False Accusations by Jacobson, Alan (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

Madison took a deep breath, gulped a mouthful of coffee. “And if she’s acquitted? What then?”

“First of all, they’ll convict. I really believe that. We gave Denton a good case. He had a lot to work with and he did a great job.”

“I thought you’d given up trying to guess what juries—”

“That was the attorney side of me talking. Speaking as a friend, my gut tells me she’s dead meat.” Hellman placed a hand on Madison’s shoulder. “On the off chance that she’s acquitted, I’ll get a restraining order. I’ll make sure they keep her away from you. We’ll do everything within the law to keep you insulated from that nut.” His eyes searched Madison’s face. “But all this is just meaningless debate. She’s going to be convicted.”

They finished their lattés, then parted company. Madison stopped by the courthouse to check in with Leeza and learned that the jury had came out to have part of Ronald Norling’s testimony read back. They also wanted to hear part of Warwick’s cross-examination of Stuart Saperstein. Denton explained to Madison that it was impossible to predict what they were thinking, but he did think it was good that they wanted to hear Norling’s testimony again. He was an important link between the establishment of motive and the verbal projection of her intentions.

With Madison due at his office and Leeza leaving to pick up Elliott and Jonah, Denton offered to call him when the jury had reached its verdict. As Madison left the courthouse, he saw the demonstrators carrying signs demanding justice against Harding. He buried his face in the collar of his cashmere overcoat and steered clear of them. While he was no longer the object of their animosity, he did not want to invite recognition or, what’s worse, conflict.

CHAPTER 69

CHANDLER ROLLED OVER in bed and fumbled for the phone in the dark. He knocked it off the hook, reached down, and fished along the carpet for the handset. As he found it and pulled it up to his ear, he glanced at the clock. It was 11:45.

“Hello?”

“Junior, did I call too late?”

“Johnny. Denise went to bed early. With this pregnancy, she’s been turning in around nine-thirty.”

“I’m just hitting my stride around nine-thirty.”

“I assume you’ve got info on those lot numbers forme.”

“Got something to write on?”

Chandler flicked the lamp on and grabbed a pad and pen from his night table drawer. He jotted down the information, then thanked Johnny. He hung up the phone and lay there, reading his notes.

“Shut the light,” Denise moaned.

“Huh? Yeah, okay, in a minute.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Johnny. He got me some info on Phil’s case I’d asked him for.”

Denise rolled onto her side facing Chandler. “Phil’s case? I thought that’s done with, at least as far as you’re concerned.”

Chandler grunted.

“What does that mean? Are you done, or aren’t you?”

“It was just a loose end I was following up on.”

“What kind of loose end?”

“It’s late. I’d rather not go into it now.”

“You’re not going back out to California, are you?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just...the beer cans. The lot numbers stamped on the bottom of the cans they found in Phil’s Mercedes don’t match one another.”

“And this means…”

“Nothing. Probably nothing.”

She sighed and turned onto her back. “Then shut the light.”

“Yeah.”

Denise rolled back onto her side facing Chandler, “Ryan, either tell me what’s bothering you or shut the damn light.”

He sighed, tried to rub the wrinkles from his forehead.

“Something’s on your mind,” she said, stifling a yawn.

He thought of closing his eyes, of trying to go back to sleep. But he was suddenly wide awake. He looked over at Denise, who was staring at him.

“Beer is brewed in fifty-five-thousand-gallon lots; when that lot is canned, the lot number is stamped on the bottom of the can. The lots are then sent to distributors, who deliver them to different retailers. They keep very detailed records, as required by law and as regulated by the state’s Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control. The lot numbers on the bottoms of the cans of the six-pack found in Phil’s car didn’t match. Two cans were from one lot, and the other four were from another. Johnny tracked down the two different lots and found out they were sold at different stores. Are you following me so far?”

Denise shook her head, yawned again. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t we finish this in the morning. You need your sleep—”

“The cans in his car were from different stores,” she said. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What else?”

“The two cans that matched were the ones that had Harding’s saliva on them; that lot was delivered to Food & More, where Phil ran into Harding that night. The other four cans were from another lot, which was delivered to a different retailer—Qual-Mart. When Harding’s house was searched, they pulled an unopened can from her refrigerator and an empty can from her recycling bin. Those two cans matched each other—they had the same lot number. They also had the same lot number as the two cans in Phil’s car that had her saliva on them.”

Denise was nodding. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning...probably nothing.”

She looked at him. “Is it nothing, or is it probably nothing?”

Chandler rubbed at his forehead again. “It could be argued that someone went by her house and pulled a couple of cans from her recycling bin. And that person could then have taken the cans and planted them in Phil’s car along with four cans from a six-pack purchased at Qual-Mart a few days later.” He paused, waved a hand at the air. “But it’s more likely that Harding bought two different six-packs at different times, and still had a couple of cans left in her refrigerator from the last time she went shopping. Like the eggs in our fridge. You go to the market, buy a dozen eggs, and there’s still a few left over from the dozen you bought a couple of weeks ago.”

Denise was silent for a moment. “Yeah, but if the egg analogy doesn’t apply here,” she