Alan Jacobson - False accusations

“You’ve read the report of the investigating officers?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And was any of the physical evidence you mentioned a moment ago found in this complaint of rape brought by Ms. Harding?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Ms. Harding did not come forward until five weeks after the alleged act.”

Denton walked back to the jury box, leaned on the railing, and faced his witness. “A moment ago, you mentioned a number of common items of evidence found in rape cases. Have you ever heard of phone calls made from an alleged assailant’s home being used as evidence of rape?”

“No.”

“What about fingerprints of the alleged assailant on the alleged victim’s belt?”

“In and of itself, I wouldn’t use that as evidence that a rape occurred. There are obviously a great many explanations for the presence of fingerprints on a belt buckle.”

“Objection,” interrupted Warwick. “Officer Bender is not an expert on what could or could not be considered evidence in a rape trial.”

Calvino looked over to Denton for his response. “Your Honor,” Denton said, turning away from his witness to face the judge, “Ms. Bender is a police officer with special training in rape cases. She often testifies as to the collection of evidence, and the relevance of each piece of that physical evidence. I believe she’s eminently qualified to comment-if not from a legal perspective, then from the perspective of a police officer trained in the investigation of rape.”

“Overruled, Mr. Warwick.”

Denton turned back to Bender. “In your opinion, officer, is there any evidence at all of rape in this case?”

“None. None whatsoever.”

“Thank you, officer,” Denton said as he turned to take his seat.

Calvino asked Warwick if his cross-examination could wait until tomorrow; receiving an affirmative response, court was convened for the day and the jury was dismissed.

As Denton packed his attache, Hellman walked over. “Looking good.”

“Went well. But this is all slam-dunk stuff. This morning I brought on the two rape detectives-Coleman and Valentine.”

“Coleman and Valentine. I remember them,” Hellman said, shaking his head in a manner displaying dissatisfaction.

“Don’t knock them too hard, they did well today. They told how they followed up on all of their leads, and the fact that there was virtually nowhere to go because of the lack of evidence. No witnesses, no police report, no medical evidence. Straightforward stuff.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “The tough part comes when your guy takes the stand.”

“He’ll be ready,” Hellman said. “Any idea when you’ll need him?”

“Friday. Tell him to be ready for Friday.”

It was Madison who suggested he and Hellman meet for dinner a couple of nights later at Fifth Street Cafe. He had been unable to go near the place since his meeting with Harding a few months ago, but he thought a positive dining experience with his friend could help restore its status as his favorite restaurant.

Hellman scooped his escargot while Madison munched on his duck salad.

“Ronald Norling testified yesterday. He was a little rough around the edges, but he did well. Warwick couldn’t rattle him. At one point, when Warwick was trying to beat him down, Norling said, ‘Look, man, I’m just telling you what I saw and heard. She said she was going to get even, make him pay. Simple as that. I don’t know this guy Madison, and I don’t know that lady over there. I don’t care what happens to either of them. I’m just telling you how it was.’ Totally shut Warwick down. He had to back off.” Hellman chuckled. “Warwick then tried to attack his background, but the kid put him down again, telling him that he wasn’t a model citizen, and didn’t claim to be-he just saw what he saw. Nobody gave him anything for testifying, and he was missing time from his new job back East. So he told him, essentially, get out of my face. Great stuff.”

Madison was so mesmerized by what Hellman was saying that he had stopped eating. The main course came before he had finished his salad.

“Denton told me he also had a professional photographer testify that the photo Harding had taken of you and her was staged.”

“Yeah, but was he able to prove it?”

“The guy brought a couple of models into court and had them assume similar positions to what you did with Harding, and he snapped a few pictures with a telephoto lens using the same camera angle. He then popped them into his laptop and showed ’em to the jury. They bore a striking resemblance to the picture of you and Harding.”

“Imagine that.”

“Exactly the point: the jury didn’t have to-they saw it with their own eyes. Warwick was objecting all over the place, renewing the arguments he’d made during his pretrial motion. But the judge allowed it and Denton thinks it only reinforced for the jury what type of person Harding is.”

“If she wasn’t going to use it against me, why’d she have the picture taken in the first place?”

Hellman nodded. “Denton finished up with a psychiatrist-a Dr. Hall from the Bay Area-who testified as to an individual’s state of mind when driven to prepare a plot seeking revenge. From what I saw, he did a damn good job. Talked about obsessive behavior and how Harding’s personality was a good fit. Said something to the effect of her ‘having been driven to revenge by the persistence of an irresistible thought or feeling that was associated with anxiety.’ Of course, Warwick tried to impeach him by getting Hall to admit that he’d never actually examined Harding-the usual tactic. But I think he left his mark with the jury.”

“I’ve never heard of this guy. Hall, you said?”

“Yeah, from Marin. Came highly recommended. Denton brought him in from the Bay Area to eliminate any accusations that he knew you professionally or personally. He didn’t want to give Warwick any ammunition for impeachment due to bias.”

“My turn Friday?”

Hellman nodded. “Just tell what happened, and no matter what, don’t let Warwick rattle you.”

“I’m used to hostile attorneys, remember? I’ve been through all this before.”

“This is different. You’re used to testifying about medical issues. This is your personal life, regarding something that can easily be turned into an attack on you as an individual. He’s going to try and bring out all sorts of irrelevant stuff, some of which will be lies and distortions of the truth. My best advice is to remain levelheaded and treat the jury as if they’re patients and give them a dose of your sweet bedside manner,” Hellman said, speaking more as Madison’s attorney than his friend. “But whatever Warwick says to you or about you, just roll with the punches. Don’t let him bait you and get you all riled up.”

“You know it takes a lot to do that, Jeffrey.”

Hellman smiled. He knew, but he no doubt felt better saying it nonetheless.

The evening temperature had been a bone-chilling 26 degrees. While it was not nearly as cold as most winter nights in the East, many people native to the Sacramento area considered the 20s unusually frigid, and fireplaces were burning into the early morning, casting a fog-like pall over the moonlit gray sky. The air smelled of smoke, and flakes of ashes lazily rode the gentle breeze through the teeth-chattering night air.

Madison arrived at the Superior Court building at 8:25 Friday morning. Although the police had long ago released his car to him, having examined, videotaped, and photographed it from every conceivable angle, he chose to drive Leeza’s minivan. The thought of arriving at the courthouse in the very car that had been the subject of intense scrutiny during the past few months seemed in bad taste, and only invited more debate and comment-even though the damage to the front end had been repaired.