False Accusations

by Alan Jacobson

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  “Yeah, well, it’s not for publication.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.

  CHAPTER 53

  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.

  “I wouldn’t use the term ‘ironclad,’ but it’s damn good.” Hellman recounted the rape complaint Harding had filed, showed him a copy of the contract he wrote that bore the signatures of Movis Ehrhardt and Brittany Harding, and a copy of the forty-thousand-dollar check. He also showed him the picture Harding had staged and explained how it had been taken. Told him the complaint was withdrawn and the money returned by Ehrhardt. Produced a copy of the returned funds’ cashier’s check. His presentation was building up steam when Denton interrupted him.

  “What the hell does all this—”

  “Motive, motive, and motive. S
hut up and listen.”

  Hellman reached into his attaché case and pulled out a DVD. “Pop this into your PC.”

  Hellman provided a brief introduction to Mark Stanton, and the information that Chandler had gleaned about his experience with Harding. Denton placed the disc onto the platter and the video began playing.

  At the end of the recording, Denton arose. “Compelling, I’ll give you that.”

  “Compelling? That’s it?”

  Denton shrugged. “It goes to motive, and motive is still circumstantial.”

  “But it’s the best case you have, circumstantial or not. Your case against my client was circumstantial and it was a damn shot weaker than what you have against Harding.”

  Denton ejected the DVD and handed it back to Hellman. “I’d like a copy.”

  “Keep that one,” Hellman said. “I already had one made for you.”

  Denton was shaking his head, apparently absorbed in a conversation with himself. “I’d have to litigate the collateral matters as well...not only would I have to prove that Harding was the driver of the car, but I’d also have to prove that she extorted Stanton and Madison, and that Madison had not, in fact, raped her. I’ve got three separate trials in one. Not to mention the fact that this DVD is possibly inadmissible.”

  “But Mark Stanton probably would not be. He’s in town and I could get him to testify.” Slight stretch of the truth, but he would worry about that later. “And...this video will help you establish motive, and get you a search warrant for a sample of Harding’s DNA.”

  “You’re assuming that Harding’s DNA will match the DNA on the beer cans, which would then suggest she was driving the car.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, but how’d she get Madison’s car? Does he leave it unlocked at night?”

  Hellman explained about the missing key, then sat back and studied the prosecutor’s face.

  Finally, Denton sighed and shook his head slightly. “Complicated. Too many places to trip up.”

  “Complicated, but not impossible. You’ve handled tougher cases with less than you’ve got here.”

  Denton rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

  “And I’ve got one other piece of information that’ll be of use,” Hellman said.

  Denton sat down again and leaned back in his swivel chair. “I’m listening.”

  “How about an eyewitness who saw Harding with a six-pack of the same brand of beer in her shopping cart a few days prior to the murders. And how about that same witness hearing Harding screaming at Madison, ‘You’ll pay for this, I’ll get you for this!’? Would that make you feel better?”

  “Do you have such a witness?”

  “A supermarket checkout clerk at Food & More. He moved back east, but we can get him out here if needed.”

  Denton raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s quite promising. But I’d have to interview the guy myself, get him on record.”

  “How about a voice recording of him identifying Harding and describing what he saw in the market?” Hellman asked, removing a USB thumb drive from his attaché. “Starting to feel better about your case?”

  A smile fluttered across Denton’s drawn face. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad day after all.”

  Hellman shut his attaché and stood up. “Tomorrow I’d like to go to the media with the DNA info.”

  Denton sat up straight, as if he had just been awakened from a nightmare. “No, not the media. Not yet.”

  “Tim,” Hellman said, softening his voice down to one of reason, “my client has gone through hell. He’s just about lost his practice, he lost his privileges at the very hospital he saved from insolvency, and his marriage almost fell apart. Shit, I don’t even know if he’ll be able to overcome all this and salvage his reputation.” He leaned forward. “With those beer cans pointing to a different suspect, the case against my client is very weak. If you’re going to continue pursuing him in light of this new evidence...” He tilted his head and let his voice drift off, allowing what he did not say to speak volumes: lawsuit. Big, expensive lawsuit.

  Denton took the hint. “Fine. Give them the DNA results and try to clear Madison’s reputation. But don’t go overboard. Just tell them that new evidence has come to light and it looks good for your client. I’m not dropping the charges yet. I need to be more comfortable with Harding than Madison as the murderer before I dismiss. In the meantime, assuming your client will agree to it, I’ll move for a continuance.”

  “Get a search warrant and a DNA sample. Believe me, Tim, that’ll satisfy your curiosity.”

  “You seem pretty confident.”

  “I am. I’m confident in my client’s innocence and in the evidence I’ve given you on motive.”

