There were two people dressed in business attire sitting in the lobby of Stanton’s plush suite, patiently awaiting appointments with him. Chandler walked in and announced his arrival to the secretary, an attractive thirty-year-old with a headset affixed to her ear. She nodded to him, asked him to have a seat, and alerted Stanton that Chandler had arrived.
A moment later, she led him back. Stanton was on the phone and motioned to Chandler to have a seat.
“I’m faxing it right now.” He punched a couple of keys on his computer, then said, “Sure, drop me an email once you’ve had a chance to review it. Or we can Skype, yes.”
“Sorry,” Stanton said as he hung up the phone. “Client in China. An American company attempting to open a branch and expand their distribution. They already have a presence in Europe — but you didn’t come here to discuss my business.”
“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” Chandler said. “The case for my client is coming together nicely, but the icing on the cake would be your testimony. We need it to establish motive.”
“I spoke with my attorney, as I told you I would. He recommended against getting involved. He said I paid a lot of money to put the incident behind me, and that’s precisely what I should do. I shouldn’t stick my nose in any more sexual harassment suits. Especially as a witness.”
“Oh, this isn’t sexual harassment, Mr. Stanton. It’s murder.”
Stanton sat forward in his seat. “Murder? How does Brittany Harding fit into a murder case?”
“We have evidence and reason to believe that she killed two people and is trying to frame my client for it. If convicted, he could be facing life imprisonment.” He looked at Stanton’s face: his brows were furrowed and his mouth agape. Chandler was getting through.
“She’d falsely accused him of raping her a few months back, and then demanded a payment of fifty thousand dollars. Like you, he decided it was better to pay than suffer the publicity it would generate. But that wasn’t enough for her. She sent a copy of the check to his wife, violating the agreement she’d made with him, and his attorney forced her attorney — Movis Ehrhardt — to return the money. Harding was furious, and framed him with this murder.
“The evidence against my client is all circumstantial, but it may just be enough to convince a jury. Your testimony as to her prior conduct and behavior will establish a pattern and fit well with what we have on her so far.”
Stanton shifted in his seat. “Murder,” he said. His telephone intercom buzzed. “Mr. Stanton, Judy Myers on line four.”
“Take a message and tell her I’ll call her back in ten minutes.”
“You also have Ms. Bieles and Mr. Canvir waiting.”
“Okay, Amanda,” he said, a slight edge to his voice. “Then tell Judy I’ll call her back in an hour.”
He arose from behind his desk and walked over to one of the paintings on his wall. As he removed it, a safe was visible; he began spinning the tumbler, placing his body between the wheel and Chandler’s line of sight. Chandler looked away obligingly. Stanton fumbled around in the safe, pulled out a DVD, and handed it to Chandler.
“What’s this?”
“My meeting with Harding, when I gave her the check. I got her to talk about the payoff, why she was doing this to me. She admitted it was all for the money. She said I could afford it, and aside from being out the money, no harm would come to me. Watch it. It’s all there. Pretty damning, if you ask me.”
Chandler was struck speechless by his good luck. “Why’d you film it?” he finally managed.
“Just in case she tried to extort more from me in the future. You know, a bimonthly occurrence, like drawing a paycheck.”
“Why didn’t your attorney handle the transaction?”
“He said I should do it. He had some private investigator come in and set up a tiny camera, right there,” he said, nodding to a tall, leafy plant. “He was watching the whole thing go down on a monitor in another room next door. Handled it all by wireless remote.”
Chandler liked this attorney, whoever he was. Knew how to play ball.
“Take it, make a copy of it. Just don’t lose it. I should’ve made a copy of it a long time ago, but never got around to it. I don’t have a DVD burner at the office.”
Chandler was reluctant to take responsibility for it, but he was too curious to see what was on it to turn it down. “I’ll get it back to you right away,” he said. “About testifying...”
“The video should be sufficient.”
Not wanting to walk out the door without the disc, Chandler decided to back off. If need be, Hellman could subpoena Stanton to testify. Not the best way to treat a witness you needed for your case, but an option nonetheless. At this point, the judge still had to rule on the admissibility of the evidence. If he threw it all out as being unduly prejudicial, Stanton’s story would never make it to the courtroom.
He stood, dwarfed by Stanton’s six-foot-five frame, and they shook hands.
UPON RETURNING TO HELLMAN’S office, Chandler informed him of the Stanton video. Although there was a client waiting, they took the disc into the conference room and watched it.
The date was displayed in the lower-right corner of the screen. It was recorded a little more than two years ago. The camera angle was adequate, showing Harding without question; same auburn hair, slightly different cut. Stanton maneuvered himself behind her for a moment while he was removing something from the credenza behind her chair — a checkbook. He looked straight into the camera.
Good so far.
