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

Chandler cupped the phone and motioned for him to be quiet.

The next voice he heard was Kurt Gray’s. “I got a match on the lip prints. Now, will you leave me alone?”

“How much of a match?”

“Ninety-five percent,” Gray said without enthusiasm.

“I like that better than seventy.”

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re happy with the results. Can I go now? I’m busy.”

“The DNA. Are you running the DNA on that cigarette?”

“Don’t push your luck. It’ll get done when I have to get it done. You’re not my boss, and I’m giving the receptionist specific instructions not to put through any more of your calls.” Without further comment, he hung up.

“Yes!” Chandler said. He turned to Madison and Hellman, who had returned from the restroom, and motioned them outside.

They walked out of the building and stood at the mouth of the parking lot.

“The lip print from Harding’s cigarette is a ninety-five percent match to the lip print taken off the can of beer that was found in the back of the car.”

Hellman’s face was spread into a broad smile.

“What does that mean?” Madison asked.

“It means, Phil,” Hellman said, “that we’re one step closer to getting this case dismissed.”

CHAPTER 48

THE INTERVIEW WAS aired as part of a four-minute segment on the noon news. It caught the attention of the rest of the media, and Hellman suddenly had a list of calls to be returned to reporters from the Herald, the Bee, the other four television news stations, and a few out-of-town papers. Bloggers were beginning to take notice and write pieces likening the case to other perceived instances of prosecutorial incompetence.

There was also a call from Judge Calvino: Hellman was to report to his chambers in an hour.

When Hellman arrived, Denton was sitting on the stiff leather couch adjacent to the wall of law books, a magazine opened across his lap. Calvino’s mood was etched in the deep furrows of his brow. It was evident that he and Denton had not been conversing.

Calvino was in no mood for a discussion. His orders were clear: no more trying this case in the media. Denton attempted to argue, no doubt about to say that he had not contacted nor spoken to the press. But Calvino did not give him the opportunity to speak.

“The next person who gives an interview, leaks information to the press, or comes within five feet of a reporter will be held in contempt. I’m doing it as much for the ability to empanel an impartial jury as to preserve Phillip Madison’s reputation should he be found not guilty.”

Hellman knew that Calvino could not give a damn about Madison, but he figured the judge was at least trying to give his decision an air of impartiality and fairness.

“The fewer juicy tidbits the media can get their hands on,” Calvino said, “the less publicity there’ll be. And the less publicity, the greater the chance that everyone will forget the case shortly after its resolution. There are a few emotionally invested groups interested in this case, and the last thing I want is another O. J. Simpson fiasco.”

Hellman and Denton thanked the judge, then left his chambers like dogs that had been properly disciplined. They walked down the hall toward the elevator bank, silent at first.

“Sorry,” Hellman said.

Denton waved him off. “Shit, I would’ve done the same thing. You saw an opportunity for your client.”

“Mather pissed me off with that bullshit report from Sacramento General. I felt I had to get some positive press to neutralize it.”

“I can take some heat from Calvino. It’s not a big deal.”

“Look, Tim...” started Hellman, unsure if he should go any further. “I have a thought on who may be the real murderer. You interested?”

Denton stifled a laugh, and then realized that Hellman was serious. He pushed the down button again. “Damn elevators.”

“I’m not kidding. And I’m not just saying this as a defense ploy. I’ve known my client for thirty years. I really believe that Phil Madison is innocent. I know he is.”

“Jeffrey, need I tell you how many times I’ve heard that from defense counsel?”

“Tim, you and I also go back a long time. We’ve had our fights over the years, some tough cases. But I’ve always been aboveboard with you. How many times have I told you I don’t like your wardrobe?” he asked, smiling. This drew a smirk from Denton. “Point is, I’ve always considered you a straight shooter, and you know I am too.”

“So what do you want me to do, drop the charges? It isn’t going to happen, Jeffrey, even if I do believe you—which I don’t.”

“All I ask is that you look at things with an open mind. Don’t sell my client down the river. Don’t use him as a political stepping-stone—”

“Stop right there, Jeffrey,” he said, his face getting red. Wrong button to push. “I don’t have to listen to this. Political stepping-stone,” he repeated. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Suggesting that I would prosecute someone just because they’re high-profile, all for my personal gain?”

Hellman stared him down.

The elevator came, and they entered together. “Just tell me that if I turn something over to you and it makes sense, that you’ll give it unbiased consideration. Because when I get everything together, I’m confident that you’ll have enough to at least reopen your investigation and dig until this other lead proves either sweet or sour.”

Denton, who did not say a word, just stared at the control panel, still apparently seething at the suggestion of impropriety.

“Tim, one of the basic tenets of our criminal justice system is to protect the rights of an innocent man to the extent that if there’s any reasonable doubt that he committed a crime, he’s supposed to be set free. It’s better to let a guilty man go free than to put an innocent man in prison.” He paused, knowing that Denton was well aware of the legal rhetoric. “All I’m asking for is an open mind. Will