prior to the start of the trial, Tyson would no doubt grill him and Jennings on why they had arrested the wrong man, making a shambles of a prominent physician’s life and career in the process. Denton did not need to hear it.
Generally thought of as sharp, fair, and relatively easy-going, Elegante was a rotund African-American justice whose portly figure filled out his robes and made him appear formidable and intimidating.
The judge was sitting and rocking slowly in his large desk chair. It creaked rhythmically under his weight as he swayed back and forth. After quickly scanning through the affidavit, he tossed it onto the desk in front of him. “Mr. Denton,” he announced, in a loud, baritone voice. “Talk to me.”
“Your Honor, I’m requesting a search warrant on a suspect in our investigation, Brittany Harding.” He placed a hand on the warrant. “Through our investigation-”
“I’m confused. Didn’t you arrest a doctor on these charges? A…Phillip Madison if my memory serves.”
“Yes, Your Honor, we did. But DNA testing that was performed on a piece of crucial evidence indicated that Dr. Madison was not the driver of the vehicle.”
“And you have reason to believe that Miss Harding was the driver?”
“Yes, sir.”
Elegante leaned back in his chair amidst loud creaking. “Go ahead, Mr. Denton. Bend my ear. Let me hear your reasoning.”
Denton would like to have told the judge about the cigarette DNA, but for obvious reasons, could not. “We have evidence that Miss Harding has attempted to frame Phillip Madison with this crime. She had motive as well as a prior history of extortion.”
“Let me hear about the motive.”
“A couple of months ago, Harding accused Madison of rape-a complaint that was later withdrawn on account of a payoff by Dr. Madison. Although the state’s case was weak, with very little proof-she came forward five weeks after the alleged incident, so there was no physical evidence to support her claim-Madison felt that the cost of defending himself would be a wash against a payoff. Not to mention how damaging public disclosure of a rape accusation would be to a prominent surgeon.”
The judge began tapping the desk with his pencil. “Please, Mr. Denton, get on with it.”
“So he paid her off, but then Harding sent a copy of the agreement and a copy of the check to, Madison’s wife-which violated their agreement. Madison’s attorney insisted that Harding return the money. Then, a few days prior to the hit-and-run, Harding and Madison ran into one another in a supermarket and she went off on him, calling him a rapist and threatening to get even and make him pay. A grocery checker witnessed the incident.”
“This checker is available to testify as to what he saw?”
“That’s my understanding, Your Honor.”
Elegante nodded for him to continue.
“We don’t have a witness who can place Harding in the car, but we do have beer cans that were found in the vehicle after the accident, and a DNA signature was lifted off it. Those beer cans were the same brand that the checker will testify to having sold to Harding the night she had the altercation with Madison. We also have proof that two years ago, Harding extorted a prior employer, using a similar MO, for fifty thousand dollars.”
“What kind of proof?”
“I have a video the victim made without Harding’s knowledge.”
“Do you have it with you?”
Denton nodded and opened his attache case.
“Let’s see it, counselor.”
Denton pulled it out and handed it to Elegante, who inserted it into his PC to the left of his desk. The judge watched intently; he did not divert his attention until it ended-and even then, he continued to stare at the screen as he leaned back in his seat. “A real model citizen,” Elegante boomed. He turned to Denton and motioned for him to continue.
“It’s the prosecution’s belief, Your Honor, that Harding blamed Madison for the loss of her job. That, coupled with her failure to extort money from him on the rape charge, drove her to seek other forms of revenge-such as creating trouble for him with his wife by sending her a copy of the check and settlement agreement. But it was too easy and the effects too personal. She wanted something that would publicly humiliate him and destroy his reputation. And that’s why she framed him with murder.
“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.
