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

of huge asteroids striking the planet and wiping out all of humanity.”

Denton hesitated.

“Of all the cases you’ve handled, has it ever happened?”

“No,” he said, looking down at his desk.

Hellman leaned farther forward. “Phil Madison is bright and articulate and will make a good witness. He also understands when someone is working with him and when someone is out for his own interests.”

“Justice is my interest. That’s it.”

“And my interest is doing what’s best for, my client. Immunity.”

“I still don’t see why.”

“You know that I never have my clients testify. But now, he’s going to testify at Harding’s trial, and he could theoretically say things on the stand that you’ll then be privy to, on the record, that could be used against him later. And no, I have nothing specific in mind. I promise you that. But I don’t want to leave him naked up there when all he’s trying to do is help you out. What if you lose this trial against Harding and then turn around and recharge my client again to save face. It was only a week ago that you wanted his skin.” Hellman sat down, lowered his voice, softened his tone. “1 want immunity. Shit, he deserves immunity. He’s been through enough. Do, it for me, Tim. In all the years we’ve worked on opposite sides of the table, I’ve never deliberately done anything that’s harmed you. How many defense attorneys can you make that statement about?”

Denton sat up straight in his chair; he stared at Hellman for a moment, poker-faced.

“Okay,” Denton said, “I’ll do it. I hope to God the judge doesn’t press me too hard as to why. It’s probably got more to do with our relationship than with Phillip Madison.”

“Who’s the judge?”

Denton smiled. “Calvino.”

“You drew Calvino again?”

“Can you believe it? I take it as an omen.”

“Oh, it’s an omen all right. A bad omen when my client was the defendant.”

They laughed a bit, and talked about the order of immunity that Denton was going to draw up to bring before the judge. Hellman stood and extended his hand. “Thanks, Tim. I’ll do everything I can to help. If you need something, anything, let me know.”

CHAPTER 59

FOLLOWING A WEEK of solid rainfall, many Sacramento area homes in lowlying areas sustained flood damage from overrun creeks and broken levees. The storms were hitting on a rotation basis: one came through and did its damage, while the next was approaching, much in the way an airplane departs the runway while several stacked planes behind it await their turn. With the sun fighting its way through the stratus clouds, the unexpected break in the weather gave homeowners and businesses time to clean up, sandbag, and prepare for the next deluge.

Bill Jennings chuckled as he and Angela Moreno drove toward Brittany Harding’s house, arrest warrant in hand. “This is truly the calm before the storm,” he quipped. “If this lady is as volatile as we’ve been hearing, she could bring the next storm on prematurely.”

“She seemed pretty meek when we were there for her DNA.”

“Shock of the situation. Plus, she wasn’t threatened with anything then, except the loss of a few skin cells and a vial of blood. Now we’re coming to take her to jail.”

They turned into her driveway and radioed their arrival to dispatch; behind them, a sheriff’s department cruiser pulled in front of the house and parked at the curb. They would transport Harding to the station with Moreno for booking while Jennings searched her home and confiscated evidence listed on the more expansive warrant than they’d served previously, to include all pairs of shoes and any materials, binders, or notes she kept during her employment at the Consortium.

The front door opened and revealed Harding, dressed in a smart, tightly tailored suit and ready to walk out the door. “What do you want now?” she asked, an air of defensiveness hardening her face. “I’m on my way to a job interview.”

“Miss Brittany Harding,” Jennings said, stepping through the open front door, “we have a warrant for your arrest in the murders of Otis Silvers and Imogene Pringle.”

“Like hell you do!” she shouted, backpedaling. Jennings reached for her wrist, but she yanked it back. “Get your goddamn hands off me. How dare you come in here and accuse me of murder?”

Moreno rested a hand on her baton.

“Miss Harding, I’m sure you don’t want to make this more difficult than it already is,” Jennings said as he advanced on her. “Come peacefully and it’ll be easier. For all of us.”

She backed against the entryway wall; as Jennings took another step toward her, she kicked him in the groin, doubling him over. Moreno leaped forward and pinned Harding back with the baton shoved beneath her chin. She then spun her around and took her suspect down, face first, onto the tile floor.

Jennings stood up slowly, his brow crumpled in pain. He pulled out his handcuffs and leaned over the suspect’s prone body, fastening the restraints to her forearms with a swift flick of his wrist. He made them exceptionally tight.

“I think,” he said through clenched teeth, “we’ll add resisting arrest to the charges against you.”

He proceeded to Mirandize her, and while still somewhat stooped over, led her outside where the uniformed deputy took her to the waiting patrol car.

CHAPTER 60

Eight weeks later

April 20

Sacramento Superior Courthouse

720 9th Street

IN THE PRIVATE SECTOR, the different categories of attorneys are grouped by fields of practice: litigation, criminal defense, real estate, business, estate planning, and the like. In the public defender’s office, however, the attorneys are categorized somewhat differently: those whose goal is to gain valuable trial experience, at which time they will leave to join a local firm; those who are superb trial attorneys; those who are mediocre and thus could not land a private position that approached the salary and benefits of their civil service job; and those who are so incompetent that the important, challenging cases are shifted away from