False Accusations

by Jacobson, Alan

  “I didn’t have anything—”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hellman said just before he slammed the phone down.

  CHAPTER 27

  IT WAS one o’clock in the morning and Ryan Chandler was yawning, fighting to keep awake.

  “You’ve been talking for hours, Phil, but you don’t even look tired.”

  “Dredging all this up has been very…difficult. I miss Leeza and the kids. It’s been almost a month since they left. I can’t tell you what it’s done to me.”

  “It would tear me apart if Denise and Noah suddenly left me. But I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  “Let’s just say that I hope you never have the experience.”

  Chandler yawned again; he was half slumped in his chair, and his low back ached. “I think it’s time for me to hit the sack, or I’ll be useless in the morning.”

  “We’re almost through,” Madison said.

  They said good night and Chandler was asleep five minutes later, not even bothering to take his clothes off.

  Madison lay awake the rest of the night. The morning brought welcome sunshine; it was supposed to be 60 degrees today, a refreshing respite from the rain and 45-degree weather that had been feeding Madison’s depression.

  When he walked into the kitchen, Chandler was sipping coffee and scanning the morning paper. Madison said hello and then launched into the rest of the story, as if he had been a movie placed on “pause” for the evening.

  Chandler figuratively hit “play” by acknowledging his presence.

  “I awoke the next morning and found a fax in my machine from Leeza,” Madison said. “She was staying at her sister’s in the Bay Area—I recognized the number at the top of the fax.” He found the handwritten letter, which was stuffed into a cubby next to the kitchen phone, and handed it to Chandler, who began to scan it:

  ...Please don’t call around looking for me. The boys and I are safe. I need some time to sort all this out. I can’t tell you how much you’ve hurt me. I feel like I don’t know you anymore. You never lied to me before, and this was such an important thing. I don’t know what hurts me more, the fact that you lied to me or your infidelity. Maybe you thought you were protecting me from getting hurt. But how can I forgive the fact that you slept with this woman? Did you really feel the need to go elsewhere? I always felt secure with you. I thought that that was one of the safest things in my life. The money was nice, sure, but nothing can replace your soul, your heart. This has taught me that people can say anything they want, but it’s their actions that really count. Talk is worthless if the actions don’t back it up.

  I feel betrayed.

  I need time to think things out, decide what to do. Maybe it’s best that we just part now and go our separate ways, before the kids get too much older. I’ll contact you soon.

  After Chandler finished, he handed the fax back to Madison.

  “I felt the same way about our relationship as she did, Ryan. Trust isn’t something you can buy, for any amount of money. It’s earned. And once it’s lost, it’s real hard to get it back.”

  “There’s no doubt she was very hurt by what she thought was going on, Phil. But things have a way of working themselves out. Let things calm down a bit. She’ll come around.”

  Madison was staring at the letter. “She was a part of me, Ryan. I don’t know how to describe it. She gave me balance, made me see things in ways I was too busy to see. It’s like Harding destroyed a part of me when she made Leeza walk out that door.”

  “Stop talking about your marriage in the past tense. She’ll be back, I know it.”

  After a long moment of silence, Madison folded Leeza’s letter, shoved it back into the bin next to the telephone, and continued the story.

  After reading the fax, Madison felt like running into the middle of the street and screaming as loud as he could. But he had patients to see, and a facade that was in need of some repair. He walked outside into the cool, still air, took a few deep breaths, and left for the office.

  The day was routine, which was good: he needed that. No important decisions, no critical diagnoses, no unusual test results to interpret. Tomorrow three surgeries were scheduled. He had another fourteen hours to get his head into shape before taking the scalpel in hand.

  Madison sat down at his desk and signed a few reports without even bothering to proof them. When his phone buzzed, he glanced at his watch. He had been sitting there, lost in a thoughtless daze, for nearly twenty minutes.

  “Jeffrey Hellman on line two,” Monica said.

  He looked down at the phone, noticing the blinking red light. He had not even retrieved his messages. “Have him hold for a moment,” he said as he dialed into his voicemail, hoping there was a call from Leeza. Nothing. Just Jeffrey teasing him with “finally some good news.”

  He disconnected the voicemail and returned the call.

  “Jeffrey.”

  “I would’ve thought you’d have called me by now, with that message I left.”

  “Just got it. Been a little preoccupied, I guess.”

  “Want some good news?”

  “Hit me with it,” he said in a monotone that reflected his emotional fog.

  “I have a forty-thousand-dollar check in my hand. Certified funds, signed by Movis Ehrhardt.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He and I had a conversation yesterday about the picture. Both his and Harding’s prints were all over it. By sending it, she broke the terms of our agreement. I threatened to sue both of them for damages, pain and suffering, extortion, assault, and whatever else rolled off my tongue at the moment. He knew it wouldn’t be worth the thirteen grand he made off it. He cut us a check this afternoon.”

  “That’s great,” Madison said flatly.

  “Yeah, I can tell. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’m thinking about Leeza, my marriage, my kids. I’m not handling it very well. I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

  “Maybe you should see a shrink.”

  “I’ll put myself on some Elavil. Got some around here somewhere...”

