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

USB thumb drive from his attaché. “Starting to feel better about your case?”

A smile fluttered across Denton’s drawn face. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad day after all.”

Hellman shut his attaché and stood up. “Tomorrow I’d like to go to the media with the DNA info.”

Denton sat up straight, as if he had just been awakened from a nightmare. “No, not the media. Not yet.”

“Tim,” Hellman said, softening his voice down to one of reason, “my client has gone through hell. He’s just about lost his practice, he lost his privileges at the very hospital he saved from insolvency, and his marriage almost fell apart. Shit, I don’t even know if he’ll be able to overcome all this and salvage his reputation.” He leaned forward. “With those beer cans pointing to a different suspect, the case against my client is very weak. If you’re going to continue pursuing him in light of this new evidence...” He tilted his head and let his voice drift off, allowing what he did not say to speak volumes: lawsuit. Big, expensive lawsuit.

Denton took the hint. “Fine. Give them the DNA results and try to clear Madison’s reputation. But don’t go overboard. Just tell them that new evidence has come to light and it looks good for your client. I’m not dropping the charges yet. I need to be more comfortable with Harding than Madison as the murderer before I dismiss. In the meantime, assuming your client will agree to it, I’ll move for a continuance.”

“Get a search warrant and a DNA sample. Believe me, Tim, that’ll satisfy your curiosity.”

“You seem pretty confident.”

“I am. I’m confident in my client’s innocence and in the evidence I’ve given you on motive.”

“Fine,” Denton said, rising to shake Hellman’s hand. “But you make no mention of Harding as a suspect when you talk to the media. That’s my party, if and when the time comes.”

CHAPTER 54

IT WAS AFTER EIGHT AND everyone in his office had gone home hours ago. Hellman gathered his papers and was preparing to leave when he paused to gaze out the large picture window behind his desk. Eighteen floors below, flickering street lights mimicked the city’s pulse. Off in the distance, the Tower Bridge was bathed in a splash of orange-yellow radiance from the large flood lamps mounted along the banks of the Sacramento River. Against the black sky, the span looked like a showcased painting in a museum.

The ring of the phone jogged Hellman’s attention away from the nightscape. He briefly thought of letting the machine answer it, but he had never been able to do that. When he used to work in his father’s shoe store as a teenager, if the phone rang, even if it was after hours, his dad answered it. “You never know when it’s a new customer on the phone,” his father would tell him.

It was Lou Palucci at the Department of Justice crime lab. There was a major screwup, he was saying. He needed to talk with Chandler.

“Chandler’s back in New York,” Hellman said.

Palucci was talking fast, apologizing for something.

Hellman slowed him down. “Please, start from the beginning.”

“We’ve got a problem. A major problem.”

Instantly, Hellman’s mind flashed on the DNA: something happened to the beer cans with Harding’s DNA. Things like that occurred occasionally in evidence rooms. Items got lost, misplaced...contaminated. There was nothing more threatening to the validity of DNA analysis than contamination. Although it was a very stable material, mishandle it in just the wrong manner and it was good for nothing.

“…and I should’ve seen it coming,” Palucci was saying, “but I’ve been swamped since getting back from vacation and I didn’t have any control over it. I should, never have allowed it from the start—”

“Did the DNA sample get contaminated?”

“Oh, no,” Palucci said. “No, it’s nothing like that. God, no. No, this is, well...”

“What then?” Hellman said, nearly yelling. Had he been in the same room with Palucci, he might have grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

“The criminalist on the case, Kurt Gray. He and Chandler had words a few times. I didn’t think it was important, but you know Chandler, he gets real involved in his cases, and...”

“And what?” prompted Hellman; he was wearing his wool overcoat and he was beginning to perspire.

“And I don’t know how much you know about this, but he brought in this cigarette and asked Gray to run a DNA test on it. He convinced him it should be run on my authority, but I was out of town. I should’ve cut it off before the test was completed, but I let it go through. Chandler and I go back a ways, and—”

“Mr. Palucci, I can’t stand the suspense. What’s the problem?”

“Gray mouthed off about the cigarette and how Chandler—”

Hellman began to sigh relief. Is that all this is about? Mr. Palucci, thanks for calling, but Chandler’s no longer an active member of the Sacramento police force. Therefore, whatever evidence he gets hold of, and how he does it, is no legal consequence.”

“You’re missing the point. Gray isn’t concerned with legal procedure and issues of admissibility. He’s been saying Chandler pulled strings all over the place and used the state lab as his own private agency. When Gray told Bill Jennings—”

“He told Jennings?” Hellman sat down and slumped in his chair. A sudden blanket of perspiration broke out across his body, and it had nothing to do with his overcoat. Bill Jennings. Bill Jennings, the guy who had gotten into it with Chandler fifteen years ago, and who likely still carried a grudge.

Hellman’s mind was racing, trying to assimilate the impact and consequences of what Palucci was telling him. “Gray told me that Jennings said something about misuse of public funds. He was going to the chief of the lab, and if he doesn’t get satisfaction, he’ll go all the way to the attorney general and file a complaint with the Bureau of Investigation.”

“Bureau of Investigation? What would he want with them?”

“My guess, Mr.