False Accusations Jacobson, Alan (books successful people read .TXT) 📖

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