“Now we get to work.”
CHAPTER 5
“STOP IT! CUT IT out, Noah! Noah, I asked you not to do that,” Ryan Chandler yelled across the room.
“Ryan,” Denise said, “get off your butt and do something about it. He’s just ignoring you.”
“Denise, I am doing something about it.”
She looked up from her law book and removed her glasses. “I meant something effective,” she said as Noah, the four-year-old bundle of energy, ran by with the golden retriever plodding after him.
“You’re the one who wanted a kid,” he said as he walked into the adjacent playroom and started the DVD player.
A ball flew by his head; he ducked and it hit the armrest of the couch next to him: “Look, Noah—Cars,” Chandler said, pointing to the television where the Pixar logo had appeared.
“Saying I wanted a kid is a distortion of the facts,” Denise shouted from the other room. “You’re the one who jumped on top of me in the Caribbean. I told you I was ovulating.”
He walked back into the bedroom. “And I’m not sorry I did.”
“Me neither. But—”
“But our lives have never been the same,” he said, locking the door. “Time to start trying for another one.”
“Wrong time of the month.”
“Then just for fun.”
“Not here—not now—” she said, motioning toward the playroom.
“Cars is on. He’ll be busy for at least a half hour. He won’t even remember we’re home.”
“But I’ve got to get my outline done—”
“Law school can wait.” He took her hand and led her over to the bed. He began stroking her shoulder-length chestnut hair as his lips trailed down her neck and—
The phone rang.
“Shit.”
“Just let the machine get it,” she said, taking his face in her hands and moving her lips toward his.
The phone stopped in the middle of the second ring. “Noah got it,” he said.
“Hope he takes a message,” Denise said while planting little kisses on his cheek.
Chandler rolled over and groped for the handset on the night table. “Hello—Hello—Noah, hang up, buddy. Daddy’s got it.” But Noah was busy talking, telling the caller he was watching Cars and playing with his dog.
Just then, Chandler heard the phone drop on the wood floor. It made an ear-deafening thud as it bounced a couple of times.
“Hang on a minute,” Chandler said as Denise took off toward the playroom.
“Daddy’s trying to talk, sweetie-pie. Let’s hang up now,” Chandler heard her say on the other end as she placed the handset on the receiver.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” the caller said. “I’m looking for Ryan Chandler.”
“Who’s this?”
“Jeffrey Hellman. I’m an attorney in Sacramento, California. I’m calling about a case that you’d probably interested in working on.”
“Since you called me, you probably realize that I now live in New York. I don’t work on cases in California.”
“I understand that, Mr. Chandler. But this one’s urgent, and you might want to make an exception for it.”
“I doubt it. I’m pretty firmly entrenched here. I can’t really get any time off work, I’ve got a wife and kid...it’s just not possible.”
“Okay, I figured that’d be your response, but he insisted. My client’s very persistent.”
“Who’s your client?”
“Phillip Madison.”
“Phil? Mr. Hellman, what kind of law do you practice?”
“Criminal defense.”
“And Phil’s your client?”
“Unfortunately for him, yeah.”
“I see why you called me,” Chandler said as he stood up and walked over to the adjacent rolltop desk. Denise had returned to the room and sat down next to him. She mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
Chandler held up a hand and turned his attention back to the phone.
“What’s he accused of?”
“Double homicide. Hit-and-run.”
“Phil Madison?” he asked, his voice rising an octave.
“Their case is pretty tight. It doesn’t look good.”
“I feel strange asking this, but did he do it?”
“He insists he’s innocent. I’ve known Phil a longtime and I believe him.”
“I understand, I know what kind of man he is.”
“Any case, I’m sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
“Hold it—Mr. Hellman?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Give me a couple days to get things in order. Can you pick me up at Sacramento International Monday morning?”
“Name the time. I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 6
“I SPENT SEVEN YEARS with the Sacramento Police Department, as well as two years as a special investigator with the county district attorney,” Chandler told Hellman in the car on Monday morning. He laughed. “I feel like I’m on a job interview.”
“You are,” Hellman said as he negotiated the jug handle on-ramp leading into Interstate 5. “Go on.”
“I blew out a disc in my lower back and that was the end of my career. And the beginning of a long depression,” he said, staring out the side window at the empty fields that surrounded Sacramento International.
“That’s when you moved to New York?”
“More like wandered the country until I found myself in New York. My father lives there, so I figured at the time that it was as good a place as any to wind up. But just like when I was younger, he had a definite opinion on what I should do with my life.” Chandler chuckled. “Seems he’s got an opinion for improving everyone’s life, except his own. Messed that one up pretty good, actually.” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, I went back to school and ended up in forensic science.”
“You like it?”
“It’s not the same as being out on the street, but it’s as close as I can get given the circumstances.”
“Your dad a cop?”
“Judge. Was a judge. Past tense.”
