Hellman waved a hand. “You’re right. Getting pissed off at everyone isn’t doing us any good. Let’s get the case against Phil dismissed, and then we’ll deal with damage control.”
“Isn’t there something we can be doing while we’re waiting for the DNA results?” Madison asked.
“I’m continuing with my interviews,” Chandler said. “Got a real good one coming up: Brittany Harding.”
“How’d you arrange that one?”
“I told her I was investigating your case, and that I heard about the rape on the news. I said I didn’t want to work for you if you’d done something like that. Since you denied it, I wanted to hear her side of the story, about what she’d been through. Being that she’s probably psychotic, I figured she’d welcome the chance to get her digs in, and I’m giving her that opportunity. We set up a lunch appointment for tomorrow.”
Hellman and Madison looked at each other.
“Now you know why I asked you to hire Ryan Chandler,” Madison said.
Upon leaving the firm’s law library, Chandler was intercepted by the receptionist.
“Mr. Chandler, I just took a call for you. I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting, so I took a message.” She handed him a slip, and after barely taking the time to read all the words, he body-slammed the front door on the way out of the office.
“Who called?” Hellman asked.
“Lou Palucci. He tried reading Mr. Chandler on his cell, but it went to voicemail. He wanted me to tell him that the lip print analysis was ready.”
Hellman reached over and gave Madison’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay to breathe, Phil,” he said. “We’ll know the results soon enough.”
BLOWING PAST THE THIRTY-five-mile-per-hour speed limit signs at near fifty, Chandler made it to the Department of Justice in under ten minutes — just as Gray was preparing to leave for a late lunch.
“They are likely not Madison’s,” Gray said as he brushed a lock of stringy hair off his face.
Chandler was still trying to clip the visitor’s pass on his shirt, but was having a tough time of it. “What kind of probability match would you give it?”
“It was only a partial,” he said, offering him an enlarged copy of the print. “I’d give it a seventy percent probability that we’re dealing with someone else.”
“Seventy percent,” Chandler said, looking at the swirling lines on the printout. “Seventy percent...not enough to get them to drop the charges. This helps, but we’re gonna need the DNA in order to get him off.”
Gray shrugged and glanced at his watch. “Look, you got what you wanted. Mind if I go to lunch now?” He pushed past Chandler and headed out of the lab.
Chandler yelled a thank-you through the rapidly closing door, and then left with his escort. While the results bolstered the argument for Madison’s innocence, they did not go far enough. For the prosecution to drop its case, he would need to produce clear and convincing evidence that his friend and client was free of all guilt and that someone else was responsible. And although he was gaining momentum, he was still far from being able to do that.
IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, a collect call for Detective Jennings came through to the station from a person who lived in Del Morro Heights. An hour later, Jennings and Detective Moreno swung by to meet with Clarence Hollowes, the homeless man who had witnessed the hit-and-run.
“I was walking by this Giants store over by the mall,” Hollowes said, chewing on a piece of gum supplied by Moreno. “And, I saw this hat there, a black job with a white design.” He paused, eyeing the female detective. “Got anything else to eat?”
Moreno pulled a couple of fives from her pocket. “Buy yourself a sandwich, Clarence.”
“But first tell us about this hat,” Jennings said. “What kind of design was on it?”
“Take me to the store, an’ I show you.”
The mall, a fifteen-minute drive from Hollowes’s neighborhood, was teeming with shoppers. They pulled up in front of the San Francisco Giants store and Moreno took their witness inside.
“That’s it, right there. That’s the hat.”
“Chicago Cubs?”
“That’s the hat I seen.”
Moreno pulled it from the rack and turned to Clarence. “Are you a Giants fan?”
“No ma’am. Dodger blue, through and through.”
Moreno grabbed a Dodgers hat and brought them both to the register. As they walked out of the store, Clarence fingered the bill of the cap and carefully shaped it before placing it on his head.
Moreno shoved a few dollars into his palm. “Use that money for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, throwing his right hand up to the bill of his new hat.
She smiled. “C’mon, we’ll drive you back to the neighborhood.”
DENTON, AT THE COURTHOUSE on an unrelated case, ran into Hellman in the hallway. They made small talk before Hellman informed him of the new information pertaining to the Cubs logo.
“Brittany Harding is from Chicago,” Hellman said.
Denton waved a hand in the air as if he were trying to make Hellman’s words disappear. “We have our man,” he said. “And unfortunately for you, he’s your client. Cubs fan or not.”
WHEN CHANDLER ARRIVED HOME, he found a message from Denise scrawled out on a piece of paper that was left on his desk by Leeza. She wrote under it, “Remember — validate her feelings.”
The message indicated that Denise’s doctor’s appointment was three days away. Before calling her, Chandler phoned American Airlines and booked a flight, a red-eye leaving in twenty-four hours, arriving in New York the morning of her appointment.
He dialed Denise, who answered with a monotone, “Hello, Ryan. You didn’t need to call me, I left a message.”
“I did need to call. To say I’m sorry.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. You must be scared, with your family history and all. I booked a flight that leaves tomorrow night.”
“I am frightened, Ryan. Of what it could mean. And what if I’m pregnant...” Her voice trailed off.
He could tell she was on the verge of tears,
