Denton breathed a sigh of relief as the court reporter slapped away at her steno keys; Warwick did his best to hide his frustration, but his downcast expression spoke volumes.
Additional pretrial motions were made, fought over, and either granted or rejected. Denton and Warwick sparred repeatedly, with Calvino serving as arbiter in his reputedly restive manner. With the trial scheduled to be followed heavily by the media, both sides were gearing up for the onslaught of public interest usually accompanied by the magnifying glass that Warwick despised, and under which Denton thrived.
Madison’s preparation with Denton lasted four hours, and delved into private corners of his life that even he did not realize he had. The prosecutor explained that if he had this information, then Warwick might have it as well. He had to be ready for just about anything, Denton cautioned.
Later that evening, Madison reiterated his complaint to Hellman that attorneys left a bad taste in his mouth, present company excluded.
Hellman smiled. “You haven’t seen me from the other side’s perspective. I’m no better than any of them.”
CHAPTER 61
CHANDLER SAT reclining on the playroom lounger, Coke in hand, watching the New York Mets lose to the Florida Marlins in the ninth inning. “Unbelievable,” he said as he took his last swig from the can. He slammed his fist down as the replay showed the thundering four-hundred-fifty-foot home run land on the Shea Bridge well beyond the outfield wall. He squeezed his fist hard, crushing the aluminum can. At one of the folds, there was a sharp point that dug into his pinky. He pulled the crumpled container off his hand, examining the punctured flesh where the metal had stuck him.
As Gary Cohen, the Mets’ sportscaster, announced that the Marlins had pulled out a miraculous come-from-behind victory, Chandler noticed something where the aluminum had creased. He stared at the can for a long moment, then turned it over and around, several times.
Denise walked into the room with Noah. “They lost?” she asked, staring at the score. “They were ahead ten minutes ago.”
Chandler was not listening; he was on the phone.
Denise popped a DVD into the player for Noah, then looked at the notes Chandler was scribbling on his pad as he spoke.
He thanked the person on the other end of the phone, and hung up.
“What are you doing?”
Chandler underlined something on the page. “Following up on something.”
Denise looked at him. “Work? It’s Sunday night. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“This isn’t work. Something on Phil’s case.”
“What is it?”
Chandler hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
CHAPTER 62
THE JURY SELECTION process took three days. Attempting to empanel an impartial group of twelve people who had not seen or read any of the news reports proved more difficult than originally thought. Fortunately, however, much of the pretrial publicity centered around Phillip Madison as a suspect—so, if anything, the bias against Madison was the sticky point for Denton, since the doctor was his prime witness.
Denton’s questions during voir dire, the preliminary examination used by the court and attorneys to select a suitable panel of jurors, were therefore directed toward identifying bias against Madison. As Denton saw it, the worst scenario would be ending up with jurors who still harbored ill feelings toward him, because they would then be less inclined to believe him when he was called as a witness.
The jury that both attorneys ultimately agreed on consisted of seven women and five men. Along ethnic lines, there was one Asian, five African-Americans, one Hispanic, and five Caucasians. Denton liked the mix, while Warwick accepted it with trepidation; he was concerned about the prominence of both the female and African-American representation on the jury, being that the victims were both black, with one being a single mother. Trying to avoid an environment of excessive pity for the victims, he also wanted to buffer his client from misdirected disgust leveled by the jury against the suspect who was accused of the crime. The jury should not convict simply because his client was the one chosen and charged by the prosecutor—and because someone had to pay for the heinous crime that was going to be presented to them.
The jury empaneled and pretrial motions disposed of, Judge Calvino gestured toward Denton; Denton stood and buttoned his suit coat. He had delivered hundreds of opening statements over the years, and was adept at driving home his point by commanding the jury’s undivided attention as he told them with undaunted confidence he was going to prove beyond a reasonable doubt the suspect before them was guilty. Although Madison’s removal as the accused dulled the high-profile nature of the case, it was still rife with controversy; as a result, members of the press filled the courtroom. Denton knew this, and if butterflies could truly be present in one’s stomach, he would have a flock inside his own at the moment.
“That woman—Brittany Harding,” Denton shouted, pointing his finger at her, “is accused of murdering two people. Two innocent people who were unfortunate enough to become unwitting pawns in a plan of cold, calculated revenge. A plan of revenge that was carried out by Brittany Harding against a prominent surgeon, a pillar of the community.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m Timothy Denton, the prosecutor, and I represent the People of the State of California.” Denton strode toward the jury box, his hair freshly trimmed and his face glowing from a recent session at the local tanning salon. His neatly primped appearance, which included a new pinstriped navy blue suit, signaled the importance of this trial to both him and the state. He had begun with intensity chiseled into his brow, but now, as he approached the jurors, his features were softer, his demeanor inviting. They seemed to receive him well, watching him closely as he kept his hands clasped in front of him and focused all of their attention on the content of his opening argument.
He threw a glance at the defendant, then looked back at the jurors. “Brittany Harding,” Denton said, again pointing a short and stubby finger at Harding, who looked away, “is accused of murdering two people. But the story does not begin there. Let’s go back to late August of last year. Miss Harding was a recently hired assistant for a nonprofit organization whose president was Dr. Phillip Madison, a prominent surgeon in the community.