Hellman sensed that there was a story associated with that comment, but he wanted to broach the topic of Madison’s case. “The police are still gathering evidence on Phil. They’ve been through his house, his car, and just about everything else he owns with a fine-tooth comb. Whatever they’ve found is being processed at the lab. If things turn out the way they look like they will, you’re going to have to perform some magic to get him off.”
“Getting him off is your job, Mr. Hellman. Mine is finding the evidence that’ll help you help him.”
Hellman could not argue with that point. “How long do you have out here?”
“Don’t know yet. My boss is pretty tough about time off in the middle of a murder investigation. No one ever wants to ask him for it. He gets upset, his face turns red, and he yells a lot. People are afraid of him.”
“Except you.”
“I’ve been through enough shit in my life not to let old Hennessy bother me. I just roll with the punches. And I try not to take advantage of the situation.”
“What situation?”
“I’m the best forensic investigator he’s got. Best east of the Mississippi.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I bet you think I’m a pompous ass.”
“You must be a pretty damned good mind reader too,” Hellman said, wondering why Madison was so insistent on hiring this guy to work his case.
“Just wanted to be up front with you. I hope we don’t get off on the wrong foot,” Chandler said.
“Not at all. Say anything you want. Do your job well and we’ll get along just fine. Like brothers. Do a shitty job and I’ll kick your ass the hell out of California. A man’s life is on the line.”
“Not just a man,” Chandler said. “Phil Madison.”
They arrived at the Madison home at half past nine. As they parked in the circular
driveway, Hellman informed Chandler that he was going to be staying in the Madisons’s guest suite—and that it was not up for debate.
“Phil insisted. He’s asked me to arrange for you to have a car, plenty of cash to cover expenses, as well as anything else you’d need...you’ll be well taken care of.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
As Chandler opened the car door, Hellman took hold of his ann. “He’s been through a lot. Don’t be surprised by his appearance.”
“Being arrested for a double murder is a harrowing experience.”
“There’s been a lot of other shit too. This was just the crowning jewel. His life has been a shambles the past few months.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll let him tell you all about it.”
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“I’ve gotta get to the office. Besides, I know the whole story—I’ve lived it with him. Here’s my card. Call me any time—day or night,” he said as he wrote his home number on the back.
Chandler watched Hellman’s Lexus disappear out of the driveway. He turned and took a sweeping look at the large Tudor-style brick and granite home. “I should’ve been a surgeon,” he said as he walked up to the door.
He rang the bell: chimes sounded up and down the musical scale. The door opened and revealed Phillip Madison, dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and no socks.
“Ryan!” he said, smiling widely and extending a hand. “How’ve you been?”
“Not too bad, Phil, not too bad at all. I’ve had an eventful life since we last spoke.”
“Come on in,” Madison said, stepping aside and motioning Chandler into the entryway. As Madison led the way into the living room, he said, “So, you said things have been ‘eventful.’ That mean good things?”
“Some good, some very bad. Let’s just say it’s been an adventure.”
“An adventure?”
“I got married again.”
“Is that the good part or the bad part?”
Chandler smiled. “The good. And I have a four-year-old son. He’s quite a handful.”
“Just like his father, I bet.”
“He’s got a little bit of both of us in him.”
“Jesus, a four-year-old...how long has it been?”
“About seven years, I think.”
Madison sat down on the couch and gestured Chandler to an embroidered, carved-wood hardbacked chair. “Seven years. Yeah, I guess that’s about right. I have two kids myself. Elliott just turned five and Jonah’s three.”
“Leeza okay?”
“Fine, fine.” He pointed to Chandler’s back. “How’s it doing?”
“It hurts. There are things I can’t do. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“I wish I could’ve done more for you.”
“Despite what others may think, you’re only human, Phil.”
They both laughed. “Yeah, well, some people may not even afford me that distinction anymore. My reputation isn’t what it used to be. The last few months have been very...turbulent.”
“Your attorney mentioned something about that.”
“That’s why I had him call you.”
Chandler let his eyes roam about the ornate room. “He said it was urgent. What the hell’s going on?”
“Urgent’s a good word. Would you like something to drink?”
“Coke, if you’ve got it. Need the caffeine.”
“Be right back.” Madison was gone for a moment, then returned with a Vitamin Water for himself and a Coke for Chandler. “Brought you a glass in case you want it.”
Chandler popped open the top. “Can’s fine.”
Madison sunk back into the couch and sighed. “Where to start...I guess it all began about three months ago. God, there’s so much to tell you.”
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Chandler said, taking a sip and leaning back in his chair.
CHAPTER 7
Three Months Earlier
Saturday, August 30
THE NOISE LEVEL was threatening to break records. Out of desperation, Madison finally put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The dog turned and looked at him, Elliott was shocked into attention, and Jonah stopped screaming.
Leeza came running down the steps of the three-story home, her wavy brown hair bouncing wildly above her shoulders. Dressed in a pearl-colored silk shorts outfit, she walked into the kitchen with a look of concern on her face. “What’s going on down here?”
