False Accusations

by Alan Jacobson

  Barter removed his glasses. “Mr. Hellman, has your client been made aware of this refiling?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Does he understand the implications, counselor?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I’ve explained the situation to him. He’s well aware of the possibilities.”

  The judge looked down at Madison for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

  Denton arose again and straightened his suit. “Your Honor, the people request that bail be reconsidered in light of the new charges, and be upgraded to one million dollars.”

  “Again with the million dollars,” Madison said under his breath.

  Barter glared at him, then turned to Hellman. “Counselor, your response?”

  “Your Honor, as I mentioned at the arraignment, Dr. Madison poses no flight risk. He’s married with two children, and not likely to skip town on them. Further, he’s a respected member of the community and would like nothing more than to clear his name and continue with the practice of medicine. In fact, he has several difficult surgeries scheduled. He wouldn’t abandon his patients.”

  “Your Honor,” blurted Denton before Barter could rule, “the people believe that Dr. Madison does indeed pose a flight risk. More so than before, in fact. His wife and children have left him and moved to an undisclosed location. And his practice has been falling steadily—”

  “Son of a bitch,” Madison yelled at Denton.

  “Your Honor?” Denton shouted, looking back and forth between Barter and Madison.

  “Enough is enough,” Madison said, his face red…his eyes boring into Denton’s. “I don’t have to take that—”

  “Dr. Madison,” Barter said, “I’m not going to tell you again. If you so much as utter a word when not spoken to, I will have you removed from this court. And you should count your blessings that this is not the beginning of your trial wherein I’m the presiding judge.”

  Hellman kicked him hard in the shoe with his foot.

  Madison looked up at the judge.

  “I will not have these types of disrespectful outbursts in my courtroom. Am I being clear?”

  Madison nodded, took a deep breath. “Yes sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Good. Now, on the matter of bail, I believe that the sum of five hundred thousand dollars previously established is and was sufficient. Any objections, Mr. Hellman?”

  “None, Your Honor,” Hellman said.

  “Mr. Denton?” Barter asked.

  Denton shook his head and the judge appeared satisfied. “Very well.” He banged his gavel and tossed the file aside.

  Hellman gathered his papers together, then turned to Madison. “Phil—”

  “I know, keep my mouth shut.”

  “I had stronger words, but that’s the idea.”

  “Sorry. This whole thing has really worn on me. Sometimes even I can’t believe my own behavior.”

  “Well, hopefully this ‘thing’ will go away. Until then, don’t help Denton bury you. He’s taking notes on you, studying you. That comment about Leeza leaving you had nothing to do with the amount of bail he wanted—he was testing your reaction, to see how you’d handle pressure as a witness should I decide to put you on the stand.”

  “It’s all a game to him, isn’t it?”

  Hellman glanced over at Denton, standing forty feet away. “I don’t think he considers it a game. But if you want to use that analogy, then just remember this: he’s playing to win.”

  The preliminary hearing was scheduled for five days following the arraignment. When the bailiff called Madison’s case, Judge Barter had been sitting behind his bench for three hours and was anxious to break for lunch. Hoping to dispose of the hearing with relative speed, he turned to Timothy Denton and nodded. “Mr. Prosecutor, I assume you have a few witnesses.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Denton said. “We call Detective William Jennings.”

  The doors in back of the courtroom were opened and Jennings appeared. Dressed in his usual wrinkled off-the-rack gray sport coat, he ascended the two steps to the witness stand and took a seat. After being sworn in, he faced the prosecutor.

  “Detective, were you the investigating officer in this case?”

  He nodded. “Myself, and Detective Angela Moreno. I was primary.”

  “When you arrived on San Domingo Street, what was your impression?”

  “The crime scene had been secured by Officer Sanford and looked to be in excellent condition. There were two dead bodies, apparently the victims of a hit-and-run. After evaluation of the physical evidence by a criminalist, and after speaking with an eyewitness, it was my impression that a crime had been committed.”

  “How many homicides have you investigated?”

  “I’m a homicide detective,” he said. “Hundreds.”

  “Do these include hit-and-runs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” Denton said as he walked back to his table. “That’s all I have.”

  Hellman arose. “Detective, did you personally examine the physical evidence yourself?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Do you have any witnesses that positively identified Dr. Madison as the driver of the vehicle?”

  “No, we do not.”

  “Did you get a description of the driver of the vehicle from any witnesses?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “And what was that description?”

  “That of a clean-shaven white male who was wearing a baseball cap.”

  “Were there any distinguishing marks on the driver’s face, according to your witness?”

  “No.”

  Hellman paused a moment, appearing pensive as took a few steps toward Jennings. “I’m curious. What color hair did the witness specify?”

  “He didn’t specify a hair color.”

  “Did you ask him what hair color the driver had?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “And what did the witness say?”

  Jennings’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he didn’t like the question. Hellman now stood in front of the witness box, waiting for an answer.

  “He didn’t know.”

  “So the witness did not see the driver’s hair, then.”

