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

desk by Leeza. She wrote under it, “Remember—validate her feelings.”

The message indicated that Denise’s doctor’s appointment was three days away. Before calling her, Chandler phoned American Airlines and booked a flight, a red-eye leaving in twenty-four hours, arriving in New York the morning of her appointment.

He dialed Denise, who answered with a monotone, “Hello, Ryan. You didn’t need to call me, I left a message.”

“I did need to call. To say I’m sorry.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. You must be scared, with your family history and all. I booked a flight that leaves tomorrow night.”

“I am frightened, Ryan. Of what it could mean. And what if I’m pregnant...” Her voice trailed off.

He could tell she was on the verge of tears, and probably had been since he had last spoken to her a few hours ago. He rubbed his temples, took a deep breath.

“Then we’ll face it together,” he said. He felt terrible; he had never seen her like this. In all the years he had known her, she had never appeared so vulnerable. Perhaps it was because she was married now, with a young child...the mothering instinct overpowering everything else of significance.

“I love you, Denise. Whatever comes our way, we’ll deal with it together. As for this lump, I understand it’s a terrible thing to have to deal with, no matter what it turns out to be. But I’m telling you everything’s going to turn out okay, I just know it.” He was not sure what gave him the authority to make that assertion, and he knew it might not be what she wanted to hear. But right now, it was all he could do to hold things together—if not for her, then for himself.

CHAPTER 45

RITTANY HARDING was more attractive than Chandler had envisioned. She was taller than he had thought—about five foot eleven, he figured. The blackmail picture he had seen of her had not done her justice.

Her perfume was light but distinct, her makeup minimal and strategically applied to emphasize her striking features—lip gloss and some rouge to showcase her prominent cheekbones.

She had suggested Frank Fat’s, an upscale Pan-Asian restaurant located downtown. Since Chandler was paying, he reasoned that she chose a place that she would not normally go to on her own when she was picking up the tab.

The interior was richly decorated, with golds, blacks and blood reds the dominant color theme. The hostess showed him to the table where his guest was already sitting and waiting.

“Miss Harding,” Chandler said, extending his hand as he sat down.

“Please, call me Brittany,” she said with a big toothy smile, extending a limp hand in response.

“Brittany.” Chandler smiled back, his eyes inadvertently locking on the sheer, form-fitting outfit she was wearing.

The waitress came over and handed them two menus, quickly reciting the specials they were showcasing for today. Most of the patrons were business executives having “Capitol Power lunches” while negotiating deals, networking, finalizing contracts, or drumming up new business.

“You aren’t a Sacramento native, I take it,” Chandler said, trying to start their relationship off on a light note.

“My mother’s Japanese, my father’s American. I grew up in Chicago, can’t you tell?”

Chandler flashed a coy smile. “Well, I did detect a little Midwestern dialect. What brought you out here?”

“Long story. Let’s just say I’d moved in with this guy when I was twenty, around the time when my father’s job transferred him to Sacramento. My parents and little sister moved and I stayed behind. My situation went from bad to worse, and I followed them out here. That was about four years ago.”

They chatted for another minute, then picked a couple of dishes off the menu and placed their order with the waitress.

“So you said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me about Phillip Madison.”

Chandler let his face turn serious. “My dad once taught me there are two sides to every story. Between the rape and the murder, I’m trying to unravel exactly what happened.”

“Well, about the murder, I don’t know how I can help you. Not that I want to. I’d actually take great pleasure in seeing Phillip Madison behind bars.”

Chandler wished he had that comment on tape. “I figured we’d just chat a bit. Maybe you can be of help, maybe not. After all, you did work with him.”

“We didn’t exactly have a good relationship, you know. I’m sure he’s told you.”

“No, I got your name from someone else at the Consortium. Dr. Madison didn’t review the entire list of people I’m meeting with.” Actually, the truth.

“Well, I’m sure he could give you a mouthful.”

Chandler took a drink of his ice tea. “Why’s that?”

“He raped me and then denied it. I had evidence of it, too. He was so guilty that he had his attorney call my attorney and offer to pay me off. To keep quiet.”

“I didn’t know that,” Chandler said. He crinkled his eyes and forehead as if he were having second thoughts about his client. “Ten me what happened.”

“Oh, he’s got some fancy lawyer. Tried to make it tough on me. Said he’d bring out things in my past, make my life hell. He promised me that testifying in court would be an experience I’d regret the rest of my life. He’d make it feel as if I was on trial instead of his client.”

Chandler reasoned that it was probably Movis Ehrhardt, not Hellman, who had told her that that would be one possible approach of the defense...no doubt what Ehrhardt would do if he were in Hellman’s shoes. “So you decided on an out-of-court settlement,” Chandler said.

Harding nodded, a slight tear appearing in the corner of her eye. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“That’s exactly what I would’ve done if I were in your shoes.”

She looked up and met his eyes. “Really?”

“Of course.” He wanted to gain her confidence and then move on to more important and pertinent matters. “Tell me, did you ever know Phil Madison to drink?”

“He drank like a