“When the organization’s administrative officer became ill, Miss Harding temporarily took over those duties. Witnesses tell us—as they’ll tell you during this trial—that Miss Harding had difficulty handling these activities. She accused one parent of being responsible for her child’s mental retardation, when in fact it was a genetic defect that was the causative agent. Others reported she was ‘condescending,’ and ‘unwilling to help’ them,” Denton said, reading the witness statements from a legal pad. “But there’s no crime in being ignorant or rude, is there?”
He took a few steps toward the prosecution table, then turned and faced them again. “When Dr. Madison suggested to Miss Harding that she submit an employment application for the administrative officer’s position, a job that she’d taken for granted would automatically become hers, she felt threatened. She thought she was going to be fired, so she manufactured a story in which she claimed that Dr. Madison raped her in his home. And she took this story to the police. She told them he’d raped her. But she didn’t go to the police on the same day that ‘the rape’ allegedly occurred. In fact, she didn’t go a week later.
“Not two weeks later. Not three weeks later. So when did she make this accusation? Five weeks later, ladies and gentlemen. I’m going to show you how she manufactured the entire scenario, and attempted to frame the doctor with rape.
“The police did their work diligently. They repeatedly interviewed Dr. Madison, but they couldn’t gather any evidence to support Miss Harding’s claim. Because no proof of rape existed. But Brittany Harding would not be deterred: she leaked her story to the newspaper, and an article was written without specifically naming Phillip Madison as the accused doctor. The tactic worked. It scared him—if his n
ame had been mentioned, it could’ve destroyed his fine and hard-earned reputation as a top surgeon.
“Miss Harding’s attorney immediately contacted Dr. Madison’s attorney and made a proposal: she would drop the rape complaint against him in exchange for a modest sum of fifty thousand dollars.” Denton strode back toward the jury. “This is called extortion, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s against the law. I’m going to show you how she played this same game of extortion with a former employer of hers two years ago. And you’ll see a video of Brittany Harding admitting to this gentleman that she was extorting him. We’ll hear him testify as well.
“But Brittany Harding,” he said, looking over at her again, pausing, allowing the jurors to follow his gaze to the defendant, “did not succeed with her plan of extortion against Dr. Madison. Yes, he paid the money, because in the long run, sadly, it was cheaper to pay her than go to trial to defend himself, and it was safer than risking damage to his reputation that the public exposure of her false accusations would certainly have caused.
“So why did her plan fail? Because Brittany Harding was not content to take the money and run. She decided she wanted more. Money was not enough. She needed revenge. She wanted to destroy Dr. Madison’s marriage. So she mailed a copy of the payoff check along with a copy of the agreement the two lawyers had drafted, as well as a staged picture that I’ll show you during the trial.
“As a result, Brittany Harding had violated the agreement, and Dr. Madison’s attorney forced Miss Harding to return the money—all of it—to avoid a lawsuit alleging extortion.” Denton chuckled. “She was furious, to say the least. Look at all the trouble she’d gone through. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll bet she felt that she’d earned this money! After all, she worked hard for it. But then, overnight, it was taken from her. Stolen from her. She was angry, enraged. So angry, in fact, that she confronted Dr. Madison in a supermarket and began screaming at him.” Denton held up his tightened fist toward the ceiling. “‘You’ll pay for this. I’ll get even!’ she yelled, in front of witnesses.”
He leaned both hands on the railing in front of the jury box, and looked deeply into their eyes as he spoke. “You’ll hear from one of these witnesses, the grocery clerk who checked her food out right after the argument occurred. He’ll tell you exactly what she said. You’ll hear for yourselves just how angry she was. He’ll also testify that she purchased a six-pack of Millstone Premium Draft beer—remember this because in a moment I’ll mention these beer cans again, and you’ll see their relevance.
“So what was it that she did in order to get even with Dr. Madison?” Denton folded his hands in front of him again, and stood facing the jurors. “I’m going to show you how Brittany Harding stole the motor vehicle which belongs to Dr. Madison, and then used it to kill two pedestrians, leaving one of them, a single parent, to die slowly in the street on a cold, rainy, winter evening.
“And I’m going to show you that following the hit-and-run, Brittany Harding then planted evidence in the vehicle—those Millstone Premium Draft beer cans that she’d purchased in the market a few days earlier—with the intention of fooling the police into thinking that Dr. Madison had, in a drunken state, run those two people over.”
Denton began strolling slowly in front of the jurors. “For a while the police were fooled. They did think Dr. Madison was the guilty party. After all, it was his car. In fact, I’ll freely admit to you that I was ready to go to trial against the good doctor until we discovered two additional pieces of evidence. Two things that convinced me that Brittany Harding had committed these murders...two things that will convince you that she committed these murders: her motive, and the physical evidence that proves the beer cans belonged to her.