“Scalpel saw a cat in the yard and began barking,” Madison said. “Elliott wanted to go to the zoo and Jonah wanted to watch Wall-E.I said no, and they both threw a fit simultaneously.”
“In other words, a normal morning in the Madison household,” she said with a smile.
“Exactly.” He leaned over, gave her a kiss, and then tickled her ear with his lips. “You look very hot,” he whispered. “I love that outfit on you.”
Just then, his cell phone vibrated. Madison glanced at the number and sighed. “It’s the hospital.”
“What a surprise,” Leeza said.
He sat at the kitchen table, dialed in and identified himself, then listened to the explanation while trying to avoid Leeza’s angry stare.
“How much was he given?...And he’s still in pain?...Have them run another EMG—they did? What were the results?” Madison ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn.” He listened for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t agree with Dr. Rinaldo. If we wait, he may never regain feeling in his leg, and his drop foot won’t resolve. He’d have a permanent motor deficit.” Madison closed his eyes. “Call Dr. Oliver and prep the patient. I’ll be right over.”
Madison hung up the phone and looked at Elliott and Leeza. Leeza’s arms were crossed over her chest; Elliott was resting his head on his hands. Even Jonah understood. “Zoo, I want the zoo,” the three-year-old said, his large brown eyes focused on his dad’s face.
Madison sighed. He moved over a seat next to Elliott, looked at his son’s delicate, nearly perfect features—a dead ringer for Leeza—and brushed back the boy’s thick black hair with his fingers. “I know I said I’d take you guys today, but there’s a patient—”
“A patient,” Leeza said. “There’s always a patient. When do we count? When do you drop everything for us?”
“Leeza, please—”
“That’s what I keep saying. Please make time for us. Please cut back. We need you. Your kids need their father. I need a husband, a husband who’s home some of the time.”
“What am I supposed to do, turn my back on my patients?”
“Why can’t somebody else do this surgery? I thought there’s a doctor on call...John Ingersoll. It’s his weekend, isn’t it?”
“Leeza, this is a highly specialized procedure. The surgeon on call can’t do it—”
“They’re all special procedures.”
“Yes, they are. That’s why I am who I am. That’s why we live in the house that we do, the neighborhood that we do. Live the lifestyle that we live. There are only a few surgeons in northern California who can do what I do. When I get a case like this, there’s no one else who can take over for me.”
“And who takes over for you with your family? Am I supposed to?”
“I haven’t figured that one out yet. I’m working on it. I’m trying to schedule things differently. I thought this guy could make it till Monday, but he’s already had more morphine than he should’ve had, and his EMG’s degraded—he’s going to have permanent nerve damage if we don’t operate soon. We can go to the zoo another time. But for this patient, delaying his surgery another couple of days will have long-term effects on his life.”
“How long will this surgery take?”
“Probably twelve hours. It’s a bad one.”
“Twelve hours,” she said. “There goes the whole day. And evening. We had plans with the Fentons tonight.”
“Honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“Daddy, you’re going to work again?” Elliot
t said.
“There’s a man who’s sick and I have to take care of him.”
“My tummy hurts. You have to stay home and take care of me.”
Madison felt a punch of guilt slam him in the stomach. He took Elliott’s small hand in his own and squeezed gently. “I promise, champ. Tomorrow we’ll do something very fun. Marine World or something like that, okay?”
“That’s what you said the other day,” Elliott whined. He looked over at Leeza. “Mom, will you take us somewhere today?”
“Sure, honey. We’ll go to the zoo, okay?”
Elliott leaned against his mom’s shoulder. “Okay.”
“You keep making promises you can’t keep, Phil. It isn’t fair to the kids.”
“Look, I would hope that if one of you were seriously ill and I wasn’t around, that your doctor would put you first and come in on his day off-just like I’m doing for this patient.”
“You know as well as I do that all he’ll say after the surgery is how high your bill is. You think that once he’s up and walking again he’ll care that he ruined your day off, a rare day off you were supposed to spend with your kids?”
Madison shrugged. “I can’t think about it that way.”
“Do you realize that you spend more time in meetings for the Consortium than you do playing with your kids?”
Madison held up a hand. “I’m going to cut back as soon as we get the staffing situation straightened out.”
Leeza shook her head. “One day the kids will be grown up and you’ll say, ‘Where have all the years gone?’ You can’t get back these times. Once they’re gone, they’re gone.” She looked at him, awaiting a response. But he just sat there.
“And you see all these great things we have? This house, our Mercedes, the stocks, the furniture, the artwork...none of it’s going to matter, because when you have a heart attack and die from working too much, I’ll collect the two million in life insurance and enjoy all of it with another man—one who’ll put me and the kids first and his career second. We’ll be playing with the money and material things you worked so hard for, because you won’t be around to enjoy them.”
“I’ll only die from the heart attack if the cardiologist on call decides to spend the day with his family and not answer his page to report to the hospital.”
False Accusations Page 4
