He hated waiting, so he made it a policy not to do it to his patients. Their time was valuable, too.

  He forced a smile and opened the exam room door. “How are we doing today, Jan?”

  The busy afternoon was a welcome stimulant for him. It took his mind off his collateral personal problems, and it invigorated his spirits. Contact with his patients was one of the more reward
ing parts of practice for him.

  At noon, he tried Jeffrey. “He’s just walking out the door, Doctor,” said the receptionist.

  “Catch him, please. This is important.”

  He heard a click and he was placed on hold. He was not sure if she had hung up on him because she did not like his tone, or if she was actually retrieving Jeffrey before he was out of reach.

  “Phil,” came the voice at the other end of the phone. “I got in late—”

  “Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ve got a problem, and not much time to explain. What are you doing now?”

  “I was on my way out to get a bite.”

  “Meet me at Spinelli’s?”

  “Sure, but I have to be back at one-thirty to prepare—”

  “I’ll see you in ten,” he said, and hung up. He threw his lab coat on the chair behind him and buzzed Monica to tell her he was leaving.

  “I was able to get the Pincer surgery rescheduled for tomorrow morning,” she said.

  The Pincer surgery. He thanked Monica, then headed out the door. He had Brittany Harding and the police breathing down his neck for some godforsaken reason and he had to worry about performing major surgery in twenty hours. He rubbed hard at his temples to ease the developing headache. If only the human body had an emotional on-off switch somewhere, one that the great anatomists and physiologists of the world had long overlooked.

  Madison filled Jeffrey in on the visit by the detectives and then backtracked and told him of Harding’s appearance at his home on Saturday morning.

  “Sounds like it was quite a scene,” Hellman said between chews on his veal parmigiana.

  “I thought attorneys avoided understatement.”

  “She said, ‘What you did to me...?’” Hellman asked, confirming the wording. He received an affirmative nod from Madison. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  “I assume she means firing her, but why would she threaten going to the police for that?” Madison asked, playing with, but not eating, the three-cheese ravioli on his plate. His head then shot up straight. “Wait a minute. She said something about me forcing her to sleep with her so she could keep her job.”

  “0kayyy,”Hellman said, nodding his head, “now things are starting to make sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sexual harassment.”

  “What sexual harassment? I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Can you think of anything else, like maybe you told her sexually suggestive jokes or hinted at special employment considerations that could be made if she did something for you...”

  “Jeffrey! What’s wrong with you? You know me better—”

  Hellman was waving his hands in front of Madison, glancing side to side to see if any of the other patrons were looking. “Calm down, Phil. I was just asking a question. The police are no doubt going to ask you that question as well. If you explode like that—”

  “I won’t explode. I was just...” he paused, searching for the right word, “insulted that you would even ask me that. You, of all people.”

  “Me of all people is your attorney. Asking you questions like that is my job. Now, let’s get back on track. So you made no innuendoes, no remarks that could be taken the wrong way?”

  “Nothing. In fact, when we went to dinner a couple of weeks ago, I even told her that she should put in an application for the position.”

  “Dinner? You went to dinner with her?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Where?”

  “Fifth Street Café.”

  “The Fifth Street Café? Could you have picked a more trendy, romantic place?”

  “Oh, come on, Jeffrey.”

  “Phil, I’m just trying to point out—”

  “Don’t point out. Just look at the facts. We had a meeting to discuss programming for the up-and-coming seminar. That was it. We started talking about her caustic attitude toward people, and we got into a minor disagreement. I told her that she should consider the fact that the position was going to be opened up to other applicants. I wanted her to realize that she was going to have to fight for her job, to shape up or get out.”

  “Was anyone else at this meeting with you?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm,” was all Hellman said, falling silent, chewing on his veal.

  “Look, nothing happened. She didn’t keep the job, did she?”

  “That’s why she’s so pissed. She’ll say you reneged on your deal.”

  “See, that’s the thing. There was no deal.” Madison shook his head. “What are we looking at here?”

  “I’ll know more once we meet with the detectives. Obviously they don’t have enough evidence yet to charge you. We’ll go meet with them and see what they have to say. Just keep your mouth shut. Answer the questions they ask with as few words as possible. No details. In other words, don’t volunteer any information they don’t directly ask you.”

