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 fish whenever we’d go out for dinner.”
“What would he drink?”
“Beer. Why’s that important?”
“It may not be. I’m just gathering information.” He knew that Madison did not drink beer-he was a wine person. For Chandler, it was yet another reason why planting the six-pack in the car meant that whoever had framed Madison didn’t know him very well. Although drinking preferences did not have significant evidentiary value in court, Chandler considered the information helpful.
“He ever drink and drive while you were with him?”
She pulled out a cigarette. “A few times.” Fumbled with it between her fingertips.
“Doesn’t California have a law about smoking in restaurants?”
“Holding it helps me relax,” she said as she placed the cigarette in her mouth.
Their soup came, followed by the main course; Chandler continued to pepper the meal with more questions about Madison.
“So how’d you hear about the hit-and-run?”
“It was all over the papers,” she said. “His arrest was like a dream come true. The bastard is finally getting what he deserved.”
“So you think he did it?”
She laughed as he poured her some tea. “Who doesn’t? I mean, his fingerprints were the only ones in the car, his empty beer cans were in the backseat, their blood was all over his car, and he didn’t have an alibi.”
“Just because someone doesn’t have an alibi doesn’t automatically make him guilty.”
She glanced around the table, then shook her head and pulled another cigarette from her purse. “No, but it leaves the door wide open.”
He was leading the conversation where he wanted it. “It was eleven-thirty. There aren’t many people who have alibis for that time of night. I bet you don’t have one for that night.”
“That’s true, I don’t. But that’s not the only evidence they have on him.” She looked down at the cigarette. “At least according to the papers.”
Chandler nodded. No alibi; just what he wanted to hear.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to step outside for a moment to take a few drags. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
“No problem.” Take all the time you want.
As she arose from her seat, the busboy came over and began to clear the table. Chandler caught sight of the other cigarette, grabbed it by the end, and placed it in a plastic Ziploc bag he pulled from his jacket pocket.
While Chandler waited for Harding to return, he paid the bill and then stood up to stretch his back, which had begun to ache. Ten minutes after she had left for “a few drags,” he walked outside to see what was keeping her. He wanted to ask her a few more questions and then get her cigarette over to the lab for analysis. He waited outside the restaurant, tapping his foot as the seconds passed. Finally, realizing she was not going to return; finally, he left.
After arriving at the lab fifteen minutes later, he was escorted to the tool impression lab, where Gray was focusing a microscope.
Holding up the Ziploc bag, Chandler said, “I need a favor.”
Gray stood there, looking poker-faced at Chandler, as if he were speaking a foreign language. In that instant, Chandler couldn’t decide if Gray’s expression was Give me a break, or I don’t owe you any favors. Maybe both.
“This cigarette has saliva on it,” Chandler said, forging ahead, “as well as a lip print. I need to know if it matches the DNA and the lip print on the cans of beer.”
Gray shook his head and made a face. Turned and walked away.
“Hey, this is important, I think I’ve got something here.”
Gray turned hard and faced Chandler, who was following close behind. “In case you don’t realize it, this is not your private lab. Maybe that’s the way you do things in New York. Pulling strings to get private evidence analyzed in a state lab. Won’t fly here. And if anyone found out,” he said with a shrug, “might cause problems for your client. Don’t you think?”
Chandler could feel his face turning red-no doubt a deep shade of crimson.
“And your pal Lou is on vacation for two weeks,” Gray continued. “Left yesterday evening. Some kind of fishing trip, I think. Good luck trying to locate him.” He let a thin smile spread his lips. “Oh, but the DA did give the okay to test the saliva on the cans for DNA.”
“That hasn’t been started yet?”
“I do what I’m told. Except when you tell me to do something.”
“Hang on a minute,” Chandler said, trying to contain his anger. “I’m here for only one reason: to get to the bottom of this crime. My client’s innocent. He didn’t kill those people. So in my short time here, I have to find out who did. Isn’t that what we’re all after? Finding the real guilty person and punishing him?”
Gray did not answer. Instead, he turned to walk away.
Chandler grabbed his arm and gently pulled him back.
“Let go of me,” Gray said calmly.
When Chandler released his grip, Gray brushed his hair back and returned to the stool in front of his microscope.
“How hard will it be to run the lip print for me?” Chandler asked, his tone softer. “Tell you what. If the lip print doesn’t produce a reasonable and probable match with the beer can, then I give up, okay? You won’t see me again.” He paused to let this sink in. “But if there is a reasonable match, you’ll run those DNA samples.” If he refused, Chandler could still take the cigarette back with him to New York and run the test himself-but it would add a few variables that he wished to avoid: a different lab, accusations of bias, chain of custody issues, and the danger
