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

finally said, “then you’re saying that Harding may not have done this. Someone could then argue that she was set up or even that Phil did it.”

Chandler was shaking his head. “I didn’t say that, Denise. I’m convinced Brittany Harding killed those people. Let’s not blow this whole thing out of proportion. You know me, I’m a perfectionist. Everything has to fit just right. She just got beer at two different times. There’s nothing to it.” Chandler rolled over to turn off the light, but Denise grabbed his arm.

“Wait a minute, Ryan.”

“What.”

“Regardless of your opinion, don’t you need to turn this information over to the court?”

“For what?”

“You’re supposed to turn over all pertinent information identified during the course of an investigation if it has any ability to aid either the defendant or the State.”

“Denise, this isn’t anything new, it’s just my interpretation of evidence the police already have locked away in their vault.”

“So?”

“So both sides have had the opportunity to study the cans, test them, and go over them with a fine-tooth comb.”

Denise thought about this for a moment, then shook her head. “I think you’re splitting hairs. But let’s say for a minute that you’re right, and you don’t have a legal obligation. What about a moral obligation? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“I hate it when you get all self-righteous.” He stretched across his pillow toward the lamp switch, flicked it off. “I really don’t feel like getting into a debate about this.”

“I can’t help it. This is what I do all day in school.”

“Well, you’re not in law school right now, I’m not one of your professors, and it’s almost midnight.” He pulled up the covers and let his head fall back onto the pillow. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. You need your rest.”

“Don’t just cut me off like that,” she said, turning the night table light back on. “This issue has nothing to do with being self-righteous, and it has nothing to do with being in law school. Besides, I’m already awake, Ryan. I want to finish this discussion.”

Chandler blew a long sigh through his lips. “Okay, fine. Try looking at it from a different perspective. Assume for a minute that the defense hasn’t thought of this lot number discrepancy. For all I know, they may have. But if they haven’t, by bringing it to their attention, I’d be helping Brittany Harding. A lot of the critical evidence against her could be brought into question. The saliva, lip prints, and DNA could be thrown out because the cans would naturally have her identifying marks all over them if someone took them from her recycling bin. At the very least, it could provide just enough reasonable doubt to get her off. If not in this trial, then on appeal. And regardless of what might come up at some later date, they’d never be able to try her again for that crime. Now why would I want to do that? Would justice really be served? Besides, I’d potentially be helping a murderer go free. That’s not me.”

“But it’s not about you. It’s about justice. It’s not your place to play judge and jury. Do you remember what you used to say? That our judicial system is the best in the world, but that it was full of loopholes?”

“It is. When a judge would let some asshole go free on a technicality, I’d head for the bathroom and puke.”

“You’d be tied up in knots for days. And I took the brunt of it.”

“What’s your point?”

“You had to find a way of dealing with it so it wouldn’t tear you apart. You accepted the fact that you had to take our system as it was, and work within its confines until new rules were made. You realized that taking the law into your own hands wouldn’t work. Otherwise, where would it leave us? Where would it leave society? If cops had the power to decide who’s guilty and who’s not on the spot and issue a sentence right there on the street, there’d be chaos. Until something or someone changes the system, the best way—the only way—is to turn over all the evidence and let the court do with it as it sees fit. As twelve impartial people see fit.”

“You sound like such a typical law student.”

“Actually, I was quoting you. In case you don’t remember, it’s because of those weaknesses in the system that you pushed me to go to law school.”

“I didn’t push you.”

“You said one way to change the system was for me to do it from the inside.”

Chandler sighed and rolled onto his opposite side, away from Denise.

“Turning your back on me isn’t the answer.” She sat up, leaned on her elbow, and peered over his shoulder. “You need to give them the information, Ryan.”

“A theory about beer can lot numbers isn’t evidence, Denise.”

“If you were a defense attorney, wouldn’t you try and introduce it as evidence? The judge would decide if it is or it isn’t. But if he lets it in, a jury just may listen. You said it yourself: it could be enough to create reasonable doubt.”

“Then let her attorney think of it. That’s his job: I’m not going to be the one to give Harding a get-out-of-jail-free card. Especially when she doesn’t deserve it.”

“But it shouldn’t be your decision. It can’t be your decision, or the system falls apart.”

He bit his lip and shook his head.

Denise awaited a response, but Chandler was quiet. Finally, she reached over and picked up the phone. “If you think these are just the ramblings of a green law school student, call Jeffrey Hellman and ask him what he thinks. Or call the DA who’s prosecuting the case against Harding and ask him.”

Chandler rolled out of bed and walked over to the window to draw the shade. The streetlights of the city lit up the avenue below with an orange luminescence, as if a setting sun were descending behind the tall buildings.

“Denise, the Madisons have two