  “Fine,” Denton said, rising to shake Hellman’s hand. “But you make no mention of Harding as a suspect when you talk to the media. That’s my party, if and when the time comes.”

  CHAPTER 54

  IT WAS AFTER EIGHT AND everyone in his office had gone home hours ago. Hellman gathered his papers and was preparing to leave when he paused to gaze out the large picture window behind his desk. Eighteen floors below, flickering street lights mimicked the city’s pulse. Off in the distance, the Tower Bridge was bathed in a splash of orange-yellow radiance from the large flood lamps mounted along the banks of the Sacramento River. Against the black sky, the span looked like a showcased painting in a museum.

  The ring of the phone jogged Hellman’s attention away from the nightscape. He briefly thought of letting the machine answer it, but he had never been able to do that. When he used to work in his father’s shoe store as a teenager, if the phone rang, even if it was after hours, his dad answered it. “You never know when it’s a new customer on the phone,” his father would tell him.

  It was Lou Palucci at the Department of Justice crime lab. There was a major screwup, he was saying. He needed to talk with Chandler.

  “Chandler’s back in New York,” Hellman said.

  Palucci was talking fast, apologizing for something.

  Hellman slowed him down. “Please, start from the beginning.”

  “We’ve got a problem. A major problem.”

  Instantly, Hellman’s mind flashed on the DNA: something happened to the beer cans with Harding’s DNA. Things like that occurred occasionally in evidence rooms. Items got lost, misplaced...contaminated. There was nothing more threatening to the validity of DNA analysis than contamination. Although it was a very stable material, mishandle it in just the wrong manner and it was good for nothing.

  “…and I should’ve seen it coming,” Palucci was saying, “but I’ve been swamped since getting back from vacation and I didn’t have any control over it. I should, never have allowed it from the start—”

  “Did the DNA sample get contaminated?”

  “Oh, no,” Palucci said. “No, it’s nothing like that. God, no. No, this is, well...”

  “What then?” Hellman said, nearly yelling. Had he been in the same room with Palucci, he might have grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

  “The criminalist on the case, Kurt Gray. He and Chandler had words a few times. I didn’t think it was important, but you know Chandler, he gets real involved in his cases, and...”

  “And what?” prompted Hellman; he was wearing his wool overcoat and he was beginning to perspire.

  “And I don’t know how much you know about this, but he brought in this cigarette and asked Gray to run a DNA test on it. He convinced him it should be run on my authority, but I was out of town. I should’ve cut it off before the test was completed, but I let it go through. Chandler and I go back a ways, and—”

  “Mr. Palucci, I can’t stand the suspense. What’s the problem?”

  “Gray mouthed off about the cigarette and how Chandler—”

  Hellman began to sigh relief. Is that all this is about? Mr. Palucci, thanks for calling, but Chandler’s no longer an active member of the Sacramento police force. Therefore, whatever evidence he gets
hold of, and how he does it, is no legal consequence.”

  “You’re missing the point. Gray isn’t concerned with legal procedure and issues of admissibility. He’s been saying Chandler pulled strings all over the place and used the state lab as his own private agency. When Gray told Bill Jennings—”

  “He told Jennings?” Hellman sat down and slumped in his chair. A sudden blanket of perspiration broke out across his body, and it had nothing to do with his overcoat. Bill Jennings. Bill Jennings, the guy who had gotten into it with Chandler fifteen years ago, and who likely still carried a grudge.

  Hellman’s mind was racing, trying to assimilate the impact and consequences of what Palucci was telling him. “Gray told me that Jennings said something about misuse of public funds. He was going to the chief of the lab, and if he doesn’t get satisfaction, he’ll go all the way to the attorney general and file a complaint with the Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Bureau of Investigation? What would he want with them?”

  “My guess, Mr. Hellman, is that he’s going to try and stir up as much trouble as he can.”

  Hellman pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. Bureau of Investigation. What the hell kind of power would they have over Chandler? Civil rights violation? Public fraud? Violation of public trust? Are they going to try and nail me instead, being that I’m an officer of the, court and—

  “Mr. Hellman?” Palucci was saying.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I’m just...thinking.”

  “I thought maybe Chandler could give Jennings a call and straighten him out, get him to calm down and—”

  “Thanks, Mr. Palucci, I appreciate your concern. I’ll handle it from this point. If anything else comes your way, please give me a call.”

  “You don’t understand,” Palucci said, his voice vibrating with anxiety. “My neck’s in the sling on this one. If Jennings so much as mentions it to the chief, I’m out of a job. Terminated. Twenty years down the tubes. Internal Affairs will rip me apart.”

  “What makes you think Internal Affairs will get involved?”