  “No.” Hint of frustration in his voice.

  “Hmm.” Hellman turned and paced a few steps, then spun around to face Jennings, ten feet away. He placed a hand on his chin, as if he were genuinely trying to figure this out. Although there was no jury present, Hellman was always the showman; he could not help himself. “Were there any markings or facial features that led the witness to conclude that it was a male and not a female that was driving?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Did your witness estimate how tall the driver was, or how much he might have weighed?”

  “No. He didn’t see him get out of the car.”

  “Bight. Because if he had seen him get out of the car, he might’ve gotten an actual look at the driver.” Before Jennings could respond, Hellman asked, “What time of day did this incident occur?”

  “Approximately eleven-thirty P.M.”

  “And is there any special lighting other than nominal streetlights, detective?”

  “No.”

  Hellman nodded. “So aside from a clean-shaven white individual, your suspect could be male or female, with blond, brown, or gray hair. She could’ve been a five-foot-tall secretary or a six-foot-six football player. Is that right, detective?”

  Jennings glared at Hellman.

  “Detective, please answer my question.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, would it be fair to say that your witness really did not get a good look at the driver?”

  Jennings was clenching his jaw. “Yeah, I guess that would be fair to say.”

  “You guess,” Hellman pressed, “or it is fair to say?”

  “It is.”

  “Thank you, detective. Nothing further.”

  “Redirect, Your Honor.” This from Denton, who was standing.<
br />
  “Mr. Denton,” Barter said.

  “Detective, what evidence do you have that led you to suspect and later arrest Phillip Madison?”

  “We had two witnesses identify the vehicle as a Mercedes, and we got a partial plate that we ran through DMV and came up with Phillip Madison’s car. We obtained a search warrant and proceeded to his residence, where the car was parked in his garage. There was damage to the front end, clothing fibers on the grille and windshield wiper, and blood spatter on the underside of the fender area. Dr. Madison was the legally registered owner of the vehicle. There was no one else at home of driving age, he had not lent the car to anyone, and there was no report of the car having been stolen. And he had no alibi for the reported time of the murders.”

  “Thank you, detective.” Denton turned on his heels and headed back to his seat, flashing a slight smirk at Hellman, who absorbed it like a gentleman.

  “Your Honor,” Hellman said, “the defense moves for immediate dismissal of the charges due to insufficient evidence.”

  Barter frowned. “Denied, counsel. The state has sustained their burden.”

  Madison leaned toward Hellman’s ear. “If you ask me, I think all the burden’s on me.”

  The thirty-minute preliminary hearing resulted in the filing of an Information, which meant that the judge felt there was probable cause to believe that the defendant had committed the crime.

  “It’s nothing to be overly concerned about,” Hellman said. “All the prosecution needed to show was probable cause that a crime had been committed, and that most likely you’re the one who committed it. It was a slam dunk as far as Denton was concerned. This went exactly as I’d expected it would.”

  Madison shrugged. “You’re the expert. Hell, given the evidence, I probably would’ve reached the same conclusion.”

  Madison drove home and found a couple of messages on his machine. There was one from the gardener, informing Madison that he was overdue on last month’s bill. Another from a salesperson hawking vinyl siding. The last message was from Catherine Parker. She left only her name and number.

  Madison sat down in his leather easy chair, took his phone in hand, and grinned. Catherine Parker. It had been years since he had heard that name—and for good reason. To say that nothing good ever came out of his relationship with her was not entirely fair...but it was also not far from the truth. He dialed the number, more out of curiosity than anything else. Redheaded Catherine Parker.

  “Energy Data Systems,” said the voice at the other end of the phone.

  “Catherine Parker, please,” Madison said. A few seconds passed. “This is Catherine,” he heard, the same sultry and seductive undertones permeating her voice.

  “Catherine, Phil Madison.”

  “Well, well, well. Phil Madison. You obviously got my message.”

  “What prompted you to call, after all these years?”

  “I’ve been following your story in the paper. It’s quite an ordeal, huh.”

  An ordeal? “Yeah, it’s been tough. But, needless to say, I’m innocent, and my attorney and I are working hard to prove it. Jeffrey—Jeffrey Hellman’s my attorney.”

  “How is Jeffrey?”

  “Jeffrey is...Jeffrey. Fine. He’s doing fine.”

  “Are you free for dinner sometime this week?”

  He was taken aback by how forward she was. But that was Catherine. “When?”

  “How about tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Sure, I guess that’d be okay.” There was nothing more pressing that he needed to do. And he always did have a difficult time turning her down.

  “Great. I’m looking forward to it,” she said, her sultry voice stimulating memories of fifteen years ago...a time with fewer complications, fewer restrictions, more passion.

  They set the time and place. He would meet her in Vallejo, forty-five minutes away. The drive would do him good; give him time to think about happier times.

