“Too much,” she said. “But I don’t suppose you would have agreed to it if he wasn’t involved.” Stanton did not say anything. “Then again, it would have been your word against mine in court. I say you fondled me, you say you didn’t. Who do you think the jury would’ve believed?” Her eyes brightened. “Then again, by the time it got to a jury, you’d be out of business. Much cleaner this way for you…but obviously, you already know that or you wouldn’t be writing that check.”
“A lie, that’s what this check is. Fifty thousand lies.”
“It cashes and spends the same way.”
He ripped the check off his register and threw it on the desk in front of him. “I can honestly say I regret the day I hired you, Brittany. One of the worst business decisions of my career.”
“It certainly paid off for me.” She smiled, rose from her chair, and walked out the door. Stanton turned to the camera, his face a crumpled picture of anger. Then the screen went black.
Hellman ejected the DVD. “Damn good work, Chandler. Damn good.”
“Think the judge will let it in?”
“Don’t know. But I can tell you this. If your cigarette DNA comes up positive for Harding, the video will help persuade him to issue a search warrant for a blood sample and a few strands of Harding’s hair.”
Chandler nodded. “We need to make a copy of this, get it back to Stanton.”
“I’ll have someone run it over to my copy service company. They can duplicate it for us.”
“I thought they only did documents and x-rays.”
“And DVDs,” Hellman said.
“Have them make an extra disc for Stanton. That’s his only copy, so be careful with it.” He arose from his chair. “I’ve got some personal things to deal with, so I’m heading back to New York in a few hours. I think I’ve got everything squared away.”
“We’ll keep in touch,” Hellman said. “We probably won’t need you out here until we get the DNA stuff sorted out.”
“If I turn anything else up before I leave, I’ll call you.”
Hellman extended his hand. “You’ve been a jewel, Chandler. Thanks.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but I don’t remember anybody ever calling me a jewel.”
Chandler had been resting, attempting to grab a short nap before leaving for the airport. However, he was unable to fall asleep: thoughts of Denise consumed him. It was the first time it had actually hit him-what if the lump really was cancer? It would change their lives forever. To begin with, deciding which treatment she should receive would be a difficult decision. Medical science offered more than one approach, but it was unclear which was best on a long-term basis-and there were no guarantees. The wrong decision could be deadly. You did not get a second chance to catch the disease in its early stages, which is a must for a successful cure regardless of the treatment method selected.
Finally, at some point he settled into a light sleep.
Shortly after awakening, he splashed his face with some cold water and checked in with Denise. She was feeling more at ease, having had a couple of days to put everything into perspective. “I realized it’s ridiculous to decide on my fate before I’ve had an exam and an appropriate workup.”
“I agree with you a hundred percent. We shouldn’t worry about something that’s not yet a problem.” He told her he had been thinking of her, and that they would be together soon.
After hanging up, he realized that their thoughts had taken them in opposite directions: she had been able to put her mind at ease, while he had succeeded in raising his blood pressure. Regardless, he was glad she was now approaching it optimistically.
Chandler packed his clothes and scanned his list of follow-up notes. As he wrote down a few thoughts, a sudden wave of exhaustion struck him. He launched into a sustained yawn and tossed his pad onto the bed. Although the clock on the wall read 8:30 P.M., it was 11:30 New York time. With a six-hour red-eye flight only an hour and a half away, he accepted the fact that he would be fighting fatigue for the next couple of days.
He stood up to stretch and invigorate his tired limbs, then called Johnny Donnelly to inquire about his success in locating the checkout clerk.
“Old Ronald’s proving a bit hard to find, even for a snoop like me, Junior.”
“What have you got?” he asked, stifling another yawn.
“Checked DMV. Nothing. He ain’t applied for a license.”
“Probably just using his California license. Checked the post office, no one seen him come by his box. Mailed him a note to call me, told him there was a reward. Didn’t say how much. I’ll give him a five spot if he presses me on it. You’ll owe me five, Junior.”
Chandler laughed. “What about parents, anyone else by his name in town or the surrounding areas?”
“No one. If he’s got family, they got a different last name. Could sure use a picture of the guy though.”
“Wish I had one, but I don’t. What about the unemployment agency, state disability, local hospitals?”
“That’s on the plate for tomorrow. You know me, Junior. I’m up till four in the morning, but nobody else seems to like that schedule.”
Chandler told him he would call tomorrow when he returned to New York; he gathered up his suitcase and got ready to leave for the airport.
Madison watched the copy of the Stanton video with Leeza that evening once the boys had been put to bed.
“Just what the doctor ordered,” she said.
Madison nodded absentmindedly, the pun lost on him. “It’ll probably be inadmissible in court, and the bogus evidence against me will still be hanging over my head. Not to mention all the legal hurdles we need to overcome and the fact that my practice is a shambles. But in spite of all that…I feel good.”
“You needed the emotional lift,” she said, resting in his arms and running her fingers through his hair.
“What matters to me most, Lee, is that we’re together. Not just physically, but emotionally. It’s hard to believe it took such an incredible run of events to show me what we’ve been missing the past few years.”
“Better that you realized it now, rather than years down the line. It’s not too late to make changes.”
Madison sighed. “Whether or not it’s too late remains to be seen.”
CHAPTER 50
Manhattan was one of those places that, with rare exception, was considerably less attractive following a snowstorm. Unlike the Sierra or the Andes Mountains, where the snow accentuated the natural beauty of the surroundings, snow in Manhattan quickly turned to gray and black slush, with some yellow sprinkled in here and there from a dog whose bladder needed relief.
On most of the busiest side streets, mounds of snow lay piled against the curb, the result of a snowplow’s pass earlier that morning. Those people whose cars were parked at the curb would find an unanticipated wall of hard-packed snow holding their vehicles prisoner. The sight of angry businessmen and — women in suits heaving the frozen white stuff away from their cars with folding shovels at the end of a long workday was not an unusual one in certain parts of the city. Those who were fortunate to be able to commute by subway, bus, or cab enjoyed a definite advantage.
As the cars swished by on the densely trafficked venues, a light rain fell. In the past, whenever the temperature fell into the teens, thin sheets of ice coated the sidewalks-and caused an unusually high number of people to report to emergency rooms or chiropractic offices with slip-and-fall injuries.
This morning, Denise had taken Noah to day care. She and Chandler made plans to meet for brunch at ten o’clock to give him time to check in at the office and deal with the imminent tongue-lashing he was likely to receive from Hennessy.
“I hate driving in the city,” Chandler said to the Iranian man who was weaving in and out of traffic with the reckless abandon of a seasoned New York City cabbie. “It’s like a war fought without guns. People use their cars to take out their aggression.”
The taxi driver, periodically launching into a barrage of vile language aimed at certain vehicles he cut off en route to his destination, curtailed the expletives long enough to agree with his passenger. “I consider myself a