  “Like a deposition or court trial.”

  “Exactly,” he said, chewing. “And if they ask a question that I don’t want you to answer, I’ll stop you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  They chewed on their food some more. Both sat in silence. Madison pulled out his DayTracker wallet and thumbed through the pages.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “September eleventh was a Thursday, the day Leeza and the kids went to L.A. I bet that was the night when Brittany dropped by my house complaining of abdominal pain.”

  “She did what?”

  “She came by and said that she had gone to the Quick-Care clinic for treatment of abdominal pain, but the nurse practitioner saw her and blew her off. She was having a lot of cramping. I took a quick look at her, and told her that I thought it was just irritable bowel syndrome.”

  Hellman put his fork down. “Can you define what you mean by taking ‘a quick look at her’?”

  “A cursory abdominal exam. To rule out appendicitis, hepatitis, aneurysm—”

  “How long did this exam take?”

  “A minute, maybe. It was nothing, really.”

  “And that was it?”

  “I told her to follow up with her doc in the morning. She was feeling better, relieved that it wasn’t anything major, and she left.”

  Hellman took a drink of water. Swallowed, deep in thought. “No one saw her there? I mean, no one dropped by, no UPS deliveries, nothing like that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s not in your appointment book, and it’s probably not in hers, because she dropped by unexpectedly, right?”

  “It wasn’t a meeting or anything.”

  “Okay.” He paused. “Who was the doctor she was going to see the next day?”

  “It was...John Vincente. Family practitioner.”

  “Know him?”

  “No, but I know of him.”

  Hellman pulled out his phone and called Information, jotted down Dr. Vincente’s office number, and input it. Sat and listened. “Yes, hi, this is Elmore Elkins, a claims adjuster for California Prudent Health PPO. I have a claim form here submitted by a Brittany Harding, with a date of service of September twelfth. But when I try to input it into the system, I see that she went off our plan on September tenth. I’d like to pay this bill, but can you tell me if Miss Harding was in your office on that date?” He looked up at Madison, who was stifling a smile. “She wasn’t? Okay, then when was the last time she was at your facility?... May fifteenth for her annual Pap?... Okay, great, then this must be a mistake. Thanks for your help.” He ended the call and looked at Madison.

  “Do people do that to my office staff too?”

  Hellman set his phone down on the table. “It’s easier to get info from medical offices than people think.”

  “So much for the HIPAA Privacy Rule.”

  “She never went in to see Dr. Vincente after you saw her, so there’s nothing documented in his records about her having
been examined by you.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So I don’t think you should bring it up.”

  Madison made a face, as if to say “I don’t know.”

  “Look, Phil, nothing happened, am I right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why arouse suspicion by putting yourself in a vulnerable position? Your wife and kids are away, here’s a beautiful woman who you admit came over to your house in the evening, you play a little cutesy game of doctor and then you make sexual overtures. Do you see what they can make it look like?”

  “So I shouldn’t say that she was even there.”

  “I’m not telling you to lie,” Hellman said. “Just don’t bring it up.”

  Madison shrugged. “No one saw her come by. There’s no way they could even prove she was there.”

  “Then stop worrying. Besides, if they ask you about it, you could just say that you forgot about it, you didn’t have anything written in your calendar, and you see so many patients and have so many meetings, that you can’t even remember what happened yesterday, let alone six weeks ago. Then, just tell them the truth.” He looked hard at Madison. “Okay?”

  Madison hesitated. “I guess.”

  “Phil,” he said, putting his fork down. “You have nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of this. You did nothing wrong. We’ll make it go away.”

  Madison sighed. “While you’re at it, make her go away too.”

  “Miracles,” Hellman said, “have been known to happen.”

  CHAPTER 21

  IT WAS NEARLY SIX O’CLOCK that evening when they entered the interview room with Detectives Coleman and Valentine. It was dimly lit, a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The medium-sized room was just large enough to hold a rectangular table, which measured about six feet by four feet. Madison and Hellman were sitting with their backs to the wall. Coleman, entering and introducing himself to Hellman, told them that Detective Valentine would be joining them shortly.

  “So are you going to charge my client?” Hellman asked, getting right to the point.