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

“Even if he was found not guilty, his career and his life would be destroyed.” Denton paused to catch his breath and summarize. “I thus have reason to believe, Your Honor, that sufficient motive exists here...and that the DNA on the beer cans found in Madison’s car will match that of Brittany Harding.”

“Very well, Mr. Denton, I’ll buy it. In my opinion, you’ve got reasonable grounds.” Elegante looked again at the document. “This appears to cover everything you related to me. Your warrant is granted,” he said, scribbling his signature across the document. “Let’s hope the second time’s a charm.”

Jennings and Moreno arrived at the home of Brittany Harding, a one-story house built nearly thirty years ago.

They parked in her driveway behind a tan Honda Civic and trudged up the cement path, taking note of how well the grass and shrubbery were maintained. It was in stark contrast to the landscaping of many of the other homes in the neighborhood, where cars parked on the front lawn were not an unusual sight.

Harding answered the door dressed in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

“Miss Harding?” Jennings asked.

“Yes…”

“I’m Detective William Jennings and this is Detective Angela Moreno,” he said, holding up his badge. He did not pause long enough for her to speak. “We have a search warrant for your premises. May we come in?”

Harding took the document and looked at it. “What’s this about? I don’t understand,” she said, frantically scanning the paperwork and standing her ground, blocking the doorway.

“The warrant gives us the right to search your premises, Miss Harding. Can we come in?”

She did not move, her eyes still transfixed on the document:

Jennings cleared his voice. “You really don’t have a choice in the matter, miss. Please step aside.”

She looked at him with a furrowed brow.

Jennings stepped forward and squeezed past her as Moreno followed, politely asking her to stay out of their way while they carried out their orders.

“Do I need an attorney? Should I call my attorney?”

“I can’t advise you on legal matters, miss, but if you have an attorney you’re certainly within your rights to call him.”

She ran into the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone. A moment later, Jennings heard Harding talking, and even though he and Moreno were in the other room, he heard every word of Harding’s side of the conversation. As they waited, they began to poke around the adjacent living room.

“That’s all it says,” Harding said. “I don’t know...must have something to do with Madison.” There was silence for a moment, then “But what the hell does this mean? What are they looking for?”

Jennings heard the sound of pages turning and papers rustling. Then Harding apparently found the correct spot because she continued: “Blood and hair samples, gloves, baseball caps...”

Moreno passed by the kitchen on her way into the bedroom.

Following another moment of silence, Harding’s voice rose in anger. “I can’t afford that... A public defender? Are you serious?”

Jennings came down the hallway with an empty can of Millstone Premium Draft in a plastic bag, pulled from the garage recycling bin, and a Chicago Cubs hat hanging from a pencil; he placed the hat into an evidence bag with Moreno’s assistance. He walked into the kitchen, past Harding, who had ended her call. Her face was a uniform shade of reddish pink, the kind of flush that arises from anger rather than from health and vigor.

Jennings opened the refrigerator and pulled another can of Millstone Premium from one of the shelves.

“What do you want with the beer...and my hat?”

“Miss Harding,” Moreno said, “we’re also going to need a sample of your DNA.”

“What do you need my DNA for?”

“We’re under court order,” Moreno said. “We do what we’re told to do. That’s all I can tell you. We’re going to do a cheek swab and a blood draw.”

Harding stood there, stunned, and for perhaps the first time in her adult life, speechless.

“Please open your mouth,” Moreno said, holding out the elongated cotton swab. “May I?” she asked softly, with reassurance in her voice. Harding turned and gave Jennings a dirty look, then swung her face back to Moreno.

The detective rubbed the soft tip against the inside of Harding’s cheek, then placed the sample in its protective case.

Jennings motioned to the police phlebotomist who was waiting outside with the blood draw paraphernalia. The latex-gloved woman entered and took the syringe and vial out of a small pouch and placed it on the kitchen counter.

Harding looked down at the needle as the phlebotomist placed the rubber strip around her arm and tied a quick knot.

A tear dropped from her cheek as the woman stabbed her vein with the needle. “That goddamned son of a bitch. I’ll get him for this.”

CHAPTER 57

HELLMAN RAISED A GLASS OF champagne over dinner. He had invited them over after learning, earlier in the day, that Denton was going to drop the charges against Madison and arrest and charge Brittany Harding with the murders.

“Congratulations,” Hellman said. “To smooth sailing from this point forward.”

Madison clinked his glass against Hellman’s. “Thanks for giving me my life back. I guess time will tell what kind of effect this whole episode has had on my career.”

“If Harding’s trial goes well, and she’s brought down in convincing fashion, with some luck you may be able to resume some sort of normal practice.”

“How do you convict someone unconvincingly?”

Hellman chuckled. “Believe me, there are ways—the judge loses control of the courtroom, there are surprise juror issues like misconduct or conflicts of interest, the police or crime lab are put on trial for procedural blunders or conspiracies, things of that sort.”

“You know,” Leeza said, “it’s sad, really, when you think that all the people who doubted you before now feel the need to call and tell you they knew you were innocent all along.”

“We’ve gotten about twenty calls so far,” Madison said.

“Seems like people prefer going with the flow. It’s rare people buck the tide, stand up for