  “Be careful with that stuff, Phil.”

  “Thanks, Doctor Hellman.”

  “That has a nice ring to it,” Hellman said, trying to lighten the conversation. “Maybe I should’ve listened to you. Gone to medical school, become a surgeon. We could’ve been in the same class. Pity that instructor.”

  The attempt at levity was futile. “I’ve gotta go,” Madison said. “I have to pick up some food at the market tonight. There’s nothing in the house.”

  “You want me to come over later?”

  “Nah, I’m not really in the mood for company.”

  “If you need to talk, give me a call. I’ll be home.”

  The neighborhood Food & More market was a bright, upscale full-service facility, complete with child-care-while-you-shop, a Bank of America branch, espresso bar, sushi counter, and Chinese take-out. He had wandered through the frozen foods section, stocking his basket with ready-made dinners on which he would subsist for the next who knew how many days until Leeza would allow him to explain the check and picture.

  As he headed down the aisle to the registers, his basket collided with one that belonged to another shopper. He looked up to apologize and upon seeing Brittany Harding’s face, froze instantly. “What the hell are you doing here?” he managed to blurt. This was not the neighborhood he expected to find her in.

  Her face contorted in anger as she opened her mouth and let loose a barrage of expletives at a volume that made the nearby checker down the aisle turn his head.

  “...You bastard,” she continued. “You and your attorney think you’re so smart, huh? Rape never goes away. You’ll have to live with that, just like I will. What nerve you have thinking you can violate a woman’s body and get away with it. You cost me my job, you pervert!”

  Between anger and the embarrassment of being called a
rapist in his neighborhood market, Madison broke out into a sweat and his heart began to pound. Hiding his face, he looked down and noticed a six-pack of beer in her cart. Instantly, Jeffrey’s admonition about appearing confident popped into his head. He looked up, directly into Harding’s enlarged pupils. “Why don’t you go home and drown yourself in that beer? Drown out the pitiful life you lead. Look at yourself! What drugs are you on now, anyway?”

  Her expression changed from anger to surprise; she clearly did not expect him to strike back at her so aggressively.

  “You’re delusional,” he shouted. “Leave me and my family alone!” He was as taken aback by his tone as Harding appeared to be. Seldom-tapped feelings of anger were speaking, not Phil Madison, surgeon and philanthropist.

  Harding took a deep breath; her chest was heaving.

  He wheeled around her cart, away from her, down the aisle toward the checkout register.

  “You bastard! You’ll pay! I’ll get you for this!” she yelled after him.

  Madison hurried to get away from her as quickly as possible. Away from the embarrassment, the confrontation. Out of the market.

  “Go home to your retarded brother!” he heard her shout in the distance.

  Poor Ricky. How did he get dragged into this?

  Madison took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself, then glanced up to see where he was. The checker was looking at him, a young man of perhaps twenty. He appeared tentative, unsure if he should say anything. “Hey, you okay?” he finally asked.

  Madison looked up at the man, a bit disoriented. He turned and glanced around behind him. People down the aisle from where he had just come were staring at him. Harding was standing with them, no doubt filling their ears with detailed lies of the nonexistent rape her scheming, deceitful mind had dreamed up.

  “How much?” Madison asked, realizing he had to pay in order to get the hell out of there.

  “Twenty-one forty-two,” the man said, pointing to the green LED readout.

  Madison fumbled for his American Express card.

  “Cash only,” the checker said, craning his neck up to the sign above his head. “You’re in the—”

  “Yeah, okay,” Madison said, still somewhat shaken, opening his wallet and pulling out a couple of twenty-dollar bills.

  “What’s her deal?” the man asked.

  “Huh? Oh, she’s got some emotional problems.”

  The checker glanced at Harding as he handed Madison the receipt. “Take it easy.”

  “I’ll get you for this, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  Madison heard her shouting again, behind him somewhere, like a nightmare that returns after you fall back asleep.

  She was on line behind him now, three people back as he strode quickly away from the register.

  “Who’ve you raped lately?” she asked. “Bastard—I’m gonna make sure you pay!”

  Madison managed to keep his head as he walked out into the cold evening air of the parking lot, leaving her screaming behind him. Some emotional problems. Understatement of the year.

  And Jeffrey thinks I need a shrink.

  CHAPTER 28

  CHANDLER FINISHED his third cup of coffee and looked up at Madison, who had stopped talking. He was just staring at the table, the lack of sleep apparent on his face.

  “Phil?”

  Madison sat for another moment, seemingly mesmerized by the pattern of the wood grain on the butcher block table.

  “Phil?” Chandler asked. “You okay?”

  “Huh?” He looked up. “Yeah, fine.” He forced a smile. “That’s it. That’s the story. They came to my house a few days later and arrested me.”

  “And here we are.”

  “Here we are.”

  “Did you ever speak to Leeza?”

  He laughed bitterly. “A couple of days later she called to let me know she and the boys were okay. I told her what had happened, about the bogus evidence they had, and the settlement Jeffrey negotiated, and why we agreed to it. And of course I told her about the picture. She listened to what I had to say, but she didn’t really give much of a response. Said she’d have to think things over, let it all sink in. She wasn’t sure who to believe, if she should believe anyone at all. There was no trust, no common ground. It was very awkward.”

