Alan Jacobson - False accusations

“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 amp; 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 attache. “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 attache 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.”

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-”