False Accusations

by Alan Jacobson

  “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 Café. 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.

  CHAPTER 67

  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.

  He was wearing a navy blue suit with a stark white shirt and a silk tie that was emblazoned with a brilliant red paisley pattern. His hair was immaculately styled and his face was dean shaven, lightly bronzed, and taut. It was Leeza’s suggestion that he spend yesterday afternoon at a salon getting a tan, followed by a massage, facial, and haircut. It allowed him to collect his thoughts, spruce up for the coming event, and relax.

  As he entered the courtroom, the olive-uniformed bailiff led him to the witness chair. He glanced toward the jury. They appeared focused, students with pens and pads poised, as if he were the guest lecturer about to provide answers that were needed for their final exam.

  This was the climax of the prosecution’s case, the make-or-break point. It was the jury’s opportunity to meet the man who was such an integral focus of this case. This was their chance to scrutinize him, to decide whether he was credible, worthy of their vote of confidence against Harding.

  Both Denton and Hellman had decided that if the jurors believed Madison—particularly if they took a liking to him—they would feel the opposite toward Harding. The verdict would already be decided by the time they sat down to begin their deliberations.

  “Dr. Madison,” Denton said at 9:15, “a few moments ago you outlined your medical credentials, appointments, and accomplishments. A rather long list. I bet you’re proud of them.”

  “I am. I’ve worked hard for each one of them.”

  “How about your activities outside of medicine?”

  “I have a wife and two young children.”

  “Doesn’t leave much time for anything else, does it?” Denton asked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Madison said with a chuckle.

  “But you have been involved in other things, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us about those activities?”

  “I served as president of the American Heart Association for two years, I was a board member for the American Cancer Society and the Sacramento Symphony, and until recently, I served on the River City Theater Company’s board of directors. I’ve been a board member and vice president of the Consortium for Citizens with Mental Retardation. I’m currently president of the Consortium.”

  “Do you get any compensation for any of this?”

  “Are you asking me if I get paid?”

  “Yes. Money or other benefits of any sort.”

  “No. It’s volunteer work. I don’t receive anything. Other than the satisfaction of doing something to help others.”

  “Dr. Madison, do you give money to charitable interests?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Approximately, how much did you give to nonprofit causes last year?”

  “A little over eighteen thousand dollars.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Denton and Madison had worked on this preamble in advance, and appeared to be in a rhythm together. He proceeded to ask him about his relationship with Brittany
Harding, how he came to meet her, his dealings with her, and his conversations with Michael Murphy when it became apparent that she was providing less than a stellar performance as interim administrative officer.

  “And how did she react when you suggested to her that she should submit a job application for the position she was temporarily holding?”

  “She was angry, surprised.”

  “Objection,” Warwick said from his seat. “The witness couldn’t possibly have known my client’s state of mind unless he’s also a world-class clairvoyant.”

  “Your Honor,” whined Denton.

  “Cut the sarcasm, Mr. Warwick. Objection sustained.”

  “Dr. Madison,” Denton said, “in your opinion, how did Miss Harding appear to you after informing her that she would have to apply for the position?”

  “I thought she looked angry, and surprised.”

  “Did she ever submit an application?”

  “I don’t believe she did.”

  “Let’s move on to the rape accusations that she made against you.” He took Madison through his side of the story, her unexpected appearance at his house, the examination, her two phone calls.

  “And after she left, did you notice anything missing?”

  “Not until sometime after, when my wife couldn’t find her set of keys to my car.”

  “Where were they usually kept?”

  “On a hook in our kitchen, next to the telephone.”

  “When was it that she noticed the keys were missing?”

  “It was after Brittany Harding was at my house, I don’t remember the exact date. They were spare keys, not something my wife used very often. And she was...away for a while. I think it was about a week after she got back that she realized the keys were missing.”

  “Why was your wife away?”

  Madison shifted a bit in his seat, leaned forward, glanced over at the jury, then looked back at Denton. “She took the kids and left me.”

  “And why was that?”

  “It started a couple of days after Miss Harding lost her job at the Consortium. I was outside my house pruning the rose bushes. The defendant drove up, got out of her car, and started screaming at me. Something about my having slept with her, and that she’d get even by going to the police for what I did to her. I didn’t know what she was talking about. But my wife saw the entire fiasco.”

  “Did Miss Harding follow through with her threat?”

  “She filed a complaint with the police, and they investigated me.”

  “This was, what, five weeks after she alleged the rape to have occurred?”

  “Yes. It was obviously an attempt at revenge, at getting back—”

  “Objection,” Warwick said, jumping up from his seat. “I thought we established the witness isn’t telepathic—”

  “Sustained. Dr. Madison,” Calvino said, “please only tell us what you know, and do not speculate on the thoughts of others.”

  Madison nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “What happened after the police investigated you?”

  Madison described his meetings with the two detectives, and related the fact that his attorney was then approached for monetary compensation by Movis Ehrhardt, over the threat of mass media exposure of the alleged rape.

  “It was the same thing she did to an ex-employer of hers a couple of years back—extortion.”

  “Objection!” Warwick shouted.

  Calvino looked over at Madison. “Doctor, please refrain from making comments unless it deals with something you have direct knowledge about.”

  “Doctor,” continued Denton, attempting to brush over the admonition. It was crucial that Madison be seen in a favorable light by the jury. “What happened next?”