“Now, before I tell you how I’m going to prove that Brittany Harding had a motive, let’s first discuss what motive means. In a legal sense, motive is that idea, belief, or emotion that leads the mind to indulge in a criminal act.” He stopped, allowing the definition to sink in. “It’s the cause or reason that moves the will and induces criminal action on the part of the accused.
“Through the testimony of several witnesses, you’ll hear what kind of person Brittany Harding is, what type of relationship she had with Dr. Madison, and, just as importantly, how she threatened revenge against him in public. When she screamed ‘I’ll get you for this! You’ll pay,’ she telegraphed her actions loud and clear. She announced what she was going to do, and then she acted upon her promise. We don’t have to guess what was in her mind because she told everyone who was in earshot what she intended to do.
“And that makes it really quite simple. If you agree that Brittany Harding’s emotions led her to commit a criminal act, then the rest is easy. Everything else will then fall into place for you. It’ll look black and white, and a verdict of ‘guilty’ will merely be a logical conclusion.
“I will do everything I can to make this case as clear-cut and black-and-white as possible. But in general, a juror’s job is always difficult, because the defendant’s attorney will try and cloud the issues, throw up roadblocks and smoke screens, and try to confuse you. Don’t be fooled. Don’t let him deceive you.
“Once you hear all the evidence, you’ll then have to decide which of it is significant. Which facts are important, and which are not. Who is telling the truth, and who is not. Ultimately, you’ll have to ask yourself if a person like Brittany Harding, who was capable of extortion on two occasions, who was capable of lying to the police about a rape that never occurred, is someone you can believe when she says she is innocent of murder.
“It’s important that each and every one of you work hard until you’ve accomplished your task. Because there was a real crime committed, ladies and gentlemen. Two real victims, and a whole lot of pain. It’s your job to determine if the defendant is going to pay for the crime that was committed. The prosecution is confident it will make its case against Brittany Harding; otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here before you, taking up your valuable time, the judge’s time, my time, and the state’s resources—to present this case.
“No. If you look at the facts as presented and listen to the witnesses I will bring, you’ll see that there is only one truth. That Brittany Harding committed murder in order to carry out an act of revenge. And for that she must be held accountable. Thank you.”
Denton sat down, a bit lightheaded, the perspiration under his armpits disguised by the cover of his suit coat.
Judge Calvino nodded to the defense table.
Wendell Warwick, the public defender, removed his reading glasses. Tall and thin, with a sharp nose and small, beady eyes that appeared to be constantly squinting, he smiled at the jury as he arose and buttoned his suit coat. “‘Don’t be fooled. Don’t let the defendant’s attorney deceive you,’” he said mockingly. He stopped and smiled again, extended both of his lanky arms out in front of him, palms up, his back arched slightly backward. “Do I look like I’m here to deceive you, ladies and gentlemen?
“I’m not. I’m here for the same reason as the prosecutor: for justice to be served. But that’s where the similarity ends. Mr. Denton wants you to find my client guilty. To him, that is justice. To me, justice means that you will not find an innocent woman guilty and send her to prison for a crime she did not commit. But there is one other very important difference between Mr. Denton and myself. The prosecutor has to prove his case against my client. If he fails to make a believable case—that is, if he fails to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client is guilty—then you must find her not guilty.
“The prosecution has the burden of proof. They have to prove Miss Harding committed these crimes. As the judge will instruct you at the end of the trial, Miss Harding is innocent until proven guilty. Although the state has to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, I do not have to prove innocence. In fact, I don’t have to prove anything.
“But what does reasonable doubt mean? It means that if you have even a small degree of doubt that my client is guilty, then these charg
es get thrown in the garbage can, where they came from.”
He began to walk a little bit as he spoke, starting from one end of the jury box and moving to the other. “Now, there are two types of evidence,” he was saying, as if teaching a class. “Direct and circumstantial. Direct evidence is something tangible: what a witness sees—his or her own perceptions. Circumstantial evidence is that type of evidence which requires you to make an inference...it means that you have to take the facts that are presented, and then make a leap of logic, to try to connect other circumstances to those facts you accept to be true.”
He paused, looking at the bewildered looks of the people on the jury. Denton knew that Warwick had accomplished exactly what he’d set out to do. Try to make the prosecution’s case so contrived and puzzling that they will take the easier route: acquittal.
“Confusing,” Warwick said with a slight chuckle, “I know. It confuses me at times too, and I deal with this stuff each and every day.” Relate to me, he was telling them. I’m just like one of you. Trying to get them onto his side.
“The state’s case is based solely on circumstantial evidence. In fact, they’re so desperate for something, anything they can hang their hats on, some form of proof that will show that my client is guilty—that they are trying to tell you that my client had motive. But motive is nothing more than circumstantial evidence!
Warwick shook his head at Denton, as if to say, shame on you.
“Did my client like Phillip Madison? No, she did not. He was rude to her, tried to rape her, and then tried to pay her off to stop her from taking the case public. He had a reputation to protect. A well-known surgeon publicly accused of rape? That would be...detrimental to his practice,” Warwick said, smiling, as if he were sharing a joke with the jury—an incredible understatement. Two jurors smiled back.
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