“I was going to ask you,” Hellman said. “There has to be something about that evening.”
Madison said, “Maybe someone saw her or her car leaving.”
“There was a brief moment of silence. “Look,” Hellman said, “let’s assume they have something we didn’t think of. It can’t be too damning, because if it was ironclad, they would’ve just come over and arrested you.”
“That’s comforting.”
“We’ll go over later and play it by ear. If the situation seems right, go ahead and tell them that she was there and you examined her, but forgot about it, and you didn’t think it was on September eleventh, but it could’ve been. Just make it convincing.”
“I knew it, Jeffrey. It’s always best to tell the truth. Then you can’t get caught in lies. You don’t have to worry what you’ve told to whom.”
“I never said you shouldn’t tell them the truth. I just said you shouldn’t volunteer the information.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby of the station at six-thirty. Can you make it?”
Madison looked down at his calendar and schedule for the day. “Yeah, I can cancel my fund-raising committee meeting tonight.”
“Don’t worry, okay?”
“Worry? What have I got to be worried about?”
“Phil — ”
“I’ll see you later, Jeffrey,” he said, hanging up without waiting for a response.
HELLMAN SAT IN THE lobby, waiting for Madison to show. He looked around, his eyes taking in the decor and clamor of the police station. But his mind was miles away.
He was thinking about the times when he and Madison were young teenagers, playing one-on-one basketball at the high school playground. Madison’s height advantage was sometimes too difficult to overcome. But Hellman always proved a worthy opponent, practicing hard and focusing on playing intelligently so as to minimize his friend’s physical advantages. Their competitions were fierce, evidenced by the fact that nothing deterred them — not rain, cold, or darkness.
“...Jeffrey,” Madison was saying.
Hellman shook his head. “I was daydreaming. We were playing ball at McClatchy.”
“I was winning, right?” Madison said. “I always won.”
Hellman smiled as they walked down the hall to meet the detectives. “Same team now. Hell of a combination. Unbeatable.”
They ascended the stairs and were led to the same interview room, where they sat down opposite Coleman and Valentine.
“Let’s talk about that night again,” Coleman said. “September eleventh of this year. You remember our last conversation? You said that you had nothing in your calendar about meeting Brittany Harding that night.”
“You saw my calendar.”
“Yes we did.”
“Maybe, instead of interviewing me again, you should be speaking with some of the people who’ve witnessed this lady’s bizarre behavior. She’s a nut.”
“Is that your medical opinion of Miss Harding?”
“Detective, let’s not play cat and mouse,” Hellman said. “Can we just get down to the nuts and bolts? You said you had new evidence.”
“We do.”
Valentine pulled a couple of papers from the folder that was sitting on the metal table in front of her. She handed one of them to Madison, who tilted it so that Hellman could see.
“Is that a copy of your phone bill, doctor?” she asked.
“My wife pays the bills, I never see them.”
“Is that your telephone number at the top?”
“Yes.”
Valentine handed him another page. “Do you recognize the two phone numbers that are highlighted in yellow?”
Madison instantly remembered. Harding had made two calls from his house before she left that night. How convenient. No, how clever.
Valentine leaned forward. “Doctor?”
“What?” Madison asked, not looking up. “No, I don’t recognize those numbers.”
Hellman was beginning to noticeably sweat.
“You’ll notice those calls were made on September eleventh, at ten-fifteen and ten-sixteen P.M.”
No response from Madison. He was still staring at the paper.
“Those numbers,” Valentine continued, “are local toll calls to the phone numbers of Sue Harding, Ms. Harding’s mother, and Nancy Bonham, her sister.”
“Hmm,” Madison mused, as if the news was intensely interesting.
“Detective,” Hellman said, “if I could have a moment with my client.”
“Wait a minute,” Madison said. “She made a couple of calls one night when she dropped by my house complaining of abdominal pain.”
“So she was at your home that night,” Valentine said.
“Well, if she made these calls on the eleventh I guess the night she came over was the eleventh. She wasn’t a patient. I didn’t keep treatment notes of her visit.”
“Apparently, it was September eleventh, Dr. Madison.” Valentine paused. “Wasn’t it?” she said, locking on his gaze.
“It would appear so.”
“So Harding’s story is taking on some truth,” she said to Coleman.
“What are you talking about?” Madison asked. “What possible reason would I have for making advances to Brittany Harding? I have a wife and two kids. I’m happily married.”
Coleman leaned forward toward Madison. “She’s a looker. Twenty-five, long legs, big tits. You had something she wanted...her job. And she had something you wanted. So you told her that if she wanted to keep her job, she’d have to grease your pole.”
Madison winced at the detective’s street language. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Then what happened that night?” Valentine asked.
Madison looked over at Hellman, who nodded for him to tell the story.
“She showed up at my door complaining of abdominal pain. She’d been to some local Quick Care facility where a nurse told her it was nothing to worry about. Brittany said she kept having sharp pains and didn’t know what to do, so she came by my house on the way home.”
Valentine leaned back in her chair. “Is that it?”
“Well, I gave her a brief abdominal exam, which was essentially negative, and I told her she probably had irritable bowel syndrome.”
“Anything else happen?”
“She started to feel better and left.”
“Describe an abdominal exam, the way you did it on Miss Harding that night,” Valentine said.
“The patient’s knees were flexed to relax the stomach muscles, and I placed my hand over her abdomen. I felt for rigidity, masses, and effusion. I made sure there were no aneurysms, and then I palpated the organs and checked for rebound tenderness.”
“How far down on the