  “I paid her. My attorney and I felt it was less damaging to pay her the money and stop her from going to the media with this bogus accusation than risk ruining my career.” He looked over at Harding, his eyes fixed and his gaze hard. She stared him down. “A couple of days later, my wife received a manila envelope in the mail with a copy of the check I had written to the defendant, as well as a copy of the written agreement outlining the terms of the settlement. There was also a picture of myself and the defendant.” He paused and shook his head, out of disbelief. Tears welled up in his eyes. “My wife didn’t know about the payment. When she got all this stuff in the mail, she didn’t know what to think, and I was away at a surgery conference. She took the kids and left.”

  Denton paused, giving the jury a moment to reflect on his witness’s grief.

  A moment later, Madison cleared his throat. “My attorney was able to get the money returned because she’d broken our agreement.”

  “Why didn’t you tell your wife about the settlement?”

  “My friend thought it would upset her, that it wasn’t worth dragging her into it. At the time, I thought he was right. But later, I realized I should’ve discussed it with her.”

  Denton nodded, suggesting that he understood—and that the jury should understand, too. “Was that the last contact you had with Brittany Harding?”

  Madison chuckled sarcastically. “No. It was not. She and I ran into each other in a supermarket. She was irate, started yelling at me. Called me a rapist. Told me that she was going to get even, make me pay.”

  “Did you notice what she had in her basket?”

  “One item in particular.”

  “And what was that item?”

  “A six-pack of Millstone Premium Draft beer.”

  “And why is it that you noticed that one specific item?”

  “I’d turned a comer of an aisle and nearly ran into her basket. That’s when I saw the gold- and brown-colored packaging of the Millstone six-pack. At that moment, I didn’t even realize that she was the one I nearly collided with. But after she started screaming at me, I even said to her, ‘Why don’t you go home and drown yourself in that beer and stay out of my life.’ Something like that.”

  Madison continued to expound upon the subsequent events, including his interaction with Ronald Norling, the checker, as well as Harding’s behavior as he left the market.

  “Dr. Madison, how has this entire episode with the defendant affected your life?” Denton asked.

  Madison looked down at his lap and paused. When he looked up, his eyes were again glassy. “I wish I’d never met Brittany Harding...she nearly destroyed my personal and professional lives. My wife and children left me. My practice is a ghost of what it once was. I lost my privileges at the hospital I helped build. I’ve been attacked in public. My friends stayed away out of fear of association. The embarrassment, the stress—” He stopped, bit his lip. “It’s impossible to describe what I’ve been through. What my family’s been through.” He grabbed a tissue from the dispenser on the shelf in front of the witness chair and ran it across his wet eyes.

  “When it all comes down to it, all you have in life is your good name, your reputation, family and friends. She took all of that away from me. I can’t explain what it was like not knowing when it was going to end, what scheme she was going to dream up next. When she was going to stop.”

  Denton glanced to his left at Harding, who was staring at Madison. Even from this distance, he could see that her jaw was clenched, her shoulders bunched up toward her ears. Burning anger. Intense hatred. Denton waited a moment, allowing the jury to see her less-than-subtle reaction to Madison’s testimony. Finally, he turned back to his witness. “Thank you. Nothing further.”

  “Doctor,” Calvino said, “do you need a short break to collect yourself?”

  Madison took a breath and squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. No, I’ll be fine. I’d rather get this over with.”

  Calvino nodded. “Mr. Warwick, you may begin cross.”

  “Dr. Madison,” Warwick said as he arose and briskly walked toward the witness, “your wife didn’t really leave you, now did she?”

  “Yes, she did. I didn’t know if she was ever going to come back.”

  “B
ut she did come back, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Sir, who is Catherine Parker?”

  Madison swallowed hard. Denton clenched his jaw and leaned over to his assistant, whispering in his ear, inquiring as to who Catherine Parker was and what significance there could be to the case.

  “...a friend, you say?” Warwick was asking.

  “Yes. We go back a long time, to law school. We haven’t kept in touch.”

  “In fact, you were going to marry Miss Parker, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, eighteen years ago.”

  “And what happened?”

  “She married someone else.”

  “When was the last time that you saw her, Doctor?”

  “Objection!” Denton was on his feet, waving his hands in the air. “Your Honor, this is completely irrelevant.”

  Calvino looked down at Warwick, cocking his head as if to ask for a response.

  “Your Honor, I will make the relevance clear shortly.”

  “Remember, counselor, you don’t want to get into a situation where I have to count questions.”

  Warwick managed a smile and nodded.

  “Overruled.”

  “So, Doctor,” Warwick said, “when was the last time that you spoke with Miss Parker?”

  “About two or three months ago.”

  “And what was the reason for that communication?”

  “She called me. She’d read about the case in the paper, and read that my wife had left me.” He raised his eyebrows. “She was hoping that we could get together and renew our relationship.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I told her I wasn’t interested, that I still loved my wife. We had dinner and talked. Caught up on eighteen years of being out of touch.”

  “Did you have intercourse with Miss Parker that night?”

  Madison sat straight up and his face flushed. “Absolutely not. Not that night or any other night. I haven’t had relations with Miss Parker in eighteen years.”

  “Your Honor,” Denton said, “I renew my objection to the relevance of this line of questioning.”

  “I believe it goes to the credibility of the witness.”