  Then again, when it carne to Catherine, he could rationalize anything.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE MINUTE Madison laid eyes on Catherine, he instantly felt fifteen years younger. They spent the first part of dinner laughing, hard at times, at some of the things they did when he was just finishing up his residency at the University of California, San Francisco and she was in her second year as an associate at an up-and-coming law firm in the city.

  “Where have those years gone?” she asked.

  “Gone, Catherine, they’re gone,” he said with regret in his voice, noticing that her left ring finger was bare.

  “How are things with your wife?” she asked. “The paper reported that she left you.”

  “You read that? In the newspaper?”

  She nodded. “The Vallejo Times. A page three story.”

  The irritation was no doubt evident on his face. “Guess my personal life is now public domain. Get accused of a crime and lose everything dear to you. Even your privacy. I stopped reading the paper weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, Leeza and I are separated. I don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent, but I do know one thing—it’s hell.”

  “Such an ordeal.”

  There’s that word again. Ordeal. Fuck the ordeal shit. It’s hell. I said HELL.

  “How’ve things been with you?” he asked. “Fill me in.”

  “Well,” Catherine said, “you remember Tom?”

  Madison’s face hardened. He remembered Tom. It had taken Madison months to get over the bitterness before he was able to feel any pain...the hollow pain of a lost love.

  “Tom was good for me at the time, Phil.”

  “He stole you right from under my nose. Waved big bucks and jewelry in your face, and off you went. You left me in a heartbeat. You’ll excuse me if I didn’t think he was so good.”

  “He wasn’t good for you, that’s for sure. For me, well, that’s another story.”

  Madison smiled. “Maybe I’m being too hard on him. He was good for me. If it weren’t for him, you and I would’ve gotten married.”

  “And that would have been bad?”

  “That’s not what I meant. If he hadn’t ‘intervened, I wouldn’t have met Leeza.”

  “I guess the jury’s still out on that one, huh?”

  He gave her a stinging look.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She sighed. “Guess I’ve got some leftover bitterness too.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, waving a hand. “We did have a good thing, though. I thought with all my heart that we were going to be together for all eternity.”

  “So did I. Tom changed everything.” The waitress came over to fill her glass with more iced tea. “You weren’t very accessible. That was part of the problem. I know you want to think it was the money, but that was only part of it. A big part of it,” she said, smiling, “but it wasn’t the whole story.”

  “I was finishing up my residency, Catherine, what was I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t want to argue about it. I’m just saying that I hardly saw you, and we were tight financially. When a prince dressed in an Armani suit comes along and flashes the good life in your face, you jump at it. It was like falling in love all over again. I got taken in.”

  “More like taken.”

  “Well, that’s actually truer than not.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  She gave a mock laugh. “Too much of a good thing. Tom continued to play the market. Day trading, options, some other stuff I didn’t even understand. Did real well at it, too. But I kept telling him we should just put some in a different account, leave it alone for the long term, or at least put money into something safer, like real estate or muni bonds.” She gently moved a few strands of hair back with her fingers, out of her eyes. “But he didn’t listen. He made some bad bets, and it spiraled. Lost it all, even the money I had put away in a CD from the bonus I’d gotten for making partner. It was like he’d become a gambler. The more he lost, the riskier the stocks
were that he picked, hoping to catch up by hitting it big.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “We were married for three years. It ended in disaster. We wound up suing each other, and the attorneys ended up with more than either of us.” She took a swig of wine. “It got so messy that I had to take time off the job. That kind of broke my partnership agreement, so they bought me out. I lost everything. Had to start over, with my own office. That failed, and now I’m in-house counsel for Energy Data Systems. It’s never quite been the same. I haven’t enjoyed law ever since. Kind of resent it, actually.”

  “That’s really sad. You used to love it.” Now I’m doing it. Sad? Where the hell did that come from?

  “It’s been lonely.” She smiled at him, the toothy smile that used to grab him by the balls and hold him, mesmerized. The years had been good to her. The red hair was redder than he remembered. It fell about her shoulders and shimmered in the overhead spotlights of the private table she had reserved for them. He had to unglue his eyes from her hair. What was she saying?

  “...the paper said you’re very prominent in your field.”

  He shrugged.

  “It said that you’re the top orthopedic surgeon in northern California.” She tilted her head slightly, well-manicured red-painted nails fingering the rim of her wineglass.

  He smiled, consciously aware of what her fingers were doing. His accomplishments had always turned her on. He had forgotten about that. She played; he watched. He had to break the spell. “Want to see pictures of my boys?”

  “Sure,” she said, dropping her hand from the glass.

  He pulled out his wallet and flipped through the photos of Leeza, coming to rest on the pictures of Elliott and Jonah. She looked them over.

  “They’re gorgeous,” she finally said.

  He had forgotten how much she had wanted to have children.

  “I guess I should’ve adopted a child.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “I suppose. But I’d prefer to have my own. It’s kind of hard when you don’t have any prospects. Takes two.”

  He caught her looking at him; he chuckled nervously. “I’ve got enough problems right now, Catherine, without fathering your child.”