  “When was that?”

  “I don’t know, a couple weeks ago.”

  “Have you spoken to her since then?”

  “Yeah. I went by to see the kids. Took them to the park. Jonah wanted to know why they had to stay at his aunt’s house and why they couldn’t see me. It was terrible, Ryan.” He paused, staring at the table again. Tears filled his eyes, but he fought to retain control.

  “I call them every other day. Lee doesn’t say much to me. When I was arrested, she drove out to help me with bail. We talked a little. She was still upset that I’d never told her that Harding was even at the house that night. She wanted to know why I didn’t tell her—she was really fixated on that. After all, if I couldn’t trust her, who could I trust? And then the kicker: if I lied about Harding being in the house, how could she know for sure that I didn’t lie about raping her?”

  Madison shook his head. “I told her that I didn’t lie about the rape, and I told her that I didn’t kill those two people.” He laughed mockingly. “Said she believed me about the murders, because she knows I’m not a murderer. She wanted to be here for me, but she didn’t want to come back because of a crisis. Bottom line was that she needed to resolve things in her mind before we could move on and be together again.”

  Both men were silent for a moment. Then, Madison nodded at the vase on the table. “Leeza used to buy fresh flowers every week. While she’s been gone, the flowers died. Just like everything else in my life. Me, my marriage. My family. My career.”

  “Phil, come on. Enough of this negative talk.” Chandler tried to meet Madison’s downcast eyes. “Hey, are you there?”

  Madison’s voice was low, almost as if he was talking to himself. “It’s so unlike her.”

  Chandler grabbed a pad by the edge of the table. “We need a plan of attack. First, I want to make a list of all the people who have something to offer us in support of the assertion that it was Harding who was driving the car. And people who witnessed the public threats she made against you, the fabricated stories, the people who witnessed the erratic behavior—”

  “For what?”

  “We’re going to build a case against her, to show that it was her who committed the crime, not you. Didn’t you ever watch Perry Mason?”

  “I guess I was too busy studying.”

  Chandler laughed. That statement was probably all too true.

  “Isn’t Jeffrey going to be doing this?”

  Chandler pulled the cap off a gel pen. “You brought me here to help you. I don’t intend to just sit around on my ass examining physical evidence. Besides, it’ll be a few days before we’ll even know if I’ll be allowed access to it. Meantime, I want to make the most of my time—and my skills. And it gives me a chance to spend a few days with my first love—investigation.”

  They made up a list of people for him to visit, a list that was sure to grow as Chandler spoke with those people Madison had identified. He was determined to clear Madison, and the best place to start was with the person who in all probability committed the crime. Chandler’s plan was simple: dig up a ton of evidence, build a strong and compelling enough case, and the jury would have to acquit on reasonable doubt.

  But any seasoned investigator knew that simple plans often ran into complications.

  CHAPTER 29

  PROSECUTOR TIMOTHY DENTON was sitting at his desk with a small halogen light on. Files were piled high around him, almost haphazardly, even though he always professed to anyone who commented on its disarray that he knew where everything was. A half-filled cup of black coffee sat on his desk, left over from this morning.

  Detective Bill Jennings walked in without acknowledgment—and sat down heavily on the thinly padd
ed chair in front of Denton’s desk. “I’m exhausted,” he said, popping open a can of Barq’s and throwing his boots up on top of Denton’s desk. He moved a couple of files over with his heel so he had a spot to rest his feet comfortably.

  “How’s the investigation going, Detective?”

  “Why so formal?” Jennings asked, “You never call me ‘Detective’ unless there’s someone else in the room.”

  Closing the law book he had been reading, Denton looked up at Jennings for the first time. “This is a big case, Bill; I’ve got to devote all of my time to it. If we screw this up, I’ll be hearing about it from now until the next election. So...if you have something of substance to say, please, regale me with it; otherwise, get your boots off my desk and your ass out of my office.”

  Jennings, not one to mince words, took a swig of Barq’s. “I hear that Ryan Chandler is investigating this case for the defense.”

  “Yeah, so, who the hell is Ryan Chandler?”

  “Let’s just say that he’s not one of my favorite people.”

  “And what possible relevance does this Chandler guy have to this case?”

  “‘Relevance. Goddamn lawyer talk. Why’s everything gotta have relevance? Can’t it ever just be personal?” He paused, noticing that Denton was not following him. “It’s relevant because I hate the guy’s fucking guts.” He pulled his boots off the desk, leaned forward, put his Barq’s down.

  “Fifteen years ago Ryan Chandler left the Sacramento PD and became an investigator for the DA. They had a suspect in custody in a serial murder case when, all of a sudden, there’s a killing that’s kind of similar in Stockton, where I was working at the time. The Stockton case was assigned to me. Chandler suggested we work together on it, because he thought it was the same killer. Said he was going to get pressure to drop the case against the guy they’d already charged. I didn’t agree. The MO was so different that I thought there’s no way this could be the same guy.