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

“But there weren’t any fingerprints in the car except Phil’s, right?” Leeza asked.

Chandler nodded while his jaw swayed to and fro, trying to negotiate the enormous bite he had taken.

Leeza brought a few more napkins over to the table. “So if her fingerprints weren’t there, how else do we place her in the car?”

“Finding something belonging to her would certainly help,” Madison said.

“How about strands of hair,” Leeza asked. “Did they find any of her hair in the car?”

“Mm-mm,” Chandler managed, shaking his head “no.”

“Then what else would be there if she was driving the car?” she asked. “An article of clothing—”

Chandler’s eyes became round and large, as if he were choking. He held up an index finger and gestured while he struggled to rapidly chew his food and swallow. He munched animatedly, while Leeza looked at Madison, who was staring at Chandler.

“What?” Madison asked. “You have an idea?”

He nodded affirmatively and swallowed hard. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a few numbers.

“Ryan, what’re you thinking?” Leeza asked. Chandler didn’t answer, so she turned to Madison. “What’s he got?”

Madison shrugged.

“Can you connect me to Kurt Gray in Trace Evidence?” Chandler asked turned to the Madisons and covered the mouthpiece. “The cans. There might be—hello, Kurt? This is Ryan Chandler... Yeah, Lou’s friend, the Madison case. Listen, those beer cans that were found in the backseat of the Mercedes—have they been examined for saliva?” Chandler smiled and looked over to Madison. “Yeah, saliva. I’ll bet you find some. Where have the cans been stored?... Excellent...Well, you’re going to find that the DNA in that saliva will not match the DNA of the suspected driver of that vehicle... No, I told you, the driver was not Phillip Madison.”

Chandler stood there listening to Gray speak when suddenly the enthusiasm drained from his face. “Jennings? Bill Jennings is on this case?” Chandler squared his shoulders and refocused himself. “Well, regardless of Jennings’s opinions, I’d appreciate it if you’d run the tests.”

Shaking his head out of frustration, he placed a hand on his hip. “Fine, check with Lou. Can you put me through to him?” Chandler tapped his foot on the floor and waited. “Lou, Chandler. I stumbled onto something that may clear my client. I just ran it by Gray, but he was less than enthusiastic about it... Yeah, would you?”

Chandler nodded a couple of times. “Fine, get it cleared through the DA. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake... Thanks, man. I’ll call you in a few days.”

As he hung up the phone, Leeza spoke. “Saliva? How is that going to—”

“DNA,” Chandler said. “It’s contained in all our bodily fluids—blood, semen, and saliva. And everyone’s DNA is different, like a fingerprint. If we can identify the DNA in the saliva on the beer cans, it’ll tell us the genetic makeup of that individual—the one who was driving the car and drinking the beer.”

“If we’re assuming the cans belonged to Harding, why weren’t her fingerprints on them?” Leeza asked.

“There were a few sets of smudged prints, but nothing we could use to make an identification.”

“Do you think there’s enough saliva to run the tests?” Madison asked.

“First we have to see if there’s any on the cans. If she drank the beer, for sure there’ll be enough. If she didn’t drink it, and just poured it out in the sink, we’re shit out of luck. But if she took a couple of swigs while emptying it into the sink...”

“Then we’ve got her?” Leeza asked.

Chandler nodded. “I think so. We’ll have to wait and see.” He started to pace the kitchen.

“But why would she take a swig of beer while emptying it?” Leeza asked.

“Maybe she likes beer, so she took a few swigs and emptied the rest down the drain. Maybe she drank all of it.”

“But she wouldn’t drink the beer,” Leeza said. “That’d be taking an awfully big chance.”

Chandler was shaking his head. “To her, she wasn’t taking any chances at all. Despite the popularity of shows like CSI, the average person doesn’t think like a forensic scientist. And a criminal doesn’t always think everything through—or even know what he or she should be thinking about. And they tend not to be the brightest bulb in the fixture. It probably never crossed Harding’s mind that the police would investigate her, let alone test for saliva on the beer cans and use the DNA to match it to her.”

“Would the saliva still be usable after this much time?” Madison asked.

“Sure. After blood and semen, saliva’s the best medium to get DNA from. And aside from fingerprints, DNA’s at least as reliable, if not more so, than conventional forensic tests. For one thing, it’s a more stable molecule than the proteins and enzymes that we’ve used in forensics for years. The problems with DNA come when you have a very small sample to work with, or if the evidence is mishandled. Like if it’s left in direct sunlight in front of a window. But even then, the glass from the window filters out most of the harmful UV. If it’s been stored at room temperature, it should be fine.”

“Was it?” Madison asked.

“From what Gray told me, the beer cans were stored properly. You’ve got a well-respected lab here in Sacramento. And saliva generally provides a big enough sample, so if Gray’s right, there should be close to zero chance of contamination.”

Everyone sat there for a moment, trying to put it all in perspective. Ricky looked at everyone, wondering why they had all fallen silent. “What’th D-DA?”

“D-N-A,” Madison said. “It’s part of what makes your skin, your bones, your face. It’s sort of like a code that Mom and Dad gave us.”

He nodded, perhaps understanding some of it, enough to satisfy his curiosity. Then, “Ith that what made me retarded?”

Madison glanced at Leeza, gave her a look like, how did I step into that one? “That’s what caused the Down syndrome. Yes.”

“But,” Leeza said, “because everyone’s DNA is