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

think the substance of the complaint is relevant.”

“You’re not an attorney,” Hellman said. “As Dr. Madison’s counsel, I most definitely feel that it is relevant.”

“Would you prefer that we charge the good doctor right now? Then you’ll have all the information you want. Of course, his reputation might be a bit…tarnished.”

“Charge him with what?”

Coleman looked at him, as if to say, Nice try, counselor.

“Give me a moment with my client,” Hellman said, showing Coleman the door with his eyes.

The detective frowned, then walked out. His shadow could be seen through the stippled glass window.

Madison wiped away a few droplets of sweat from his forehead. “What’s all this posturing about?”

Hellman leaned close to Madison’s ear in case they were being observed. “They don’t want to tell us what they’re investigating—what the complaint is against you. I need to know so I can have a sense as to how much leeway to give you when you’re answering questions. It could be significant later.”

“And if they won’t tell us? Then what?”

Hellman sighed and cocked his head to one side. “Then, we have a choice. We can walk out—there’s nothing keeping us here—and hope that they don’t arrest and charge you. My guess is that if they had enough evidence, they would’ve already done that. But since you’re innocent, it may not hurt to give them some info to refute the complaint and see if it goes away. They’ll get a feel for you as a person, and conclude that you probably didn’t do what the complaint says you did. That could be very important.”

He paused, allowed Madison to assimilate all this. “On the other hand, they can arrest you even though they really don’t have enough to keep you more than a few hours. They’ll hope to gain something from your fear of being locked up. It’s a very powerful motivator. Think of what being arrested would do to you—it’d be severely damaging to your reputation. Even if they don’t have enough evidence and have to let you go, you’ll look guilty as hell, having hired a sharp, high-priced lawyer who confused the issues and got you off.”

Madison was shaking his head. “Too much to risk. I’ll talk to them.”

“First let me see what I can do. Be prepared to follow my lead and walk out. Assuming they don’t arrest you, we can always walk back in.”

Madison gave a reluctant nod. Hellman walked over to the door and knocked on it; Coleman reentered the room.

“Well?” the detective asked, sitting down.

“Tell us what the deal is or we’re leaving. You can charge him if you want, but I think it’s easier to just tell us what the gist of the complaint is—and you’ll have our full cooperation. Your call.”

Coleman sat there, his closed mouth making contortions while he thought.

Suddenly, Hellman tapped Madison’s arm as he rose from his seat. “Let’s go, Phil. We’re leaving.”

Coleman remained seated. “Hold it,” he said, raising a hand. “If I told you that there’s a complaint of sexual misconduct, would that satisfy your curiosity?” He looked at Hellman, who began to sit back down. “It’ll have to,” the detective said, “because that’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Is there or isn’t there a complaint of sexual misconduct?” Hellman asked.

Coleman shrugged. “I’ve said all I’m gonna say.”

The door swung open and in stepped Detective Valentine, her ID clipped on the collar of her maroon blouse.

“Gentlemen,” she said, addressing her audience.

“Jeffrey Hellman,” he said, rising again and extending a hand out toward Valentine across the table.

“Mr. Hellman.”

No doubt assuming that the little bit of information he had given Hellman was enough to secure his cooperation, Coleman initiated the interview. “We have some questions about the night of September eleventh of this year.”

“What about it?” Madison asked.

“Where were you?”

“I don’t recall specifically.”

“Do you keep a calendar?”

He reached into his inside suit coat pocket, pulled out his DayTracker, and opened it up. Hellman took it from him and began to thumb through it, reading the pertinent entries surrounding the date in question. Satisfied, he flipped back to September eleventh and returned it to Madison. “Okay.”

“I had a surgery at nine A.M., did rounds at one, went to lunch, and met with the chief radiologist, Bill Slavens, to consult with him on a few MRIs. Then I went home and ate dinner.”

“Did you see Brittany Harding that night?”

He looked again at his DayTracker. “I don’t have anything written in my calendar...” He flipped through a couple of pages and his index finger found an entry. “We did have a meeting a few days later.”

“What’s the nature of your relationship with Miss Harding?”

“She was filling in for the administrative officer of the Consortium for Citizens with Mental Retardation. I’m the president of the board of directors. We had periodic meetings and phone conversations with each other.”

“Is the presidency a paid position?”

“Strictly volunteer. I do it because I care about the organization and the people and families who need our help.”

“Have you ever had any other kind of relationship with Miss Harding besides the one you just described?” Valentine was sitting off to the side, remaining quiet, no doubt observing Madison and his responses.

“Like what?” Madison asked.

“Romantic.”

Madison locked on her eyes. “No.”

“No dates, dinners, movies, rendezvous in hotels—”

“My client said he had no other types of relationships.”

“Does that mean no to all of the above?” Coleman asked.

Madison shifted his attention to Coleman. “Correct. No with a capital N. But I have had dinner with her.”

Coleman leaned forward. “Oh?”

“We met to discuss Consortium business. I think we talked about an upcoming seminar.”

“When was that dinner?”

Madison looked at his calendar and thumbed a few pages. “October first. Fifth Street Café.”

Hellman flinched slightly, and Madison realized his attorney had made it clear not to volunteer any information unless asked.

“Fifth Street Café.” Valentine’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. “That’s a pretty hip establishment for just a business meeting.” She tilted her head, clearly questioning Madison’s characterization of the dinner.

“They’ve got good food,” Madison said with a shrug. “Nice atmosphere. It’s