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But when you combine it with the other evidence, namely the two other factors I mentioned a minute ago, we see that at some point in time the beer cans belonged to her—”

“Your Honor—” Warwick interrupted.

“...and if she were trying to frame Dr. Madison,” Jennings continued, “then it would follow that she planted these cans—”

“Your Honor!” Warwick shouted, jumping to his feet and leaning forward on the defense table, as if ready to pounce if Calvino did not respond. “Please instruct the witness to merely answer the question that was asked of him, and not to launch into a narrative.”

“Detective,” Calvino said, “please just answer what’s asked of you.”

Warwick was flushed in the face; apparently frustrated that Jennings had maneuvered an important defense point into a prosecution advantage.

As Warwick approached the witness stand, Jennings landed his final dig. Looking at the judge, he said, “I believe I have answered what was asked of me.” His eyes were the size of quarters, like a child pleading his case of having raided the candy jar merely because it was there for the taking.

Warwick was now standing and leaning over the railing, his nose twelve inches from Jennings’s face. “I’d like to ask you about former Sacramento Police Officer Ryan Chandler,” he said, looking into his adversary’s eyes, watching for weakness.

“What d’ya wanna know?” Jennings asked with a singsong tone.

Denton’s back muscles tightened; it caught him off guard. He did not think that Warwick knew anything about Jennings and Chandler. How far was Warwick going to go with this? How much did he really know? What about the lab and Palucci—

“...so you had this ‘poor relationship’ with him, as you put it, detective. Warwick leaned back and tilted his head slightly. “Can you be more specific?”

Jennings shrugged his right shoulder. “Nothing much to tell. He and I were involved in a case together fifteen years ago. We disagreed on how to proceed, that’s all.”

“Oh, I believe there’s much more to it than that,” Warwick said, smiling, walking back to the defense table. He reached into his attaché case and took out a piece of paper. “I have here a department memo—”

“Objection,” Denton said as he arose from his seat.

“Where is Mr. Warwick going with this? This is completely irrelevant.”

“Mr. Warwick,” Calvino said, “where are you going with this?”

“If the court would give me a little latitude, I believe it will become clear.”

The judge nodded him on. “Overruled. For now.”

As Denton resumed his seat, he was handed a copy of the document by Warwick, who was now strolling confidently in front of the prosecution table, headed back toward Jennings. A shark going in for the kill.

“This memo, signed by your supervisor at the time, Lieutenant Beals, is essentially a reprimand to the file, your personnel file, regarding your conduct during that investigation. He used such words as—”

“Chandler and I had a disagreement,” Jennings said. “He wanted to handle it one way, and I felt a different approach was indicated.”

Warwick paused for a moment, wondering if he should finish his question, or go on. He chose the latter. “And what was the result of the disagreement you two had?”

“The suspect was ultimately captured.”

“Only after another two people were murdered. Your actions caused a delay in apprehending—”

“Objection!” Denton shouted again, on his feet. “This has absolutely nothing to do with the defendant, this case, or the evidence at issue.”

“Sustained. Mr. Warwick, your latitude has ended. Let’s see a different line of questioning or dismiss the witness.”

Warwick nodded, walked over to his attaché, and put the memo back in it. “So, detective, how did this reprimand make you feel?”

“Objection.”

Calvino squinted confusion. “Mr. Warwick, I instructed you to pursue a different line of questioning.”

“I have, Your Honor. There is pertinence to this, and I will make it clear within the next few questions.”

“You have three more and then if I don’t see the relevance, you’re through.”

Warwick, still standing in front of the defense table, looked over toward Jennings. “Detective, how did you feel toward Ryan Chandler after this incident?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t have invited him over for a barbecue.”

Denton clenched his jaw again; he did not want to keep objecting, as it might appear to the jury that he was trying to hide something. He only hoped that Chandler and the crime lab incident did not come up. If anything could confuse a jury, divert them from the real issue, it was impropriety in the procedure of handling evidence. It could set the stage for challenging the saliva and DNA findings later.

“A barbecue. No,” Warwick replied. “I would say not. And now, with Chandler the private investigator on the Madison case, was there even the hint of revenge in your mind, a sense of satisfaction, of enjoyment in arresting his client, Phillip Madison?”

Jennings hesitated a second, looked down at the railing for a moment. “I am a professional, sir. What happened in the past is in the past. I was only concerned with the present and apprehending the right suspect in this case.”

Denton spread his hands out in front of him and looked at Calvino.

“Mr. Warwick,” Calvino said, “you should take Detective Jennings’s advice and leave the past in the past, where it belongs. I believe you’re finished with this witness.”

“But that was only two questions. You said I had three.”

“Math was never my strength, Mr. Warwick. The law was and still is, and I see no relevance to the line of questioning you’re pursuing.”

To Denton, however, it was quite clear: Warwick wanted to discredit Jennings in any way possible. He could not break him with direct questioning, so he tried to dredge up something out of Jennings’s past. A skeleton in the closet. Although Calvino did not know where Warwick was headed, Denton was glad that the judge’s command of mathematics was admittedly weak.

Denton’s second witness, Stuart Saperstein, was a bit more polished in his delivery than was Jennings. He came off as articulate, thoughtful, and reflective.

Testifying as to the physical evidence found on the Mercedes,

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